Love Came Just in Time (33 page)

Jane found herself with the distinct urge to use Ian's sword. On Ian. Apparently Ian could see what she was thinking because he flinched visibly, then turned and gave his cousin another healthy shove.

“I've mended my ways.”

“When hell freezes over!” Jamie laughed.

“It fair did to get me here and I tell you, I've changed.”

“A last-minute bargain with Saint Peter?” Jamie asked in a conspiratorial whisper. “I can only imagine how the discourse proceeded. You always did have an excess of fair speech frothing from your head.”

“The difference between you and me is,” Ian said tightly, “that I know when to cease babbling and you do not!”

“I never babble.”

“You do! That's what landed me in the Fergusson's dungeon, you babbling fool!”

“Fergusson?” Jane echoed. “What's this?”

“William Fergusson,” Jamie said, scowling at Ian. “Our bitterest enemy. Ian helped himself to Roberta's—”

“Never mind what I helped myself to,” Ian interrupted. He looked at Jane. “ 'Tis in the past.”

“But, Ian,” she said slowly. “I'm a—”

“It matters not.”

Jane found herself under Jamie's scrutiny again. She put her shoulders back. “My last name is Fergusson. I'm probably related to that William.”

“And you've more than made up for William's lack of hospitality,” Ian said, taking his sword away from her.

“Ian, I don't know...” Jamie began.

“Aye, generally you don't,” Ian said, then he firmly planted his fist in Jamie's face. “That's for the last time you babbled without thinking. Try not to do it again this time and foul up my future.”

Jane would have checked to see if Jamie planned to get up off the ground from where he'd been knocked, but she found that she was being dragged by the hand down the meadow toward the castle. She had to run to keep up with Ian's furious strides.

“Hey, slow down,” she panted.

Ian sighed and stopped. Then he stared off into the distance for several minutes while she caught her breath and he apparently worked every tangle possible out of his hair. At least that's what she thought he was doing, dragging his hands through it that way. Then he cleared his throat.

“I should likely tell you,” he said, looking down, “of why I found myself in that dungeon.”

She shook her head. “I'm getting pieces of it, and I don't know that I want to know any more.”

“Jamie will tell you if I do not.” He sighed again and looked heavenward. “I robbed a woman of her virtue.”

Jane felt a chill come over her. “Forcefully?”

Ian looked so shocked, she immediately relaxed. “Saints, nay,” he said, with feeling. “I did it cheerfully, for it made her father's life very difficult, but I wouldn't have done it had she not been willing.” He smiled a little smile. “Willing is perhaps not a strong enough word. She knew who she stood to wed with and I daresay she considered me a more pleasant prospect for her deflowering.”

“Was she very beautiful?” Jane asked wistfully.

Ian laughed. “Saints, nay. She was passing unpleasant, both of face and humor. And she threatened to unman me should I not do my work well.”

“I take it you did your work well.”

“Well enough,” he said briskly. He looked very uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Now, must we discuss this further?”

She shrugged. “You brought it up.”

“Aye, well, I did and I'm sorry for it. I daresay you don't want the details.”

“Don't I?”

“You do not.”

“Why not?”

“Because you and I . . . well . . .”

“Yes?”

“You and . . . er . . . I . . .”

From out of the blue an unexpected warmth began in her heart. Jane had the most ridiculous idea creep up on her that Ian might actually be talking about her and him. Together. As a . . . well . . . couple. She found herself beginning to smile. “Yes?”

He frowned at her. “The past is dead and buried—”

“Yeah, I'll say it is. About seven hundred years buried.”

“—and I'd prefer it stay that way,” he finished with a darker frown. “I've mended my ways, though Jamie will likely never let me forget them. One does not discuss his past lovers with his future ... er ...”

“Yes?” She could hardly believe she was indulging in this word game, because she could hardly believe he might truly be interested in her, but there was that warmth in her heart. And he was definitely frowning. That could mean any number of things, but still ...

Ian looked at her with narrowed eyes, then took her by the hand and pulled her along behind him to the castle. “I'm finished with this discourse.”

“I'll just bet you are,” she said, but she was very tempted to smile. His future what? Could he have been prepared to use the word
friend
?
Bride would have been the expression she would have chosen, but it was still early yet. Maybe she would spend a few more days with Ian and decide that she really didn't like him. Maybe she would decide that Scotland wasn't really the place for her and she would scurry back to New York and throw herself on Miss Witherspoon's mercy.

Or maybe she would take Ian up on his offer and stay in Scotland for a little while. Who knew what might happen if she did?

Two WEEKS LATER, Jane found herself sitting on a bench with her back against the castle wall waiting for Ian and Jamie to indulge in a little swordplay.

“And he clouted me in the nose!” Jamie was saying to his wife Elizabeth as they came onto the field. “Just reared back as casually as you please and took his fist to my sweet visage!”

Elizabeth only sighed lightly. “Yes, Jamie, we've heard all about it for the past two weeks. Go use Ian up in the lists to soothe yourself.”

“Never should have named my bairn after him,” Jamie grumbled, as he kissed his wife and walked away. “What possessed me to do the like?”

Jane had watched Ian's face when he'd first been introduced to his little cousin Ian, and watched the emotions that had crossed that face when he realized how he'd been honored. It had resulted in more backslapping with Jamie, but no apology for the condition of Jamie's nose. Jane suspected Ian was still suffering from very vivid memories of his time in the Fergusson's dungeon.

That she had begun to accept the time-travel story as fact had ceased to surprise her. Maybe it was the Scottish air. Maybe it was the countless walks and rides she'd been on with Ian where he spoke so easily of events in the past. It also could have been watching Jamie and Elizabeth together and hearing them talk so easily of events that they claimed had happened hundreds of years ago.

Or maybe it was just watching Ian, who was no slouch in the sword department, practice against the supposed former laird of the clan MacLeod, who was even less of a slouch when it came to swordplay.

“Ian's still getting his strength back.”

Jane looked at Elizabeth who had sat down on the bench next to her. Jane had come to like Jamie's wife in the short time she'd known her. Elizabeth somehow managed to keep equilibrium in her life despite a very strong-willed husband and a rambunctious toddler. She managed the two quite well, seemingly kept up a writing career, and remained a hopeless romantic all without breaking a sweat.

“I think that couple of months took more out of him than he wants to admit,” Elizabeth continued. “Especially to you.”

Jane paused, considered the far-fetchedness of that, then shook her head. “Ian couldn't care less about my opinion.”

Elizabeth looked at her so appraisingly that Jane felt herself begin to squirm.

“Well,” Jane began defensively, “he really couldn't.”

“I think,” Elizabeth said slowly, “that you give yourself too little credit. And you give Ian even less. He wouldn't lead you on. That makes him sound shallow, and that's the last thing I would call him.”

Jane felt her cheeks begin to burn and for the first time in a long time, she felt ashamed. “I know he's not shallow. I didn't mean that.”

“Then why don't you trust him to know his own heart?” Elizabeth asked with a gentle smile. “He's old enough to have figured out what he wants.”

“He hasn't seen what's available this century.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Well, he saw more than his share in the past, so don't feel too sorry for him. Ian was something of a—”

“Free spirit?”

“Lothario was more what I was going for,” Elizabeth said with a grin, “but how could he help himself? He was a MacLeod minus the grumbles. Women were always throwing themselves at him.”

“And he rarely resisted,” Jane finished.

“No cable TV,” Elizabeth said, as if that should have proven beyond doubt that there was little else to do besides give in. “And it was a hard life. Men died young. It wouldn't have made sense to them to refuse a willing woman.”

“Why didn't Ian ever marry?”

“Well, you were here and he was still there,” Elizabeth said slowly. “What else could he do?”

Jane leaned her head back against the cold stone. It was so very tempting to believe such a thing when one was surrounded by Scottish countryside. Almost anything seemed possible there. “Hope is a terrible thing,” she said with a sigh.

“I think Ian's gone way past hope. He was haggling with Jamie last night over his share of the MacLeod fortune, and that's no small sum.”

“Really,” Jane said.

Elizabeth nodded. “Jamie unloaded some family treasure he found in the fireplace. I think Ian wants to have a house built before winter. I suspect he doesn't intend to live there alone.”

“You're one of those happy ending kind of girls, aren't you?”

Elizabeth only laughed. “Guilty.” She smiled at Jane. “Don't you believe in fate?”

“Ian asked me the same thing.”

“Did you ever wonder why?”

Jane didn't know how to answer that, so she turned to watch the spectacle in front of her. She suspected that even once Ian got his complete strength back that he might still never be exactly the same kind of swordsman that Jamie was, though she had no doubts he could protect her quite nicely if the need arose. Ian was just, well, less intense than Jamie seemed to be. She couldn't see Jamie loitering by a fire with his feet up and a book in his hands while Elizabeth spun wool into thread. Then again, she couldn't imagine Elizabeth spinning, so maybe it was a good match there.

But she was a weaver herself.

And Ian enjoyed a hot fire and a good book.

“It's all true,” Jane said softly. She turned to Elizabeth. “Isn't it?”

“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth said, just as quietly. “All of it.”

“You lived in the fourteenth century and married Jamie there.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“And Ian was there, too.”

Elizabeth nodded again.

Jane rubbed her eyes. “The funny thing is, I'm starting to believe it's true, too. Not that I'd want to go back in time and see for myself,” she said quickly. “I'll opt for the cable TV, thanks.”

“And you know Ian isn't about to give up the possibility of more plane rides.”

Jane nodded, trying to put that thought out of her mind. If Ian had his way, they would be flying from one corner of the world to the other on a regular basis, just for the fun of it. She'd been heartily disappointed to find that Jamie had a private jet. Jane had the feeling that if she did intertwine her life with Ian's, she would be flying the friendly skies more often than she wanted to.

But if she had Ian's hand to hold, what was a little turbulence now and then?

She folded her arms over her chest, then looked down at the sweater she was wearing and felt herself smile. It was the most colorful of the sweaters in the local woolen shop and Ian had made her change into it the minute after he'd bought it for her. He'd also bought her a pair of boots for hiking and spent half an hour diligently threading her rainbow-colored shoelaces through the eyes.

If she hadn't love him before, she thought she just might have begun to then.

“Uh-oh,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head. “They're reverting to the native tongue for insults now. Once the Gaelic begins, it's all downhill from there.” She looked at Jane as she rose. “Going to stick it out?”

Jane nodded happily. “Wouldn't miss it.”

Elizabeth smiled a half smile. “It's easier to watch when you know it's just them keeping in shape, not them preparing for battle.”

She invited Jane to come in later for cookies, then walked back around the corner to the front door. Jane turned the thought of Ian going off into battle over in her head for a while as she watched him and Jamie go at each other with their swords. She'd spent ample time studying the two and had come to recognize when Jamie was pushing his cousin and when he wasn't. Ian had long since stripped off his shirt and his back was a patchwork of healing stripes.

It was a chilling sight.

“Bad ancestor,” she muttered under her breath, wishing she could give William Fergusson a piece of her mind. “Bad, bad, ancestor.”

But despite Jamie's well-rested self and Ian's back, Ian was indeed something amazing to watch. She had no doubts that every one of his boasts about his successes in battle was true. She was only relieved that she hadn't known him then to worry over him. Talk about turbulence!

And then talk about turbulence.