By the time she'd wandered back up the stairs to her guest quarters, lost in fantasies about portals through space and time, a handful of servants had filled the bath in the little room attached to the bedroom she'd slept in. The water looked incredibly inviting — fresh, clean and steaming — and Delilah became aware of all the sore spots all over her body. She undressed quickly and settled into the water, groaning with delight at the feeling of the hot water on her sore muscles, and spent a delightful half-hour soaking herself clean. Medieval era or twenty-first century, there was something timeless about a good hot bath. There was something nice about that — the idea of an unbroken chain of human beings, stretching all the way back to prehistoric times, all soaking happily in water to clean themselves and restore their frazzled minds to peace.
Feeling much more human, she dried off with the soft towels left for her use, then crept out into the main room, feeling the chill already beginning to sink into her flesh. Scotland was colder than she was used to, that was for sure. She shuddered to think what winter was going to be like. Marianne must have brought her some clothes, she realized, peeking into the drawer where she'd stashed her old clothing — there were a few dresses there, along with (thank God) a set of riding clothes. Thick, sturdy looking trousers that looked more or less her size, and a tunic that looked like it had been designed for a man. Well, she wasn't flat-chested, but it should fit well enough, she thought. Good. It would be rather unpleasant to have to climb back into the sweaty, dusty clothes she’d been wearing all day.
She chose a dress for dinner — a long green dress that she imagined would set off Marianne's sharp features and green eyes beautifully. It had been kind of the woman to give it to her. And it looked okay on her, she supposed, combing through her wet hair with her fingers — what time was dinner, anyway? And how was she meant to tell the time? She'd always used her phone. God, she missed her phone. She slipped on a pair of simple slippers that seemed to suit the dress (thank God she and Marianne seemed to have the same shoe size, too — she made a note to thank the woman for clothing her) and set off again for dinner. Her stomach was growling pretty significantly, and she realized that she'd missed lunch — unless you counted the couple of pints of ale that Baldric had bought her down in the village. It had seemed very thick, hearty ale — more like liquid bread than the weak beer she was used to. But still, she'd had a very physical day, and she was ravenous.
The smells wafting from the kitchen didn't help ease her appetite. The faint scent of roasting meat was strongest, but she thought she could smell vegetables roasting, too — she remembered the young woman who'd been cutting up potatoes and her stomach made a sound as though it was trying to devour itself. Fantastic. If there were potatoes, she'd be just fine. You couldn't go wrong with potatoes, even five hundred years ago. Had potatoes changed since the medieval era? Possible. But probably not enough to be a problem for her — she could forgive a potato for basically anything.
“There you are.”
She spun at the familiar voice — Fiona was there, still in the trousers she'd been wearing earlier that morning, grinning at her.
“Marianne tells me you've stopped thinking this is a LARP.”
“It's an extremely good LARP if it is one,” she admitted, a rueful grin crossing her face.
“Can't believe we finally got a history nerd. You're going to be such a useful addition to our little coven.”
“Don't call us a coven, you know the locals always get uncomfortable about that word.”
That voice was unfamiliar. Delilah glanced at its owner, who had emerged from a side corridor while she and Fiona had been talking and joined them — the American accent gave her away as one of them, though hers was a little softer, as though being in Scotland had begun to change it. This woman had dark red hair, pulled back into an elegant braid, and a regal bearing that was offset only slightly by the warm smile on her face. She would have been in her forties — maybe even older, Delilah couldn’t tell — and she had the regal bearing of someone who was used to being in authority. She reminded her a little of Mary, in fact.
“This is Audrina,” Fiona informed her, touching the red-haired woman's shoulder. “Audrina, our new — friend. Delilah.”
“Welcome to Castle MacClaran,” Audrina said, smiling. “I'm sure Fiona has let you know, but — you're at home here for as long as you want to be. The castle welcomes refugees from time like us.”
“You were the first to arrive, weren't you?” Delilah asked, fascinated by the idea of being dropped here with no frame of reference at all. How on Earth had she survived? A thousand questions rose up in her mind — but she suppressed them for now. It wouldn’t do to be rude to her hosts — there’d be plenty of time for those kinds of conversations.
“Aye, a long time ago now,” Audrina laughed. “First me, then Cora, then — oh, speak of the devil.”
A dark-haired woman in a blue dress that clung to her voluptuous body was moving rapidly down the stairs. She looked about Audrina's age, in her mid-forties at least, and the dark eyes she turned on Delilah were full of warmth and light.
“Delilah!” Unexpectedly, the newcomer threw her arms around Delilah in a strong and very comfortable hug. Delilah chuckled, returning the hug — it felt strangely reassuring, this kind of undeniable human contact. “Welcome, sweetheart. Oh, you're young.”
“We're old, darling,” Audrina corrected her, eyes twinkling. “Come on. I think the others are already inside.”
Surrounded by the trio of women, Delilah felt herself being guided into the dining hall, where it seemed the entire population of the castle was already seated. But sure enough, there was a table where she spotted Marianne and a woman with mousy blonde hair sitting together, deep in conversation. Looking up, Marianne spotted them and waved them over.
“Marianne you've met. This is Karin.”
“Good to meet you,” Delilah said, feeling oddly shy.
The blonde woman smiled. She was younger than the others, closer to Delilah’s age than Cora and Audrina were, and though she seemed unassuming, Delilah could tell she had a lot more strength in her than she was letting on. It was the kind of energy she always got from people who had martial arts training — a kind of quiet confidence, a physical awareness that not everyone moved with.
“Welcome to Scotland. How are you settling in? I don't think I shook the idea that I was dreaming for at least a day.”
“Yeah, it's definitely — a lot,” Delilah admitted, “but I've been reading stories like this since I was a tiny girl, so I think I'm adjusting okay. Some part of me always wanted time travel to be real, so...”
“Delilah's a folklorist,” Marianne said proudly. “She's an expert on this very castle, in fact.”
Karin's eyes widened. “Oh! How useful!”
“Yes, well, some of us had more useful skills than others, in the future,” Marianne said thoughtfully. “Audy's a trauma nurse, Cora's a fantastic midwife — delivered the babies of everyone here, hale and healthy as you could imagine — Karin's a disease specialist, literally saved us all from a plague a few years back, Fiona's an archeologist and inventor who's transforming the castle into a twenty-first century wonder, and I'm... a phone psychic.”
“Oh, Marianne, don't be so critical,” Cora scolded her. “You're always putting yourself down, but Eamon's told me what happened down in that dungeon with that priest — she's got real power,” she told Delilah, leaning meaningfully across the table. “Real magic. Guaranteed. And she's great with horses. Taught every child in the village how to ride. We're going to have the best cavalry in the country in a few years, mark my words.”
“Real magic?” Delilah leaned in, intrigued by this line of enquiry. “Really? Like the magic that brought us back here?”
“It's incredibly unreliable.” Marianne seemed suddenly shy. “I might've made one or two things happen. Maybe. Maybe!” she added forcefully at the expression on Cora's face. “But it's not like I can summon a swarm of bats
to banish the Inquisition or anything, so just — mine's the least useful skill, alright?”
“There are stories about Castle MacClaran,” Delilah explained. “Hundreds of them — stories about witches, and magic, and curses, and prophecies...”
“Fiona's fault,” Karin said quietly, a mischievous grin on her face. “I keep telling her, you keep improving this place they're going to think it's witchcraft —”
“What about Audrina and Cora and you?” Fiona objected, her eyes wide. “The building being a bit less shit is one thing, but since you three got here we've had suspiciously good medical care. If anything's going to bring the Inquisition down on us, it's the fact that nobody's died in childbirth in over a decade. And as for you, Karin, people have been gossiping from here to Edinburgh about the mysterious woman who single-handedly stopped the plague that devastated every village but this one… I’m not surprised you made it into history books, pulling a stunt like that.”
“Oh, how dare I,” Karin laughed, “how dare I stop people from dying, right? How very inconvenient of me, how rude —”
The women kept bickering good-naturedly as food was brought out, and Delilah set about filling her stomach as she listened, laughing at the easy, friendly banter between the women. There was a close bond here, it was clear, and she felt as warm and welcome as any of them. They were curious about her as well, her stories and her history, and she told them a little of what was known in academic circles about Castle MacClaran. But mostly she spent the evening listening, and by the time she was traipsing up to bed after saying goodnight to everyone, she was feeling a lot more like she belonged in the castle than she had that morning.
Thankfully, there were no dreams that night. Just a long, restful sleep that had her waking up just before dawn. Usually, such an early wake-up would have sent her groaning — she was a night owl used to long nights of writing, and if she woke up before dawn it usually meant she’d had about half the sleep she needed — but this time she didn't feel the need to roll over and bury her head under the blankets. The knowledge of where she was — and when she was — had her sitting up, peering out the window at the fog over the moors. It was beautiful. How could she resent waking up in the middle of a morning like this?
Still in the dress she'd been wearing the night before — it was reasonably comfortable, and it had just felt too chilly to take off any layers before she'd tucked herself into bed — she stole downstairs. Unsurprisingly, the castle was more or less awake. She could hear the clattering of breakfast being made in the kitchen, and a group of guards slouched past her as she peered through the half-open kitchen doors, on their way to the day shift, she assumed. Was there a round-the-clock watch posted? She supposed there’d have to be. It wasn’t as though medieval Scotland had an abundance of automated alarm systems. It was strange, to be reminded that even in this apparently peaceful time, there was still a need for a permanent armed guard on the walls — just in case. In case of what? Bandits, brigands, other factions, the English changing their mind about the peace… moments of calm like this were hard won, she knew.
Delilah followed the guards out into the courtyard, catching her breath at the chill in the air. Unfortunately, there were no swords set out ready for the men to train with — that must be something that happened later in the day, she reflected, a little disappointed. She'd half fancied the idea of getting a bit of training in before breakfast. There were worse ways to start a day, after all — and if she was going to be in medieval Scotland, she wanted to keep her skills sharp. Still, there were things she could do without a weapon. Maybe she'd ask if she could have one of the swords to keep in her room. Worst case scenario, she could probably carve one out of a tree branch — at least until she could get her hands on a proper one. That being said, it might be nice to have a craft project like sword-crafting to keep her busy. Oh, and she needed to sew herself a set of clothing still. It was all very well to borrow Marianne’s things, but she’d feel better if she had her own clothing. Surely there was somewhere in the village she could buy cloth… but how would she go about earning the money to do so? She didn’t doubt that someone would happily lend her what she needed, but the idea of being constantly reliant on handouts from those around her chafed at her. She wanted to find something purposeful to do with herself as soon as possible so she didn’t feel like a burden. She’d always been the kind of person to pay her own way.
Lost in thought, she found her way almost automatically to the clearing she'd practiced in the day before — then frowned. Gavin had found her here. His stupid boot prints were still in the dirt, and she wasn't interested in remembering him just now. She pressed on through the forest, and soon came to another clearing, bigger this time, with a more level floor, grassy and mostly clear of tree branches. Perfect. Delilah ran through a few stretches and exercises, then started on some hand-to-hand drills. The style of martial arts taught by her branch of the SCA was eclectic, to say the least. Over the years they'd had a huge number of instructors, short-term or even just for one-day masterclasses, and they'd sort of hung on to whatever they remembered. So it was a range of grappling, striking and weight management — very flexible, but very weird. It had served her reasonably well in staged combat, at least, and sparring was always great fun. Everyone in the group had the same training in how to fall and how to keep themselves safe while fighting, so they were at a place where they could fight pretty realistically without worrying about doing anyone serious injuries. Scrapes and bruises, of course, but nothing much worse than that. Any serious injuries at the SCA usually came from people not knowing how to handle weapons — or trying to show off.
The skirt was irritating, and she found herself wishing she'd gotten changed before she'd headed out — she wound up tying the full skirts up around her legs, but they kept falling back down, stopping her from doing any kicking.
“No stolen sword this time?”
Delilah felt her jaw clench before she'd even fully processed the sound of that voice. She turned, full of vexation already — and sure enough, there stood Gavin MacClaran. Not in his guard outfit, this time — did he have the day off, or something? Instead he wore simple brown pants and a tunic. It made him look more approachable, somehow, despite his enormous frame. Not that she was going to let that soften the irritated scowl on her face.
“So do you follow me around as a hobby, or —”
“My mates from the guard told me some daft woman was wandering off into the forest at the crack of dawn, I thought I'd just make sure she hadn't been eaten by a bear. My mistake.”
“Your mistake,” Delilah agreed coolly. “Now if you'll excuse me—”
“What're you doing?”
“Training,” she said through gritted teeth.
“To do what?”
“Fight people like you.”
“Fight? Hand to hand?” The note of disbelief in his voice made her want to punch him.
“You want to take me on again?”
“I'd never hit a woman,” he said dismissively.
“Then don't hit me. Just try to immobilize me. Come on. I dare you.”
Gavin shrugged, eyeing her from under his thick eyebrows — and then, very suddenly, he ran at her across the clearing. Delilah grinned to herself. This was her very favorite move to block. She braced herself as he rushed toward her — then at the last minute, just as his arms were about to close around her, she pivoted, dropped her weight deep into her knees, and used her hip to send him flying past her.
With a distinctly undignified yelp, Gavin MacClaran staggered — he'd clearly not been expecting her to move so quickly, and his weight was thrown entirely off balance. To her great satisfaction, he staggered and fell to his knees in the grass.
“Nice try,” she said smugly, dancing back away from him across the clearing.
“That was brilliant,” he said, unexpectedly — and as he rose to his feet she saw a wide grin on his face. He wasn't bothered at all at having been bested, she realized, thrown of
f a little (and slightly disappointed not to have needled him, if she was honest.) “What is that? Can you teach me?”
“Oh. Sure.” She blinked, a little nonplussed — then moved over to show him the intricacies of the move. It had come from an aikido teacher, from what she could remember, a woman who’d joined them for a few classes before moving on — but before she went, she’d shared a lot of fascinating energy-transfer work with them. It was deceptively simple once you knew how it was done, and Gavin learned it easily, demonstrating it successfully after only a few minutes practice.
“D'you mind if I teach the men?”
“No, go for it. If it keeps the castle safe...” She shrugged. It felt strange, to be on better terms with him. Not that she was going to forget how rude he'd been, she thought firmly — but there was something very nice about him smiling down at her like that. Suddenly, she remembered what the other women had been talking about the night before, and what Dolores had said about Gavin's lost love.
“Hey —” she asked, emboldened by the reasonably friendly interaction they'd had. “What happened to Morag?”
His face closed over, and she knew it had been a mistake to ask.
“I'd better be getting back,” he said stiffly, giving her a strange little bow. “Thank you for teaching me that.”
“Gavin —” she started, dismayed that she'd upset him — but he was already on his way out of the clearing, and she could see the tension in his body.
“God damnit,” she whispered.
Chapter 10
Delilah finished her drills, but her heart wasn't in it. God, Gavin was a frustrating guy. The minute she felt like she was finally getting through whatever strange armor he'd set up against her — the instant he started behaving like a real person and not a surly robot — she asked one question and suddenly he was storming off again. What was his problem, really? She only wanted to be his bloody friend! What was she meant to do? Obviously he had some great unresolved trauma with this woman who looked like her — and exactly what was the deal with that, anyway? Who was this Morag, and why was Delilah being punished for something she did?
Highlander Cursed: A Scottish Time Travel Romance Page 9