It had been three long days and no word of Duncan and Cormac. She knew they would be gone for a few days, but she desperately missed him. It wasn’t as if he was packing a cell phone and could call and let her know they were fine. No, she had to wait patiently for any news.
She passed the time without anything to do, which caused her to become restless. No one would let her help with anything. Sienna was forever fussing over her, and Moira kept preparing meals with the help of the other women. She kept insisting she could be of assistance, but Moira would always shoo her away. Seeking out Matilda, she was informed by one of the men that she had gone foraging in the surrounding forest for herbs and such.
Looking in on the library proved just as frustrating, since most of the texts were in Latin. When she was about to tear her hair out, or worse—go to the stables and fetch a horse, one of the ladies gave her a sampler. It was part of a larger tapestry and the woman happily showed her some simple stitches. Brigid thought this would occupy her, except it was not going well at all.
The small bright light in her world the last few days had been Nell. She had followed her everywhere, and Brigid could not figure out if it was because she feared she would tell someone about her family of animals, or if she just wanted to be around her. It didn’t matter to Brigid which one it was, since she had grown very fond of Nell. As soon as Duncan returned, she would inquire into Nell’s story.
Casting her gaze back at her stitching, she knew she could not endure another moment with the panel. Turning to Nell, she asked, “Do you think we could go find something to eat? I don’t know about you, but I’m famished just doing all this work.”
Nell placed her panel on a chair and walked over to Brigid. She picked up Brigid’s panel studying the piece with an expert eye. “Och, Mistress Megan will not be happy with these stitches, Lady Brigid.” Then with a shrug of her shoulders, she tossed it back down. “She can finish the rest. I’m hungry, too.”
Brigid gathered up her mending, placing it on a large table. She went over and opened the door. “Saucy little girl,” she mumbled.
Nell had become braver in the past few days and somehow Brigid thought it was because the girl had a partner in crime to her thievery. Brigid had been taking more than her normal portions at each mealtime and giving them secretly to either Nell, or to Finn. He would grumble and roll his eyes, until Brigid had given him a glare one morning. From that moment on, he had been on his best behavior.
Stepping out of the chambers, Brigid waited for Nell and then suddenly asked, “Do you think you could show me around the castle before we eat?” The thought of exploring this medieval castle had been in her thoughts the past few days.
“Lady Brigid, this is a big castle.” Nell gestured with her arms outstretched.
Brigid bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Yes, I know, but I would just like to take a look around.”
Nell pursed her lips, a frown creasing her brow before replying, “I’ll take ye to a special place.”
Taking Brigid’s hand, she led her down the corridor. Instead of descending the stairs, she twisted left, going down a hallway lit dimly with torches. They continued on their exploration and the pathway became narrow in places, finally opening out.
Nell released Brigid’s hand. “It is the chambers where they keep some of the swords and other weapons.”
“Swords?” a shocked Brigid asked. “Nell, what made you think I would be interested in this room?”
A look of exasperation shown on her face and rolling her eyes, she replied, “Lady Brigid, ye have a
sword
in your chambers. I ken ye like them, so this was the first place ye would want to see.”
Smiling, Brigid said, “You truly amaze me, Nell. Let’s see what’s inside, shall we?”
Pushing open the door, Brigid stepped into the most spectacular room of weapons she had ever seen.
She had marveled at the swords all the men were carrying, and now she was in a room full of broadswords of various sizes. Shields hung against one side of the wall, and turning slowly, she saw several pieces of full chain mail, including helmets. Brigid reached out and gingerly touched the links on the mail and shuddered. This room was living history, and she was smack in the middle of it. It was positively freezing and a sliver of light came through a narrow window, casting an eerie effect on the weapons.
“Outstanding,” she whispered, moving from one item to the next, picking up a dirk along the way. The handle was made of wood depicting horses, its artistry breathtaking. This room spoke to her in a way that made her nerves sizzle.
“Are ye done touching the swords, Lady Brigid? I’m mighty hungry.” Nell was propped on a stool watching her.
Brigid sighed, “Yes, Nell. I’m ready.” Taking her hand, she squeezed it, saying, “Thank you for showing me this room. Perhaps one day we can come back.”
“Nae,
ye
can come back. ’Tis always too cold in here.”
“Yes, it is!” Blowing on her hands and rubbing them fast to warm them, she gathered Nell’s and left the magnificent room of steel.
They made their way through the corridors to the kitchens, and came to a halt. Baskets and baskets of plums were on the working table and on the floor. Moira had her arms across her chest and her face was scarlet as if she had just finished yelling at someone. Nell started backing out, but Brigid clamped a hand on her back prodding her forward. Moira was still muttering in Gaelic when she saw them.
“Och, Lady Brigid, do not tell me ye want something to eat?” A look of horror swept across her features.
“Well, yes, we did.”
Moira slumped down on a stool.
“Moira, what’s the matter?” Brigid asked, placing a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder.
Her hands flew to the basket as she spoke. “He is not supposed to bring these here. ’Tis too early, and I have no help to start with the tarts.” Taking a floured hand across her brow, she added, “I just heard the men are returning home.” She then buried her head into her hands.
Brigid smiled, not fully understanding about the tarts, but happy Duncan was on his way back...safe.
“How soon, Moira?”
A groan escaped her lips. “By dawn.”
“Well, then, Nell and I will lend a hand.” Moira started to protest, but Brigid bent down and clasped both of her hands. “Please let me help, Moira. I would be honored to help you in your kitchens, and Nell will be by side at all times. She can lend a helping hand, too. Nothing would give me more joy at the moment, since you have been so very kind to me.”
Moira took a few moments to consider Brigid’s words. Nodding slowly, she lifted her head up. “There is much to do, and we might be here all night.”
Brigid smiled. “I think I’m up for the challenge, since I’m much better in the kitchen than I am with stitching panels.”
“Och, ’tis truth, Mistress Moira,” lamented Nell.
Moira laughed and squeezed Brigid’s hands in return. “Weel, let me get ye a smock, and we can start on these plums.”
Chapter 36
“You can only fool your heart for so long before it drags you back home by the balls.”
The silver gray light of dawn was waving its hand over the eastern sky as Duncan and Brandubh waited for the rest of the men to catch up with him. He had risen early, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. They had encountered not one person on their journey, but they had spied deserted camps and fires. He had cursed himself for not paying closer attention to the men he saw the same day he had come upon Brigid. All was lost to his vision once he saw her standing over that boulder.
He had hoped being apart from her would cool the fire burning in him, but nae. He could hardly wait to return, the anticipation evident in his loins. Again, he cursed himself for having touched her.
“By the hounds,” he muttered. “Bad enough I’ve been cursed, now I’m cursing myself, too.”
“Eager to return I see.” Cormac was now at his side.
Both horses snorted as puffs of white smoke billowed out of them in the early morning chill. Duncan did not want to engage in conversation and kept his gaze on Castle Creag, his body taut.
Cormac’s lips twisted and he shook his head. “Duncan my friend, best ye take her quickly and frequently, since I’m tiring of your foul humor when…”
For the second time, Cormac never saw the fist coming as the blow knocked his head back. Shaking his head and rubbing a gloved hand over his face, he squinted as Duncan rode off.
“Duncan Mackay, if ye do that one more time, I will personally ask the fae myself if I can take your sword and slay ye.”
The bloody bastard had to open up his mouth again, thought Duncan. If only he knew he had bedded her and not nearly enough. He rode Brandubh hard, whipping past pine branches as they smacked across his face, the sting adding to the vain attempt of controlling his raging emotions. The wind rushed past him, urging him to keep riding past Castle Creag, to go forth and never set eyes upon her again.
She was not his—
ever
! She would eventually return to her own time, and it would finally be over. It was only his lust confusing him.
Pulling hard on the reins, he brought Brandubh to a hard stop before they crossed over the bridge. “Argh,” he growled, horse and man breathing hard.
There was only one thing to do. Stay completely away from Brigid O’Neill.
He would bunk with the men in the hall, and take his meals in the kitchens. During the day, he would seek out Cathal and scour the surrounding hills. Yes, this is what he would do.
Strangely, his new plan did nothing to ease his mind.
Giving Brandubh a nudge with his thighs, he urged him slowly forward into the castle and to the bailey. He saw Finn and dismounted, giving the reins over to him. “Thank you, Finn. Tend him well.”
“I will Sir Duncan.”
His stomach growled as he sought out the kitchens, nodding to a passing guard. There was no need to clean up if he was not going into the great hall. The smell of baking tarts hit him as he rounded the long corridor to the kitchens. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the aroma. “Damson tarts.”
The plum and currant tarts were a favorite of his and he smiled inwardly knowing Moira had not only prepared them for the feast of Samhain, but for him, too. Samhain was fast approaching, but still over ten days out.
His stomach rumbled, and he quickened his pace.
Duncan’s heart slammed inside his chest at the vision before his eyes when he entered the kitchens. One of the tables was laden with many tarts, but it was the scene in the corner by the fire, which undid him. He leaned against the wall for support and gazed on the sight. Brigid was slumped in a chair, plum juice staining her hands and mouth. In her lap curled up against her was Nell, both of whom were sound asleep. A slight snore escaped from Brigid, causing Duncan to smile.
The scene of hearth and home pulled at every emotion in his being and an ache akin to a lodestone gripped his heart, reminding him of what he could not possess. He pounded the stone behind him with the back of his head as he gazed up. “Why do ye gods punish me so?”
Perhaps, they were showing him what he had taken from Margaret.
A sob from Nell brought Duncan out of his current thoughts, and he cautiously moved to where she lay. Brushing a feather light kiss on Brigid’s head, he lifted Nell ever so gently out from her lap. Positioning her against his chest, another sob came forth. Duncan whispered soothing words in Gaelic as he took her out of the kitchens to her room.
All thoughts of food had banished.
****
Brigid’s dream was again of Duncan, and when she woke, the air was filled with his scent. A sudden fear gripped her when she noticed Nell was no longer on her lap. Thinking he probably took her to her chambers, she relaxed.
Her body ached from peeling, chopping, and rolling out so many tarts. She had tried sending Nell off to bed, but the girl wouldn’t listen and Brigid just did not have the heart to scold and send her off. Moira’s heart had softened toward her so much so, that she pulled out a plaid and placed it by the fire for Nell to lay when she observed the slump in her shoulders and the countless yawns.
Stretching and rubbing the small of her back, she got up slowly and folded the plaid, placing it on the chair. “What I need is some black coffee and a shower.” She stifled a yawn, deciding a partial bath would have to be sufficient.
Looking at all the tarts, she smiled, “Not bad for an evening.”
Strolling out of the kitchens, she almost collided with a woman holding a basket in her arms. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you coming.” Brigid moved back into the kitchens to let her pass.
“Och, ’tis fine, miss.” She moved as if to set her basket down on the table and saw all of the tarts.
“Here, let me help you.” Brigid moved some to another smaller table. “I don’t recall meeting you.”
The woman placed her basket of peas on the table. “I dinnae stay in the castle. I have a cottage not far from here. If ye dinnae mind me saying, ye sound verra much like the English.”
Brigid thought she was very pretty. Dark curls framed her face, falling down below her waist. She was petite, compared to her. She often thought of herself as a large horse stomping through and longed to be small like the woman in front of her. She tossed her head, wondering where those thoughts came from.
“Well, I’m not. I come from a land farther than England.”
The girls’ eyes widened. “Do ye? Does this land have a name?”
Brigid surmised there would be no harm in telling, since her land would not be discovered for many centuries, but maybe it would be best to say Ireland. No, can’t say that. It’s called Eire. Should I give her my last name? “Oh, do stop thinking so much.” She muttered under her breath.
“Pardon, miss?”
Shaking her head, Brigid replied, “Nothing. I come from Eirinn. My name is Brigid.”
“Oh.” The woman pursed her lips and gave her a curious look. “It is only across the water.” She glanced at all the tarts. “Tell Moira I’ll return before Samhain with more, and mushrooms, too.” A small tinkling of laughter spilled out from her before she added, “I see Moira is making tarts not only for the feast day, but for Duncan, too. If ye see Duncan, tell him to bring me a tart. I’ll be waiting.”