Chapter Ten
The ocean was beautiful, especially after
years of traveling by land from Los Angeles to Apple Creek, yet she
was increasingly growing bored of seeing nothing but water for as
far as the eye could perceive. Restless was a good word to
describe the following week. She was bored and restless. She also
wondered how many eaters she’d have to contend with when at last
she reached her destination. She made a mental note to ask Victor
about it the next time she was near the laptop. Speaking of the
laptop…
It had been seven days since she’d last
spoken to Laird Gunn. Odd, but he’d been at the forefront of her
mind since their previous conversation, however unwittingly. Her
curiosity regarding his absence from the laptop had finally bubbled
over yesterday into a begrudging question to Victor concerning
Lachlan’s whereabouts. Her brother had seemed weirdly riveted by
her interest. “Patrolling with his warriors,” Victor had
explained. “One needn’t worry about the dead cannibalizing you
in 1155 A.D., but the living are still a very real consideration.
He keeps his men and himself in iron condition.”
“Whatchya doing?” a deep, familiar voice
asked in heavily accented English. Veronica instantly perked up.
“If you can hear me, go to the scanner.”
Scanner? Oh—laptop.
Veronica’s heart skipped a beat. She decided
not to question why as she walked to where the laptop had been set.
There he was. All muscles, black cornrows, and dark, brooding gaze.
He’d changed his shirt and looked recently bathed. The black and
blue kilt he wore fell to mid-thigh. His face was perfectly
chiseled. The man was primitively, masculinely beautiful. All
muscles and strength. There went her heartbeat, picking up
again.
“Where did you learn ‘whatchya doing?’”
Veronica asked on a grin. She knew the answer, but asked anyway.
“My brother, I take it?”
“Aye.” He didn’t smile—no surprise there—yet
she could sense his amusement. “In truth, I prefer Gaelic,” he
answered in said tongue. “I have trouble with your future English.
I can ken it better than I can speak it.”
“You’re getting better at it, though,” she
assured him in his own language. “I think I’m getting better at
Gaelic too.”
“’Tis the truth, you are.”
“You can thank Victor for that.”
“I’d rather talk to you.”
Veronica felt a lump form in her throat.
She’d analyze that particular reaction to Lachlan later. “Well,
here I am,” she said, faintly blushing. She absently threw a thick
strand of amber curls over one shoulder. “What would you like to
talk about?”
He was silent for a long moment, as if
working out in his mind what he should and shouldn’t ask. “It has
been a sennight since last we spoke. Your travels are still going
well?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “There were a couple of
brief storms while you were gone, but nothing that took the boat
too far out of its way. I’m starting to get bored, but I should
only have another week left until I reach the shore.”
“You will be careful when you leave the
boat.” It was a command, not a question.
“I will.” It was a promise, and again she
didn’t know why she’d made it. “My brother says there aren’t a lot
of people where I’m going. That should make it easier to get to the
exact spot Victor gave me.”
“The field where I found him?”
“Yes. I know he wants to make sure I end up
somewhere near to nothing. Something about not coming back in time
and ending up dying because I’m fused into the castle walls.”
“’Twould hurt, that.”
She found another smile. “It would be a
wall-ful way to go.” She cringed at her bad pun. He managed his
first chuckle. The sound caused another pronounced heartbeat to
skip.
“Aye, ‘twould be…wall-ful.”
Veronica chuckled back. Not knowing what
else to say on the subject, she changed it. “Victor says you’ve
been patrolling with your men. Did the Campbells give you trouble?
Are you preparing for a battle or something?”
“Nay, no trouble, but my warriors are always
prepared. ‘Tis best to stay ready and aware at all times.”
“I understand that. So you’re saying you
don’t have an enemy planning to attack that you know of, but you
keep your men in fighting shape just in case.”
“Precisely, lass. Truth be told, the Gunns
are forever at battle with the Campbells to the west of us, but
their warriors are inferior to mine so they only act up everra once
in a while.”
“Why do they act up at all?”
He shrugged. “Mayhap their laird is still
insulted that I refused to take his daughter to wife.”
Veronica hadn’t considered that Lachlan
might be married. The thought was more depressing than it should
have been.
“Leastways, he married her off to the
chieftain of another clan when I wouldna have her.”
She was afraid to ask her next question, but
couldn’t seem to stop herself. “You married someone else then?”
“Not yet.”
Not yet. Was a wedding in the works?
Again, the thought was a downer. “Are you marrying soon?”
“Verra soon. Within the next sennight I
pray.”
So he was in love with this mystery
bride-to-be. His urgency to marry her underscored as much. “She’s a
lucky woman.” Veronica forced a smile and a cheerful tone. “I’m
sure you’ll make her very happy.”
“And she will make me verra happy as well.
I’m certain of it.”
Her heart fell, though it had no right to.
It wasn’t the big guy’s fault that she’d been thinking about
him—more like dwelling on him—since their last conversation. She
wondered why he was taking the time to talk to her when his plans
lay with someone else. Perhaps it was just the novelty of speaking
with a person from the future. She was an oddity, like Victor, but
without the science lectures.
“I hope she does make you happy,” Veronica
half-lied. Damn, but this conversation had taken a disappointing
turn. “One thing I’ve learned from living day to day, moment to
moment, is to never take something like love for granted.”
He was quiet for a moment. “You have loved a
mon in the past?”
“Aside from my father and brother?”
“Aye.”
“No.” She sighed. “Never.”
There hadn’t been time, not really. She’d
been with men before the pandemic, of course, but it had only been
passing physical satiation, nothing more. For the first time in
ever it occurred to her that particular reality was a bit on the
sad side. Aside from her parents and one platonic friend who’d been
killed by DR-71 early on, she didn’t have anyone in her life to
mourn the loss of. Once upon a time—like five minutes ago—that had
felt like a bonus. Now it just felt pathetic.
“Good.”
Lachlan’s unexpected response took her by
surprise. Why would he not want her to have loved another man? It
made no sense. Unless…
“With all due respect, Laird Gunn, I am not
going to be any man’s mistress,” she sniffed. Her eyes narrowed.
“Not now and not in 1155 A.D.”
‘’Tis a boon to hear that, lass.”
She blinked. Was something getting lost in
translation? This conversation was confusing her.
His eyes grew heavy-lidded, but his
expression stern. It was a peculiar combination. “Did your brother
not tell you who I am marrying?”
She shook her head, both to clear it and to
answer him. “Why would he? It’s not like I’m going to know who she
is.”
“Mayhap you might.”
Veronica frowned. Perhaps his intended was
some famous figure from antiquity, but she had been as interested
in world history back at the university as she had been in science.
In other words, she’d paid it only enough attention to get an A and
forgotten it. “I doubt it,” she muttered, her gaze flicking to the
boat’s ground. “I’m not a history buff like Victor.”
“I dinna ken what a ‘history buff’ is, but I
think you know my bride verra well.”
“How is that possible?” She wanted to switch
topics or leave the conversation altogether. This verbal exchange
was turning out to be a giant downer.
“My bride-to-be ‘tis you.”
That caught her attention. It also
threw her off guard. Her head snapped up and her eyes rounded.
“I—what?”
“Dinna your brother tell you we are to be
wed?”
Her mouth worked up and down, but nothing
came out. Her world seemed to spin, everything suddenly feeling
surreal.
“’Twill be okay, lass,” Lachlan said in his
usual commanding tone. “I will make for a good husband. You canna
ask for a fiercer warrior to protect you.”
She wasn’t the type of woman who needed a
man’s protection, at least not in her time, but who knew what
obstacles she’d face in 1155 A.D.? She was highly skilled at taking
care of herself, but she couldn’t take on the entire world.
Veronica didn’t know whether to feel flattered or petulant. For
some damn reason her heart made the decision to feel flattered, if
begrudgingly so.
“I’m a great fighter,” Veronica informed
him. Her spine straightened.
“I ken that. I’ve been watching you for many
weeks afore ever you arrived at Victor’s underground fortress.”
Fortress. Hardly. Maybe once upon a time,
but the dead were evolving and becoming too smart. Apparently even
by Victor’s standards.
“What I mean is, I’m accustomed to
protecting myself.” Her gaze found his. Something he’d said just
sank in. “You’ve been watching me that long?”
“Aye.”
“Why?”
“You fascinate me.”
She stilled. There went her betrayer of a
heartbeat again. “I do?”
“Aye. I’ve never known a wench like
you.”
She frowned at the word “wench,” but said
nothing. She knew he meant no offense by it. Later, when her brain
didn’t feel like mush, maybe then she’d explain to him that “wench”
was something of an insult now.
That issue aside, she had no trouble
believing he’d never met a woman like her in his time. Those that
did exist were likely nowhere near the Western world. They were
living and training in places like Kerala, India. Yes, she was an
anomaly in medieval Scotland.
Veronica drew in a deep breath and slowly
exhaled. She felt like a deer caught in headlights. The entire
situation Lachlan just presented her with was a lot to take in.
She’d never considered herself the marrying type, much less the
kind of woman who would end up in a world where she actually might
require some semblance of protection. But then she’d never
envisioned herself living nine hundred plus years in the past in a
world that viewed women as possessions. She didn’t know what to
think or how to feel. The one thing she did know was she was going
to give Victor a smackdown. He knew better than to promise her in
marriage to anyone, circumstances be damned.
“I especially prefer it when you’re under
the waterfall,” Lachlan murmured, his voice thick. “’Tis a boon to
me to be sure.”
Waterf—Oh my God! He meant the shower! She
gasped as a blush stole over the entirety of her body. “I—you saw
that?”
“Many times.”
She licked her suddenly parched lips. She
should have been offended, but her damned clit was throbbing. This
was all too much. “I—I need to go,” Veronica stammered out.
“When will we speak again now that I’ve
returned from the borderlands?”
Her breathing heavy and her mind tripped
out, she slammed the laptop shut before she could answer him. When
it dawned on her that he could likely still see and hear her thanks
to Victor’s science fair shit, she had the good grace to flush.
“When I’m less embarrassed and know how I feel!” she told the
laird. She shook off the daze that had ensorcelled her. “And tell
Victor he’s a dead man.”
Holy shit! What had her brother been
thinking? There wasn’t enough meditation nor medication in the
world to calm her racing mind now. Being attracted to a man—even
very attracted—was one thing; marriage was another. Was it normal
for a man to marry a woman he’d never met in real life? Maybe in
Lachlan’s time it was. In her time it definitely was not.
Veronica frowned. She really should have
paid better attention to world history back in her university days.
She was paying for that oversight now.
*****
Within the keep’s walls Lachlan’s temper was
growing to be nigh unto legendary. He barked out orders, snapped at
all and sundry, and hadn’t a care if the household thought he was
mayhap turning into an ogre. Days had passed and still Veronica had
not returned to speak with him. He now understood that, like as
naught, he shouldna have spoken aboot waterfalls and marriage to
her, yet his bedamned tongue had flown freely during their last
conversation. She was bewitching. ‘Twas her fault he was ever
forthcoming with her, he grumpily decided.
Having retrieved the AI scanner from Victor
again, he took to his bedchamber, sat down, and watched Veronica.
She was eating some manner of food and drinking from a clear
goblet. The wench had a faraway look in her eyes. He frowned,
wondering what she was thinking aboot. Mayhap what an arse he was
for watching her under the waterfall? That she dinna wish to be wed
with him?
Lachlan’s jaw tightened. It dinna matter. He
wanted to be wed with her. At thirty and five he should have taken
a wife mayhap long ago, but none of the submissive virgins paraded
afore him had piqued his interest. Veronica was nothing like them.
He couldna imagine her ever being too skittish to make eye contact,
much less boring him with humdrum conversations aboot sewing,
embroidery, and tapestry-making. ‘Twas not in her nature.
He considered all that he’d watched Veronica
go through these past weeks. No wench of his acquaintance could
have survived it. Hell, most men wouldna have survived it either.
Yet there she was, eating and drinking, having conquered more
monstrous creatures than he could count. ‘Twas admirable.
Everrathing aboot her was intriguing and desirable.
Their talks had been going so well until
he’d ruined it with a loose tongue. Lachlan sighed. Mayhap he
should be less forthcoming aboot her fate. Eventually she would
succumb to his demands. She had to. Veronica, whether she kenned so
or not, dinna have a choice. He was the one who would make the
decision and he had long ago decided upon keeping her.
‘Twas ever the way of it in his world.
Surely she would acquiesce? Certainly she would soon learn no
better mon existed to protect her? Mayhap she would come around. He
grunted. Or mayhap not.