She trusted Connor to protect her, of course. Connor knew she wasn't a witch, at least — she had at least one solid ally. More, too, if you counted the people at the Keep… but she couldn't exactly rely on them. The castle wasn't exactly far away — about half an hour's ride, from what she'd heard — but far enough to be of no help whatsoever if the villagers turned on her. So, she kept to herself, doing what she could to help… and as much as possible, only coming out when she had the company of people who knew she wasn't responsible for the awful tragedy of the deaths of all those young herdsmen.
It was reassuring to know that the measures they'd put in place to control the infection were working, though. It seemed the herds were safe now that the sick ones had been quarantined. A week after the day they'd sorted the herds, Karen and Kay visited every herd in the village to check the animals for pox — despite their most thorough search, they found no sign of the disease whatsoever. That was an excellent sign — it meant that once the little quarantined herd down in the paddock they'd designated were well again, there would be no more source of pox.
Unfortunately, the spread had not slowed quite so successfully in the human beings in town. She'd been expecting more cases, but part of her had still hoped for a complete cessation of the spread… so when another couple of milkmaids reported lesions and illness, as well as a couple more herdsmen, she was disappointed. Still, it could have been worse. She'd at least been successful in conveying the nature of the disease to the villagers — they knew not to touch one another, especially if they'd been in contact with an infected person or their belongings, and she had faith that the spread of the pox would slow and then stop once the current cases had gotten well again.
She was still worried about Mary, though. The young girl was still refusing to open her door when Karen visited, but her mother and little brother reassured her it wasn't personal… it seemed Mary had refused to see or speak to anyone ever since the night of the storm. That worried Karen, kept her up at night sometimes, wondering what on Earth could have gotten into the girl. She'd been incredibly dejected and depressed before the storm that was true — but why had it gotten so much worse? Had there been some kind of connection between her and one or more of the dead herdsmen? But her friends Anne and Rhianne had said that she'd hated them all… why would she be reacting so strangely to their deaths? It was a mystery that she was no closer to solving as the days wore on, and though she knew it was technically none of her business, she couldn't help thinking that it might be some part of the broader mystery of just what had happened to those herdsmen that night.
Chapter 29
The biggest concern with the spread of the pox was that it had found its way to a child. Little Malcolm, the son of William, one of the dead herdsmen, had fallen sick — she found that out from Connor one morning about a week after the funeral service. It seemed he'd been visiting with Rosemary regularly, making sure she was coping okay in the wake of her husband's death, keeping her spirits up as much as he could. Karen felt a tiny bit jealous… but not enough to risk insisting on going with him. What claim did she have to his company, after all? Besides, Rosemary had made it quite clear that she didn't like or trust Karen — visiting her and her sick child would only make things worse. But Connor kept her in the loop, visiting her often to chat about how the infection was spreading and to assure her he was doing his best to educate the villagers on how to reduce transmission.
"It's worrying that it's spread to such a small child," Karen said over lunch one day. Connor had collected her from the inn and they'd ridden out into the countryside, ostensibly to check in on a few herds of cattle out this way to make sure that they remained pox-free … but Karen had her suspicions that that was an excuse to get her away from the village and have a little picnic. He'd brought sandwiches of roasted meat and even a little bundle of freshly baked fruit buns, which were absolutely delicious. "I hope she's keeping a close eye on him."
"Aye, she's being careful, too," Connor explained around his mouthful of food, his gray eyes intent as he reassured her. "I made sure she knows just how the illness is transferred, too, so she's making sure to protect her skin when she washes his clothes and bandages. I trust she'll be safe."
"And the little boy? He's being kept indoors and stuff? Kids are unbelievably fast disease vectors… if he goes and plays with anyone, I'd bet my life on him spreading the disease —"
Connor nodded. "Poor little guy's too sick to play anyway — but I made sure Rosemary knew to keep him well away from his friends until the sores have healed."
"It'll be a long time," Karen sighed, thinking back to how long it had taken for time to pass when she was little. A summer lasted a thousand years… being stuck in bed with a fever for a month or two would be rough on a small child. "How did he catch it, anyway?"
"Must have been his father," Connor said heavily, shaking his head. "William came down with the pox around the same time as you arrived — before you'd spread the word to avoid touching each other if you've got it. He was keeping the sores bandaged by that time — well, by the end — but his son must've touched them at some point."
"Is Rosemary alright?" As much as she didn't like the woman for accusing her of witchcraft at the town meeting, Karen still had an interest in keeping the townsfolk safe. "Did you check her for lesions too?"
"Not myself," he said, raising an eyebrow. "That wouldn't be appropriate." His eyes were twinkling, and she fought the urge to blush, well aware she'd been fishing for a reassurance that he wasn't interested in the widow. Not that Connor, from what she knew about him, would be so callous as to go after a woman in mourning… "But I asked her if she'd noticed any sores or signs of fever, and she said she was well so far."
"If Malcolm's showing symptoms already and she's not, she's probably safe," Karen said thoughtfully. "Still…"
"I'll keep an eye on her," Connor said firmly, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "If you don't mind."
"Why would I mind?" Her heart was pounding at what he seemed to be about to suggest…
But he avoided her gaze, leaning back and turning his face up to the sky. The sunlight had been patchy all day, with clouds scudding across the sun at regular intervals, but at the moment the sun was clear and the warmth of it was very pleasant. She could feel her heart fluttering, the adrenaline tingling through her body — and she scolded herself, feeling ridiculous for reacting so strongly to such a subtle implication of … what? Of commitment? He was mindful of her growing jealous of him spending time around other women… and more to the point, he was interested in reassuring her that there were no intentions underlying his actions. What did that mean? Were they … dating? Courting, or something? Impossible to know… and she realized, with gritted teeth, that she'd missed her chance to casually raise the issue when he moved on to another subject of conversation.
"I visited the castle this week," he said, and she leaned forward, interested in this. He'd said he was going to check in with the scholars up there about what could have caused the deaths of the men — there was an enormous archive of books up there, he'd told her, full of stories and accounts of supernatural encounters, and dozens of scholars who made it their life's work to catalogue them.
"Did you find anything?"
"Nothing particularly concrete," he admitted, shaking his head, "but those scholars move slowly when it comes to this kind of thing, I'm afraid. I'm hoping that my enquiry will prompt them to do a deeper dive in the archives, but it may take them some time. They've had an influx of new information lately, it seems."
"Really?" She blinked. "Have there been more supernatural encounters than usual lately?"
"Over the last few years, absolutely. When I was a young man, we'd encounter a goblin every few months and not much more than that. The last few years have been… well, very different. Ever since Anna arrived, actually. I remember heading out through the forest to hunt a great wolf — Unseelie creature, eyes like embers, extremely dangerous. It had been
hunting the villagers' flocks. Ever since then, there've been dozens of creatures like it, it seems. You've chosen a dangerous time to join us, Karen," he added with a smile that she couldn't help but return, even though worry was twisting at her stomach.
"Any idea why?" she said with a frown. "Why the last few years?"
"No idea," he admitted. "It could have something to do with Anna and the other women — the women like you," he added apologetically — "coming through the Burgh. Maybe the door's getting more use, drawing more attention from the kinds of creatures that love to creep through and cause havoc on this side of the doorway…"
"But correlation isn't causation," Karen argued, setting down her half-eaten bun as she considered the issue more thoroughly. "Did the women cause the things coming through — or did the things coming through cause the women turning up?"
He frowned — this clearly wasn't something that had occurred to him. "Surely not," he protested.
"I mean, think about it. The Sidhe bring women through who have been on the verge of death in their own time, right? But there are only half a dozen of us. I can guarantee you that more women die before their time than that. There's something about us — something special, something that makes the Sidhe bring us here. I mean, I'm an infectious disease specialist. Is it a coincidence that an infectious disease is spreading through the village right when I turn up?"
He looked flabbergasted. "I hadn't thought of it like that at all."
"I mean, it's all conjecture," she said, lowering her eyes as she felt a blush rising to her cheeks — he was looking at her with such frank admiration that it was making her feel uncharacteristically shy. She was usually so good at taking compliments… but when it came to Connor, she felt like a teenager again. "I don't have any more information on this than you do." She tilted her head, a thought occurring to her. "What about Old Maggie? Have you asked her about what's going on?"
"I stopped by on my way to the castle, but she wasn't answering her door." He shrugged. "Out gathering herbs, perhaps. Nobody's really sure how Maggie spends her time."
"Would it be alright if I came with you?" she asked, the thought occurring to her suddenly. "Would she mind? I have a few questions of my own."
"I don't see why not." Connor shrugged. Then he smiled at her, almost knocking her over. "And I'd take any excuse to spend a little more time with you."
The glow in her chest lasted for the rest of the day.
Chapter 30
They arranged to visit Maggie the next morning. On their way back into town, they ran into Kaitlyn, Maggie's little apprentice, who was able to fill them in on the old woman's schedule, or as much of it as she understood, anyway — it seemed even Maggie's apprentices didn't get much information about her comings and goings.
"Midmorning's usually your best bet," Kaitlyn explained brightly, falling into step with the three of them. She had a bundle in her arms and was clearly on her way out of town — probably heading for Maggie's cottage. "She sleeps in sometimes and disturbing her from her sleep's probably the best way to get on her bad side and stay there."
Karen laughed at that — there was an expression on Kaitlyn's face that indicated she'd learned this particular fact from experience. "Well, we'll come tomorrow midmorning, then. Are you heading there now? Maybe you could let her know we're visiting, make sure it's okay with her?"
"Aye, I can do that," the girl said brightly. "No promises, but I'd imagine she'll be happy enough to see you. She acts all tough and standoffish, but I think she secretly likes visitors. Besides, when it's about something that's threatening people's lives, she's always willing to help. You didn't hear it from me, but she's a big old softie, truly." The girl winked, then turned on her heel with a cheery wave and headed off down the road that headed out of town. Connor shook his head, smiling.
"She's a plucky girl and no mistake," Karen commented with a smile. "Bet she's beating the boys off with a stick."
"Oh, aye. But they keep a respectful distance, her would-be suitors," Connor said with a broad grin. "The last one who tried anything too forward with her wound up breaking his leg when he was walking through the woods. The most curious thing — he claimed a root crept out and tripped him up."
A suspicion flared to life in Karen's mind. "He wouldn't have been walking near Maggie's cottage, would he?"
"Aye, how'd you know?" Connor's eyes were twinkling. They said their goodbyes until the next morning and Karen headed up the stairs, smiling to herself… but a little unnerved by this information. Old Maggie had a considerable amount of power that was clear. She just hoped she wouldn't get on the woman's bad side.
It was strange, she thought as she drifted off to sleep. Strange how quickly she'd adjusted to her entire world being torn away from her and replaced with something completely new and different. Time travel, magic, witchcraft, magical dimensions between worlds… if anyone had told her about any of this a month ago, she'd have laughed at them. But here she was, planning a visit to a magical being who lived in a cottage in the woods… on the shore of Loch Ness, where she knew for a fact an enormous monster lived— Connor had seen it himself — and why would she refuse to believe that, when she'd accepted so much other wild information? The human capacity for adaptation was remarkable — that was her conclusion, as she drifted off into a comfortable sleep.
With their trip not scheduled until midmorning, she treated herself to a bit of a lie-in. It was well past dawn when she got up and dressed, heading down the stairs with a spring in her step. She told herself it was because she was going to see Old Maggie, and maybe get some answers about what was going on around here… it had nothing to do with spending the day with Connor, with going on a ride with him and presumably stopping for lunch somewhere...
To her surprise, Thomas was waiting for her downstairs, a covered basket in his arms. He put it on the bar when she approached him, pushing it toward her. "Connor mentioned you're going to see Old Maggie? This is for her; if you don't mind taking it along."
"Sure," she said, a little surprised. "What is it?"
He grinned. "Shortbread. Her favorite. I got the recipe from Blair, up at the Keep — mine's not quite as good as hers, but it'll do in a pinch I think."
Karen took the bundle, smiling a little as she realized it was still warm. It smelled fragrant and delicious, and she quietly hoped Maggie might see her way clear to sharing a little of the gift with her guests.
"She helped me out a few weeks back," Thomas explained. "Had a terrible pain in my back — she gave me this miraculous ointment, told me to rub it in and lay flat on my back for a night, and in the morning, I was good as new. Magic," he said firmly.
"Sounds like it," Karen said diplomatically. To her mind, rubbing sore muscles then resting them sounded like a fairly non-magical cure for a condition like that… but she had a suspicion that a fair bit of Old Maggie's so-called magic relied on a combination of common sense and the placebo effect. And how could she criticize that? She used it herself fairly regularly — if patients felt that they were doing something that would help them, more often than not, it would help whether it had any actual medical impact.
Connor arrived shortly afterwards, and they tacked up their horses together, Connor showing her a way of tying the little bundle of shortbread onto the horse's saddle so she wouldn't have to carry it as they rode. He did the same for his own gift for Maggie — a bottle of some kind of dark liquid that sloshed back and forth when he showed it to her. Mead, he explained — a favorite of hers.
"Does everyone just — send Maggie gifts?"
"She's Fae," Connor said blankly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You don't visit Fae without a gift. Everyone knows that."
"Why not?" she asked as they set off, the horses' hooves clopping pleasantly against the cobblestones of the road that led out of town, before the sound was replaced by the duller thuds of the hooves against the dirt road.
"Bad luck," he said with a shrug. "It's … difficult to
explain. I think the scholars have a better sense of it — Old Maggie explained it once. It's a kind of … system of favors and obligations they've got. You have to be careful around them. If you accept a gift — or even some help — without being careful about the wording, you can wind up owing them a debt that you'll never get clear of."
Karen shivered at that. It sounded an awful lot like her own student loans… albeit a slightly more magical version. "So, Maggie — what, is owed huge debts by the townsfolk?"
He grinned. "Not exactly. She doesn't play those games — not the same way the Fae do. But we tend to err on the side of caution regardless. Besides, it's only fair — she's helped us so much over the years, the least we can do is bring her things she likes. It's a good idea to stay on her good side."
They rode in pleasant quiet along the road, Karen gazing out over the placid waters of the Loch. Connor glanced over at her as she stared at the waves, grinning a little.
"Looking for the Monster?"
"Maybe," she said a little defensively… then relented. "Yes. Of course, I am. The Loch Ness Monster's famous! I can't believe she's actually real."
"You're not likely to see her any time soon, I'm afraid. She's been a bit shy ever since a fisherman wounded her with iron a few months ago." He heaved a sigh. "Nasty business. She's an ally of ours — keeps a lot of the nasties that come through the Burgh from ever reaching our shores. Here we are," he added.
She started in surprise. There, on the other side of the road, was a little cottage, just clear of the treeline. An old oak tree in the front yard, a rickety porch with a rocking chair on it… yes, Karen thought with a chill running down her spine.
Troubled By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Forever Book 6) Page 12