Chapter Five

Once again Heather was berating herself over what had just happened in the study with that damn Scot.

“How could I have let my guard down so easily?”

With a sigh, she shoved a box of cereal and a few other items into the pantry. This thing between them was dangerous. She knew there was sizzle on both sides, she wasn’t a complete idiot. But after what just happened, maybe she was. She could not afford the luxury of getting involved with the man. She had to keep moving, she had to get to…wherever it was she had to get to.

She didn’t have a reason for why she moved all the time. Actually, the thought of staying in one place, of living in her own home sounded pretty good. But something always pushed her, a feeling, or maybe a faint memory, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was she had to move on.

And that meant no more kisses, or anything else, for that matter. He was too—too everything. If she were to pick qualities required to accept a man in her life, and that was one major if, Erin MacLean would fit the bill rather nicely. Well, other than that loony seventeenth century game he played.

She paused, her hand on the doorknob to the pantry, as she thought about it.

“All that chivalry stuff is a nice change, though.”

She took a deep breath and closed the pantry door. “Still, he isn’t on my agenda.”

With a firm nod, she continued putting away the rest of the groceries.

“You okay?” Burt asked.

She didn’t even look his way. If she did, she’d probably start blushing or something. “I’m fine. Just trying to figure out what to fix for lunch and then dinner.”

She could see him from the corner of her eye watching her and worrying. He didn’t deserve the life he was forced to lead, but then again, you didn’t get to pick your beginnings.

She remembered how hard it was to grow up in the orphanage. Not that it was a bad place. The people that worked there did the best they could, but it wasn’t a home. Not a real one, anyway.

The image of a group of small roughly built cottages nestled in a glen wafted across her mind’s eye.

“Home,” she whispered.

“Huh?” Burt grunted.

“Nothing.” She shook her head to dispel the image. It was all that blasted Scot’s fault. He was the one who put ideas like that into her head with all his old world talk and kisses that curled her toes.

She pulled down a cookbook from the shelf over the small desk in the corner to distract herself from thinking and remembering anything about Erin MacLean of the clan MacLean. “So, you up for meatloaf?” she asked idly.

“Not my favorite.”

She cast him a smile. “My cooking isn’t like the orphanage.”

He smiled. “If you say so, but I don’t think sawdust is part of the food pyramid.”

She laughed and waved him out of the room. “Oh, you little brat, get out of here. Go explore the den and that mega television in there.”

Chuckling, he crossed the kitchen to the fridge, snagged a can of soda, and with a resounding pop as he opened the can, disappeared into the massive den at the back of the house. Barely seconds had passed, when she heard him flipping through the long list of channels.

Shaking her head at how domestic, almost normal it all felt, she grabbed some soup cans and started lunch, then turned her mind to gathering the ingredients for meatloaf. Anything to keep her from thinking about the bizarre situation she found herself in.

****

Erin re-cradled the phone and thought long and hard on what his uncle had said. He’d explained about the bottle of water they’d given Adam and Deidra as a wedding gift, and how that had to be what brought Erin forward in time.

They also talked about his unexpected guests, which didn’t exactly anger Ian, but did make him pause. There was apparently an expensive alarm system that kept out intruders when they were away, so to hear that it had been circumvented by a wee lass had not been the best of news. But in the end, he’d managed to convince him that Heather and Burt were harmless.

Ian, however, could hear in Erin’s voice that there was more to how he felt about Heather. It was in the very mention of her name, so there wasn’t much use in hiding it. However, his uncle didn’t lecture him on his duty to the clan MacLean, or about not getting involved with a woman of the future. After all, he’d done the very thing with Aunt Jenny. He did tell him, however, to enjoy himself and let whatever was to happen, happen.

As Erin stared at the silent telephone, he couldn’t keep the nagging feeling that there was more to what his uncle was saying than the actual words. Having come to the future, to winter after leaving home in summer, gave him pause. It was how the traveling usually happened, he was told, but this new spring water they’d found behaved differently. The time where one went was chosen by the traveler.

So why had he come here in winter? Why not in summer, the season in which he left home? Why here? Why now? And what wasn’t Uncle Ian telling him? Had something happened at home since he left?

He shook his aching head. Of course something happened. Hundreds of years happened. In reality, from where he sat at present, his family and friends were gone, buried long ago. It was a sobering thought.

He sat forward in the massive leather chair, his mind spinning. And yet, when Ian and Jenny arrived with another bottle of magical water, he could travel back in time, and it would be as if he’d never left.

Ian did warn him not to think too hard of the past, nor to look at any books or papers about it, as it would weigh heavy on his heart, and anything he learned now might change history when he went back.

Rubbing his aching brow, he rose and went in search of Heather. If he was to enjoy his time here, she had to be a part of it, for even with all the wonders of the century, he found he was homesick and filled with worry over his family. Only she could dispel the painful images, ease his sad heart, and bring a much needed smile to his face. He ignored the warning reverberating in his brain that he should leave the lass alone, and descended the stairs.

His heart lifted merely at the prospect of seeing Heather’s beautiful face, until sounds coming from beyond the kitchen sent a jolt through his body. Sounds he did not think he would ever hear in this century.

The sound of battle.

With his claymore in the past, he hurried to the hearth and retrieved his uncle’s sword from where it hung above the fireplace, then ran to the kitchen, afraid of what he may find. Praying that his bonny Heather was not harmed.

“Holy crap!” she yelled, as he rushed through the doorway, nearly knocking her to the floor. “What the hell are you doing?”

He pulled her to his side, his sword raised as he searched the room for the intruders. “Quiet, woman. We doona want to draw their attention,” he whispered.

Moving slowly toward the battle near the back of the kitchen, his sword ready, his muscles taught, he pulled her along behind him. He couldn’t understand why she fought him in this. Did she not hear the cries? Did she not understand the danger?

“Their attention? What the—”

“Hush. We must be verra quiet so we can catch them unawares.”

She let out a huff and jerked her arm free. “The them is Burt. And if you so much as cut a hair on his head, I’ll be more than happy to smack some sense into you with my bat.”

He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “Are you daft, woman? ’Tis a battle, have you no ears?”

Then the noises suddenly changed, and Erin stilled. Who were they talking to and why did they care about being fat?

He turned his gaze to Heather standing behind him, her arms folded, and an exasperated smirk on her lovely lips, and he knew he’d made a mistake.

“’Tis no’ a battle, is it?”

She shook her head. “Worse, it’s television.”

He lowered the sword and dropped his chin to his chest as he rubbed his pounding head. He remembered his talks with Adam about future entertainment and felt more the fool. “I’ve no’ the stomach for this time. ’Tis maddening beyond belief. The sooner I return home, the better.”

Heather was stunned. Erin’s claims of being sheltered on an island in Scotland and living life as if it were hundreds of years ago couldn’t be ignored any longer. The man had been ready to kill to protect her, and with a sword, for crying out loud. A sword she thought had been just for decoration, but after seeing it up close and seeing him wield it, she knew it was very real. And so was Erin.

Her mind spun with the hurdles he had to overcome. He knew some things about the world, but he’d never experienced them firsthand.

Not even spaghetti, she thought, with a sigh.

Her situation was worse than ever. The man sent tingles down her spine with a grin, curled her toes with a kiss, and now touched her heart with his innocence. She really was in for some major trouble. Heart trouble. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

She rested her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft. “I’ve never had someone protect me that way.”

He shook his head and glanced at her. His gaze weary. “You didna need protection, lass.”

She grinned. “Still, it’s nice to know I have it.” Slipping her hand around his arm, she pulled him back to the living room. “Come on. Let’s put the sword back. I suspect it’s not only real, but an antique. We wouldn’t want to break your uncle’s sword.”

He didn’t speak, just let her guide him to the living room. Once in front of the fireplace, he returned the sword to its place above the mantel.

For a moment he stood and stared at their photo, and she wondered where his thoughts were, but was afraid to ask.

Deciding she needed to cheer him up, and maybe find him some aspirin, she eased up beside him. “They look like nice people,” she said.

“Aye. They are that. Aunt Jenny delivered my sister and me.” He glanced at her, a small smile on his lips and a little light in his eye. “We are twins, she and I.” He looked back to his godparents’ photo. “I doona know how we would have survived if no’ for her.”

“Wow, you mean you don’t even have like a hospital or anything? Isn’t that sort of overdoing it?”

He chuckled softly. “You would be surprised what we doona have, and yet there is much we do.”

“You mean family.”

“Aye. The clan MacLean is a close one. You know that if you’re e’er in need, there will be someone to aid you, to care for you.”

“You belong,” she whispered.

He turned to face her. “Aye. You belong to the clan, it is your family, your heritage.” He glanced at the photograph of the young man beside his aunt and uncle. “And your future.”

“Is that their son?”

He nodded. “Adam.”

“But there’s not a picture of your sister.”

He let out a long sigh. “Nay, and ’twill ne’er be.”

“Oh. No cameras allowed.”

He cocked his head a moment, then grinned at her. “Perhaps and perhaps no’.”

She smiled. “Do I sense a little deviousness in you, MacLean? Thinking of sneaking in a camera when you go home?”

“’Tis possible. Verra possible.”

They both laughed, lifting the mood.

“Now lass, will you show me the television? I feel ’tis no’ something I should miss before I return home.”

“I’d be happy to, and while we’re going through the kitchen, I think I might have something you will like.”

“Oh? Some more food from this time, mayhap?”

“I was thinking you could use a beer and maybe some aspirin,” she said, smiling as they walked into the kitchen.

She opened the fridge and pulled out the dark beer Mr. Jones had supplied them with. “I think if your uncle likes this brand, you will too.”

She took a bottle opener, popped the top, then handed it to him. He eyed it for a moment, examining the label, then took a swig.

Heather had seen men smile before, but this was totally mind-blowing. You would’ve thought she’d handed him the moon.

With a giggle, she said, “I take you like it.”

“Aye, lass. ’Tis a fine drink, and is good to have something that feels…”

“Like home?”

He shot her that broad smile again. “Aye. Home.”

“Good, and I’m thinking that maybe your headache is gone too. That you don’t need any aspirin.”

He shook his as he took another long draft. “I doona know what asp-ir-in is, but I doona have an ache in my head now. I thank you, sweeting.”

“I’m glad. Now, go in there,” she said, pointing to the den. “And let Burt show you the television. The soup will be ready in a few minutes, and you can have some lunch. I’m guessing you’re probably starving since you didn’t get any breakfast.”

As he moved to the door, she called after him, unable to contain her grin. “And don’t call me sweeting!”

He let out a guffaw as he disappeared into the den.

Erin knew Heather would be a balm for his spirit. She’d not laughed at his mistake but did all she could to make him feel better for it.

“Burt, my lad, you need to tell me of this,” he said, waving toward the television.

He’d nearly fallen over his own two feet when he’d spied the thing. The size of it made the story being told so real, he was tempted to cross the room and see for himself that the battle he was witnessing wasn’t in truth. He took a seat on the large leather lounge beside the boy.

“Tell you what?” the lad asked.

“What is this tale? Why are they at war?”

The lad gave him a look from the corner of his eye that spoke volumes. Any normal person of this time would know the story being told, apparently.

Burt took a swig from an unusual container Erin had not seen before. Another thing he would have to ask Heather about.

“You are definitely not from this planet,” Burt said.

“Lunch is ready,” Heather called from the kitchen.

He realized he would have to tell the boy the same tale he told Heather. So over the course of their meal, Erin explained his—situation, which prompted a slew of questions from the lad.

“So, like do you fight with swords and stuff? I mean, I guess you pretend to fight, right? But with the real stuff?” Burt asked excitedly.

Erin shook his head with a grin. “Aye, with the real stuff.”

“Cool! I’ve never been in a castle before, just in video games and junk. I can make it to level eight in War of Cantor, but I always get clobbered on the spiral stairs.”

“Uh, I see. Well, lad, mayhap you can show me this—game you play, and I can help you?”

“You think you could? I mean, if you’ve never played it’s probably gonna blow your mind, bro.”

Heather stood and gathered their empty bowls.

“Can you believe it?” he asked her. “He’s never played any video games. I mean…” He cast a look of chagrin to Erin, then turned back to Heather. “It’s like he lived under a rock. No video games, no pizza, no power drinks, no nothing.”

“Nay, lad. We have plenty, just no’ the same things you do. ’Tis a different way of life.”

“Yeah, I guess. At least you’d probably be ready for the aftermath.”

“What is this aftermath?” Erin asked, as they made their way into the den.

“He means end of the world type of stuff,” Heather said. “Say the planet has a global war and we’re all left to fend for ourselves. You’d be able to deal with it. You already know how to do without all this stuff.” She motioned around the room at the many unusual things.

Erin took a long draft of his ale. The concept of a global war was terrifying, but in a way, he supposed, it wasn’t all that different from the past. Although the wars had not encompassed everyone and all the land of the world, they had happened amid all that the people knew. So to them, it was global, as the lad said.

“I doona think I would care for such a thing, but I do know much aboot—aboot the old ways.”