All The Time You Need (11 page)

“It’s wash day,” Lissa informed her, shuddering in feigned horror as she said the words. “Yer being here is my permission for not helping with that particular chore today, so I am in yer debt. You have my undying thanks for that favor.”

“Permission?” Annie envisioned the mounds of clean clothes shoved into the farthest recesses of her closet back home, all of them with their permanent wrinkles as a result of her pulling them from the dryer and leaving them wadded up in plastic laundry baskets to cool, one basket stacked on top of another. There were few tasks she liked less than folding clothes. “I take it you don’t care for wash day.”

“I detest it,” Lissa confided in a low voice. “Make no mistake, my friend. I have no aversion to hard work. I’ll clean or help in the kitchens, or even work in the gardens for hours on end without complaint. But beating those damned wet blankets leaves me sore for days.”

Annie nodded slowly, the reality of the world she’d come to sinking in. There would be no baskets of clothes pulled out of a warm dryer waiting to be folded. No washing machines or dryers either, for that matter. No easy-use appliances of any kind. Everything here would be a chore. Not in the sense of her having chores to do at home, but in the sense of an actual, honest-to-goodness
chore.
Cleaning would be a pain. And cooking? No microwaves, no refrigerators, no coffeepots. No coffee!
On the heels of the horror that realization brought, curiosity blossomed.

How did they manage to do all the things that she relied on modern technology to do for her?

“Do you think it might be possible for me to see where you cook your meals? I’d really like to know how food is prepared here.”

“You mean how food is prepared
now,
do you no’? How it’s prepared in our time.” Lissa’s smile bordered on a knowing smirk. “I listened to my grandda’s stories well, Annie Shaw. He always said that anyone the Fae sent into his arbor would come there from another time. He never doubted that, and neither do I.”

It was small comfort to Annie that the one person here who believed her story about having walked into the arbor under her own power, in a completely different century, also believed in Faeries. But, considering the fact that she was stuck seven-hundred years out of her own time, who was she to question the existence of Faeries? Come to think on it, she’d take what little comfort she could get without reservation of any kind.

“Yes,” she answered, forcing a smile to her lips in spite of her situation. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Lovely,” Lissa breathed, slipping her hand into Annie’s and pulling her forward. “To the kitchens it is. With mealtime approaching, it should be fair on busy in there, so you’ll have the opportunity to see how they do most things. And, to be honest, our visit will fit nicely with the one chore I canna shirk today. It’s my responsibility to take a tray up to my father’s chamber before we gather for our midday meal.”

When they reached the back of the keep and passed through the big door into the kitchen, a wave of stifling heat buffeted Annie. The scene confronting them was much more than what she’d expected from Lissa’s description of
fair on busy
.
Pandemonium
was the first word that came to mind.

A moment or two of watching and it became clear that a better description would be
controlled pandemonium.
Women and young girls dashed about from one side of the room to the other, avoiding one another only through the intricate steps acquired through years of practice. Huge pots bubbled as they hung over a fire in what had to be the largest fireplace Annie had ever seen. Easily she could have stood upright in it. A whole family could have stood upright in it, all at the same time, shoulder to shoulder, with room left over.

“About time you got here,” a large, red-cheeked woman called out, obviously speaking to Lissa. “Yer da’s tray is on the table, ready and waiting.”

“For all that piddling bit is worth,” another said, shaking her head.

“Last time I spoke to the laird, Marjorie, you and I were but cooks,” the first said firmly. “When someone names you healer, then you can upset poor Lissa by speaking yer thoughts upon the auld laird’s menu. Until such time, keep yer teeth together and tend to yer pots, aye?”

“Aye, Cook. You have the right of it. My apologies, Mistress Lissa. I’d no intent to offend.”

“Doona fash yerself over it, Marjorie,” Lissa said, flashing one of her genuine smiles in the woman’s direction. “I canna say the feelings I hold on the matter differ greatly from yers. But Aiden scoured Inverness to find Master Montague, and Morgan paid the man highly to see to Da’s healing, so best we all do as he tells us.”

Aiden?
The name jumped out at Annie as if someone had slapped her. Could it be that she’d found her grandmother’s Aiden? If so, could he be the reason she was here? And maybe, if he was, he’d be able to help her find her way back home.

“Who is Aiden?” she asked, unable to keep the question to herself any longer.

It was ridiculous to think her grandmother’s mystery lover would be here in this far-flung world in which she’d found herself, but he was the only Aiden she’d encountered since Syrie had shared the name with her.

“Aiden is my brother.” Lissa peeked under the cloth covering the food set aside for her father, and her face scrunched up in apparent disgust before she lifted the tray. “More specifically, he’s next to the youngest of my four brothers,” she added. “A burden for any lass, having four brothers, all of them thinking they can tell me what to do and when to do it, though three of them are younger than me. Here, would you carry the pitcher of wine for me? I’ll confess that I’ve been known to spill a drop or two in trying to balance it all upon the tray as I take the stairs.”

Annie accepted the pitcher, recoiling a bit when the fumes of the wine wafted up her nose. More of the vinegar-scented beverage they called wine. These people needed to learn the value of drinking just plain old water. On second thought, if she remembered her history correctly, water in this day and age was likely as bad in some places as Alex had indicated when she’d asked for it earlier. Considering that, she amended her judgment on what these people needed. They needed to learn the value of drinking plain old
boiled
water.

“Alex, who you’ve already met, is the eldest,” Lissa continued as she wound her way up the narrow stone stairs. “Which is why leadership of the clan fell to him with our father’s decline. Morgan is next in line, followed by Aiden and then Cullen. It fell to Morgan to deal with Da’s illness until Alex returned home from Edinburgh. I ken that he did the best he could, what with worrying over the Gordons just waiting and watching for an opportunity to attack. But I can tell you for sure, I’ve no love for the man he chose to care for Da, nor for his methods, no matter how modern he claims they may be.”

“And where do you fall in that lineup?”

“Right at the beginning. Alex and I are twins. Can you no’ see the resemblance?” Lissa chuckled, balancing the tray as she turned a corner. “No need to question yer own eyes, my friend. I doubt there’s ever been two twins who are less alike than my brother and me. Right down this way.”

Following along, Annie pressed her lips together, her mind filled with the things she’d just learned. Chief among them was that the inhabitants of this castle were fearful of imminent attack by the Gordon clan. How perfect would that be? The only thing she didn’t regret leaving behind in her own time was her upcoming marriage to a Gordon. And now, in this time, she could well find herself right in the middle of a war with people who were probably his ancestors.

Her time to consider such things came to an abrupt end when Lissa pushed open the door to her father’s chamber. The coppery stench of old blood stung Annie’s nose and threatened to gag her before she’d managed more than a single footstep into the room. Inside, a man stood next to a large bed, obviously intent upon murdering the old man who lay there. With a knife in one hand, he pulled out the old man’s arm and sliced into him.

As blood spurted from the wound, Annie didn’t stop to question what was going on, she simply reacted. No matter who this attacker was, she had no intention of allowing him to harm a helpless old man.

She dashed across the room to slam into the attacker’s body, knocking him to the floor as the wine she carried sloshed over both of them.

“Get help!” she called out to Lissa, placing herself between her opponent and the man in the bed. “Don’t you even think of coming any closer,” she warned. “I’ve taken self-defense classes and I can promise you, you’ll be sorry if you do.”

Extended in front of her she held the only weapon at her disposal, a now half-empty pitcher of wine. It might not be lethal force, but it was heavy enough to at least slow down the lunatic lying on the floor in front of her. She wrapped both hands around the handle and bent her knees slightly, rocking from side to side. If she could manage to look like she knew how to defend herself and inflict damage on an opponent, it might not matter that she didn’t actually know how to do any of that. She only needed to fool him for a few minutes. Just until help arrived.

“Who is this great cow?” the man on the floor demanded indignantly. “Why have you allowed her in here? How am I to work under conditions such as these?”

To Annie’s surprise, Lissa rushed to the assistance of the man on the floor as, from the bed behind her, a throaty, wheezy sound floated to Annie’s ears. In her adrenaline-fueled panic, it took a moment to realize the patient was chuckling. She turned to check on the man in the bed, fitting her hand into his to tuck his arm back under the covers. His eyes fluttered open, deep brown pools, sunken in his face, overwhelmed by his pale skin.

“Good,” he whispered, his hand weakly clutching around her fingers before his eyes closed and his hand went limp once again.

“Get her out of here!” the attacker shouted, shaking a fist in her direction as Lissa inserted herself between them. “I canna work under threat of such violence, plagued by the attacks of a woman who’s clearly brainsick! I willna work under such conditions!”

“Work?” Annie asked, hardly able to believe he’d had the audacity to make such a claim. “Torturing some poor old man? Slicing him open like a piece of meat in this filthy room? You call that work?”

“Out!” the man screamed, and Lissa tugged on her arm, pulling her away from the bed and out the door, offering repeated apologies to the man until the door shut behind them.

“It’s no’ what you think, Annie. That man is Master Montague,” Lissa whispered once she’d closed the door. “The man my brothers hired to see to our father’s healing. Pray he doesn’t take offense and leave. There are no others within many days’ ride.”

“We can only hope for small miracles,” Annie muttered under her breath, glancing back at the closed door, the gory scene of what was likely happening in that room at this very minute playing through her imagination as she started down the stairs behind Lissa.

Someone had to do something about that crazy butcher and what he was doing or that poor old man was doomed.

Someone? What was she thinking? Apparently the only someone who saw an issue with what the so-called healer was doing was her.

“So be it,” she said, determined to put a stop to the practice before it was too late.

* * *

“What say you? Does she speak the truth or no’?”

Alex awaited a response from each of his friends, both of them men he trusted more than any he’d ever known. After all they’d been through together, he had no doubt they’d be honest in their opinions.

“In spite of my reservations about the woman, she shows no signs of lying to us. Even Dog goes to her with nary a rise of his hackles.” Finn scratched the neck of the big animal sitting at his side. “But I canna discount the danger of being too gullible, too soon. I canna yet bring myself to accept the whole of her claim.”

“And you?” Alex turned his attention to his other friend.

“I agree with Finn. Mostly.” Jamesy grinned, dropping his gaze to his boots as if carefully choosing the words he would say next.

“Out with it,” Alex demanded. “Whatever is on yer mind, it’s best we have it out in the open air rather than showing up to bite us in the arse later on.”

Jamesy nodded, all humor gone when he looked up. “We should give some consideration to the claim that underlies her story. Everything about her is fair strange. Strange enough, I’d say, that there could be some truth in what she says about where she came from. Yer own sister claims she was sent here by the Fae.”

Finn’s growl of disgust didn’t seem to faze Jamesy at all.

“Say what you will, but we’ve all seen things that no man can explain or hope to understand without a nod to the otherworld. My own sister has wed a man who claims to be related to the auld gods. You saw for yerselves the odd things the wife of the MacGahan laird did. You heard for yerselves the stories as to where—and when—she came from. And you ken as well as I do what my sister’s husband told us about Syrie and the magic hanging over our own heads as a result of his argument with a woman who proclaimed herself to actually be a Faerie. No one at Castle MacGahan who knows the woman has a single doubt about her ties to the Fae.”

“We agreed not to speak on this,” Finn reminded. “We agreed to regard it as no more than fancy run amok.”