A PAGE STRAIGHT FROM TRICIA MCGILL #apagestraightfrom

The Laird

by

Tricia McGill

It became apparent that most of those left behind were going to sleep in this hall. Most of the children already slept, huddled together in one corner like a litter of puppies. It seemed they were just left to run wild until they collapsed with tiredness. One of the women handed Liz a grubby sheepskin. She stared down at it, and didn't know whether to toss it on the floor, or the fire.

It took about half an hour for them all to finish seeing to their needs. Then, with a lot of shuffling, snorting and friendly pushing and shoving they settled down. Some couples began to make wild noises which could not be construed as anything other than lovemaking. Liz fidgeted. They sure didn't have any inhibitions.

"I guess we may as well make ourselves comfortable near the fire," she suggested, feeling as awkward as a gauche girl. She'd spread the rug to one side of the fireplace where no one else had settled and there was a moment's silence as she and Andrew looked at their makeshift bed. He must have also been doing his best to ignore the muffled giggles, panting and unrestrained sounds of pleasure coming from various spots around the hall.

"Shall we go into the tower and see if anything happens?" Andrew knew his voice came out thick and awkward. Her face was scarlet. With embarrassment, he guessed, not because of the heat thrown by the fire. His head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton wool. "I think you were right, Parker, I shouldn't have had that second cup of booze. It was potent. Well, what do you think? Shall we give it a try?" He gestured to the stairs, endeavouring to act as if they both didn't know that quite a few of the couples spread about the hall were engaged in hot sex. Good God! What a way to live.

"If you like." She coughed again. Poor Liz. She didn't know where to look. "But I have a feeling that nothing will happen without the badge and cloak."

"I'm going to give it a try. You can wait here if you like. But I'm not going to sit about without giving it a go."

Liz didn't fancy going into the darkness of the tower. But the thought of sharing that rug with Andrew was just as daunting. "No way. I'm sticking to you like the proverbial glue. Supposing you did get whisked back, and I'm left here alone?"

"Oh well, you'd have the admirable Travis. He seems quite taken with you. He couldn't seem to drag his eyes off you. And his hands kept wandering to your hair." There was a touch of acid in his tone. Liz glanced sideways at him, but his expression gave nothing away.

"So they did. But if you're going anywhere, I'm going with you."

No one made any attempt to stop them ascending the steps. Liz couldn't stop shaking as they peered into the dark tower room. It wasn't quite as pitch black now the door was open. The flares in sconces high on the walls of the hall had all been extinguished, but the fire still sent out a bright glow. "Wedge something in the gap please, Andrew," she said, knowing she sounded weak and feeble. "We don't want the door to slam on us."

Silently he went down and came back with one of the heavy stools which he propped in the doorway, ignoring the heads lifting from the sparse beds scattered about the hall, and the curious eyes following his every movement. 

Andrew ensured the heavy door was securely fixed ajar, then said, "Right. Hang onto the waistband of the kilt. I'll need both hands free to feel my way around the walls."

Liz didn't need any prompting. She clung, feeling more confident as the warmth from his body surrounded her. She tried to stifle a laugh, but couldn't. This situation was ridiculous.

"Pleased you find it amusing. You have a strange sense of humor, Parker." Privately he was glad she could find something to laugh about. He certainly couldn't see anything amusing about this whole escapade.

"I just think it's odd, don't you? The pair of us shuffling about in this dank dark place like a pair of wombats. Perhaps I'm getting hysterical, and need a good laugh to ease the tension. Do you think we'll ever return?" Her laughter died, and Andrew heard the note of real fear in her voice. For a moment he was tempted to take her in his arms and convince her everything would be all right, that she had nothing to be afraid of. But how could he? The situation seemed hopeless. He was feeling very scared. Not that he would admit it to her.

Blurb for The Laird:

Andrew, a wealthy Australian architect, takes life too seriously, whereas his PA Elizabeth is outgoing and fun-loving; a perfect foil for her somber boss. She is passionate about Celtic lore and language. With great reluctance Andrew answers a plea from his two elderly aunts to travel to Scotland before his uncle dies. He has no desire to visit the land his father left under a cloud many years ago, but Liz persuades him to take her along.
In the draughty and dilapidated castle, while exploring a disused attic, the pair set off a course of events that propel them back in time to 1050 where they meet Travis, coincidentally Andrew's double. 

Previously published as White Clover

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PKOZ6C8

A Page Straight From Tricia McGill #apagestraightfrom

The Laird- Wild Heather Book 1

by

Tricia McGill

       Suddenly the door opened wide.

He blinked as light streamed in. Before them a wide staircase led down to a cavernous hall. Immense soot-laden beams held up a ceiling of what appeared to be tightly packed straw, and the walls were timber pylons reinforced with mud or clay.

A fire roared in a fireplace large enough to roast a whole cow. Two large soot-encrusted pots containing what smelt like some sort of stew hung over the fire. Peat blocks were stacked up at one side of the hearth and enough wood to keep a fire going for a week was piled up on the other side.

People sat around on stools or rough wooden benches. It was impossible to estimate at first glance how many there were. Everyone stopped talking at once, and a sudden eerie silence filled the hall as they all gazed up at them.

Liz crumpled in a heap at Andrew’s feet.

“Liz, for heaven’s sake!” Andrew went down on his haunches beside her, pulling her into his arms. The boy who’d opened the door stood with his mouth agape, staring at them as if they were apparitions.

      A giant of a man slowly lifted himself from one of two throne-like chairs that flanked the fireplace and, taking the steps two at a time came to tower over them, mouthing words Andrew couldn’t understand.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to speak English.” Andrew wondered how he’d managed to get the words out, as picking Liz up, he went down the stairs and looked about for a soft place to set her down. The man followed him, and then faced Andrew, his hand on a deadly looking dagger-type weapon that was thrust through his belt.

The only likely place Andrew could put Liz was on a wide bench. It didn’t look much more comfortable than the floor, which was strewn with heather, lavender stems and rushes. As Andrew set Liz down he glanced up. The man’s scowl was ferocious as he scratched at his dark head.

His mass of thick black wavy hair reached past his shoulders, and his beard was just as black. He babbled on in the same strange tongue, and the rest of the crowd began to mutter and whisper, moving closer and doing little to disguise their almost childlike curiosity.

They were dressed in an odd assortment of clothing. Andrew had never seen anything quite like it. The men wore a sort of kilt without pleats. They all had leggings or bindings around their calves. Some, including the giant, wore shirts, others a sort of sleeveless vest. Most of the women wore ankle-length long sleeved shift-like dresses, belted at the waist. The children, even the boys, sported similar knee-length shifts, tied about the middle with cords or leather thongs. None of the children had shoes on, but the adults all appeared to be wearing soft leather moccasin type slippers.

A tall woman rose gracefully from the other high-backed chair.

Liz stirred, opening her eyes, muttering, “He wants to know what the blazes we’re doing in his home. He seems to suspect we’re more spies sent by some enemy or other. A guy named MacGriers. And he thinks you’re my bodyguard.” She giggled. Andrew sensed a touch of hysteria in her laughter. This certainly wasn’t amusing. “He’s telling the tall woman with the grey hair that you’re an odd-looking sort. He’s wondering where you got such fine footwear and that skirted garment. He can’t make out your trousers. He reckons they’re like nothing he’s seen before.”

“How the bloody hell can you understand him? I can’t.” Andrew glared at the man, whose strange kilt had a large clump of gathered material flung over one shoulder. The garment was cinched at the waist by a belt with a buckle bearing a design similar to the one on the cape Liz had draped round her shoulders.

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