"I'd kill for a hot shower," Maria said, shaking her head regretfully. "Or an ice-cold can of Coke straight out of the fridge? Bliss. But I love my husband more," she added, glancing sideways at the Laird, who shot her a quick grin. "Just," she added under her breath, drawing a laugh from Carissa.
"I'm not exactly a tech wizard," she said with a shrug. "I do most of my writing on paper still."
"Oh, you're a writer?"
"Poet," she corrected, feeling a little embarrassed — but Jim had always seemed to think that the distinction was important.
"Wonderful. You can keep doing that here," Maria said with a grin. "Being a homicide detective was a little less transferrable."
Carissa nodded… then blinked in surprise. "I just realized. I brought my backpack with me. It's got my phone in it. Is that…" She bit her lip, thinking of the sci-fi novels she'd read. "Is that a problem? Is that going to cause a time paradox, or something?"
But the women were exchanging amused glances. "I don't think so," Maria said, shaking her head. "I suspect there's something about the magic that just… resolves any of those problems on the way through."
Sure enough, when she reached into her bag, she realized to her surprise that there was no sign of her phone… even in the pocket that she always kept it in. Her wallet was there, as were her several dozen notebooks for poetry… but that was all. "Hey! I had books in here," she said, frowning. "A book of Scottish history…"
"Can't exist here, I guess," Edith said softly, her eyes wide. "How interesting. The doorway just… deletes things that would cause problems here. Taking care of us," she said softly.
"The gateway, or the witch who built it?" Erin asked, raising an eyebrow. The woman had been listening to their conversation, it seemed. Carissa looked up at her, curious about what she meant.
"The witch?"
"Scathach," she explained. "She built the castle as well as the gateway. I wouldn't be surprised if it was her that brought you here. I don't think the gateway let's just anyone come through."
Carissa nodded, thinking of the tour group she'd been with when she'd stumbled upon the small doorway. It wasn't exactly hidden — the idea that in the entire course of history, only three women had ever gone through it… well, it was laughable.
"I think Scathach picks and chooses," Erin continued thoughtfully. "And I wouldn't be surprised if she was playing matchmaker, either. Especially with the track record thus far," she said, giving both Maria and Edith a broad grin. "Or do you think it was coincidental that the two of you fell so deeply in love with the men you met here?"
Carissa fought the blush that was rising to her cheeks — did that mean she'd been brought here to fulfill some romantic destiny? She stopped herself from looking down the table at Hugh, knowing that her expression would give away far more than she was willing to let it… and if Maria's sharp detective eyes noticed anything amiss, she didn't say anything.
"Well, whatever or whoever it was that brought us here… it's not exactly common knowledge," Maria said firmly. "Be careful who you speak with about it — about who you are, and where you're from."
She blinked, a little taken aback. "Oh. I told Hugh basically my entire life story last night –"
Edith giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth as she shook her head. "No, no. You're safe and sound with the MacLeods, that's for sure."
"But not everyone here is as open minded," Maria said darkly, glancing around. "Especially when it comes to witchcraft and the like. There's a band of witch hunters in the area at the moment, looking for trouble. Not uncommon around these parts, according to Cameron at least, but as you can imagine, strange women with esoteric knowledge of things beyond regular comprehension…"
Carissa nodded, putting the pieces together. "If they knew about us, they'd think we were witches."
"Small-minded people," Erin agreed, shaking her head heavily. "They fear what they don't know — and that, unfortunately, is most things about the female gender."
"Not much has changed, then," Carissa said drily, thinking back to what she'd been worrying about earlier.
Maria chuckled. "Unfortunately not. So — if anyone asks, you're a friend of ours from the mainland. Our accent's strange, but at least we all have the same one," she added, smiling. "Call it a regional accent."
"That includes people in the castle, by the way," Erin warned her. "Some of the servants live in the village, or have families there, and they're all terrible gossips. We don't want word to reach the witch hunters, no matter how silly the rumor might be. Castle Dunscaith has something of a reputation as it is… I don't doubt you'll have a visit from the hunters before they're gone."
"Do you live here, too?" Carissa asked, but Erin shook her head.
"I live in a cottage just outside of town with Hugh and his little sisters," she explained. "That's why he spends so much time up here at the stables," she added, shooting her son an amused look across the table. "You'd be more than welcome to come to dinner one evening, once you're settled in."
"Thank you," Carissa said, smiling. The idea of having dinner with Hugh's family was a little intimidating — what did you take to a medieval meal? She'd only met Jim's family once — a stiff, awkward dinner at a restaurant that was slightly too expensive for her budget. She already liked Erin a lot more than she'd liked Jim's mother. "That would be lovely."
"Speaking of getting settled in," Maria said, leaning back from the table. "Let's find you a room, shall we?" She took her by the arm and rose to her feet, and Laird Cameron gave them a nod, a smile on his handsome face.
"Welcome again, Carissa. I look forward to learning more about you."
And with that, Maria lead her away across the dining hall. She couldn't wait to see more of the castle — the idea of having her own room her filled her with glee. But she hesitated as they left, giving Hugh a quick wave goodbye. And though she was excited to see the rest of the castle, she felt a secret hope deep in her chest that it wouldn't be too long before she saw the stablemaster again.
Chapter 8
They climbed the stone steps and found themselves in a hallway on one of the upper levels of the castle. Maria led her down the hallway past several wooden doors before letting her into one right at the end.
"This was my room when I first got here," she said with a smile. "So, I know it's comfortable."
The room was small but undeniably cozy. A little fireplace sat at one end, freshly cleaned — she could easily imagine it crackling with a cozy fire in the evenings. There was a single bed, neatly made, with a faded tartan quilt that looked soft and warm. But what really struck her was the window — she moved to it, wide-eyed as she stared out over the ocean. Maria chuckled behind her as she gazed down from the window ledge to where she could just make out the castle wall dropping away toward the sea, hundreds of feet below.
"I was always tempted to throw things out the window," Maria told her with amusement dancing in her voice. "It's a hell of a drop."
"It's amazing," Carissa said softly, tearing her eyes away from the view. The sea seemed to go on forever, reaching all the way to the horizon… "Next stop Canada, right?"
"I think so," Maria said with a smile. "Not that I've looked at a modern map in a long time."
"Do you miss it?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "The modern world, I mean."
Maria shrugged. "Like I said — sometimes. Mostly the technological stuff. And my family. But I have a new family now," she added with a smile. "The MacLeods have been … well, they're good people, leave it at that." She got the feeling that the pragmatic detective didn't have much time for talking about feelings. "Family and friends, though. That's what keeps you anchored, helps you not to spiral off into panic about everything that's going on. I'm here for you whenever you need me, okay? And I know that Edith feels the same."
"What was it like when she arrived?" she asked curiously as she set her backpack down by the bed, resolving to unpack it later. "You were alone until then, right?"
"Well, I had Cameron. But I have to admit, it was a relief to have someone from my own time. Made me feel way less crazy." She looked reflectively out the window, her eyes on the distant waves that crashed below them. "And Edith… well, she needed a friend, I think. Back in the future, she was in a pretty awful situation."
"She was?" The soft-spoken woman hadn't seemed traumatized.
"Mm. An abusive new marriage. Her husband actually followed her through," Maria said darkly. "Let's just say he did not get the welcome she or you did."
Carissa shook her head, dismayed by finding out the sweet Edith had been through such an awful experience. "That poor girl. What happened to him?"
"He escaped us when the Castle flooded and we had to move the prisoners from the dungeon. He took up with the Irish bandits we'd been holding for local law enforcement and long story short, they killed him for betraying them."
"Wow." Carissa blinked. "He must have been a real piece of work."
Maria nodded. "Well, she has Bran to take care of her now," Maria said with a smile. "He's been good for her. This place… well, it has its dangers, but in a lot of ways it's been very healing for her." She tilted her head to the side, looking thoughtfully at Carissa. "I have a feeling it might be that way for you, too."
"Oh, Jim wasn't abusive, not physically anyway," she said automatically… then flushed. "I, uh. Jim's my ex-boyfriend."
"Had a feeling he might have been," Maria said wryly. "But anyone you feel the need to defend like that… well, he might not have been technically abusive, but I doubt he was any good for you."
"No," she said faintly, shaking her head as she thought of their relationship. "The further away I get from him, the more I realize that he wasn't."
"And how much further can you get than medieval Skye?" Maria smiled. "I'm glad you're here, Carissa. I'm looking forward to getting to know you better. And hearing your stories of the city. For all that she's a terrible, filthy old monster, I really do miss New York sometimes. I'll leave you to get settled in," she added. "Make sure to grab a servant if there's anything you need."
"A servant?"
"Weird, I know, but you'll get used to it." She smiled. "Get some rest; if you feel the need. The trip took a lot out of both of us — you'll likely be the same."
And then she was alone, left to her own devices in the little room. She explored a little more, examining the wooden table that stood opposite the window, the simple but beautifully made wooden chair that stood by it and the natural light that spilled over it. It was just about the most perfect writing place she could have imagined… and it was with great relief that she went through her bag to discover that all five of her empty notebooks were there, waiting to be written in. And, it seemed, the magic or the witch who had seen fit not to let her phone through hadn't had the same concerns about her stationery collection. There were a dozen ball-point pens at the bottom of the bag, as well as a good handful of pencils and erasers. She'd always been worried about losing pens or forgetting them. Now, she was glad she'd always had such a tendency to hoard them. It would be a long time before she ran out.
And a good thing, too. It wasn't as though she could just duck into the convenience store for another twelve-pack of ballpoint pens, now was it?
She bit her lip, gazing down at the blank pages of the notebook open before her. Being in this strange place all by herself… part of her wanted to keep a record of it. And though she'd bought the books for poetry, she decided that one of them at least could be her journal. She settled down to write an inaugural entry, then laughed as she realized she had no idea what the date was.
"Day one," she murmured aloud, shaking her head. That was going to have to do until she knew what year it was, at least. "Crawled through a magic portal into medieval Scotland. Just a regular day, you know…" She'd always had the habit of speaking out loud as she wrote — her father had always made fun of her for it, but even his mockery hadn't been enough to make her kick the habit. It helped to say things out loud first, to think through them before committing them to paper. Oddly enough, she didn't do the same thing when she wrote poetry. Poetry went straight to the page… but when she journaled, she did it out loud, first.
She finished jotting down the events of the day, resisting the urge to dwell at length on how handsome Hugh was… and then hesitated as she slid the book shut, remembering what the women had told her about the nosy servants who lived in the village. Already, she'd written down enough fantastical things in the journal to have her burned at the stake, probably. What if a servant stumbled upon her journal and read it? She glanced around the room, searching for a safe place to hide it, and finally decided on wedging it between the mattress and the bed frame on the far side of the bed, where it was unlikely to be disturbed unless the entire mattress was being removed — which, from what she could tell, didn't happen too often.
It felt strange, hiding her journal to avoid potentially being identified as a witch. She didn't feel much like a witch. But as side effects of time travel went, it wasn't too bad. After all, she had a pleasant little room to stay in, all the food she could eat, and — it seemed — a couple of new friends who were very much looking forward to getting to know her. It was a little overwhelming, actually — and she was shocked by how well she was coping. Usually, change was something she struggled with… but this change was so overwhelming it was almost like she'd been shocked into dealing with it. Smiling to herself, she kicked her boots off, deciding that there was nothing wrong with a mid-morning nap. Hadn't Maria told her to get as much rest as she needed? Besides, she was itching to find out whether that quilt was as warm as it looked.
Sure enough, the bed was deliciously comfortable… though she had to admit, she missed the feeling of Hugh's cloak wrapped around her shoulders. The bed was much more comfortable than the stiff pallet in the stables, though, and it wasn't long before she was lost to a much deeper sleep than the restless few hours she'd spent tossing and turning in the stables. By the time she was awake again, the sun was low in the sky — she sat up blearily, a little disoriented by the vibrant orange light in the room before she realized that the sunset light was beaming directly through her window. She got out of bed and padded to the window, smiling sleepily at the beauty of the sunset. Yes — she could definitely get used to this kind of a setup that was for sure.
Once the sun was most of the way under the horizon, though, she found herself feeling a little lonely. That was new, too. Back at the hotel it had been all she could do to tolerate other people's presence — now she'd been alone for barely a few hours and she already wanted to seek out the other inhabitants of the castle. Smiling to herself, she put her boots back on and headed down the hallway for the stairs, resisting the temptation to peek into the rooms she passed. There would be plenty of time to explore the castle later. For now, she had a destination in mind…
The courtyard was also bathed in orange light, and she nodded and waved to the people she passed, all of them castle folk wearing the same curious expressions as they looked at her. Edith had warned her over breakfast that she might get some stares, but so far nobody had been rude about it — just curious. And understandably so. If someone had turned up at her apartment building in medieval clothes, she probably would have stared, too.
But theirs weren't the stares she was interested in… and to her delight, she was barely through the stable doors when she spotted Hugh. He was in the black gelding's stall, talking to the horse in a low voice as Scath crunched his oblivious way through a pail of oats. She cleared her throat to announce her presence, not wanting to overhear too much of whatever personal monologue he was delivering to the horse, and he straightened up with surprise, clearly pleased to see her.
"Carissa! Sorry," he said with a rueful smile. "Got into the habit of talking to horses when I was a kid."
"Oh, me too. They're good listeners."
He chuckled at that, and she felt warmth and light suffusing her chest. "How are you? Settling in
alright?"
"Oh, yeah. Maria showed me my room. I spent most of the day sleeping, actually."
"Ah, good. More comfortable than the pallet, I'd guess."
She laughed. "A little. I wanted to thank you, though. For welcoming me — and for helping me figure out what was going on."
He nodded. "My pleasure, Carissa. Though you didn't seem to need much help." He gave Scath a quick pat on the neck, then let himself out of the stall. "It's just about time for dinner. Would you care to accompany me?"
The medieval equivalent of a date? she wondered idly. She could only hope.
Chapter 9
When they reached the dining hall, it was even busier and more crowded than it had been that morning, and Carissa found herself recoiling a little from the throngs of people. As hungry as she was, she didn't want to spend any more time than necessary among these people, getting stared at and judged… and to her surprise, when she looked up at Hugh, he was wearing a similarly uncomfortable expression. Her eyes widened.
"Do you not like crowds either?" she asked in an undertone, and he looked down at her with relief mingling with embarrassment.
"Honestly, I like horses more than people," he admitted, and she couldn't help but giggle.
"Me too. But I'm starving…"
"I have an idea, one moment," he said, grinning. And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the throngs of people and leaving her frowning — but before long, he was back, two covered bowls in his hands and a wrapped bundle of something trapped under one of his arms. She took it from him and the two of them fled the hall, back out into the gathering dusk outside, into the depths of the stables where they settled down to half-sit, half-lie in an enormous, fragrant pile of straw. She couldn't help but giggle at the look of relief on his face as he dropped himself back into the straw, his considerable frame compressing the hay beneath him.
"It's so noisy in there," he said, shaking his head. "Worse than dinner with my family… but only just," he added with a roll of his eyes.
Hold A Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (A Highlander Across Time Book 3) Page 5