by Mariah Stone
They talked a bit more, about tracking, comparing what Craig knew about tracking animals to what Amy knew. Then they started talking about other stuff—about Craig and his family. How he had gone to England with his father and uncles during the four years that Bruce was allied with Edward I to oppose the restoration of John Balliol as the Scottish king. How, during that time, the Cambels had fought for Edward I, and how Craig’s uncle Neil had received new lands in Cumberland for the service. How England was different from Scotland. Although her mind was on the task of tracking Elspeth, talking to Craig was easy and pleasant, and she wished they could talk like that forever.
An hour or so must have passed, until the terrain became rockier, and the forest became sparser. Up there, the woman’s footprints became confused. She had stepped several times in one place, as though looking around. Then the footsteps changed direction. The woman went off the trail and into the woods.
There were only a few patches of snow there, and Elspeth’s footsteps were now buried in the fallen leaves, rotting grass, and between small stones. It was harder to see them, but Amy knew now what to look for. The woman had gone up the slope, stopped again, rested on a boulder, then gone in yet another direction. It was clear she was confused or lost. It was good that she must be moving slowly, because the signs were getting fresher. Amy also saw broken twigs on the bushes and a couple of tiny woolen threads stuck on the branches.
“I think she’s close,” Amy said. “I feel it in my bones.”
They sped up. Sometimes the signs were barely visible, and in a completely different direction than Amy had anticipated. And then they were in front of a cliff, and there was a cave. Amy and Craig exchanged glances.
“Elspeth!” Amy called, running up the hill towards the cave. “Elspeth!”
“Elspeth!” Craig echoed. He tied the horses to a tree and followed her.
Amy stopped at the mouth of the cave. Her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she saw something gray leaning against the wall a few feet away.
She rushed in.
An old woman sat on the ground, propped against the wall. Her hair was disheveled under her cape, her cloak dirty and torn with leaves and old grass stuck to it. She was pale, and she was shaking. She opened her bloodshot eyes, which were wet from tears.
“Who is Elspeth?” the woman asked.
Craig stopped next to Amy.
“It’s her,” she said. “She doesn’t remember who she is. But it’s her.”
She felt Craig’s eyes on her. “Ye kept yer promise. Ye found her,” he said, and if Amy wasn’t mistaken, his voice rang with admiration.
Wrapped in plaids and blankets, Elspeth sat in front of Amy on the horse. Amy felt protective of her and insisted the woman would come with her so that Amy would be able to react fast if she noticed any signs she might need medical help. They rode down the hill carefully, letting the horses choose the way. Craig rode before Amy and Elspeth, and Amy kept looking at his broad, powerful frame, at the dark, wavy hair that brushed his shoulders. What was he thinking now? She’d kept her promise not to run away. She’d found the woman.
Something tightened in Amy’s stomach. She desperately wanted him to like her, to trust her. Because her stupid, stupid heart was heavily crushing on him.
“He’s a bonnie lad,” Elspeth said.
Amy glanced at the back of the woman’s head.
“Yeah,” she said. “He’s not bad.”
“Not bad? Where do ye come from, dearie? Never heard anyone talk quite like ye before.”
Oh God. Her accent, again. She should probably learn to speak like a Scot if she stayed here much longer. “Uhm. I’m Amy MacDougall.”
Elspeth chuckled. “Nae, dearie, ye’re nae Amy MacDougall.”
Amy’s skin chilled. The woman had dementia or maybe Alzheimer’s. She hadn’t remembered where her home was or who she was when they’d found her. Amy and Craig had warmed her up and given her food and water. Craig had wanted to give her uisge, but alcohol was one of the worst things a person could take if they had hypothermia. Craig had asked Elspeth where her home was, and the woman had asked him if he were the faerie king, taking her to the faerie land.
So how seriously could Amy take her words, really? Nevertheless, a chill ran through her.
“Yes, I am,” Amy said.
“Wait, I did hear a voice like that once,” she said, as if recalling something from another time.
“You did?”
“Aye. A man, a tinker passed by the village, stayed in our house. ’Twas so long ago, my daughter was but a bairn. He told many stories, and one was about a woman who used the tunnel under the river of time. He met her himself. He said she had the most peculiar talk, and ’twas just like yers, what he imitated.”
Amy swallowed. She glanced at Craig, but he showed no sign that he’d heard any of that.
“What happened to the woman?” Amy whispered, her voice hot and quick.
“So I am right, aren’t I?” Elspeth turned a little and glanced at Amy. There was no confusion in her blue eyes anymore.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Dinna fash, dearie. I wilna tell a soul.”
“Tell me about that woman.”
“I dinna remember much else, just that she came through time, from the future. She used the Pictish rock of time. The Comyn castle is built upon one, if I remember. My ancestors, the Picts built it. Aye, my kin comes from here, as far back as time goes. They built the stronghold that was there before the castle, and then they built the castle ye see now.”
Amy couldn’t believe her ears.
“What happened to her?” she asked again.
“She should have kept her secret, that’s what I can tell ye. People didna believe her. She was proclaimed insane. Folks didna want anything to do with her. No one dared to help her or open their doors to her. He said she was found with her throat slit on the streets of a village. Someone killed her in the end, afraid, mayhap, she was telling the truth. Afraid she might open the tunnel of time and let many more outlanders from the future in.”
Something dark and cold twitched in Amy’s stomach. A drop of sweat crawled between her shoulder blades. If the truth about her being a time traveler came out, would that be her destiny, too?
“So.” Amy cleared her throat to relieve her tension. “Do you know how that rock works? How can one activate it, or whatever, and travel in time?”
“Are ye here by mistake?”
“Yes. By mistake. I need to go back. Please, help me, Elspeth.”
“If I remember it right—and I admit, my memory isna as good anymore—the woman touched the stone and fell through it, through time.”
“Yes, that’s what I did…” Amy murmured. “I put my hand into a handprint on that rock. So if I touch it again, it’ll work?”
Elspeth was silent.
“Elspeth?”
Silence.
Amy shook Elspeth’s shoulder a little. “Elspeth?!”
“Who’s Elspeth?” the woman said.
Amy grunted a little. “Do you remember what we just talked about?”
“And who are ye?” She turned around a little, her eyes milky with confusion. It seemed the moment of clarity was gone. Who knew if what Elspeth just said was even true or the product of her illness. Poor woman. It must be so terrible, to never have control of what you remember and what you know is true.
Amy sighed. “I’m Amy. We’re taking you home to your family.”
When they returned to Inverlochy, Alana and Diarmid still waited for her in the warmth of the great hall. Alana’s head lay on Diarmid’s shoulder, her face a worried mask. She turned and her eyes widened and tears welled in them.
“Oh, Mother!”
She covered her mouth with her hands and rushed towards Elspeth. Diarmid followed her. She took the confused woman in her arms.
“Thank God ye’re well,” she whispered against Elspeth’s white hair. She turned to Craig. “Thank ye, lord. Oh, ye’re such a good l
ord, we’re lucky to have ye. The old lord wouldna have done it for us…”
Amy chuckled internally, curious how Craig would react. Would he take the credit? Craig’s stern face went blank in surprise.
“’Tis nae me ye should thank. ’Tis my wife. I wouldna have found yer mother without her.”
Alana let go of her mother, and Diarmid hugged the woman by her shoulders. Alana came to Amy and took her hands in hers.
“Thank ye, mistress. Thank ye with all my heart.”
Amy’s cheeks warmed, and she squeezed Alana’s hands in return. This was why she was doing what she was doing. To put such happy, relieved smiles on people’s faces.
“Of course,” she said. “I’m just glad we found her in time.”
As the reunited family walked out of the hall, Amy let out a long breath. Elspeth didn’t remember anything of their conversation now, but what if she would? Hair lifted on the nape of Amy’s neck.
She needed to do everything she could to get into that storeroom and touch that damn rock. She needed to get out of here. Out of a world where she could be proclaimed insane or killed because people would be afraid of her for being different.
She glanced at Craig again.
Only…the more time spent around him, the less she wanted to return to a world without Craig Cambel in it.
Chapter 17
Four days later…
Amy left the kitchen with two bowls of stew, walking into the evening darkness. The weather had changed earlier that day from sunny and freezing to windy and warm. Rain was coming—she could smell the wet, lush scent of its approach.
Supper was about to be served, and everyone was gathering in the great hall. She saw Craig walking there with the young warriors he’d just finished training. He had been practicing swordsmanship with them often during the last couple of days. He was smiling, the locks of his hair clinging a bit to his sweaty forehead.
An image flashed in her dirty mind—his naked, muscular body with abs like rugged plains she could lose herself in, the hard pecs. She hadn’t seen him shirtless yet, but that’s how she’d imagined him from his powerful body when he kissed her. She wanted to lick those muscles, make him tilt his head back and moan.
Craig clapped one of the boys on the shoulder, then let him pass into the hall. He stopped for a moment and looked up at her.
Her breath evaporated.
He smiled.
The smile was so disarming and sweet she almost dropped the stew and flew into his arms.
He gestured to her to come to him. So easily. As though she was his friend. As though she really was his beloved wife. As though she hadn’t lied to him from the moment she’d met him.
She couldn’t breathe. And she couldn’t help smiling back. Joy and happiness spread through her like warm sunlight.
Like spring.
She gestured with her head for him to go in.
He nodded, his eyes still lingering on her—not suspiciously anymore, but as though he cared. As though he wanted to make sure she didn’t need help, that she was all right.
And she…she was taking him in, every detail of his handsome face: the gorgeous curve of his eyebrows, the dark-green eyes, the chestnut-brown stubble.
She was saying goodbye to him.
Then he went in.
Amy exhaled slowly, both relieved and sorry that the moment was over.
Even though it was more and more difficult to leave, she had to. Jenny needed her. Amy couldn’t abandon her sister to take care of their dad. Besides, after hearing Elspeth’s story, she was more aware than ever of the danger she faced. What would people do to her once they found out the truth—that she was a time traveler?
What would Craig think…?
At best, he’d think her insane.
At worst, he’d lock her up in a dungeon somewhere or kill her.
No, no. She had to run. Run to Jenny.
If all went well tonight, she’d be back in her own time.
All she needed was to get into the underground storeroom—even if only for a minute.
The bowls burned her hands. She’d better hurry.
She proceeded through the courtyard into the eastern tower. Opening the door with her back, she squeezed in.
As expected, there were two guards: Hamish and Irvin. Well, Hamish seemed to like her. Maybe he’d go along with her plan more willingly.
“Good evening to you two,” Amy said cheerfully and set the bowls on a barrel.
They had been playing a game of some sort, but stood up at her entrance.
“Good evening, mistress,” Irvin said.
Last night, after Craig and Amy had returned from the search and rescue operation, Amy had brought stew and oatcakes with honey to the tower, to see if she could make friends with the guards. In the evenings, she’d found out, it was Irvin and Drummond. So why was Hamish here? Hopefully, it was a good sign—a sign of her luck.
“Some dinner for you two,” she said. “Irvin, I brought something special for you. Yesterday you said you liked stuffed fowl. Well—” She retrieved a bundle from the pocket of her dress and opened it. There were two stuffed, fire-roasted fowls. She had set the two birds aside from the game that was brought from the hunt last night and personally made this dish for Irvin and Drummond—after asking Fergus how to make them, of course.
Irvin’s eyes sparkled. “Aye?” he said.
“Oh, aye,” she echoed with a smile. “Actually, there’s one for Drummond, too, but where is he?”
Irvin licked his lips. “He’s ill. More for me.”
Amy frowned. “Now, that wouldn’t be very nice. He must be hungry. Why don’t you bring one to him, eat your dinner and keep him company for a while? I’m sure Hamish can stand guard alone for a bit.”
Irvin glanced at Hamish, who shrugged his shoulder.
“Aye, I can stand guard alone,” Hamish said. “Not that I need ye much anyway.” He guffawed.
Well, yes, Hamish was much taller and stronger built than Irvin.
“Aye, aye, laugh. I shall see how ye laugh when I beat ye at cards when I’m back.”
He grabbed the birds, the bowl, and walked out of the tower.
Amy smiled at Hamish. “What’s your favorite dish? Maybe I can cook it for you next time.”
Hamish grinned. “I thank ye, mistress. Yer stew. ’Tis my favorite dish. Have never tasted anything as good. Swear to God.”
Amy shook her head. She was sorry she was about to trick him. “You’re so sweet to say that. Listen, I saw some salt pork downstairs, and I want to add that to the stew tomorrow. Why don’t you eat your dinner, and I’ll go and fetch it?”
Hamish’s face changed from a content smile to alarm. “Downstairs? But, mistress, the lord was clear, ye’re not allowed there at all.”
“You can come with me, if you don’t trust me. What am I going to do there? I just want to add some salt pork to the stew tomorrow. Wouldn’t it be delicious?”
He hesitated, studying her. Then she saw something flicker through his face—something like realization.
“Salt pork,” he said with a strange emphasis, as though it was a secret code only the two of them understood. “Ahh. Of course. Let’s go and see that salt pork, then.”
Amy frowned. Something was odd about that reaction, but she didn’t have the luxury of questioning it. He opened the door leading down the stairs and handed her the torch, then let her pass.
“Thank you,” she said and walked downstairs.
The familiar scent of wet stone and stored food enveloped her. Her heart beat faster with each step she took. Could this really be it? Would she be back in her time in just a few minutes?
In the storeroom, she looked around, bringing the torch closer to the barrels and casks, to the hanging slabs of dry meat.
“It’s not here,” she said. “I know I saw it somewhere. It must be in the back room.”
Hamish frowned at the door. “The back room…” he said. “Aye. Let’s take a look there.”
With a shaking hand, Amy opened the heavy door to the back storeroom. It was completely dark there, even compared to the semidarkness of the previous room. Pitch black. It was cold. Steam pumped out of her mouth as she breathed, her pulse pounding. The scent of wet stone and earth, and wood, and something slightly rotting reached her. There were the piles of firewood, the barrels, and the sacks.
The rock.
Hamish would see in a second that there was no salt pork here. She should hurry.
Quick steps pounded from behind. Quick! Amy rushed to the rock, fell on her knees.
The steps were closer.
Why did Hamish not do anything?
There was the carving of the river and of the road—and there was the handprint!
Amy glanced back. Hamish stared at her with an open mouth and wide eyes. And from the door, Irvin rushed in.
She laid her hand into the imprint. Her pulse beat like a small drum against her temples.
But the rock didn’t vibrate. It didn’t glow. Her hand didn’t sink.
It was just cold.
“What are ye doing here?” he growled behind her back.
Strong arms yanked her up and away from the rock.
Irvin glared at her. “The lord must learn of this. Let’s go.”
And before she could do anything, he dragged her out of the underground chamber.
Chapter 18
“What were ye doing there?” Craig roared.
Irvin had eventually found Craig in the lord’s bedchamber, where Craig had gone looking for Amy after finishing his stew. He’d thought she’d join him in the great hall, but she had never showed up. Now he knew why.
Craig saw red. To the devil, he didn’t remember the last time he’d been so furious and felt so betrayed.
No.
Wait.
He did.
When Alasdair MacDougall had kidnapped and raped Marjorie.
Amy gaped at him, sorry, confused, disappointed.
“She was looking at a rock with some sort of pagan carving and a handprint,” Irvin said.