The Highlander's Time

ill.”
    “She's deep in her cups, Father.”
    “It makes nay difference, milord.”
    “Aye, but they are not to leave the Keep. I'll have Elspeth show them to a room they may use during their visit.” He turned on the heel of his boot. “We'll have nay more discussion on the Veil.”
    “What will you do with them? They have nay place to go.”
    Tired of the talk, Iaen switched direction, righted the bucket in the growing puddle, and then headed for the kitchen. He poked his head in to view the bustling room, and motioned for the elderly woman to join him. “Elspeth, if you would show the women to a room.”
    She wiped her hands on her apron. Smudges of flour, matching the streaks of white in her hair, marred her concerned face. Instead of having the kitchen maid, Alyce, take a fresh pitcher of hot tea to the table, she sent the young lass back to her spot at the work bench. “Their clothes, milord.” She came closer so the other kitchen staff couldnae eavesdrop. “You cannae have the lasses strolling around half-naked.”
    He confronted the new tangent with brooding resignation. Unbidden, he pictured the lot they would face beyond the border of Kincaid land. Raped afore the night was over. Starved to death afore the week was out. Leveling his hand on the doorframe, he slashed his gaze from his visitors to Father Thomas's worried countenance. “See they are clothed as best you can.”
    “At once, milord.” She bobbed a curtsy before carrying the pitcher to the table. Iaen reluctantly trailed behind her.
    “You didnae answer my query,” Father Thomas reminded.
    “They are welcome to stay in the Keep as my guests.” He raked a hand through his hair. “'Twould be in their best interest to learn our speech, our ways, as fast as they can. I donnae hold to the notion of witches and the Black Arts, but there are a few who live on Kincaid land who'd brand them handmaidens of the Devil because they donnae hold to our customs. If the clan turns against them, nay matter the reason, they will have to leave. I cannae have anarchy brew within my clan.”
    “I ken, milord. You neednae worry over them. They'll be quiet as church mice.”
    An angry scream split the air twain. Together they watched the blonde pitch a tantrum nay Highlander would allow their toddling to throw. Iaen plucked his dagger from his belt. It flew through the air to sink into the mantel with a thud. “You better tell them to shush her ere the entire clan comes to investigate her caterwauling.”
    Father Thomas nodded. He didn't need to order them, though. The brunette was already handling the shrieking blonde. “I'll make sure they're good.”
    “God help you, father.” He didn't even dodge the cup the blonde threw at him, for her aim was as off as it could get. Iaen chuckled at her meager attempt to hit him. He didnae doubt she was seeing two of him. Again, the brunette tried to assert her authority. A pang of pity welled in him when the blonde lashed out at what he assumed was her friend. Intervening, he gripped her fists and planted her arse in her chair. Looming over her, he held her to her place when she tried to fight him. “Tell her to stop or I'll spank her for her poor manners.”
    “Aye, milord.” Father Thomas first told the brunette who related it to the blonde.
    Iaen kept his gaze on the blonde throwing nasty glares at him. “Inform her, I will keep my promise if she has one more outburst.” They repeated the process. “Are we of an accord?”
    'Twas hard to make his point this way, but as he watched the blonde's eyes widen, he felt he'd attained his goal.
    “Aye,” the brunette responded for her friend.
    Ignoring her insult when she didnae use his title, he considered her again. She was a pretty thing with her long sable hair and dewy complexion. He took his time inspecting her from the top of her head to the tips of her unusual slippers. Aye, she was a temptation, too. Her breasts were barely a handful, and he could imagine his hands curling around her hips while he pounded her lithe body. “What is your name?” The simple question almost exhausted his knowledge of the court's language.
    She held her palm to her cheek. Her soft, warm, tear-drenched brown eyes locked with his. “Jenny.”
    “Are you hurt?”
    “No...nay.” She sniffed back tears.
    Amazed when she stiffened her spine and willed the wetness from her eyes, Iaen nodded. Aye, she was out of her element, and in pain, but she had grit. He couldnae