Chapter Ten
Rachel
Last night, after my mother sneaked into the tower bedroom to make Joey more comfortable, I considered sneaking in there myself. Mother undoubtedly assumed no one had seen her entering and exiting the tower. She also must have believed I didnae catch on to her plan.
My motives were...less altruistic than hers.
I love Mother all the more for worrying about Joey. Whatever my father believes, I'm convinced that Joey is a good man deep down. So what if he was a thief back in New York City? Everyone deserves a second chance.
After dressing and fixing my hair, I rush downstairs to the great hall for breakfast.
Father and Joey haven't come down yet. Neither have the aunts. My grandparents left for Loch Fairbairn early this morn, which I know because I was already awake and waiting to say goodbye. Mother sits alone at the table, calmly sipping her morning tea. She looks up at me with those knowing eyes that always seem to read my thoughts before I've even formed them properly.
"Good morning, sweetie," she says, her voice lilting with that musical quality that makes even the simplest greeting sound delightful. "You're up early."
I slide onto the bench across from her, trying to appear casual. "Just hungry is all."
"Mmm." The sound she makes is noncommittal, but her eyes twinkle. "Nothing to do with our guest, then?"
Heat rises in my cheeks. "I dinnae know what you mean."
"Of course not." She pushes a plate of bannocks toward me. "Though I suspect our Mr. Finnegan will be down shortly. He was restless when Kieran checked on him this morning."
I spring off the bench, suddenly feeling a wee bit faint. "Did Father..."
"Beat the shit out of Joey?" She grins, shaking her head. "You don't really believe your father would do that."
I slump back onto the bench. "Nay, I dinnae believe it. I'm anxious to see Joey, that's all."
"Naturally."
Mother's smile widens, and I know I've revealed too much. All I can do to avoid her knowing gaze is busy myself with buttering a bannock.
"Your father may be as stubborn as a Highland mule, but he's not unreasonable." She clasps my hand. "He's just protective. Give him time, and I'm sure Kieran will come around to our point of view."
" Our view?"
She gives me a quick hug. "I'm on your side, Rachel. Always."
The great hall door swings open. Joey enters, dark hair tousled in that careless way that somehow looks deliberate. He scans the room before his attention lands on me, and something in my chest flutters wildly. Aye, Joey has done that to me.
"Morning," he says. "I slept like a baby last night, if anybody's interested."
Father has just entered the great hall and sat down in his chair at the head of the table. Joey's words were clearly meant for the laird of Dùndubhan. But Father only lifts one brow briefly.
Mother gestures to the empty space beside me. "Join us, Mr. Finnegan. I trust you slept well?"
Joey's gaze flicks to me before he answers, and I wonder if he's remembering my mother's midnight visit. "Better than expected, considering."
"Considering my husband has you sleeping in what amounts to a drafty prison cell?" Mother's tone is light, but I can hear the apology beneath it.
"It has a certain rustic-meets-prison kind of charm." Joey slides onto the bench next to me, close enough that I can feel his warmth radiating into me. "Reminds me of my first apartment in Brooklyn. Except with a better view and fewer cockroaches."
Father grunts, reaching for his tankard. I catch the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth---not quite a smile, but not displeasure either. "The tower room has housed many a visitor. Some more welcome than others."
Joey doesn't flinch under my father's scrutiny. Instead, he meets his gaze steadily, and I feel a flare of admiration for his courage. Most men cower before my father, the great Laird Kieran MacTaggart.
"I appreciate the hospitality," Joey replies breezily, reaching for a bannock. "Even if it comes with a side of suspicion."
I tense, waiting for Father's reaction. To my surprise, he lets out a short bark of laughter.
"At least yer honest about it," Father says. "More than I can say for most strangers who've wandered onto our lands."
"Father," I begin, but Mother shoots me a warning glance.
Joey's leg presses against mine under the table, and ahmno certain if it's accidental or deliberate. Either way, an electrifying warmth courses through me and makes focusing on breakfast nearly impossible. I shift slightly, pretending to reach for the honey, but don't move away from his touch.
"So," Joey says casually, slathering butter on his bannock, "what's on the agenda today? More suspicious glaring? Maybe some light interrogation? Or do I get the full Dùndubhan dungeon treatment?"
"Nothing like that," Mother says with a laugh, cutting through the tension so easily that I'm a wee bit jealous. "We don't have a dungeon, anyway. But Rachel could show you around the grounds. Couldn't you, sweetie?"
Before I can answer, Father claps his tankard down with a thud that resonates through the great hall. "The macan can help me sharpen the weapons. If he's to stay here, he'll earn his keep."
Joey's eyebrows shoot up, but I catch the hint of relief in his expression. This is progress---Father offering work instead of outright rejection.
Or threats of murder.
Joey's brows wrinkle. "Sharpen weapons? I've never done that before."
"That's obvious," Father says with a snort. "But ye'll learn."
I watch as Joey straightens his shoulders, meeting Father's challenge with that confident half-smile, the one that makes my stomach flutter and my loins grow slick.
"I'm a quick study," Joey says, taking a bite of his bannock. "Though I should warn you, the last sharp object I handled was a letter opener at the office job I had for about five seconds. Didn't end well for the potted plant next to my desk."
Mother chokes on her tea, covering her laugh with a cough. Even Father's eyes crinkle slightly at the corners.
Joey sighs melodramatically. "Serves me right for thinking a thief could become a data entry operator. But I'm raring to go when it comes to sharpening dangerous weapons, and I'm sure the laird is too. Just hope I don't accidentally chop off parts of my body that I really need."
"Dinnae worry," Father says, his voice gruff but lacking the earlier edge. "I'll make sure ye dinnae take anyone's eye out. Especially yer own."
Joey glances at me, and for a heartbeat, something lovely passes between us---a shared understanding, perhaps, or mayhap a deeper connection that neither of us wants to name yet. His gaze holds mine for fraction longer than necessary, and I feel that flutter in my chest again.
"I'd rather go with Rachel," Joey says boldly, still looking at me. "See the grounds, get my bearings. If I'm going to be stuck here for a while, I should know the lay of the land."
"Ye'll have plenty of time for that after ye've proven yerself useful."
"Father," I interject. "Joey has already proven himself---to me."
The hall falls silent. Even Mother seems to be holding her breath. Father's jaw works back and forth as he considers my words.
"Aye," he finally concedes, though grudgingly. "That he did."
Joey shifts beside me, our thighs still pressed together. The contact sends a fresh wave of heat through my body, and I wonder if he can feel it too---the ardent desire simmering between us.
"I'll tell ye what," Father says, surprising us all. "The lad can help me with the weapons till midday. After that, Rachel may show him the grounds." He fixes Joey with a pointed stare. "That is, if ye haven't managed to dismember yerself by then."
"Challenge accepted," Joey says, his tone deceptively light. "I promise to return with all fingers intact."
"I'll hold ye to that." Father pushes back from the table. "Meet me at the smithy in a quarter hour."
As Father strides from the hall, Mother rises gracefully. "I'll be in the solar with the aunts. Care to come with me, Rachel?"
"Oh, aye. Is it embroidery day again?"
"Absolutely."
I rise as well and kiss Joey's cheek as he exits the great hall. Mother and I trail after him until we "peel off," as Mother likes to say, and head for the solar. By the time evening comes, we are all too tired to do anything but eat a quick meal and go to bed. Father insists Joey must not share my bed, but he lets our guest sleep in a much nicer bed chamber this time.
Joey defers to my father.
The next afternoon, we receive surprise visitors. My grandparents, Dale and Norma, have returned earlier than expected, and we greet them in the courtyard. They admit to worrying about the situation between me and Joey, as well as what Father might do him. But I never doubted that Kieran MacTaggart would warm up to the time traveler and do the right thing.
My grandparents hug me fiercely and kiss my cheeks. They also fuss over me as if I'm a bairn, cooing and blubbering. This is nothing new, however. I love them to pieces. They can blubber all they like and I willnae complain.
"Are you sure you're okay, honey?" Grandmother asks. "Your father is right. That man does look like a demon, with that goatee and wild hair."
I can't help but laugh. "Grandmother, Joey does not look like a demon! He just has a different style than what you're used to." I lower my voice. "Besides, I think he's quite fetching."
"Oh, I didn't say he wasn't handsome. The most dangerous ones usually are."
"Norma," Grandfather chides gently, "don't go putting ideas in the girl's head."
"I'm fairly certain those ideas are already there," Grandmother says with a knowing smile that makes my cheeks burn.
"Where is this mysterious time traveler now?" Grandfather asks, glancing around as if Joey might materialize from behind a tapestry.
"Father has him repairing the cellar door," I say, unable to keep the pride from my voice. "Joey's surprisingly good with his hands."
Grandmother raises an eyebrow at that, and I feel my cheeks flush again.
"For building things," I clarify quickly. "He's been here three days now. Father insists one harassing him endlessly."
"That's to be expected, honey. You are the only daughter of Kieran MacTaggart and Alyssa Vescovi."
"And how does your New York thief feel about manual labor?" Grandfather asks, his tone casual but his eyes shrewd.
"He hasnae complained once," I pronounce, and it's true. Joey has thrown himself into every task Father has assigned, from weapon sharpening to cellar repairs, with determination. "I think he's trying to prove himself."
"To your father?" Grandmother asks, though her knowing smile suggests she already knows the answer.
"To all of us. But aye, mostly to Father."
The large, wooden outer door of the castle flies open, and Kieran MacTaggart stomps into the courtyard. He rakes his gaze over all of us. But his harshest glare is reserved for Joey. "Sassenach, 'tis time we finished the discussion we had the other day with the entire family. Ahm glad Norma and Dale are here as well. Gather the aunts and meet me in the solar."
My heart lodges itself somewhere in my throat. The "discussion" Father refers to can only be about Joey's presence at Dùndubhan, and judging by the thunderous expression on his face, I'm not certain it will end well.
"Kieran," Grandmother says, stepping forward with that particular blend of deference and authority that only she can manage with my father. "We've only just arrived. Perhaps we could---"
"Now," Father interrupts, his voice brooking no argument. "The matter cannae wait."
Joey appears behind Father, his hands dirty from the cellar repairs, a smudge of dust across one cheek that somehow makes him even more appealing. Our eyes meet, and I try to convey reassurance I don't entirely feel.
"Should I make myself scarce?" Joey asks, wiping his hands on his borrowed trews. "I'm getting pretty good at this home-repair stuff."
"You are coming with us, Joey Finnegan. Right now."