Chapter Twelve
Rachel
I enjoy a good night's rest with dreams that leave me wishing I were sharing a bed with Joey instead of my Great-Aunt Morna. We do not have enough beds for all of us. When I wake in the morning, I hope to slink away before Morna awakens, but I have no such luck. She is already awake and insists upon leading me downstairs. She remains by my side as we enter the great hall.
Shortly after our discussion in the solar last night, the laird of Dùndubhan had pronounced that Joey would be confined in the tower bedroom until further notice. He also decreed that only he or Mother will enter the tower bedroom to deliver food and beverages to Joey. Aye, Father is extremely overprotective. The door to that room remains locked all night. I know this because I might have sneaked up to the door in the dead of night to try the knob.
It wouldn't budge.
Fortunately, the situation has changed this morn. The laird of Dùndubhan has commanded everyone to gather in the great hall for a grand breakfast feast. Naturally, my father sits at the head of the table. Yet I am pleasantly surprised to find Joey seated across from me. I would prefer to have by my side, but I understand that my father still doesn't trust Joey. He will change his mind, I believe that.
I assumed the meal would be delicious but simple, as usual.
But I was wrong. The long table holds various dishes, more than I've seen at breakfast since the last time the laird of Clan Grant arrived one morn for a surprise visit. As we pass the bowls around, taking whatever we like, Joey seems rather confused.
"What fashes ye?" I ask him. "Ye haven't put anything on your plate."
"Not sure what these things are."
I point to an item on my plate. "Surely you recognize barley bread."
"Okay, yeah. That I do know." He reaches for a slice, his movements cautious as if he fears my father might reach across the table to stab him with a dirk.
"And this?" I indicate the dark pudding at the center of my plate.
"Looks like...chocolate cake?" His hopeful tone makes me laugh softly.
"No, 'tis black pudding, ye daft man. Made of oats and blood."
The color drains from his face. "Blood? As in, actual blood?"
"Aye. Sheep's blood," I say, taking a hearty bite. "Most nutritious part of the meal."
Great-Aunt Morna snorts beside me. "The lad eats like a bairn, does he? Mayhap he'd prefer some pottage?"
Joey glances at the steaming bowl of the porridge-like substance being passed round the table, then gives me a sidelong glance, clearly dubious of the meal.
"Aye, pottage might be more to his liking," I tell Morna. "Though Joey will need more than that to keep his strength up in these Highlands."
Joey takes the bowl cautiously, his beautiful whisky-brown eyes narrowing as he inspects the contents. "What exactly is in this...pottage? Not dirt and worms, I hope."
"Nay, of course not." I lean over the table, as close as I can get to Joey, and speak in a hushed voice. "Just oats, milk, and herbs. No blood, I promise."
The relief that washes over his face is almost comical.
"Oh, thank God," he mutters, spooning some into his mouth with surprising eagerness. After swallowing, he nods appreciatively. "This I can handle."
My father watches from the head of the table, his gaze sharp as a hawk's. I can feel his assessment of Joey with every passing moment.
"Finnegan." My father's voice booms across the table, causing Joey to nearly choke on his pottage. "Where did ye say ye hail from again?"
Joey's eyes meet mine in a flash of panic. We hadn't properly rehearsed this part of his story. "New York City. That's in America---the New World. That's what we call it."
I slap my fork down on the table. "Honestly, Father, how many times will you insist upon interrogating Joey?"
"Until I'm certain I can trust him."
I feel heat rising to my cheeks as Joey fumbles with his spoon. Beneath the table, I nudge his boot with my shoe, hoping to convey some measure of reassurance. The gesture does seem to relax him.
"I understand your concern, sir," Joey says, straightening his shoulders in a way that makes him look almost regal. "If a strange man appeared near my home, I'd have questions too."
My father grunts, seemingly caught off guard by Joey's directness. A small victory. I'll take it.
"And what skills do ye possess, laddie? Besides eavesdropping at doors?"
"I apologize for that. But in my defense, I've been very confused ever since I fell into the moat and almost drowned."
Father purses his lips briefly, then exhales a heavy breath. "Mayhap I should give you time to adjust."
Joey seems mildly surprised.
"Oh, Father, that's wonderful," I declare. Grinning, I rush to his chair and throw my arms around him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you so much."
He rolls his eyes.
My family will continue to harbor reservations about Joey. Of that much, I am certain. Mother seems far less skeptical than Father. I pray that no one realizes Joey Finnegan and I enjoyed coitus in my secret room yesterday. Oddly, my father has not questioned me any further about how and why Joey was in my room yesterday. Whatever he suspects, he's keeping it to himself. I wondered if my mother had figured out what Joey and I did in my secret room. It was quite, um, naughty, and she had conspicuously glanced at the bedsheets.
She might have seen the small spot of blood that revealed what we did. I am no longer a virgin. If my mother noticed the blood, she has not let on.
Do I regret losing my virginity to Joey Finnegan? No, not in the least. My intuition urges me to trust him. No one has ever accused me of having a suspicious nature. Nay, I am the exact opposite---too credulous, as my father often tells me. He is correct. But I cannot change my nature.
Father most definitely did not realize what Joey and I did. If he had, he would have murdered Joey instantly.
After breakfast, Father insists upon locking Joey in the tower bedroom again.
"No, you cannot do that," I tell him emphatically. "Joey has done nothing wrong."
"But he admits to being a thief. That alone makes him a threat."
I roll my yes. "What could he steal here at Dùndubhan? Joey is from the future. If he stole something, he wouldnae know how to sell it."
Father grunts.
My mother steps in to mediate our disagreement. "Kieran, honestly, I agree with Rachel. Joey doesn't have any weapons, and he's been nothing but deferential to you. Don't lock him in. Please, honey."
Father's expression softens at Mother's plea. I've always marveled at how she wields such influence over him with just a few gentle words.
"As you wish," he grumbles, running a hand through his hair. "But he's not to wander about unattended. Someone must keep an eye on him at all times."
"I volunteer," I say quickly---too quickly, judging by the narrowing of Father's eyes.
"Absolutely not," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerously low tone that makes even the bravest clansmen flinch. "Your Great-Aunt Morna will watch him."
Joey's gaze darts to Morna, who smiles at him with all the steely resolve of a warrior. I see him swallow hard.
"I'd be honored," Morna says. "Provided he doesnae try to seduce me."
The twinkle in her eye, and the slight smile on her lips, assures me she's teasing Joey.
I set my hands on my hips. "Och, this is ridiculous. Please let me guard Joey so I can show him around the castle. We will remain within the walls of Dùndubhan."
Father's expression darkens like a Highland storm cloud. "Ye think me a fool, lass? I've seen the way ye look at the man."
"I promise we'll stay where everyone can see us," I plead, trying to sound reasonable rather than desperate.
"Aye, just like ye promised to stay away from the western tower last summer?" Father counters, his eyebrow arched knowingly. "We both remember how that ended."
I had learned my lesson about experimenting with fire magic indoors on that day.
Joey clears his throat. "Sir, if I may---"
"Ye may not," Father cuts him off. "Morna will accompany ye, and that's final."
My great-aunt shifts beside me, her hands folded primly at her waist. "Come along then, young man. I promise I don't bite---unless provoked."
Joey gives me a helpless glance before nodding respectfully to my father. "Thank you for your hospitality, sir. I appreciate not being locked in the tower."
Father merely grunts in response, though he gives a tiny wink too. Joey's polite deference might be working in his favor, if only slightly.
Everyone follows as we exit the great hall and go outside.
As Morna leads Joey away, I linger behind, watching the way his shoulders move beneath his clothing. He looks quite fetching in the clothes I gave him. Even in this impossible situation, he carries himself with a certain grace that makes my heart flutter. When he turns back to steal one last look at me, I feel the familiar warmth rising in my cheeks.
"Stop!"
My mother's harsh cry reverberates from behind us.
Father approaches her, his brows furrowed. "What is it, Alyssa?"
"You're acting like a dictator, Kieran." She grasps a handful of his shirt, rising onto her tiptoes to meet him eye to eye. "Rachel is a grown woman---and a Vescovi, like me, which means we don't obey shouty commands without an explanation. Stop treating our daughter like a child. If she wants to spend time with Joey, you will let her do that. Won't you?"
Father seems...chastised. I've rarely seen that happen.
His nostrils flare, his golden eyes locked with Mother's fierce blue ones. The air between them practically crackles with tension. I hold my breath, watching this battle of wills that I've witnessed countless times throughout my life.
"Alyssa," Father says, his voice dangerously low. "The man is a stranger---"
"The man," Mother interrupts, still clutching his shirt, "has been nothing but respectful. And our daughter clearly cares for him."
Joey shifts uncomfortably under Great-Aunt Morna's watchful eye, clearly trying to pretend he can't hear this very public dispute about him. Poor man. His cheeks have turned a rather fetching shade of pink.
Father exhales heavily. Then he finally concedes. "Aye, all right. But they are not to be alone. Not for a single moment."
Mother releases his shirt with a triumphant smile. "Morna can chaperone from a respectable distance."
"Three paces," Father specifies, his eyes drilling into Joey's. "No more."
Great-Aunt Morna chuckles, the sound rough as highland granite. "I may be old, but my eyes are sharp as an eagle's and my legs swift as a deer's. Don't think ye can outrun me, lad."
Joey nods solemnly. "Wouldn't dream of it, ma'am."
I rush to Joey's side before anyone can change their mind, my heart pounding with excitement. "I'll show you the garden first. It's particularly lovely this time of year."
Joey's lips quirk into that half-smile that makes my stomach flutter. "Lead the way."
As promised, Great-Aunt Morna follows us at precisely three paces, her keen eyes missing nothing. I can feel Father watching us from the doorway of the great hall, his gaze burning into my back until we round the corner of the castle wall.
"So," Joey whispers, leaning closer than is strictly proper, "that was intense. Your mom is... fierce."
I laugh softly. "Aye, she's always been my champion. Father may be laird, but Mother is the true power at Dùndubhan."
"Remind me never to cross her," Joey says, his voice low enough that Morna can't hear.
"Morna is protective, that's all. I am the only child Dùndubhan has seen since my father became laird."
The morning air is crisp against my skin as we walk along the stone path toward the garden. Joey matches his stride to mine, his fingers occasionally brushing against my hand---accidental touches that send sparks racing up my arm. Each time it happens, I hear Great-Aunt Morna clear her throat pointedly.
"So, what's the story with the garden?" Joey asks. "Magical herbs and potions? Secret portals to other dimensions?"
I laugh despite myself. "Not everything in the Highlands is enchanted. Sometimes a garden is merely...a garden."