Page 34 of The Story of his Highland Bride
She didn’t dare to look at Jackson, in case it shattered her resolve. She had to keep reminding herself that there wasn’t another option, and that he’d surely prefer her to be alive and well, hundreds of years away, than dead in his century. Even if it was going to hurt like crazy.
“There’s an auld goat like me who lives just outside Wishaw,” Old Joan said in a low voice. “When ye come to the crossroads for Falkernside, Wishaw, Castleton, and Longbeck, ye follow the path to Longbeck until ye come to a small bridge over a stream. Daenae take the road onward but turn left into the woods and follow the stream until ye come to her cottage. Irene is her name. Tell her Old Joan sent ye, though she’ll likely ken ye’re comin’. She always does. Anyway, she’s the only one still livin’ who can help ye, thanks to that beaky auld priest.” She crinkled her nose in disgust, stirring her pot with a renewed vengeance.
Jackson glanced around the dank dungeons, before looking back at Old Joan and whispering, “Is she a—”
“Witch, aye, but nae this devil-worshipin’ sort that the wretched priest seems to think is rife around here,” Old Joan interrupted, with the blunt tone of a woman who’d seen too much to ever be shocked. “She’s the old kind. The good kind. Just daenae go shoutin’ it aloud, else that priest might finally catch up to her. She’s been weaselin’ in and out of his net for years, and she’ll curse the both of ye if it’s because of ye she gets captured.”
Jackson pretended to lock his mouth. “We willnae breathe a word, so long as ye daenae.”
Old Joan cast him a withering look. “Do ye think that if I’d wanted to crow about there bein’ a strange lass in the castle, who’d been hoyed out of some stones by the Old Gods, the priest wouldn’ae have been clatterin’ at our door already? Och, what sort of gossipin’ magpie do ye take me for?” She tutted loudly, wagging her stirring spoon at him. “I’m ashamed of ye for thinkin’ me capable.”
“I was just makin’ certain,” Jackson insisted, running a hand through his untamed locks as though he truly felt bad for saying such a thing.
Old Joan snorted. “Well, be off with ye, and with any luck, I’ll nae see ye here again, Lass.” She gave Eloise a nod that wasn’t exactly unfeeling. “Nay offense to ye, Lass, but I’ll be hopin’ they spit out a lad or a lass who kens about healin’, the next time.”
“If I hadn’t had the last of my paracetamol, you could’ve had it,” Eloise replied, offering her hand to the healer.
Old Joan eyed the proffered hand, before reaching out to give it a vigorous shake. “I daenae ken what that is, but perhaps that’s for the best. I might nae be a witch meself, but I ken ye cannae go meddlin’ with time.”
“Thank you for all that you did for me. I won’t forget it. See, I might not be a doctor, but I can write, and I’ll make sure your legacy lives on,” Eloise promised, as the healer released her hand.
“Och, daenae bother with all that, just get back to where ye came from safely and soon,” Old Joan urged, in a softer tone. “I might nae be a gossip, but there are lasses in this castle who cannae keep their mouths shut. If the priest hasnae already heard about ye, he soon will, so… aye, get yer arse back to where ye came from and stay there. Nay offense to ye.”
Eloise dipped her head in a nod. “None taken.”
It’s really happening. I’m really going to go home.She’d thought she’d be elated by the prospect, raring to get back to luxuries and comforts and running water and proper toilets and her beloved laptop and TV shows and books, but Old Joan had made it all too real, and the truth was, Eloise wasn’t ready.
She’d started to like it at the castle, and not just because of Jackson and the earth-shattering things he could do with his tongue. Being around Lorraine reminded her of being a child, hanging out with her grandma on a Sunday afternoon. Then, there was Kaitlyn, who felt like more of a friend to Eloise than anyone back home. After all, no one had called afterher engagement fell apart, and no one had come round with chocolates and wine of commiseration, to let her rant about Peter to her heart’s content.
If there hadn’t been a threat of death hanging over her, Eloise had to wonder what she’d do. Would she choose to stay, even if it was just for a few months to begin with? Would she try and arrange a Persephone sort of deal with the stones, so she could spend a few months in 2016 and a few months in 1701?
Would that be possible?Her heart leaped with sudden hope. If the stones successfully sent her back to her time, maybe she could come back again, with era-appropriate clothes and no gadgets or gizmos on her that anyone could call witchy. Maybe, this didn’t have to be the end at all, just a brief departure while the storm of Father Hepburn blew over.
“We should hurry up,” she said, flashing a conspiratorial look at Jackson.
He frowned, almost wounded by her words, as he replied, “Aye, I suppose we must.”
Leading the way back out of the dungeons, Jackson took hold of her hand once they were out of sight of Old Joan. But it wasn’t until they reached the light and comfort of the main body of the castle that he finally spoke.
“Are ye really so eager to leave? I ken ye have to, and I cannae change it, but ye daenae need to sound so… keen.”
Eloise grinned. “I have a plan, or part of one, but it all rests on what this Irene woman has to say about the stones. I’d rather find out if we have a plan sooner rather than later.”
“A plan? What do ye mean?” His frown transformed into a tilted head of curiosity.
“I’ll explain it all after we’ve spoken with her,” she replied. “Now, how do we get there? Do I have to ride a horse, or can we walk? I’ve never been too fond of horses, and they’re never too fond of me. Have no idea why. Dogs love me, so I know it’s not all animals.”
He chuckled, scooping her into his arms and pressing her back against the nearest wall. “We’ll have to ride, Lass. It’s too far on foot, but I’ll make it comfortable for ye, I promise. I willnae have to throw ye over the saddle like I did before.”
“You didn’t?” She gaped at him.
“Nay, I dinnae, but I thought about it.” He dipped his head and kissed her, pushing his body against hers, rolling his hips with every undulation of their mouths. It didn’t seem to matter anymore if they were caught, or maybe Jackson didn’t care.
At least, that was what she hoped, but as footsteps echoed along the hallway, he pulled away from her sharply. As she stood, gasping to catch her breath, Lennox appeared. He’d changed in the days since the two men had returned from the village; he looked more ashen, with dark rings underneath his eyes where he hadn’t slept. Eloise had asked Jackson to tell her the details ofwhat had happened that night, but she suspected he’d left a few things out.
“Ye’re needed, M’Laird,” Lennox said, in a weary voice. “There’s skirmishin’ afoot in the north, nae far from the border. A rider just arrived, pleadin’ for aid. I’ve rallied a group of lads, but they’ll be wantin’ their Laird to lead them.” He paused, bowing his head to Eloise. “Sorry, Miss Eloise. I wouldn’ae steal him from ye if I dinnae have to. Wouldn’ae leave the castle at all, in truth.”
Eloise put on a smile, her heart still racing. “Don’t let me stop you. You boys do what you have to.” She glanced at Jackson. “Just make it back safely, okay?”
