That would do. She shut her eyes for a moment, focusing on that thought as she got down on her hands and knees. Then she opened the wooden door and crawled over the threshold.
A wave of dizziness rushed over her — something almost like vertigo — and she stumbled as she tried to stand up on the other side of the doorway, grabbing at the straps of her backpack as she opened her eyes. But for a moment, she didn't understand what she was looking at. Had she somehow stumbled into another room? These walls had torches on them, decorative medieval-style ones. Had she found her way into the gift shop, or something? And it felt like the light was different in here, too. Frowning, she glanced back down at the doorway behind her, comforted by how solid it was, how unchanged.
"Maybe the spell worked," she said softly to herself, a little amused by how strange she felt. The power of suggestion was an incredible thing. There might be a poem in this… the lost, worried girl crawling through a doorway in a ruin, hoping for magic and finding only lingering jetlag. Shaking her head, she moved to go back through the door she'd come through, resolving to rejoin the group, but it wouldn't open. She pushed on it, but it was stuck. Sighing, she stood back up, looking around the room she was in. Maybe she could find another way up and the tour guide would be able to tell her something about what that doorway was for. It was certainly better preserved than anything else in the ruin.
But as she crossed the room to a hallway, she could hardly dare to believe her eyes. There were more torches here — and these ones, to her shock, were lit. She looked around her, vividly confused — what was going on? What the hell was she looking at? Why were the walls restored? Why were there tapestries hanging here — why were the stairs whole and undamaged under her feet as she climbed, almost moving on autopilot?
The shock really hit her, though, at the top of the stairs. No wonder there had been torches lit down there — there was no longer the gray daylight spilling down them to illuminate the basement rooms down there. Because Dunscaith Castle was no longer a ruin. She was standing in the middle of what looked for all the world like an entrance hall. At one end stood huge wooden doors… and at the other end, some distance away, stood yet another staircase that seemed to go to upper floors.
Upper floors that had been lost centuries ago.
What the hell was going on?
Carissa had never been the kind of person who confused dreams with reality. Sure, dreams felt real enough while you were inside them — but it also never occurred to you that you were dreaming until you woke up. And she was definitely not dreaming. She could feel her backpack heavy on her shoulders, feel her feet in her shoes, feel her hair against her face… this was all real. She was in a medieval castle… and it wasn't a ruin.
"Did I do this?" she whispered to herself, dizzy with surprise. Hadn't she wished to be transformed? Hadn't she wished for radical change? Had she wished herself back in time? She'd read dozens of storybooks about this kind of thing… and though the characters in those books always seemed to disbelieve their surroundings, she'd always been frustrated by their refusal to accept the evidence of their eyes, always thought that if she traveled through time, she wouldn't waste a second wondering whether she was dreaming.
And she didn't intend to do that now. If it was a hallucination, it was vivid and wonderful, and she was going to enjoy it before it disappeared. And with a broad grin on her face, Carissa started exploring the castle.
She moved quietly. It was clear that it was late at night — there was darkness beyond all the windows she passed, and if people lived here, they must all be asleep. She wandered through the huge hall she'd found herself in, trying to get a sense of the scale of the place — through one door, a long hallway, through another, another hall full of tables. She explored this one first, fascinated by the rough-hewn furniture, by the stone walls, the enormous hearth at one end that still held the dying embers of what must have been a huge fire. And fair enough, too — the chill in the air, deadened as it was by the stone walls, was sharp, and she was grateful for the layers of clothing she was wearing.
It was hard to see much in the gloom — a doorway beyond the hall seemed to lead to the kitchen, where the air was dense and much warmer, but after nearly tripping over a jumble of pots and pans that were spilling out of a cabinet on one side of the room, she decided against doing too much more exploration. She moved along the wall of the kitchen until she found a little door that opened out into the cold of the night, the bracing scent of the sea pulling her out of her reverie.
She found herself in a courtyard lit by moonlight, the stones beneath her feet were vaguely familiar — though absolutely everything else had changed. Gone was the bus in the distance, gone were the trees that had stood around the ruin … and more to the point, gone was the ruin. To one side, the castle loomed above her, an enormous shape cut out against the dark sky. To the other, she could see a wall ringing the castle, enclosing a courtyard that surrounded it — she remembered the tour guide explaining that part of the wall had crumbled into the sea, and that the rest had been reduced to its foundations over the years. But that wasn't the case now — far from it.
She walked toward the wall, still hypnotized by the utterly unbelievable — and yet utterly real — sights she was seeing. The courtyard was empty and quiet, but she could see points of light on the wall in the distance and realized that that must have been where the gate was. Did that mean guards were on duty? A thrill ran through her. Actual guards. They'd be able to tell her where she was… and maybe even when she was.
This had to be a dream, didn't it? She could barely believe it was real. But the stones under her feet were real, and as she made her way toward the outer wall, the castle looming behind her was impossible to ascribe to a dream. Several floors high — she couldn't make out how many layers of windows there were from this distance — she itched to climb to the very top, to gaze out over the sea and the island. But she didn't want to wake anyone up… didn't want to disturb the owners of the place, whoever they were. What were they going to make of her — a woman from the future? At least, she assumed she was from the future — that something about that gate had brought her back through time to when the castle was still upright. What century was it?
"Should have paid more attention to the tour guide," she whispered to herself, almost delirious with shock and another feeling — an unfamiliar feeling that was pulsing in her heart, driving her on in her exploration, forcing the smile to spread more and more broadly across her face. It was the feeling of… happiness. The feeling of hope. The feeling that she was, for the first time in her life, in a place she actually wanted to be in.
So, what if it was a dream? It was a great dream. And after a couple of profoundly crappy years, Carissa would take what she could get.
There were stables in the courtyard, and she slipped inside, wanting to get away from the icy wind that was biting through even her multiple layers of clothing. She could hear the soft sounds of horses moving in their stalls, smell the sweet scent of hay and horse, and she shut her eyes for a moment, thinking back to her childhood. She'd been a die-hard animal lover, and her mother had made sure she learned to ride at a riding school about an hour's drive away from their little house — a big trip they made every weekend, and one she'd always looked forward to. When high school had started and her depression had kicked in, she'd quit, complaining that she hated the long drive… but she'd always missed it.
She stole up to one of the stalls, peeking over the top of it to see an indistinct dark shape — a pair of pointed ears and a couple of dark eyes, gleaming curiously in the dark. The horse ambled over to her, unafraid but interested, and she extended a hand for the horse's consideration. No matter what century it was, she thought with a smile, horses hadn't changed — and sure enough, this one shoved its nose into her hand, sniffing at her curiously.
"Wish I had an apple for you," she murmured softly. She'd always taken an apple along to the black gelding she'd ridden every weekend when she wa
s a kid — it had been an important part of the ritual, not to be forgotten. This horse reminded her a little of that friendly old horse — and she blinked in confusion when it suddenly took a step back from her, huffing with surprise as though something had startled it. "What's going on?" she asked softly, a little confused — then shock lanced through her as an unfamiliar voice answered from behind her, splitting the silence of the stables in half.
"I may well ask you the same question."
Chapter 5
Carissa's mind raced to catch up. A deep voice, cautious but not unfriendly. An unmistakable Scottish lilt to the vowels, familiar and yet somehow different to the voices she'd been hearing throughout her stay here… and as she turned, startled by the voice, she saw its source and took a sharp intake of breath.
The man who'd spoken was enormous. Outlined against the moonlight that shone through the stable door, on first instinct she thought he was more of a bear than a man — ragged edges, impossibly broad shoulders… then she realized that he was wearing a thick cloak that made him look even bigger than he was. Still, even with the cloak, he was a tall man — at least a foot taller than her, maybe more. She shivered a little, feeling intimidated, suddenly acutely aware that she was trespassing in a place she knew next to nothing about.
"I — I'm sorry," she started, lifting her hands as though he was pointing a gun at her. "I — oh my God, it's such a long story."
"I'd like to hear it." Still cautious, she noticed — but no sign of anger in his voice. He also hadn't gotten any closer to her — still standing a few feet away, his body language imposing but not threatening.
She wished she could make out his features in the low light of the gloom… but the horse behind her didn't seem frightened, and the feeling of its muzzle against her shoulder was very reassuring.
"I — I was on a tour," she said, not sure whether she was talking to someone who even knew what a tour was. At least he spoke English, she thought dazedly. That was something. She didn't know what she'd have done if someone had started interrogating her in Gaelic. "A tour of the ruin of Dunscaith Castle. Is that where I am? Is this Dunscaith?"
"Aye, that's right," the man said, and there was something in his voice like — recognition? Relief, perhaps?
"Okay. Well. I — when I was there, it was a ruin."
"And what happened then?"
"I was in the basement, or the — the rooms underneath, whatever you call them. And there was this tiny door. I crawled through it, and when I tried to go back through it, it was closed, so I found another staircase and when I went up the stairs—"
"You were here." The man nodded.
She tense as he began to approach her, striding down the stables between the two lines of stalls. She was nervous about what he planned to do to her— but he moved right past her and began to fidget around with something. Then he turned, a lantern in his hand with a tiny flame burning in it. The light was enough to see his face by, and the two of them studied each other for a brief moment.
He was younger than she'd thought. For some reason, she'd cast the imposing figure at the end of the stables as a man in his forties, if not older — something to do with his stature, with the imposing tone of his voice. But up this close, with the light of the lantern illuminating him, she realized he was barely older than her — if that. But it was no wonder she'd had trouble making his features out at a distance — his hair was as dark as the night sky itself, and fell across his equally dark eyes, which were full of curiosity as he looked at her. She couldn't help but observe, too, as he studied her, that he was handsome.
"Who are you?" she asked, more to break a silence that was beginning to feel uncomfortable than any real courtesy. "Do you live in the castle?"
"I live nearby with my family," he said absent-mindedly. "I'm stablemaster here, though. Hugh MacLeod."
Family. Did that mean he was married? He looked rather young to have a wife and children… she bit her lip, a little surprised at the path her thoughts seemed determined to stray down. "My name's Carissa Knox," she said. "I'm from New York." Stupid, she scolded herself. How on earth was he supposed to know where that was?
But to her surprise, he just nodded. "Aye. That makes sense."
"This might seem like a crazy question," she said, "but… what year is it?"
He chuckled at that. "A few hundred years before your time, that's for certain."
Her jaw dropped. "My time? How do you — why — how — sorry," she added, feeling flustered. "Maybe I should let you explain."
"You're the third woman we've found wandering about in strange garments with no idea when or where she was," Hugh explained with an easy-going smile that almost made her ignore how strange what he was explaining was. "The first two — well, one's married to the Laird, my cousin Cameron. I'd imagine you'll want to meet them."
"I think so," she said faintly. "Where — who are they? Where are they from?"
"Maria's from New York. All the way across the ocean, both of them are," he said thoughtfully. "Difficult to imagine. Though I can't say I've talked with either of them much. As I mentioned, Maria's married to the Laird and Edith is married to his tanist, he's my cousin too."
"They came through the doorway as well?" She was suddenly full of vivid curiosity. "It brought them back here? Does it work both ways? Does it go anywhere else? Does—"
"What happened to letting me explain?" he said, an amused quirk to his eyebrow.
She blushed. "Sorry."
"Tell you what. I've been putting off some work around here. Why don't you sit with me while I work on the tack and I can tell you everything I know? It'll be a little while until the rest of the castle is awake," he added, glancing over his shoulder.
"Yeah, it's the middle of the night," Carissa said, blinking. "Why are you even here?"
"Couldn't sleep," he said with a shrug. "I often find myself awake late at night. Better to make myself useful here than to just wander about at home keeping my sisters awake."
Sisters, she thought, seizing on the comment. That meant it was likely he lived with his parents and siblings, not a wife… not that I'm interested, she thought with a blush rising to her cheeks. It was just natural to wonder when you met someone this attractive… She followed him as he headed down the pathway between the stalls, into a room full of the smell of leather and oil. There were at least a dozen saddles here, and a huge pile of tangled bridle straps and metal — she grinned in recognition. "Oh, I know that sight."
"Nobody puts their tack away properly," Hugh said, sounding as disgruntled as the woman who had owned the riding school Carissa had gone to as a child.
"Let me help? In exchange for explaining where I am?"
He quirked an eyebrow at her but seemed pleased at the offer. It wasn't long before the two of them were seated, Hugh rubbing oil into the leather of saddle after saddle, Carissa attempting to detangle the enormous knot of bridles. It felt good to do something with her hands — like it was grounding her, tethering her to the here and now, to the rather bizarre circumstances she'd found herself in.
"So, I should start with the castle? Or the doorway?"
"Which came first?"
"Ah, a very good question." He smiled to himself. "My mother knows the story a lot better than I do, but I'll do my best. Dunscaith Castle is said to have been built in a single day, hundreds of years ago."
"How?"
"Hard work," he said, shooting her a look. "Magic, of course. It's said that a witch helped the original inhabitants of the castle to build it. Her name was Scathach. She built it as a school to teach her students, then gave it to the MacLeods a few hundred years later."
"So, she put the doorway in?" The figure of a witch who'd built castles by magic had appeared in a few of the old folk stories her mother had shared with her… it was fascinating to hear about the figure first-hand from someone who actually lived here.
"That is what my mother thinks. She's had dreams of Scathach her whole life. But nobody's sur
e. All we know is we've been fighting over the castle with the MacDonalds for hundreds of years, too."
She nodded, not especially interested in local politics but not wanting to seem rude. "I suppose a magical castle is a pretty good prize…"
He chuckled. "I'm not sure they believe it's magic. They do believe in its strategic position, though. Overlooking the sea and the land… but I'd imagine you're more interested in how you got here," he added.
She grinned. Had she been that obvious with her impatience? "A little," she answered.
"We're not sure," he said, shrugging his broad shoulders. "The gateway; if that's what it is… it doesn't work the same way from this end. Both Maria and Edith had a similar story to you — they crawled through the doorway from their own time and ended up here. But — well, this is the bad news." His dark eyes were full of sorrow. "The gateway doesn't work the other way, as far as we can tell. You're trapped here, I'm afraid."
She took a deep breath, trying to process this information. The little doorway had been a portal through time. No wonder she'd felt so strange when she'd touched it, so disoriented when she'd crawled through… she'd been crawling through time a few hundred years, a touch of vertigo was probably understandable. And there was no way back. No way to step back through, to rejoin her tour group, to return to her hotel room all by herself… no way to go back to New York, to continue getting rid of Jim's things, to worry about getting a new room-mate, to face the rest of her life alone… it was as though she'd died, leaving the entirety of her life behind. No more responsibilities. No more tiny apartment, no more stress about money, no more Jim. To her shock, she found herself smiling.
Hugh looked surprised, too — he blinked at her cautiously. "I imagine it's a lot to take in –"
"It is," she said, a little shocked by her own reaction. "I just… for a very long time, I've been… unhappy. I've been all but praying for change, for something to happen, for my whole life to blow up…" She felt a laugh bubble up in her throat and suppressed it, not wanting Hugh to think she was completely insane. "I know that sounds crazy. But … but coming here, this kind of change… I think this is exactly what I need. Is that crazy?"
Hold A Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (A Highlander Across Time Book 3) Page 3