She inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp, salt air. I’m at Dunnottar, she thought, her amazement in no way diminished by twenty-four consecutive hours in the keep. She’d seen pictures of it, and one in particular had been etched into her memory, a black-and-white shot in which the enormous bluff towered up from the misty sea. It had looked a gothic, romantic place, and more than once Lisa had dreamed of someday going to Scotland to see it. She knew from the photo that the bluff was surrounded by ocean on three sides, connected to the mainland by a land bridge that she surmised was behind the keep. She knew also that Dunnottar had been taken by the English repeatedly, then reclaimed by the Scots, and that the Bruce had developed the habit of burning down every Scottish castle he reclaimed to prevent the English from taking it again.
Lisa had studied this period of history, snatching time to read on the shuttle bus, and had mourned the loss of so many glorious castles, but she conceded that the Bruce had been smart to do what he’d done. The Scots had built cleverly defensible castles; when the English took them, their men became nearly invincible. By destroying the stone keeps, the Bruce forced the battles led by Edward II to build their own fortresses, which were not nearly as defensible. While the English wasted an immense amount of time and resources building their own strongholds in Scotland, the Bruce gained time to replenish his forces and rouse the country.
This is 1314 Scotland! Lisa marveled. There would be a decisive battle at Bannockburn only a few months away, in which the Bruce resoundingly defeated England, finally turning the war in Scotland’s favor.
A sharp knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Rising quickly, she tripped over the hem of her gown. At least this one fit her, she thought, but it certainly was uncomfortable. She suspected that part of Circenn’s desire to see her properly attired was because she wouldn’t be able to climb walls in such clothing. “Coming,” she said, snatching a wad of the fabric in her hand. She raised it from the floor, crossed the room, and opened the door.
A man clad in a plaid of gray and cobalt stood in the doorway. His muscular arms were brown and bare, and he had the highly developed musculature of a dancer. There wasn’t one ounce of flesh on his body that wasn’t necessary. His dark hair was loose around his face and brushed his shoulders. He wore a braid at each temple, and when he grinned he flashed straight white teeth, although his nose looked as if it had been broken a time or two. His alert, mischievous dark eyes studied her, and his sensual mouth curved appreciatively.
“I am Duncan Douglas, lass. Circenn asked me to teach you a bit about our time so you might fit in.” His gaze traveled the length of her body. “I see they found a gown that fits you. You look lovely, lass.”
“Come in,” Lisa said, feeling a bit short of breath. While Duncan didn’t compare to Circenn Brodie, she knew a dozen women in her time who would have gone absolutely nuts over him.
Duncan entered and glanced about the room. “By Dagda, it’s as tidy as all his chambers.” He snorted. “Doona you wish to mess things up in here a bit? Maybe nudge the tapestry so it hangs crooked? Invite spiders in, to weave great drooping cobwebs in the corners and collect dust? Assuming, of course, dust possessed the effrontery to gather in the laird of Brodie’s chambers. At times I suspect even the elements dare not cross him.” He walked to the perfectly covered bed with the neatly folded throws. Plunging his arms beneath the covers, he pushed them into a ball. “Wouldn’t you like to just rumple the bed a bit and defy his sense of order?”
Lisa begrudged a smile. It was reassuring to hear someone poke fun at the disciplined laird of Brodie. The neatness of the room had annoyed her. The bed had been so tightly tucked that she’d had to peel the blankets down to sleep in it last night. She’d left them in a tangle, but when she’d returned from descending the wall, it had been perfectly remade, daring her to sleep so wantonly again. “Yes,” she agreed.
“Aye,” he corrected. “Aye and nay and tup and doona.”
“I hardly think I will be using the word tup,” she said, embarrassed.
He looked her up and down. “Well, you should. You are a lovely lass, and if ever I met a man who needed to tup, it is Circenn Brodie.”
Lisa quickly masked her surprise. She’d perceived the laird as a man who would tup with great frequency. “It almost sounds as if you’re encouraging me. Don’t you wish to kill me too?”
Duncan snorted and, pushing the blankets into a comfortable pillow, dropped himself onto the bed. “Unlike Circenn and my brothers, I doona see everything in terms of plots and counterplots. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. I consider people innocent, unless proven guilty. Your appearance with the flask does not necessarily signify guilt. Besides, he said you handed the flask over to him when he asked for it.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “He said you stumbled upon it in a place that displays artifacts. You must be quite shocked by all of this.”