Could it be some kind of history project — a tourist site, a castle they'd built or lovingly restored to look like this? Maybe it was a film set, she thought, a little annoyed with herself for how long that thought had taken to occur to her. Something about this weird night had made her forget that film sets existed… she'd been about to theorize something downright ridiculous, that this was a real medieval castle, that somehow she'd traveled back in time and —
"We should get walking," Aelfred said softly. "Find somewhere to stay the night."
She nodded numbly, not wanting to comment on the castle or any of it just yet. Finding somewhere to stay, that sounded good. In the clear light of day, she could start working out what the hell was going on. For now, she was cold and wet and sore and desperately in need of a warm place to lie down and shut her eyes, just for a minute or two…
So, they walked, along what seemed to be a dirt road that ran around the lake. Part of the film set, too, she told herself firmly — that was why it was dirt, unpaved and as medieval-looking as the castle that loomed ahead of them. Strange — she hadn't heard of anything this large-scale being built. She liked keeping an eye on the kinds of ridiculous things that went on in Los Angeles for the sake of its enormous film and television industry. Sometimes it felt like half her female clients were actresses, or failed actresses, or just-about-to-make-it-big actresses… it all seemed like punishing work, if she was honest, but they seemed to love it. Maybe she'd run into someone she knew if they ended up heading for the castle.
But instead, they stopped outside a charming little cottage. Another set? she wondered, staring up at it It was nestled in the treeline, and looked surprisingly like it had been there for years… how had they managed that? she wondered. The ivy that climbed across its stone walls looked very real, and the tree growing in the front yard spread its branches high. The roof was thatched and there was a little porch out the front, on which an old wooden rocking chair stood vacant. And there, at the door, were a pair of old brown boots that she presumed belonged to the occupant, whoever that was.
Aelfred didn't seem as taken by the charm of the cottage as she was — he was already striding up to the door, and she hastened after him, frowning a little at the image he was giving off. He had a sword on his hip, and now she looked at them, there was definitely something medieval about his clothing… was he an actor or something, working on whatever this production was? That would make sense. Did that mean he was speaking to her in character, or something? It would certainly explain how strange he was being. Didn't some actors stay in character all the time? Method Acting, it was called. She'd investigated a cheating wife, a young actress who'd claimed that all her dates and dalliances with the dark-eyed man she was caught with had to do with a role she was preparing for, that the seedy hotel rooms she'd been hiring were for her art, not for her pleasure. The husband hadn't been convinced, and Melanie had left the two of them to argue it out, not interested in the conversation. Now, she rather wished she'd stayed around… at least long enough to find out if there was some kind of a code word that would snap them out of character.
If this was a set, though, why was there still a lantern burning on the porch? It glowed with a strong orange light, one that almost reminded her of the light that she'd followed to shore. Could it be the same one? Surely not… the one she'd seen from the lake must have been huge, to have reached her all the way out there, and this was just a tiny little lantern, glinting on the porch. Still, there was something cozy and pleasant about it. She stepped up onto the porch beside Aelfred, and when he knocked on the door, she felt strangely as though they'd be welcomed here, by whoever it was that lived here.
But nobody lived here. It was a set… wasn't it? What else would explain the medieval trappings of the place?
To her surprise, the door creaked open almost immediately. She'd been half-expecting some black-clad runner or assistant with a clipboard in hand. Instead, she saw open air — and she looked down, and down, until she saw the old woman who was standing with the door clutched in one wrinkled hand. She was unbelievably short. If she cleared four and a half foot in height, Melanie would be surprised — even at her own unimpressive height, she towered over this woman, and Aelfred beside her, who was six foot two if he was an inch, absolutely loomed over both of them. But the woman didn't look worried. Quite the opposite — her sharp eyes glinted from the center of her wrinkled face, taking the pair of them in. She was wearing what seemed like an amorphous pile of old clothing, at least five or six layers, possibly more, and when she turned and gestured for the two of them to follow her, Melanie found her eyes straying to the interior of the cottage.
It was absolutely packed with furniture. If this was a film set, it would have been a nightmare to set up. She gazed around, impressed by the attention to detail… ever chest of drawers, every table, every surface was absolutely cluttered with stuff. Not an inch of spare space in the place… every surface was glass bottles and jars, pots of jam, half-eaten loaves of bread, bowls of mysterious fruits she didn't recognize, plates and glasses… but her attention was drawn, gratefully, to a crackling little fire that was blazing merrily in a grate in the center of the room, a tall chimney rising up above it that she recognized as having loomed over the thatch when she'd caught sight of the place outside.
"Come in and get dry, then," the woman said finally, an impatient bite in her voice as she shooed them toward the fire.
Melanie obeyed automatically, hurrying over to the fireside and peeling off her still thoroughly sodden coat. Aelfred followed, and the two of them knelt beside the fire. She tried not to glance sideways as he peeled off the damp tunic he was wearing, revealing a pale expanse of smooth skin stretched over a collection of very pleasing muscles… it seemed he'd done a fair bit of training with that sword at his side if his arms were anything to go by. It was his forearms in particular that drew her attention, muscular and powerful… she itched to run a fingertip over them, to trace the fine veins that stood out beneath that skin… and then she flushed, turning her attention back to her own clothing and scolding herself for getting so distracted by something so shallow. So, he was a handsome man. So what? She was rarely this easily discombobulated…
"That's it, don't be shy, get yourself dry before you catch your death," Maggie said impatiently, gesturing at Melanie. She cleared her throat and pulled her sweater off, aware of the courteous way Aelfred averted his eyes, shifting his entire torso away so that his gaze wasn't resting on her body. She was still more covered than she would have been in a bathing suit, but still, she appreciated the gesture. She was feeling vulnerable enough in this strange place without adding getting naked in front of a stranger to the mix.
The old woman hastened over once she'd removed most of her layers — she kept her bra on, though, and after a moment's hesitation she kept her woolen singlet on, too. It was more or less dry, having been close to her skin while they'd been walking, and at any rate, she didn't want to sit around in her underwear. She kept her pants on, too — they were stretchy leggings and would dry soon enough. Her boots she propped up by the fire to dry, and Maggie soon relieved her of the rest of her clothes, hanging them up around the fire expertly to allow them to catch enough of the heat to dry, but not so much that they'd scorch or catch fire. She'd lost a few favorite shirts that way herself, hanging them a little too close to the heater in her house… but that hadn't involved a fire, had it? This was very strange.
The woman shooed them into the comfortable, if rather cramped, embrace of the couch behind them, and she and Aelfred obediently took seats, both blushing a little at how close the couch prompted them to sit. Still, the warmth of his body was very welcome, and she hoped that her skin against his wasn't too cold… and also that she didn't smell bad. They'd just been in a lake, after all. She couldn't smell much but the musty, spicy smell of the interior of this little cottage, but that didn't mean it was impossible that she might be a bit on the nose herself…
"Now
then," the old woman said firmly, her eyes twinkling as she sat in a squashed armchair by the fire opposite them. "Introductions, I think."
Melanie blanched, shocked at her own rudeness. How had she been in this stranger's house for so long without introducing herself? "I'm so sorry! Melanie Orwell," she said, offering a strange little bow from her seated position on the couch. The woman nodded thoughtfully, as though she'd been expecting this. "And you? A Grant, I'd warrant, though not at all a usual one."
"That's right," Aelfred said. "Aelfred is the name you can call me."
Again, that strange phrasing caught at her ear… but Melanie tried to focus on the old woman, who was grinning at the two of them.
"Lovely to meet you both. You can call me Old Maggie. Welcome to the Loch."
Chapter 5
The Loch, Melanie thought, frowning a little. Where had she heard that word before? Wasn't that Scottish for lake? They always called it Loch Ness, not Lake Ness or Ness Lake or whatever… she didn't think there were any 'lochs' around LA. Or was this all part of the film, whatever it was? Was this woman in costume and makeup right now, waiting for a camera crew to turn up to get whatever shot she was needed for? That would make sense, especially with the elaborate set around them. This was a witch's cottage and no mistake. So much set dressing… but she was a curious witch. No hat, for a start, and Melanie had always pictured witches as being tall and imposing, with tall pointed hats. A bit of a cliché, maybe… but the woman should at least be wearing black, shouldn't she? Not a haphazard collections of different fabrics that made her look like an ambulant pile of rags…
"I can see your mind racing, girlie." Old Maggie chuckled. "Let's get on with it, shall we? Get to the hard part quickly. You just crawled out of Loch Ness."
She blinked. Loch Ness — in Scotland. Of course. That explained the accents — Maggie had the same beautiful lilt to her vowels that Aelfred did, despite her voice being much older and hoarser than Aelfred's rather smooth, beautiful tones. They had to be filming something — something set in Scotland. Were the two of them just practicing their accents? Or was it some method thing?
"Now, if you're anything like the others, you're probably inventing some daft explanation or other," Maggie said, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes that made Melanie feel oddly attacked. "I've heard it all, hallucinations, dreams, playing games, historical re-enactments… it's none of that. All of this is as real as you or me. Alright?"
Melanie cleared her throat. "What do you mean?"
A flash of real irritation on the woman's face, and Melanie recoiled a little, regretting speaking so casually all of a sudden. "Oh, really," she said crossly, shaking her head. "Keep up, girlie. Loch Ness. You're in Scotland. Oh, and it's the sixteenth century, so do add that to your list of things to stop denying as soon as possible."
"The sixteenth century," Melanie said blankly. "Scotland. Listen, I appreciate that you're probably method actors, or whatever it is, but —"
"There it is," Maggie cackled, clapping her hands together, "I knew you'd come up with something. I haven't heard that one, though! Actors. We haven't had actors through in years," she said, shaking her head. "They tend to avoid this neck of the woods. Too many rumors." Her eyes glinted. "Witchcraft and faeries and the like…"
And to her surprise, Aelfred laughed. She turned to him, eyes widening a little at how comfortable he seemed — for all the world as though Maggie was telling him things he already knew. He was in on it, then… he was one of the actors… but Maggie had said they weren't actors. And she was beginning to lose faith in that rather comforting theory herself. Actors were usually more than willing to let on about what it was that they did. But these guys… these guys weren't admitting it.
"You're probably starving, you poor things," Maggie tutted, reaching into the fire to withdraw a pot that had been sitting just above the embers. When she lifted the lid, Melanie smelled the delicious and unmistakable scent of cooked stew and felt her stomach growl as the old woman ladled some into two bowls and pushed them into their hands. Aelfred set about eating with his hands, apparently heedless of the temperature, but when Melanie hesitated, Maggie pressed a wooden spoon into her hands.
The stew was delicious, and eating it quickly took precedence over her racing thoughts, her ongoing and increasingly more worried attempts to figure out just what the hell was going on here. The heat of it sank deep into her belly, seeming to warm her whole body from within in a way that seemed to outstrip just the warming effects of the stew's temperature… for all the world as though there was some kind of magic in it. She sat back with the empty bowl in her lap and a satisfied smile on her face… but when she looked around the room, her worry returned.
"So — this isn't a film set?" she asked, a little worried by the answer to the question.
Maggie chuckled, shaking her head. "I haven't the foggiest idea what a film set is," she said brightly. "One of your future ideas, I'd warrant, from wherever it is the Sidhe plucked you."
Aelfred sat forward — he'd been licking the remnants of the stew from his fingers like an animal, but Melanie still managed to find him attractive, somehow. Strange, that. Usually something like that would have turned her right off, but Aelfred managed to make the behavior seem charming and quirky rather than revolting. It must be those eyes, she thought, shaking her head a little. Those beautiful silver-gray eyes that seemed to shine like moonlight, even inside… "A time traveler," he breathed, his eyes alighting on her as though he'd just realized something very exciting about her. "I didn't realize, Melanie."
"What are you two talking about?"
"Let me guess. Twenty-first century, yes?" Maggie's eyes were glinting knowledgably. "Well, the good news is, you're far from alone. The Sidhe do love to rescue lost women and drop them on my doorstep, don't they?"
There was that word again. Hadn't Aelfred referred to the Sidhe, whoever — or whatever — they were? She folded her arms across her chest, battling the exhaustion that was threatening to creep in around the edges of her consciousness as she focused on what was going on here. "Who are the Sidhe, when they're at home?"
"Oh, I don't want to go through all this," Maggie muttered, waving a hand. "It's the middle of the blasted night in case you hadn't noticed. The two of you are welcome in my home — you can sleep by the hearth there until morning. I'd imagine you'll be headed for the Keep as soon as it's light and the gates are open. But until then… Aelfred, you can do the explaining. I'm going to bed."
And with that, she was gone as abruptly as she'd arrived, shambling off through the improbably cluttered little living room and slouching up a set of stairs that Melanie hadn't noticed before. Strange — the little cottage hadn't looked like it had a second story from the outside. How exactly did this place work? Some kind of trick of perspective? Aelfred took her bowl from her and set it neatly down on a nearby table, then gestured toward the floor in front of the fire, where she realized a couple of bedrolls seemed to have been laid out. Curious. She hadn't seen Maggie doing that… and yet, here they were.
They were surprisingly soft and comfortable, too, protecting her from the worst of the chill on the floor, and with the residual heat of the fire and a blanket to pull over her, she was very cozy in her makeshift bed. But sleep couldn't be further from her mind as she and Aelfred settled in, the man behind her courteously keeping his distance from her, even allowing her to have the space closest to the fire. Very chivalrous of him… and from what she'd felt of the heat emanating from his skin, he certainly wasn't in need of too much fire to keep himself warm.
"So — the Sidhe?" she asked once they'd both settled in, curious despite herself.
He uttered a soft chuckle, as though she'd asked him something enormous and difficult, like the meaning of life, or where babies came from.
"Where to begin with the Sidhe," he said softly, and she could almost hear the cogs in his brain turning.
She lay on her back, her eyes on the rafters above them, and waited fo
r Aelfred to continue, for all the world as though she was about to hear a bedtime story. What a deeply bizarre night she was having. And yet, at the same time… an oddly pleasant one.
"They are… well, they're royalty, I know that much. They're Fae royalty, I suppose. The rulers of the Seelie Court. I don't know any of their names, or any of their faces… I'm not sure they work like that, exactly. It's hard to talk about," he added softly. "I know they took me in and cared for me, that they saved my life, somehow, but… well, it all feels almost like a dream, now."
"Fae?"
"Faerie," he elaborated.
She turned her head to stare at him.
"You know about the Fae world, don't you?"
"The what?"
His eyes widened a little. "The Fae world lays beside our own. You — you traveled through the Burgh. I'm sorry. I assumed you knew."
"I didn't know anything," she said. She wanted to stay awake, to get more information out of Aelfred — to get to the bottom of this ridiculous fairytale he was telling her, to figure out exactly what he was making up and what was real. She was honestly beginning to feel overwhelmed… and at the same time, she was so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open. It was so warm by the fire, so comfortable… couldn't they just worry about all this in the morning? And when she yawned, Aelfred made an amused sound in his throat.
"I tell you what. Why don't we talk about this after we've both gotten some rest?"
And if he said anything after that, she certainly didn't hear it. She was fast asleep, enveloped in the warm embrace of the blanket, her body finally relaxing for the first time since she'd seen Gina come barging through that hotel room door and throw her entire investigation into disarray… and maybe it was that thought that meant her dreams were haunted by strange shapes, by dark figures holding guns, by an explosive gunshot that seemed to ricochet through her entire body in slow motion… and again, she was surrounded by that strange glowing light. But this time, something was different. This time, she opened up her eyes and stared up and around her and saw much more clearly what was going on.
Trusted By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance Page 4