Page 47 of Katie's Highlander (Highland Protector 3)
“I wouldha had ye if no’ for that bitch!” Gerta screeched as she turned and lunged toward Katie.
Her intended yanked her back in place at his side, resettled his grip on her wrist, and solemnly bowed to Ramsay. “She’ll no’ trouble ye again, m’chief. May the goddesses bless ye with many fine sons, High Chieftain, and may evil ne’er darken yer door.”
“And may the goddesses bless ye all the rest of yer days,” Ramsay said. The poor man would need blessings. Gerta was sorely pissed. But it was for the best and she should be thankful that he’d placed her with someone big-hearted enough t’treat her kindly.
Ramsay turned to the crowd and stretched his hands toward the heavens. “Feast and enjoy this night, the last of our celebrations. Tomorrow, we set to refilling the larders and setting aside stores to keep us warm against the coming winter’s icy touch.”
The crowd roared in agreement and happily complied. The heart-lifting sound of pipes, fiddles, and drums filled the air, drowning out the sounds of the sea.
Ramsay took his seat beside Katie, scooped up the hand she had resting on the arm of the chair, and brought it to his lips. “Pleased?”
“I’ll be pleased when this last night of revelry ends and I can get back to my T-shirt and jeans. Will the goddesses snatch us up from here or do we have to go back to that abandoned croft? You know—kind of like athrough the stoneskind of deal?”
Ramsay’s hopes dropped to the pit of his stomach and dragged his heart down with them. All Katie cared about was getting back. She didna give a whit about anyone or anything other than the twenty-first century.
The old wound in the center of his chest, the wound that the greedy, money-grubbing ex-fiancée of his past had left in her wake, cracked open a bit and added its ache of dread to the already turbulent mix of emotions churning through him.
He didna answer Katie. Couldna trust himself t’speak. She’d said she loved him here. But would she love him more than her career, more than her friends, more than whatever life she’d lived and was so anxious to return to in modern times?
“Ramsay?” Katie squeezed his fingers and shook his hand to get his attention, leaning close, so close she’d be impossible to ignore.
“Aye?” He couldna bear t’look at her—lovelier than anything he’d e’er seen in the dress of a high chieftain’s wife.Lore, we need t’stay here.
“What’s wrong?” she asked softly, cupping his hand between hers and frowning as she studied him. “You really don’t want to go back—do you?” The way she said it sounded like a gentle accusation.
Ramsay leaned back in the chair and allowed his gaze to rake across the crowd, settling here and there on particular folk—extended family, men, women, and children of which he’d grown quite fond in the verra brief time they’d been there. He could do so much here. Help them. Lead them. He finally shifted his gaze to Katie. “Nay, lass. I willna lie. I dinna wish to return.”
“I understand,” she whispered as she released his hands and folded her own in her lap.
“Do ye? Truly?”
She released a deep sigh as she idly rubbed a thumb back and forth across the seam of her clasped hands. “I get it. This is where youbegan,your origin. You probably feel like you’ve finally come home.” Smoothing her hands down her lap, Katie looked out at the crowd milling about in front of them—eating and drinking, couples clapping their hands in time to the music. “This is your family,” she finished with a faint shrug. “I understand.”
“But ’tis not yer origin,” he observed softly.
With a sad smile, Katie shook her head. “No. Not mine.” She accepted a tankard of mead from one of the serving lads, a somber, thoughtful look shadowing her features as she watched him scurry away.
“It’s so hard here, Ramsay.” Brows drawn together, she turned and faced him. “Life,” she added. She took a sip and motioned toward the boy who had just given her the tankard. “Take that boy. Ten…maybe twelve years old. Already has to work—hard, backbreaking work. If he’s lucky, he might live to see his thirties.”
“There are no guarantees in any life,” Ramsay countered. “No matter the century.”
He had to make her understand, had to make her see. “ ’Tis true life is harder here without the inventions of the twenty-first century. But take a closer look, lass. Look at the people. Life is richer here. Appreciated. Not a moment is taken for granted.” If there’s one thing Ramsay had noted about the twenty-first century, especially in the Western world, it was that many had no idea just how good they had it. They’d become soft. Spoiled. Ungrateful. They frittered away their days.
Katie rose from her seat and returned her tankard to the small table between the chairs. “I think we’re just going to have to agree to disagree on this one. I want to go back, Ramsay, as soon as the goddesses are willing to send us.” She held out a hand and suddenly looked very weary. “I’m feasted out. Come on, I promised I’d scrub your back.”
“Beg pardon?”
“I owe you a bath for getting rid of Gerta—remember? Or would you rather stay here andfeast?”
Mood improving at Katie’s promise, Ramsay rose from his chair. “Lead the way, lass.”
Chapter 20
Her touch inflamed him. Even through the coolness of the damp, sudsy cloth she was languidly scrubbing in ever-widening circles across his back. He felt a bit guilty and more than a little aroused sitting on a low wooden stool enjoying Katie’s ministrations. But if she felt duty bound t’do so in keepin’ with her promise, who was he to argue?
They’d taken pity on the servants, already worn thin with a keep full of visiting clans and managing not one but two immense feasts in such a short span of time. Nary a one could be spared t’prepare the fine full-size bath on such short notice. Katie had forgotten that hot water couldna be obtained at the mere twist of a knob—especially not enough hot water t’fill her specially made bathtub. So, she’d offered a sponge bath instead and he’d gladly accepted. Like forbidden lovers, they’d snuck around Agnes and fetched their own buckets of water for their wash. Then they’d hied up the stairs like runaway thieves, laughing and speakin’ in whispers as they left a trail of sloshed water in their wake.Lore a’mighty—’twould fill m’heart to overflowin’ t’spend the rest of m’days like this.
“I love the scent of this gooey soap.” Katie rinsed out the cloth in the basin and reloaded it with another scoop of the white pasty substance from the small crock. “I wonder how Creada makes it? Flora mentioned soapwort root.” She moved around to stand in front of him. “Sit up straight. I’m soaping you on all sides before I rinse you.”
