Ashlyn looked up from the parchment full of her notes when the yelling started.
Angus paused in mid-sentence. He’d been telling her the story of his parents’ marriage, how his mother had come to the Human Realm and met his father by accident.
So far, she’d been fascinated by the Fae, except she didn’t care for how they felt about humans—or those of mixed blood like Angus, Eoin and Fiona, as well as some other close cousins.
His poor mother had had to leave him with the MacLeods after his birth. He’d been with people who’d loved him, but the princess hadn’t been able to join them to live until he was almost ten years old. She’d missed out on years of his life, since she’d only been able to visit sporadically.
It made Ashlyn ache—the thought of a mother without her child. Especially a woman who was also away from her husband and they desperately loved each other. The hopeless romantic in her wanted to reject what’d happened.
The shouting got louder, and was multiple voices now. Males other than Eoin.
“What the heck?” she whispered, exchanging a look with Angus. She set the quill down, managing not to get ink on herself or her hands—a first, for sure. Learning to write with it had been a challenge.
Eoin had taught her how not to blot the ink, or have it drip and make her words illegible. He’d told her she had a neat hand, too.
She’d been in the eighteenth century for three weeks now, and had been his lover for most of that time. She shivered.
Ashlyn was falling hard for the laird and had been trying to talk herself out of it since those feelings started to surface. But then again, they’d been there since day one, if she was honest.
Eoin yelled again and there was a feminine response. They were too far away to make out specifics down the hall in Angus’ room, but the anger was clear.
Fiona.
“Oh no,” she whispered, pushing to her feet at the same time the old man stood from his rocker.
He went to the window instead of the door. “Good. They’re here.”
“Who?” Ashlyn followed and spotted several horses clustered together in the bailey.
“The MacDonalds.”
She did the math and gasped. “Eoin’s gonna kill you.”
Angus chuckled. “Nay. This needs ta be settled. He wouldna handle it.”
“He won’t let her marry him.” So he’d told her over and over again when she’d asked about the almost-argument she’d witnessed the day she’d arrived, and after several other Fiona-Eoin shouting matches she’d witnessed since coming to 1755.
“We will see abou’ tha’. My lassie loves tha lad. His surname shouldna keep them apart. He’s a fine, braw lad. Come, lass, we have a meetin’.” He lifted his elbow and she slipped her hand onto his forearm, trying not to fidget at his side.
Eoin had been so staunch about his sister not marrying the boy she’d fallen for through clandestine trysts—though he surely didn’t know how they’d spent time together. Her lover was obviously angry, but she hoped his grandfather could prevent someone from getting hurt, as well as settle the matter, as he’d said.
There’d been peace between Clan MacLeod and Clan MacDonald for more than a hundred years. Her laird was being stubborn.
The girl had told Ashlyn she hadn’t had sex with Kenneth, but the young couple had done some exploring of each other’s bodies. If her brother found out, he’d either force them to marry—if the boy hadn’t been a MacDonald—or kill him. Fiona was still technically a virgin, but Eoin wouldn’t care.
Not that Ashlyn was about to share with the class. Fiona loved Kenneth, and she was all for them being together. Hopefully Angus could be the voice of reason.
She winced when they made into the laird’s solar—the lovely sunny and warm room where Eoin took meetings when he didn’t want to share the privacy of his small ledger room.
He had a sword in his hand.
Jamie, his cousin and Clan Steward, stood next to him, his eyes darting all over, face pale.
Fiona was on her feet, arms and legs spread out as she stood in front of a young redheaded man.
Kenneth MacDonald, Ashlyn could only assume. Like most Highlanders, he was tall and broad, so the petite girl protecting him could’ve been laughable, but she was smart.
Her brother was dangerous with a sword in his hand; she’d seen it first hand when he’d sparred in the bailey.
The boy looked his age—he was only nineteen. He was clean shaven and handsome. Clad in kilt with dark red as the base color, he had a sword at his side. At least it wasn’t drawn.
There was a well-dressed, dark-haired man standing behind the boy, also in MacDonald plaid. He had a scroll in his hand and a scowl on his bearded face. His other palm was high in the air.
He’d probably just ordered the other two MacDonalds with them not to draw their swords, despite the fact the MacLeod laird was being aggressive. He had to be the Laird MacDonald, Kenneth’s father, Callum.
Both the other men were also dark-haired and flanked their laird, hands on the hilts of their claymores. One guy was even bigger than Eoin, and frowning so hard his bushy eyebrows formed a unibrow.
“What is this abou’?” Angus boomed. Despite his advanced age, the demand carried, and all eyes shot to him.
“Grandfa!” Fiona cried, but she didn’t move from her would-be betrothed.
“The MacDonalds—” Eoin started at the same time.
“Enough!” Angus yelled.
Ashlyn slipped from his arm and stood right inside the room. She didn’t really belong here, but Eoin’s eyes found hers and his expression softened, if only for a second. When he looked away, he was all angry laird/overprotective big brother again.
Fiona was in tears and the young man behind her looked torn. He obviously wanted to comfort her, but was wary of Eoin.
Smart guy.
At least Ashlyn could see he loved the sweet girl she’d come to adore in her time at Dunvegan.
“Eoin-lad, stand down.” This time, Angus’ voice was softer, but a command nonetheless.
The laird’s frown deepened. “Angus—”
“I invited Laird MacDonald an’ his heir ta discuss an alliance.”
Eoin growled, but he sheathed the sword. He still looked pissed as hell, and she wanted to go to him, but what was her place here?
She wasn’t his wife, so she shouldn’t be at his side. The truth singed her heart.
Callum MacDonald cleared his throat and stepped forward. “My steward prepared a marriage contract.” His brogue was thick, but somehow refined. He was an educated man, and it piqued her interest.
Angus crossed the room and accepted the parchment, rolling it open to scan it.
Fiona’s face lit up, which only made her brother glower more. She slid backwards and Kenneth entwined their fingers. The softness in her young expression—the hope and love for the boy beside her—made Ashlyn’s heart skip, but she was envious too.
She spared Eoin a glance, but he was watching the couple, disapproval stamped all over his face. Her tummy ached. She wanted him to look at her the way the boy was looking at his sister.
Kenneth’s expression was the same as Fiona’s, and Ashlyn tried to banish her jealousy.
She slid to Eoin’s side against her better judgment, and despite the tension in the room. “Eoin.”
His sapphire gaze met hers. “Ashlyn, lass.”
At least his handsome face had lost most of the anger—only when he looked at her. He was still seething, and his big frame had a slight tremor he was obviously holding in check. For now.
He didn’t reach for her, but Ashlyn couldn’t help herself. She grabbed his hand and pushed her fingers through his.
Eoin didn’t push her away—a good sign. He cradled her hand in his much larger one and pinned her to his side. Didn’t smile, but his chest heaved as if he’d taken a breath, and he squared his shoulders. “Thank ye,” he whispered, low enough for her ears only.
She’d been able to calm him. Good.
The young couple also still holding hands didn’t miss their interaction, and Fiona threw a grateful smile her way, which Ashlyn returned.
“This looks well enough ta me,” Angus announced. “Fair. Eoin-lad, take a look.”
Callum MacDonald gave a slight nod; his son quirked a half-smile and squeezed Fiona’s hand.
Eoin tugged free of Ashlyn’s grip and snatched the parchment so fast she feared he ripped it. He glared at his grandfather and sister, then all the MacDonalds. He grunted as he read, taking double the time his Angus had, before rolling the thing back up and placing it in the elderly man’s waiting hand. “I doona like it,” he grumbled.
His sister scowled.
Kenneth MacDonald cleared his throat, and all eyes landed on the young man.
Fiona gasped when her heart’s desire knelt before Eoin.
“Laird MacLeod,” the boy said. “I’d like ta call ye my brother. More than tha’, I shall make yer sister happy. I…I love her.” Sincere hazel eyes looked up at Ashlyn’s lover, despite Eoin’s hard expression.
She had an instant like of the kid. If she hadn’t been rooting for them before, she certainly was now. He had balls to fight for what he wanted.
Eoin glowered.
Ashlyn sucked in a breath. She grabbed his forearm and tugged. She had no business doing what she was about to, but she loved Fiona. Something declared the girl wasn’t the only MacLeod she loved, but she shoved it away. “Eoin,” she whispered when he didn’t look at her right away. She pulled harder.
He swung those blue eyes to hers, but didn’t speak.
“Can’t you see how badly they want this? How much they love each other? Angus can see it. Laird MacDonald can see it. Can you not?”
Eoin stared down at her. Silent. Stoic. But not frowning.
Is it good or bad?
Ashlyn held her breath and suspected she wasn’t the only one doing so in the room. The tension was so thick it was palpable.
Her lover’s Adam’s apple bobbed, then his gaze landed on his sister and the young man with his knees still to the stone. “Get up,” he barked.
The boy obeyed, but he didn’t hang his head. He met Eoin’s gaze dead on, which shot Ashlyn’s admiration of him up a few notches.
Fiona knows how to pick ‘em.
Eoin gently pulled out of her hold and stepped forward. He cupped his sister’s face and appeared to look deep into her eyes. “‘Tis what ye wan’, lassie?”
A tear slid down her cheek, but she nodded. “Aye,” the girl whispered. “More than anathin’.”
He released a gust of air, but to his credit, he no longer wore a scowl. Eoin gave a curt nod and rejoined Ashlyn. “Verra well. We’ll have a weddin’.”
A murmur of approval rippled through Angus and the MacDonalds.
Fiona screeched and pounced on Ashlyn. The girl wrapped her arms around her and squeezed almost too tight. “Thank ye, thank ye, thank ye,” she chanted.
She laughed and pulled away, gently grabbing the teen’s hands. “Thank your grandfather; he’s always been your champion, and your brother, sweetie.”
Eoin’s sister shook her head and leaned in. “‘Tis ye, Lady Ashlyn. Ye, and how my brother feels abou’ ye.” She planted a kiss on her cheek and flitted away.
Ashlyn flushed to her toes and tried to look anywhere but at Eoin. He was looking back at her with emotion in those blue eyes. She wanted to go to him, touch him, kiss him, but not with their audience.
Fiona was in Kenneth’s arms and the laird turned a glare on them, but neither of the newly betrothed was bothered—or seemed to notice anyone else in the room.
Stuff like that made a girl believe love could solve the world’s problems. She sighed and smiled, then called herself three kinds of stupid. Fiona was going to marry the man of her dreams, and she was going back to the future, leaving hers in 1755.
She startled.
Is Eoin the man of my dreams?
How could he be? He was born three hundred years before she was. They came from different worlds. Literally.
Her heart skipped and the answer she didn’t want to face echoed in the back of her mind.
She’d fallen in love with Eoin MacLeod, and as feared, it was hopeless. Ashlyn’s stomach fluttered and a lump formed in her throat. She blinked back tears.
Laird MacDonald demanded his attention, as did his brother-in-law-to-be, and at least he seemed friendlier than he had before. Eoin shook the older man’s hand, then Kenneth’s.
Fiona practically bounced at the kid’s side.
Angus was speaking in low tones to the other two MacDonalds and they all wore pleased expressions.
Sweat broke on Ashlyn’s brow. The walls seemed to be closing in on her, and she had to pant to breathe. Her head spun. The need to flee surfaced and overwhelmed.
No one would notice anyway, right?
She slipped from the room. Her vision blurred before she got halfway down the hall to the lady’s suite. Rooms she hadn’t spent much time in, since she’d been sleeping with Eoin.
Ashlyn shut the door with a slam she’d not intended and collapsed on top of the quilt his mother made. The sob rose up and took over, wracking her frame.
She stuck her face in the pillow to muffle the noise. Hugged a smaller, cylindrical, tasseled one to her chest so tight she couldn’t breathe. The navy blue corset bit into her sides, but she didn’t adjust her position.
Ashlyn was so happy for Fiona and Kenneth, but so sad for her and Eoin.
Of course, she’d known they were doomed. They couldn’t have a real relationship; she had to go home. But she loved him anyway.
What am I going to do?