RESCUED BY THE HIGHLANDER

by Preston, Rebecca

  But they were headed for a castle now. No doubt there’d be light there. How long could she keep resisting the awful, impossible, ridiculous suspicion that was slowly but surely dawning at the back of even her rational mind? How hard could she keep fighting the idea that she had genuinely been taken back in time? And if she were to accept that (hypothetically, she told herself with rising panic, all of this was just a hypothetical, something she was just thinking about to pass the time, that was all) then where did it stop? Did she have to accept that she was in Scotland, too? That that was really Loch Ness? Did she have to accept that the actual Loch Ness Monster had brought her to the surface? Did she have to accept that Maggie, the strange old woman in the little stone cottage by the lake, was actually possessed of real magical powers? That the huge, glowing, ethereal figures she’d seen in her dream were real, had chosen to steal her away from her home and her life to bring her here? What for? What on earth for? And how was she going to get home? She had people who relied on her — she had clients, and students, and a family, and bills to pay. How could she get any of that done from medieval Scotland?

  She was beginning to get dizzy, her breath coming in short gasps that had nothing to do with the pace that Donal was setting as they walked along the lakeside. It was still pitch dark all around them, the ground illuminated only slightly by moonlight — the full moon would have lit their surroundings better had there not been clouds constantly drifting across it, shielding it from view. It reminded her of her mind, honestly — frustratingly close to figuring out what was happening, finding an answer, but constantly clouded and distracted by the churning maelstrom of her thoughts. But her quick breathing had drawn the wrong conclusion from Donal, who charitably slowed down.

  “Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’m walking too fast for you. I promise your short legs’ll get used to the strain soon enough.”

  Anger abolished all of her confusion in one clean strike, and she wheeled on him. “Excuse me? I’ve run twenty miles with fifty pounds of gear on my back. A little walk along the lakeside is nothing to me.”

  He raised his hands, a condescending look on his handsome face that she didn’t like much at all. “Sorry, lassie.”

  “And don’t call me that,” she snapped. “Do you treat all the women in your life with such disrespect, or is it my height that’s making you talk to me like I’m a child?”

  “Sorry,” he said again, and this time it was more sincere.

  She unfolded her arms, relenting a little. “It’s alright. Now, where’s this castle?”

  “Not far now.” He set off again, and she followed him along the path — then accelerated a little, still needled by the implication that she wasn’t fit enough to keep up with him. He matched her pace, his long legs working, and within a few minutes she could hear him consciously smoothing his breathing. With a triumphant little smirk that she kept to herself, she looked back at him innocently.

  “What’s the matter? I’d’ve thought a big tall man like you could keep up with a wee slip of a girl…”

  He snorted laughter. “Alright, alright, you’ve proved your point. You’re fit as a fiddle and I was a fool.”

  “That’s right,” she said archly. “Small but mighty, that’s what they call me.”

  “Oh, aye?”

  “Play your cards right and you might find out more.” She winked at him, feeling oddly daring, out here in the middle of nowhere, the moonlight shining. Why not flirt a little? He was a good-looking man, and there was at least a sixty percent chance that this whole ridiculous experience was just a dream. He was staring back at her, clearly taken aback. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he stammered — and was that a blush creeping onto his face? “You’re not like many women I’ve met, that’s all.”

  “What, a good-looking guy like you, nobody ever flirts with you?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed,” he said blankly. “Not so — openly, at any rate.” He didn’t look uncomfortable, exactly, but there was a sense of reserve about the way he was speaking.

  She tilted her head to the side. “Are you married?”

  “Oh, no.” He chuckled, and she felt a surprising burst of relief in her chest. “Too busy for that. A castle to rule and a Clan to keep in line, and all that — not much time for romance.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Well, not the stuff about the castle, but… busy life.”

  “Aye, you said you were a teacher? That’s good work. Little ones need guidance.”

  She laughed. “Not that kind of teacher. I train soldiers.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “Train soldiers! Oh, aye, sure. I’m sure all those big men just fall over themselves to take orders from you.”

  She was a little gratified that he was finally flirting back — but something about the content of the flirtation rubbed her the wrong way. She frowned, confused — did he actually not believe her? She’d had men cast doubts on her ability and skill at her profession before, sure, but she’d never had one point-blank refuse to believe she did what she said she did. But before she could question him further — or pursue the flirtation — her eyes moved to the horizon, and she gasped.

  “There it is,” Donal said with satisfaction, pausing at the top of the hill they’d just climbed and gesturing toward the huge, craggy castle that had just appeared over the hill. It sat on a crag of rock that jutted out into the lake a little way, giving the effect that the walls dropped straight down into the depths of the lake itself. Made of dark, smooth rock that seemed, in the moonlight, almost the same color as the waters of the Loch, it had dozens of little windows that gleamed with warm light. There were even turrets on the very top, crenellations adorning them just like the ones she’d painstakingly added to all her drawings of castles as a young girl.

  “Wow,” she breathed, completely forgetting their whole conversation. “That’s — that’s impressive.”

  “Castle Urquhart,” Donal said proudly. She glanced up at him, tearing her eyes away from the castle to look at the man beside her. His face shone with pride as he looked at the castle, and she smiled a little. There was something very charming about how proud he was of his home; how happy he was to show her. He set off again — they were still some distance from the castle, and there was a spring in his step as he led her toward it.

  What a ridiculous night. Still — if she got to visit such a spectacular castle, maybe all of the confusion was worth it.

  Chapter 11

  “Hurry up,” Donal encouraged her, capering along the edge of the cliff like a madman. They were getting closer to the castle, rounding the edge of the lake, and she could see why the castle had been erected where it had been. The outcrop of rock that it had been built on jutted out slightly into the water, which meant that on most sides, the castle was impenetrable — unless attackers decided to attack by water, in which case they’d have a steep climb ahead of them. And there was no cover, so if any kind of decent watch was posted, they’d be spotted miles back, and probably pelted with arrows (or hot pitch) as they tried to scale the walls. Not exactly a promising prospect, no matter how much the invading force may have wanted to take the castle.

  The other option was to attack by land, but even that was dicey. The castle was built on something of an island, connected to the mainland by a very narrow strip of land. There was a name for that kind of geographical formation, she knew, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember it. At any rate, it meant the almost-island was basically impenetrable. With a huge wall constructed over the neck of the land bridge, nobody was getting onto the castle grounds without permission — or a huge amount of trouble. She wondered if the castle had ever been successfully taken. There were ways of doing it, of course — infiltration would probably be your best bet. Sneak a couple of guys inside dressed as servants or something, have them open the gate for the rest of the army in the night. Still, it was a very well-defended fortress — or at least, it would have been in its time, she thought irritably. As far as she knew,
nobody bothered holding castles anymore. This was pure historical speculation.

  That being said… there sure were a lot of people hanging around. As they approached, Anna’s commitment to the idea that Donal and Maggie were weird historical re-enactors took another blow as she realized just how many men were on the walls — even at this time of night. At least six on the front gate alone, and who knew how many more keeping watch over the black waters of the lake (which, despite her best efforts, she was coming to think of as Loch Ness. What was wrong with her? There was no way she was in Scotland. Two people with accents did not a country make.)

  “Welcome back, Laird Donal!” echoed down from the top of the wall as the gate was hauled open by a few men working in tandem on some kind of mechanism up in the top of the gate. The man at her side gave them a cheerful wave, clearly on good terms with them all. Really? Half a dozen men in guard costumes? Accurate ones, too — chainmail and leather, purpose designed to deal well with arrows while also keeping them light and mobile so they could fire arrows too. And sure enough — she squinted up at the men, interested in the details of their outfits despite her disbelief that the whole situation was even happening — they all had longbows slung over their backs.

  And Scottish accents, she realized dully as more men called down to Donal, updating him on what had happened in his absence — not much, from what she could make out, but the accents were difficult to decipher. More Scottish accents. It was possible, of course, the rational side of her mind said, sounding a little frantic, possible that they were all actors who just happened to be good at that particular accent… it was possible that they were still in Washington, at a huge lake she didn’t know about, which also happened to have an enormous, extremely well-maintained medieval castle standing on it… that she also hadn’t heard about… even though she was specifically and keenly interested in medieval history, and especially warfare, and especially castles…

  Her head was spinning. Best not to think about it, she decided deftly. The men were looking at her with open curiosity, and she tugged Donal’s cloak a little closer around her.

  “Changeling?” one of them yelled.

  That word she was familiar with, accent or no accent, and it was beginning to bother her. Changelings were kidnapped children, taken by the Fae and touched in some way by magic. She wasn’t a child, and she hadn’t been touched by magic. Unless you counted being teleported back through time and space to sixteenth-century Scotland, suggested a side of her brain that she wasn’t interested in listening to for the time being.

  They moved through the gate, and she stared around the courtyard she found herself in, fascinated despite herself by how well maintained it was. (The other option — that it wasn’t well maintained, but actually only recently built, was to be avoided for the time being.) It was an enormous courtyard, and though it was the middle of the night, she could imagine what it would be like during the daytime — probably used for training drills, she thought, noting a row of dummies over by one wall. The walls extended back and around the castle, an extra line of defense in case the sheer walls dropping into the lake below weren’t enough. She made a note to see if they’d let her walk the perimeter sometimes before she left. This was, of course, deeply strange, but it was still fascinating.

  “Maeve will still be awake,” Donal was telling a guard who was walking them toward the castle. The man nodded and ran on ahead of them. The castle had a set of enormous doors, big enough for a giant to step through, but they were shut and barred this late at night — the guard ducked around the side of the castle, presumably headed for a side entrance. Donal guided her toward the enormous wooden doors, and she stared up at them, impressed despite herself.

  “Not bad,” she murmured.

  Donal grinned — then led her to a much smaller door set in the wall of the castle. They stepped inside, and Anna sighed as the door shut behind them, cutting off the rather sharp wind that had been troubling her. Even with the cloak and the two layers of warm clothing Maggie had given her, the night wind was freezing. Would it be warmer in the morning? She certainly hoped so. Light would be helpful, too — maybe she could figure out where the hell she actually was in the light.

  Anna looked around her. They were standing in some kind of great entrance hall, the enormous front doors to the castle standing behind them. At the other end of the entrance hall was a smaller set of doors — these ones were slightly open, though, and behind them she could make out what looked like a long table with a rough wooden bench in front of it. A dining hall, perhaps? Along the walls of the cavern were a series of doors — and several spiral staircases that wound up and into the rest of the castle. She wondered how many floors it had. It was a tall building, built much higher than it was wide, presumably to take full advantage of the limited space on the little not-quite-island it was built on. Five floors, she estimated, maybe six — the placement of the windows wasn’t exactly even, but that had been her conclusion from the outside. Plenty of space for guests and residents, then. And it was possible that there was a basement, too — castles like this, often had strong foundations built deep into the ground.

  Anna was distracted from these ruminations by the appearance of a slight woman, descending one of the spiral staircases and moving with purpose toward them. She had long, strawberry-blonde hair with a touch of gray through it, pulled back into a long braid that fell to her waist, and she was wearing a simple but beautiful cotton dress — very appropriate to the period, Anna couldn’t help but notice, her scholar’s eye still working hard to find any sign of discrepancy with the sixteenth-century historical period everyone seemed determined to make her accept. She was an older woman, perhaps in her mid-50s, a fine network of wrinkles decorating her still rather beautiful face.

  But it was the woman’s eyes that were most striking. Anna found herself staring — it was as though something of the moonlight outside had been captured and put into the woman’s eyes. They were a bright, beautiful shade of silver, and seemed almost to glow from within — a trick of the light? There were a half-dozen lanterns in the room, just like the one on Maggie’s porch, and their flickering light danced over the faces of the people present… but Donal’s gray eyes didn’t shine like this woman’s did. How was that possible?

  “Welcome to the castle, traveler,” the woman said softly, her voice touched by the same musical lilt as everyone Anna had talked to. If they were assumed accents, there were incredibly accurate, she thought to herself dizzily. “My name is Maeve. It’s a pleasure to have you with us. Donal — have the servants prepared a room? The guest room on the fourth floor has a lovely view.”

  “Aye, good thought,” Donal said. There was something in his posture that suggested he deferred to this woman, even though he was ostensibly the Laird of the castle. Anna was attuned to that, to body language that indicated hierarchy — the chain of command was an integral part of her training, after all. Maeve smiled fondly at Donal as he trotted away toward the spiral staircase.

  “He’s my nephew,” she explained to Anna, for all the world as if she’d heard the unspoken question. “My late husband was the Laird before Donal. He took the young man under his wing as his tanist — that’s a second-in-command — and trained him up as his successor. He’s doing a fine job, for a new Laird,” she added softly. “But you’ll come to know all that soon. Now — while they’re sorting out quarters for you. I think tea.”

  “Tea actually sounds amazing,” Anna said, grateful for this gentle woman’s kindness — and entranced, just a little, by those astonishing silver eyes. She followed Maeve through the hall and toward the doors at the end of it. They stepped into the dark room, Maeve moving with the confidence of someone who knew the space intimately well. Anna followed, relying on her senses to avoid crashing into furniture, and they moved through the dark hall into a slightly better-lit kitchen. There were a couple of lanterns in here, and a few people moving about — Anna glanced at them, figuring they must be servants from their sim
ple clothing. The theory that this was some kind of huge historical re-enactment took another blow. Who would want to be up in the middle of the night to roleplay as a servant?

  Maeve made tea as Anna took a seat at a huge countertop, peering cautiously around her. She felt completely lost, completely confused — her mind seemed to be giving up on the idea of finding any consistency to this and was floating, lost and baffled, waiting for some kind of explanation. Maybe Maeve could provide it. She trusted the woman instinctively — she had a kindness in her eyes and in her voice that Anna was incredibly grateful for. Maggie had been kind, too, but crotchety, and there’d been a strange edge to her that had made Anna feel cautious and jumpy in her presence. Maeve felt more… human, somehow.

  “Now — I’d imagine you have some questions,” Maeve said gently as she sat down beside Anna, pressing a cup of warm tea into her hands.

  Chamomile — one of her favorites. Anna smiled as she inhaled the familiar scent, feeling comforted by that touch of home.

  “So, what can I tell you — about the castle, about Scotland, or about the faeries who brought you here?”