Certainly not, she reassured herself as a wave of dizziness rushed over her. She steadied herself against the rocky wall, not sure whether the feeling had come from the disease she was recovering from… or her sense of vertigo at when and where she was. Either way, best to take it slow… and that meant not thinking quite so hard about the details of where and when she was. She took a deep breath, trying to settle her mind — as an FBI agent she’d been taught the basics of meditation, a useful tactic for controlling nerves and being a more functional agent. Now, she leaned on those old skills, trying to focus on the simple things around her. The feeling of the air against her skin. The smell of the fresh air, the scent of freshly-caught fish. The sounds of the water lapping against the lake shore. The feeling of her boots crunching into the soft sand at the lake shore.
By the time she’d headed a little way along the lake shore, her mind had calmed down a great deal — and with it, the worst of her vertigo and nausea had receded. It was almost possible to just enjoy this for what it was — a simple walk on the beach, a stroll along a lake shore on a beautiful — if overcast — day. Didn’t it rain in Scotland a lot? That was what she’d always been told… well, today wasn’t exactly sunny, but she was grateful that it was dry. And it did feel good to be outside. The dress, for all its cumbersome quilting, was keeping her nice and warm even though she could tell the cold air was sharper than what she was used to in West Virginia. And being outside in nature was doing a great deal to steady her nerves.
She found herself a few hundred yards down the beach before too long, and she turned, not sure how wise it would be to walk too far from the castle when she barely knew anybody. Brendan had been nice, of course, and she trusted Niall — but still, she was a stranger in a strange land, and it wouldn’t do to risk her safety just for the sake of walking. Still, it was nice out here, and she took a seat on a rock that protruded from the sand, gazing out at the choppy waters of the Loch. Even at midday, there was a cold, dark cast to the water — she could tell even from here how deep it was. Idly, she wondered if staring at the waters of the Loch would jog her memory of how she’d gotten here. It sounded like an exciting story — the daring rescue, Niall pulling her from the water in his powerful arms… it was such a shame she’d been unconscious for the whole experience, she thought with a blush coloring her cheeks a little. Had he been sailing a boat like the little fishing ketches she could see from here, zipping this way and that across the surface of the water? Or had it been a smaller craft — one of the rafts she’d seen earlier, drifting in the currents? There was one visible from where she was sitting, a flat craft with a couple of laughing children on it, doing their level best to push one another off the edge. Probably not the kind of craft he’d used to rescue her, she thought with some amusement. Was that why she’d seen that orphaned raft earlier, with only a paddle on it, no passenger in sight? Had its sailors pushed each other off with such success that the raft had drifted away? Maybe the Monster ate them, she thought with an uneasy laugh. It sounded ridiculous, true… but there’d been something about the way those servants had spoken about the Monster that made it seem anything but fictional…
That was odd. She narrowed her eyes, shading her eyes with one hand as she peered out into the waters. Could that be the same raft from before? Sure enough, another wooden platform was bobbing alone on the waves of the Loch… but this one didn’t even have an oar on it. As she watched, it drifted closer to shore — and, to her surprise, bumped into a second raft, this one also empty. There was something strange about an empty raft — it was so clearly human-designed, floating amongst the water of the Loch. But there were no humans there to give it purpose. As she watched, a wave lifted both rafts and delivered them to shore.
Helen walked down the shore, curious despite herself about these little orphaned crafts. But as she got closer, her curiosity was replaced with dread that sank into the pit of her stomach like a bowling ball.
Chapter 11
“No way,” she murmured under her breath. “What — “ There was something on the larger of the two rafts. A kind of stain that she recognized immediately — but she could feel herself resisting that recognition, trying to fight it off, replace it with any other explanation for what she was seeing. But there was no other explanation. The rafts were both made of light wooden planks, lashed together with rope. And the stain that was on the larger one was unmistakable. It was blood. Fresh blood, by the look of it — still red, though it was possible (her practiced mind dropped into investigation mode without her consent) that that had something to do with the water.
Just when she was about to kneel down beside the raft to get a closer look, a shout distracted her, making her jump with a lot more surprise than it would have a few minutes earlier. She turned, recognizing the voice — sure enough, the familiar figure of Niall was striding down the beach, a shorter and more energetic figure running at his side. It was Eamon who had shouted, and with an oddly maternal thrill of dread, she picked up her feet and ran to meet them both, not wanting Eamon to see the blood on the raft. It would be washed clean soon enough — now that the raft was ashore, the waves were splashing over the bloodstains. What could have caused them? Fish didn’t bleed red blood like that, did they?
“You’re up and about!” Niall said, a broad smile on his face, and she hoisted one onto her own face to match, not wanting to let on that anything was wrong. The last thing they needed was Eamon getting interested in a bloodstained raft… not with such a trauma so recent in his young life. But there was no way to tell Niall about what was wrong without also letting on that something was up to Eamon, so she just smiled, resolving to fill him in on what she’d seen later. Perhaps there was a reasonable explanation for it — the rafts may be used for skinning rabbits, or something (though that made almost no sense, either…)
“Yeah! I was feeling better this morning and I figured — no time like the present. Plus, a couple of women from the Keep brought me a dress and some water for bathing, so I figured I’d better show off my gown.”
He chuckled, giving her an appraising look. “That’s hardly what I’d call a gown. Gowns are much more complicated.”
“I barely got into this alive,” she objected, her eyes widening. “You’re telling me they get more complicated than this?”
“All in good time.” Niall chuckled. “But what are you doing out on the beach in the wind like this? That can’t be good for your chest.”
She raised a hand to her throat, realizing with a pleasant shock that she hadn’t even thought of the rattling cough that had plagued her since Maggie’s brew had banished the worst of it. “It’s fine, honestly.”
“I’d advise caution,” Niall said, his eyes narrowing. That was a familiar tone — it was the voice her father had always used when her brothers would insist they were okay to go and play sports on whatever fresh injury they were nursing. “You don’t want to overdo it and fall ill again, not when you’re finally healing —”
“I’m being careful, I promise,” she said, rolling her eyes a little — though his concern for her in truth was causing odd tingles of pleasure to radiate through her whole body. “This dress is very warm. And I’m walking slowly… I even decided against exploring the Keep because of all the stairs. The fresh air’s good for me, I can feel it.”
“Aye, well, you’re the expert on your own wellness,” Niall said guardedly. “But I’d feel better if you were to come back inside with us.”
“I went swimming,” Eamon told her proudly. Now that she looked at him properly, she realized his hair was wet, and she raised an eyebrow at Niall.
“Aye, swimming,” the man said with a sigh. “Not my idea, nor was he dressed for it, but into the Loch he went…”
“I was gonna dive down and see the Monster but Da grabbed me by the leg and pulled me back onto the boat,” Eamon told her earnestly. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, he’d trotted over to her side and reached up to take her hand in his.
“Who’s the Monster?”
“She’s the big Monster that lives in the Loch! I’ve seen her three times,” Eamon said proudly.
His father was chuckling, and Helen shot him a look, not sure how seriously to take this news. Were these the fancies of a small child, or was there actually a Monster in that Loch as the women who’d brought her this gown had suggested? She resolved to ask him later.
“Listen, how’s this for a deal? I’ll come inside out of the cold — if you two will have lunch with me?”
“Okay!” Eamon said immediately, a delighted expression on his face.
Niall chuckled, seeming pleased. “Aye, that sounds like a fair arrangement.”
“You’ll also have to let me help with lunch,” she said firmly. “No more meals in bed for this invalid, alright? You’ve done more than enough for me already — I’d imagine I’ve quite a debt to repay.”
“Nonsense,” Niall said, waving a hand. “But you’re more than welcome to assist. How are you at frying fish?”
She reflected on her long lifetime of instant meals. “Not as good as I could be,” she admitted, “but I’m a very quick learner.”
So the three of them headed inside, Eamon chattering animatedly on about his plans to see the Monster, whatever that was. The description he gave did rather sound like the Loch Ness Monster from all the stories, and Niall confirmed once and for all that it was Nessie that was out there … she bit her lip as she imagined it, a long neck, four flippers, a sharp mouth full of teeth, like some ancient dinosaur that had managed to survive the extinction… And what had the servants said about it? That Maggie could talk to it?
“Aye, that’s what people think,” Niall agreed when she brought up this particular piece of information, for all the world as though she’d asked something as pedestrian as whether the woman had any children. “She certainly had a way with the creature, that’s for sure.”
“And you’ve seen this — this thing? This Monster? With your own eyes?”
“Only once, and it was late at night. It usually tends to come out at night, you see. But it’s real,” he added, raising an eyebrow at her. They were in the kitchen — she’d been put to work chopping vegetables while he set about gutting an incredibly fresh fish over the low sink. It was a pleasant little kitchen — missing certain necessities like a modern stove, fridge and microwave, of course, but overall not a bad setup. He told her a little more about the Monster as they finished preparing the meal — that it was intelligent, that it came out at night, that it had been known to take sides against enemy forces when called upon to do so… but still, she couldn’t quite picture something so ridiculous as actually being real.
“She is real,” Eamon said truculently as they headed out to join him in the dining room. He was sitting up at the dining table with a toy clutched in one hand, conducting some elaborate war game with a handful of little wooden soldiers. She leaned a little closer, impressed by the workmanship.
“Those are beautiful little soldiers. Did you carve them?”
“No,” Niall said softly.
But Eamon was less subtle. “Mam made ‘em before she died,” he said cheerfully, hefting one of the soldiers for Helen’s inspection. “She cut them out of a piece of wood with a knife. She was really clever.”
Niall looked surprised — she could see it in his eyes as he sat carefully down at the table besides Eamon, watching his son intently to see if he was going to say anything more about his mother. Helen hesitated — but she didn’t want to go silent on the boy, to give him the impression that talking about his mother would make things uncomfortable.
“She must have been. They’re beautifully made. Do you miss her?”
“Aye,” he said, not looking up from the soldiers as he marched them back and forth across the table. “Wish she’d come back from the water.”
“I miss my mother, too,” Helen said softly. “She died a few years ago.”
“What, when you were grown? That doesn’t count,” Eamon said dismissively.
“Eamon! Don’t be rude —”
“No, it’s okay,” Helen said quickly, cutting across Niall’s objection. “I know exactly what he means. It’s much harder to lose someone when you’re small. When you’re a grown-up… well, it’s different.”
“Yes,” Eamon said in a small voice. His eyes flicked up to look at her, just once, and she could tell that she’d reached him on some level.
“One day you’ll be a grown-up, too,” she told him softly. “Just like your dad.”
“I’m gonna be bigger than Da,” he said immediately, and just like that, the spell was broken — gone was that quiet, vulnerable child, and the brash little braggart was back. Eamon leapt to his feet and began capering around the room, explaining to them both in detail how big and strong he was going to be — Niall laughed along, but Helen caught the thoughtful look he shot her, and some part of her glowed at the respect in that gaze.
It wasn’t long before the fish was cooked, and Helen could feel her stomach grumbling — clearly, the morning’s exertions, gentle as they had been, had worked up quite an appetite. Niall brought three plates of fish and vegetables through from the kitchen, still steaming — she marveled at how evenly cooked the fish was, even using a stove that was powered by fire. She realized she had no idea how ovens worked, not really. She’d always set whatever temperature she needed on the dials on her oven and that would be the end of it. How did it generate that much heat? How did people know how long to cook things for, anyway?
God, she had a lot to learn. But somehow, sitting at the big dining table, talking and laughing with Niall and his rambunctious little boy, she felt comfortable at the prospect of the huge task ahead of her. Sure, she’d need to catch up on a lot of things… but it wasn’t as though she was a baby. She knew what life was like. She’d be able to figure things out. And maybe — just maybe — her future knowledges would come in handy. She’d be willing to bet she knew more about investigating than most people here… was it possible she could find a place for the skills from her old life here?
That reminded her… she wanted to ask Niall about the bloodstains on the little rafts she’d seen. But she didn’t want to bring it up around Eamon — a boy like that might get some pretty unsavory ideas if he overheard a conversation about bloodstains. Thankfully, though, the little boy seemed to be flagging. With a belly full of food and a big morning behind him, she could see his eyelids drooping, and realized with amusement that he was falling asleep at the table.
Niall noticed, too — the man rose to his feet and scooped his son effortlessly into his arms. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he assured her, smiling as he carried the dozing boy through to the room that was presumably his bedroom.
And Helen scolded herself for the thrill that ran through her at the prospect of being alone with Niall.
Chapter 12
“Alright, he’ll be asleep for an hour or two at least,” Niall said with satisfaction as he headed back to the table a few minutes later. “Finally, some peace. Sorry he was chattering your ear off like that, Helen, truly. He’s usually a lot less — well, social.”
“He’s charming, truly,” Helen said with a smile. “Don’t worry at all.”
“Gets that from his mother, I suppose.” Niall chuckled.
She blushed a little, biting back on the impulse to point out that Eamon’s father had his fair share of charm. She couldn’t say something like that — she was far too awkward, far too nervous. It just wouldn’t work. Better not to say anything at all.
“I’ve never seen him open up like that with a near-stranger, though. Truly, that impressed me.”
“You mean about h
is mother?”
“Aye. Usually he’s a closed book. But that’s twice he’s spoken with you about her. Maybe it’s the resemblance you bear her,” he said thoughtfully, tilting his head as he gazed at her. “Same hair… though hers was longer. And your voice is similar.”
“My voice? Really?” That surprised her. She’d assumed that her American accent was the strangest thing about her. But he was smiling.
“Aye, Erin was from Ireland. Her accent… well, it was a little like yours. Not a great deal, but enough to remind me of her now and again. Especially the r’s.”
“That’s interesting. My family’s Irish, a long way back,” she said, thinking back to her mother’s family history lessons. “Immigrants from… oh, the eighteenth century.”
“Eighteenth. Way back.” He was looking at her blankly. “What do you mean?”
“I’m from …” She took a deep breath. “Niall, I’m from the twenty-first century.”
His eyes widened a little. “Gracious. I knew you were from the future, I’d about reconciled myself to that, but… that’s five hundred years.”
“It is,” she said softly, worried he was disturbed by her. But his eyes were dancing with amusement.
“Why, I could be your great-great-great-great-great-grandfather!”
She laughed, surprised by that. “I certainly hope not. That would make Eamon my great-great- great-great… grandfather, too, right?”
“Aye, that’s right. Respect your elders,” he said, that handsome smile still dancing across his face. “Twenty-first century. I can’t imagine. What’s it like?”
“I want to know what the sixteenth century is like!” she said, taking a sip of the water that he’d poured for her and grinning at him across their empty plates. “Enough about the future. Tell me about the past. Not the past,” she corrected herself with an odd little thrill. “The present. Now. Tell me about now. What did you do today?”
Needed By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Forever Book 5) Page 7