The Highlander's Time

Clan Kincaid.
    “Be ready before the bells toll,” he said before he closed the door behind him.
    Left with no options, Jenny gathered her chemise and her gown. She dropped the blanket she'd wrapped around her body, and tugged on her chemise. “This is stupid,” she mumbled under her breath. “Leave the Keep in the dead of winter? Who the hell do you think you are?”
    She had her answer as soon as the words left her mouth.
    Iaen was Laird.
    The ultimate authority in the clan. He judged conflicts between clansmen and negotiated settlements when the cause called for it. He was judge, jury and at times—executioner. He had the power to call for a man to be hanged by the neck until dead or flogged through the streets, which meant beaten by any man who had a whip, whether they knew how to wield it or not.
    She mopped her face with her hand. Her gown, clutched tightly in her fist fell onto the bed. Staring at it, the brilliant blue-colored cloth landed in a puddle and depressed her more. It wasn't so much the color but the acknowledgment she was at his mercy.
    Iaen controlled this slice of the world because he lorded over the land. Not only authoritatively but an extension of his people—his clan.
    She didn't even understand the basics of the clan but a point was apparent, she was in the pits of a frigid nightmare. Yeah, she was learning the language and how to dress, but the mentality, that bullish stubborn attitude, kept her on her toes.
    As if fate was trying to prove her point, the wind howled outside the animal skin shrouded arrow slit.
    Grabbing the gown from the bed and clutching it close to her chest, Jenny hugged her garb. She longed for some warmth to thaw her fear. She stared at the fire willing the dying flames to warm her.
    Holding her left hand out to the embers, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she was in the dire straits.
    No, she wasn't. She was confused. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she reviewed her time in the past. Stuck here, she had to adapt, or at least that was what Father Thomas told her. So far, she hadn't done too badly. She was jumping to conclusions in certain instances, but that was natural. As Lila's personal assistant, she concluded exactly what would happen so she could counteract it later.
    Truthfully, she had to get over the twenty-first century and get into this time.
    That involved getting along with Iaen. Especially since she couldn't expect him to act like a modern guy. Part of the problem with what happened this morning was she had expected him to act like one of Lila's conquests.
    All of those guys paled in comparison to Iaen.
    Get it together .
    A knock on the door shattered her thoughts. “Come in,” she called.
    “Good morn, milady. Milord requested I help you pack. 'Tis wonderful he's taking you to the border.”
    “Do you know why?” Feeling her cheeks flame with a blush, Jenny hid her embarrassment by donning her gown. She busied herself with tightening the laces.
    “Milord always goes there this time of the year.” Elspeth informed as she putzed around the room. She gathered the other two gowns in Jenny's wardrobe, plus her undergarments. “'Tis a tradition in his family as his sire did, too. Last year, milord returned with strings of fish, a fair amount of rabbits and a boar for the Christmastide table.”
    “You mean this is a hunting trip?”
    “Aye.” Elspeth didn't appear phased by Jenny's outraged gasp.
    “I am so screwed.”

    ***

    No matter her argument, or how she pleaded, Iaen wouldn't bend. She was going with him, end of story. He was nice enough to give her a crash course in horseback riding.
    Her filly was as docile as a house cat and she learned it would follow Iaen's stallion to the ends of the earth if given the opportunity. Iaen lifted her into the saddle, sending a flurry of electric shocks up her side. He adjusted her heavy cloak around her and made sure she gripped the reins correctly. “What's her name?”
    “She doesnae have one.”
    “What do you call her then?”
    “Horse.”
    That wouldn't do. If she was going to spend days on a horse's back, she had to call it something. “Can I name her?”
    “You may do with her what you wish.” Iaen gained his saddle. “She is yours.”
    “You can't be serious?”
    “Wife, when have you known me to jest?”
    Good point. She didn't even have to snap the reins or nudge the filly into a walk. The moment the stallion moved, so did her horse. “I think I'll name her