"I'll be right down."
There was a pause before Dougal answered, "Aye me Laird, we'll await yer arrival."
Connor shut the door and turned to Mackenzie. She looked so beautiful with the firelight behind her, catching her curls in its glow. He rather liked seeing her with his plaid wrapped about her shoulders; the expanse of bare leg it afforded him was incredible. It was a shame to leave her. He bent his head to kiss her and his lips tingled from their kiss.
"I must go."
"Oh," Mackenzie looked down at her bare feet, her metallic aqua blue nail polish in "Skinny Jeans" still on from her pedicure with Jenna pre-time travel. Jenna had chosen a muted hot pink called "It's all about me," how typical Jenna.
"But I canna go yet," Connor's voice snapped her head up.
"Oh?" He smiled at the hopeful look on her face.
"Nay, I need..." he trailed off suggestively.
"Yes?" her voice was barely a whisper.
"This." Connor stripped her of his plaid in one smooth movement and began to pleat it around himself.
"Connor!" Mackenzie gasped, futilely covering herself with her hands.
He tried not to laugh at the stricken expression in her eyes. But he quickly turned serious, "Rest, now, you'll need it."
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"Tonight, you're mine" he breathed it against her parted lips before succumbing to one last, long, lingering kiss. Then he turned to walk out the door, leaving her with his fingers trailing along her cheek.
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The second the door clicked shut, Mackenzie let her breath out in a gust. She hadn't even realized that she'd been holding it. And she leaned against the cool wood. It felt rough against her naked back. She looked around the room, wondering if she'd have to wrap the sheet around her toga-style, or if there was something else in here that she could wear? She stepped over her ruined shift in disgust, and thought of returning to her room, wondering what awaited her there. She sighed and settled for the sheet, tucking it over one arm, and around her chest like a sarong. Mackenzie took a deep calming breath and opened the door to her room.
Luckily, no one was in her room, alive, or otherwise. It was apparent that her room had been cleaned as well. Her bed was freshly made, and there was even a fresh linen shift on top of the brocade cover. She hadn't really looked at the bed before; it was a huge wooden canopy bed with the duvet matching the canopy in a golden brocade. No one would ever know that there had been two dead bodies lying there just a few hours before.
Mackenzie mentally thanked Bronwyn, or whomever, for the clean shift and threw it on hurriedly, tossing Connor's sheet on the chair. Connor had said to get some rest, but she could see the pale light from the sunrise streaking through her window. Glancing at her watch she saw it was after five.
Ugh, she ran a hand across her face and wished for some coffee, or an energy drink, or some other form of caffeine.
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When Bronwyn knocked on the door, Mackenzie half expected to see Connor standing there. But she let Bronwyn in with a bright smile; she was, after all, the only person who hadn't looked at her with hate or anger.
"Good morning, my Lady. Have ye slept much? I heard about all the excitement last night."
A wry smile twisted Mackenzie's lips as she thought of Bronwyn's understatement
; excitement. Hah!
"Not much, Bronwyn, thank you for asking." She was determined to make friends with Bronwyn. She needed a friend.
"I'd imagine not, dearie. Here ye are; I had Cook make some scones and eggs for ye. We thought it best to introduce ye to our foods slowly. Tonight we'll serve haggis; it's not for the faint of heart." As she said this, she'd gone to the large trunk and pulled out a lavender gown with some more undergarments that looked bulky and uncomfortable.
Mackenzie sighed as she thought wistfully of jeans and a t-shirt. "Here we go, dearie, this one will look lovely on ye."
Mackenzie smiled at being called "dearie" by a girl her own age, if not younger. But she preferred it to "My Lady" by far.
This time, Mackenzie watched how Bronwyn laced up her stays, and wrapped a full skirt thingie around her waist.
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"What's the difference between what I'm wearing, stays is it? And a corset?"
Bronwyn's forehead creased, "I'm not sure what yer meanin' by 'corset,' my Lady. Is it that what the French are wearin' nowadays?"
"I guess so." She'd made a mistake in asking, but she wanted to know what they were called. Bronwyn didn't seem to have as many articles of clothing on; a simple dress to her ankles, and the unavoidable stays, plus an apron, with a cap the same color.
Hmm... must be the whole people dressing
according to their stations type of thing
. "And what is this?"
Mackenzie lifted part of the heavy puffy skirt.
"Yer petticoats, my Lady?" Bronwyn was giving her a look as if she were crazy.
"Ah, yes, of course. I'm sorry, it's just my father had new gowns made for my trip here, and I'm not used to such confining garments." Mackenzie lied with an aura of distraction, as if it didn't matter to her, hoping Bronwyn would let it drop.
"Well, yer father must have spent a pretty penny to have these dresses made for ye. I have never seen their equal in material or design." She fingered the fabric almost reverently.
"They must be the latest fashion from London."
Mackenzie had no idea, so she let Bronwyn assume what she wanted. This gown was a little more difficult to get on, and a little more uncomfortable than the grey wool gown from the night before. It had a bodice that laced in back and front, and the square neckline smooshed her breasts up under her chin. One deep breath and Mackenzie thought she might fall 104
"Oh my, these are quite lovely, my Lady, quite lovely."
Bronwyn's whispered statement was understandable to Mackenzie.
"Wow," she agreed.
Bronwyn straitened up and was all business again, "Let me plait your hair before I leave ye to yer morning meal. Oh, and the Laird asked me to see if there might be anything ye'll be needin'? Are there any foods ye'd like?"
"Do you have any coffee here?" It was a long shot, but she'd try anyways. Coffee had to have been exported from South America by now, right?
"Aye, m'Lady, I've got a small pot on yer tray here. With cream and sugar?" Bronwyn actually went over to the tray and poured the cup for Mackenzie.
"Oh, here I can do that. You don't have to serve me."
Mackenzie felt guilty for even asking.
"No trouble at all dearie, here we are."
Mackenzie took the beautiful teacup that reminded her of her grandmother's good china with a thank you, and inhaled the fragrance. It was much stronger than she was used to.
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Bronwyn told Mackenzie that the library was on the first floor, if she wanted, and that if she needed anything else, she would be in the Hall dusting. She then ducked her head and opened the door to leave.
"Wait, please don't go just yet!" Mackenzie called out to her, and bit her lip. She didn't know if this was proper protocol or not, but she really wanted the company. "Would you mind keeping me company for a while? I'm still a little confused as to my..." she wanted to say
role
but settled for
"position here. I mean, everyone must know who I am and how I got here, right?" At Bronwyn's wide-eyed nod, Mackenzie continued, "What am I supposed to do here?"
"My Lady, there are many books in the library, or I am sure I could find some needlepoint for ye if ye prefer..."
Bronwyn was unsure of what Mackenzie wanted, she could tell, but she didn't want to be alone just yet; the fear and panic might come back.
"Would it be alright if we just chatted? Talked, I mean."
"What would ye like to talk about my Lady?" Bronwyn still sounded unsure, but she came back into Mackenzie's room and sat in a chair by the fire.
Mackenzie sat across from her, and started, "Well, maybe you could tell me why everyone hates me so much."
Mackenzie looked down at her beautiful shoes as she asked.
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"Well, m'Lady, ye are engaged to the Campbell. That doesn't put ye in the good graces of many here."
It was exactly as Mackenzie had thought. "But I didn't choose him! It was an arranged marriage!"
"I ken that dearie, but not all of our people are as sympathetic." Bronwyn patted her knee. "The Campbell is a cruel mon who has brought nothing good to this land. Most feel that anything that the Campbell has touched should be destroyed. Ye are his betrothed, and he'll be wantin' ye back.
That means retaliation, and it means that a lot more of our men will die. The women doona like to think of their men dyin'. While the men are itchin' for a fight, they doona like the idea of defendin' ye...they'd rather kill ye along with the Campbell." At Mackenzie's strangled gasp, Bronwyn squeezed her hand and said, "Now doona fash yerself, dearie, the laird of this keep is a good mon, and he won't let any harm come to ye. He is an honorable mon." Mackenzie could hear the pride she took in that last phrase.
"Thank you for being straight with me, um I mean, I thank you for your honesty, Bronwyn," she amended. "I don't like feeling confused."
"Of course not, dearie. If 'tisn't too bold, might I ask ye a question?" At Mackenzie's nod, she continued, "They say that ye were reared abroad?" Bronwyn's question was timid, at 107
odds with her bold explanation of her clan's dislike for Mackenzie.
"Yes." She forced a smile, expecting her to ask about her accent, her strange behavior, her lack of seemingly common knowledge.
"Where have ye travelled?"
"I've been around Europe; Germany, France, Spain, Italy,"
she didn't even have to lie; she and Jenna had backpacked through Europe after high school. "And then more recently I've been living in America." A real smile touched her lips and she glanced at her new friend.
"Oh my, the Americas! Is it true that they are a savage place with a savage population of natives?"
Mackenzie laughed, "No, no more savage than you or your clan" Mackenzie quickly searched her mind for what she remembered from her American History class. How much to share? "It only seems uncivilized because it is different. New England and the East Coast are fairly similar to London, and people are constantly exploring towards the west. Eventually it will all become like what you know."
"Oh, well, mayhap one day I might travel to the Americas." Bronwyn stood and said, "If ye'll excuse me, m'Lady, I've chores that need to be done."
"Oh, of course, I didn't mean to keep you. And thank you, truly." She paused and called out, "Oh, wait, one more thing.
What does it say above the door downstairs?
"
As long as a MacRae is in, a Fraser will never be out
. It is from before the MacRaes came to Kintail. In return, the 108
Fraser stronghold states
As long as a Fraser lives within, let
not a MacRae remain without.
"
"Thank you." She pondered that and figured that the MacRaes and Frasers must be friends. Once again, she wished she knew more Scottish history.
Bronwyn nodded and bustled out the door.
Mackenzie finished her coffee and thought maybe she could go explore the castle, but the Fates had other plans.
She turned at the sound of something sliding under the door.
It was a piece of paper, no parchment, she corrected, as she turned it over in her hands.
She only hesitated an instant before sliding her finger under the intricate wax seal. A ring crest perhaps? Her eyes widened, then squinted as she tried to make out the fancy script:
My Dear Miss Stewart,
Please forgive your rude welcome to my country. The Highlands are a barbaric place full of a barbaric people. I myself am English and much more civilized. I hear that you are being treated well. If I hear that you are treated as anything less than the fiancee of a man of my position, then Connor MacRae shall pay dearly. Please give my regards to your captor. And as our wedding is still set for the end of the month, I intend to see you soon. And, my Lady, if you are not a maid upon return to me, you will pay for that insult. It would be a shame to kill such as you. I look forward to seeing you in person and seeing if the rumors of your beauty do you justice.
With Fond Regards,
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