Eamon sighed, shrugging his massive shoulders and looking at the sky. “Nothing. No one. Jest someone I knew. Someone I wish I’d known better, if I’m honest.”
Though she tried a few more gently prying questions on the rest of the walk back, it seemed clear that Eamon was done speaking – he responded politely enough, but in monosyllables or grunts, his mind clearly far away. Whatever it was that had gotten through to him – her close proximity, or just her resemblance to his lost friend – he’d clearly decided to wall himself up again, and there was nothing she could do about it.
They reached a fork in the road, and Marianne realized with great relief that she could see the roof of the castle rising above the trees behind the road on the left. Eamon stopped at the fork, something in his body suggesting that he was tempted to keep walking – but he pulled himself back, looked up at her with a regretful expression on his unshaven face.
“Think I’d best leave you here, Miss. I’m not quite sure how far my exile reaches, and I don’t want to start any trouble with the guards. They’re good men, most of them.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, his eyes on the other fork in the road.
“Where will you go now?”
An ironic twist to his smile. “A drunk like me, where d’ye think? The tavern, til they move me on. After that, who knows? There’s not much left for me ‘round here.”
Marianne hesitated – she didn’t want to press him for information, but she also worried that she’d never see him again. She compromised with, “Wouldn’t Elena want you to take better care of yourself?”
Anger flared in his eyes and she resisted the urge to shrink back, suddenly reminded of how powerful he was – even without a sword at his hip, if he wanted to hurt her, she’d have no way of stopping him. But the anger wasn’t directed at her. It was an internal struggle, and she watched him quell it, his jaw tight.
“Maybe,” he said softly, his eyes rising to meet hers. “But she’s long gone.”
“Well, I’m not, Eamon MacClaran. And we may have only just met, but you technically saved my life out there, so I’m telling you not to give up on yourself.”
He stared at her for long enough that she began to worry she’d overstepped. But then a smile lit up his eyes. “If I saved yer life, shouldn’t I be the one askin’ ye for a favor?”
“I’ll just have to owe you one.” She set off up the path toward the castle, feeling absurd, not trusting herself to look back at him.
“Two,” he called after her, and though she didn’t turn to look at him, she could hear in his voice that he was laughing.
Chapter 9
When Marianne trudged through the doors of the castle, she wanted nothing more than a huge plate of whatever food was on offer, then a good long lie-down. Maybe even an afternoon nap. Walking in the bracing Scottish air had turned out to be more tiring than she thought, and she had a lot of thinking to do about the tantalizing glimpses of information Eamon had given her. And maybe a little bit of thinking about him, she allowed.
Purely from the perspective of what he could teach her about her maybe-ancestor, of course, nothing more – after all, people who’d known her in life were the most likely to be able to give her insights about her death. And, more to the point, what might have brought her – Marianne – back to the past to take her place. Perhaps she’d have to see him again. Wouldn’t that be – interesting. She wondered if he’d take her advice to clean himself up a little. And if he did, what would it mean? Would it be for her sake – or for Elena’s?
She ambled into the hall they used for meals, already beginning to feel fond of those big doors – but to her dismay, there was no great lunch on offer as she’d been dreaming. Instead, the hall was bustling with activity – several servants were scrubbing the floors, several more were on table duty, and more were bustling around the walls taking down old torches to replace them with fresh new ones. Standing at the head of the great table was a tall, slender woman with an authoritative air that Marianne was fairly sure she’d seen in the kitchen the previous day. The woman turned to her, and a hint of recognition flared in the depths of those calm eyes. “Sorry to interrupt,” Marianne stammered, stepping adroitly out of the way of a servant who was bustling into the kitchen with his arms full of plates.
“You’ll be wanting some lunch, I imagine? There are some cold cuts laid out in the kitchen. Do save some appetite for the feast tonight, though,” the woman added, her eyes twinkling. “Castle MacClaran is famous in every town in Scotland for its roast pork...”
“A feast?” Marianne was delighted. “I didn’t know!”
“A Clan feast, yes. MacClarans from all over come home for a hearty meal and some drink and dancing.”
Marianne wondered if that invitation extended to Eamon – but decided against asking. “I’m Marianne, by the way – I don’t think we’ve met?”
“Margaret. I’m the headwoman here.” The woman tilted her head, scrutinizing Marianne. “Funny, you’re not the first visitor who’s reminded me of someone...”
“So I’ve heard.”
Margaret smiled faintly, then seemed to change gear. “You’d best have something to eat. Have you a change of clothes sorted for the feast?”
“Cora’s got me well supplied, thank you.”
Margaret inclined her head. “It’s good to meet you, Marianne. I’m sure we’ll have a chance to talk later.” She glided down the hallway to check up on a servant who was struggling with an armful of rushes.
Marianne hadn’t missed the meaningful tone in the woman’s voice. She got the impression that Margaret was the kind of person who knew every single one of the goings-on in the castle… the kind of woman who managed to keep abreast of all the gossip without ever seeming to pay it any mind. Magenta had been a little bit like that – she knew everything that was going on in the office, but nobody had ever heard her gossip. Marianne felt a pang of homesickness. Had they discovered that she was missing yet? Or did they just think she’d gone home early?
Unhelpful thoughts, Mar, she told herself decisively. Best to focus on where she was now, and what she was doing. A feast! That meant an opportunity to learn more about the Clan she had found herself staying with – and maybe getting more information about the mysterious Elena. And if the whole Clan came home, surely that would mean Audrina would be there.
Marianne was extremely interested to meet Cora’s best friend, and the Lady of the Keep. Perhaps she’d have a sharper insight into the situation – after all, she’d been here the longest, and had been the first to travel back. Humming happily, Marianne loaded up a plate of the cold cuts of meat in the kitchen – where there was even more activity. She spotted Dolores, bent over a pot of sauce, and gave the woman a little wave on her way through, but it didn’t seem like even a hurricane would distract her from her task at that moment. Best to keep out of the way, she decided, and retired to Dolores’ quarters, which were already beginning to feel a little more like home.
A good meal and a long nap, she tried to resist the temptation, but her little cot just looked so comforting, restored some of the vim and vigor she’d lost to her long walk that morning. Quietly, she was grateful for the lack of strange dreams – those visions of fire had clung to her memory, troubling her more than she was willing to let on.
The sun was almost below the horizon – Marianne fumbled with the flint and tinder Dolores kept on the mantelpiece, cursing her clumsy hands. She’d always been so dexterous on a keyboard or a phone…unfortunately, those weren’t transferrable skills. With a few torches finally lit, she perused the clothes Cora had left for her, hoping to find something that would suit her. And thank the gods, there it was. A beautiful green dress – just the shade she liked, to draw out her eyes and flatter her figure. It was even more fitted in the bodice than the other options, maybe that was why Cora had given it to her, she thought, amused. She brushed her straight hair out, relying on muscle memory to get the part in her hair right – if Dolores had a mirror, it was
n’t on display. As she crept down the stairs, feeling oddly shy, she heard the distant sound of music, almost drowned out by a hubbub of voices and laughter. It got louder and louder as she approached the Great Hall, and as the doors opened she was almost overwhelmed by the wall of heat, noise and bodies that met her. Clan MacClaran was huge! Every table was groaning with piles of food – roast vegetables, huge platters of steaming meat, and great flagons of ale being continually refreshed by servants rushing here and there. And everywhere – absolutely everywhere – were men in kilts, laughing and clapping one another on the shoulder. It was the same tartan pattern, she observed, trying not to get in anybody’s way – it must be specific to the pattern. She saw Colin deep in conversation with a frightening-looking man with a bushy beard – nearby, Ian was learning over a flagon of ale and telling a story to a group who were in fits of hysterical laughter. But that was about it for people she recognized. Just when she was feeling particularly lost, she felt a gentle hand take her elbow – and turned to meet the bright eyes of a woman with a shock of red hair in an elegant braid, wearing an exquisite green gown that set off the color of her eyes. She looked every part like a Scottish queen – and Marianne did a double-take when her memory threw up an incongruous image of a slight woman in hospital scrubs with her arm around Cora’s waist, both of them laughing – a photo that had been Cora’s profile picture on Facebook for years and years…
“Audrina!” Marianne gasped.
“Or Maeve,” the woman replied, smiling, “but I can’t get Cora to stop calling me Audrina, so I answer to both.”
“Gods, it’s good to see you. Thank you for having me to stay, by the way!”
“Of course.” Audrina squeezed her arm, looking very serious. “I know what you’re going through – I know how hard it is. You’ll have a home here as long as you need it. Okay?”
“Thank you. I’m still – I think I’m still in shock, a little,” she admitted.
Audrina pressed a tankard of ale into her hands with a wink and drew her into a quieter corner of the hall. She told her everything she knew so far – the whole process of waking up in the forest, walking to the castle, slowly realizing that it wasn’t a vision and that she was actually here…
“So you’re — a witch?” Audrina dropped her voice on that word, and Marianne shrugged, feeling oddly self-conscious about a word she’d used to wear with pride.
“I mean – yes. I’m not very good, and I don’t – it’s not like I could turn someone into a frog, or summon a fireball, or cure an illness, I’m just…sometimes I can figure things out, with magic. That’s about it. Audrina, I was a phone psychic.”
Audrina laughed, eyes twinkling. “Marianne, you’re here. Don’t you think that makes you at least a little bit powerful?”
“That wasn’t me!”
“Then who?”
“Elena Corso, from what I can tell,” she said quietly. “My doppelganger, from what I was told. Dolores and Eamon both thought I was her when they saw me. Dolores was her mother,” she explained, and Audrina nodded, clearly familiar with the story. “And Eamon —”
“Oh, Eamon,” Audrina sighed heavily, but there was a fond light in her eyes that made Marianne feel a little bolder about following that entry into a subject she was very keen on.
“What’s the deal with him?”
“You’ve met him, then? He’s a difficult man. Stubborn as a bear – and as savage in defense of his family, if not more so. Mischievous, yes, and fond of a drink, but I just can’t believe he’d lose control the way it’s claimed he did in that tavern fight.”
“What happened, exactly? He wasn’t very forthcoming about it all...”
“It was before I arrived here. The guards were all down at the tavern in the village, celebrating someone’s newborn son. Somehow, a fight broke out, and that’s where it gets murky. Three of them swear Eamon wasn’t there – but three more said he started the fight. They were all drunk as lords by that stage, you see,” Audrina said heavily.
Listening closely, Marianne noticed with fascination that the woman was beginning to pick up the slightest hints of a Scottish accent. She wondered if that would begin to happen to her, if she stayed long enough – would she even notice it? What would they say when she got back home? If I get back home, she thought, with a pang of dread in her stomach.
There was a crash nearby, and a roar of raucous laughter – Audrina straightened her back with the air of a woman who knew that the chaos that had just erupted was her responsibility to handle. She sighed, then looked back to Marianne with an apologetic smile.
“We’ll talk again soon, yes? I’m back at the castle for at least a few weeks. We’ll have plenty of time to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, enjoy the feast!”
And with that she was gone, a graceful figure moving with the effortless poise of a queen through the throngs of men and woman enjoying themselves. Marianne settled onto a stool and sipped at her ale, which was delicious, lost in thought. It didn’t seem like Audrina bought the story that Eamon had started the brawl that had exiled him. Then who had? And why wouldn’t he say where he was, if not at the tavern that evening? It wasn’t the most pressing mystery – she had a lot more questions about Elena, of course – but she couldn’t help that it was playing on her mind. Maybe because aside from Dolores, Eamon was the closest thing to a new friend she’d made since she got here.
You’re kidding yourself, came a snide little voice from her subconscious, and she studiously ignored it. Soon enough, Cora came to find her, and her attention was absorbed by the woman dragging her around the hall introducing her what seemed like every single man and woman in Scotland. But still, a lingering part of her wondered about Eamon – and searched in vain for his imposing figure cut out against the torchlight. However, he was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 10
Marianne had a wonderful time at the feast, all told. She met what felt like a hundred Scottish lords and ladies, quietly thanking whatever touch of magic it was that translated their dialect just enough for her modern English-speaking mind to understand, but without taking away the delightful lilt and burr of their accents. Was her voice being translated for them, she wondered? They seemed to notice her accent – she received more than a few comments, almost compliments, but not quite, on the ‘exotic’ or ‘distinctive’ way she spoke, but she knew enough about linguistics to know that without some kind of translation, nobody she met would be able to understand a word she was saying. She was tempted to test it – what would they do if she started talking about iPads, or phone towers, or electricity, for example? —but she decided to leave well enough alone. She knew so little about whatever power had brought her here and was keeping her safe, it would be at best impolite to test the limits of its influence.
She hoped at least that it was doing a good job of translating her sincere desire to be polite and grateful to her hosts – she spoke briefly with Colin, who checked up on her very sincerely, his blue eyes solemn. After assuring him she was being well taken care of, he nodded, and allowed his attention to be reclaimed by some of his other guests – but she knew, somehow, that if she’d raised any concerns he’d have seriously pursued their solutions. It felt good to have an ally like the Laird on her side.
She ate her fill and then some of the delicious food that the kitchens had put out – every meal she’d had so far had been delicious, but Margaret, Dolores and the other men and women of the kitchens clearly pulled out all the stops for big events like this one. Every time she thought she was stuffed full to bursting with food and couldn’t possibly taste another morsel, out came another course, plates groaning with delicacies. To her mixed delight and consternation, the centerpiece of the evening was an enormous plate bearing what Cora confirmed in a slightly dismayed undertone to be haggis.
“Oh, gods,” Marianne murmured, staring at the enormous thing – which was greeted with great celebration by the people around her. “I honestly thought they were a myth.”
But it felt downright rude to reject the steaming plate that was offered to her, and Marianne stiffened her spine and took a bite. Cora had disappeared from her side – an interesting time to excuse herself to the restroom, Marianne thought with amusement. To her surprise and delight, the haggis was delicious – carefully roasted, flavored beautifully, even the full knowledge that the thing was composed of offal and wrapped in a sheep’s stomach didn’t diminish her enjoyment.
She felt a little embarrassed at how reluctant she had been to try the strange dish – and determined to be braver in the future. After all, she was going to be in Scotland for a while, it seemed. How many wonderful experiences was she going to risk missing because of first impressions?
She thought of Eamon, for no reason at all, then banished the thought.
After the meal, the band struck up a lively tune and despite their stomachs being stuffed to beyond the breaking point, half the room sprang to their feet for a dance. Marianne was whisked around between partners and found herself working off the meal and then some – these people just couldn’t be stopped! She danced to reel after reel, all of the songs unfamiliar, but deeply catchy, something stirring about them that set her heart beating and her feet moving – and after a couple of ad-hoc lessons from a patient third cousin of Ian’s, she was more than capable of keeping up with the crowd.
The treacherous part of her mind that she couldn’t quite silence wondered what it would be like to dance to these reels with someone tall, broad, built like a bear, with dark hair and a rumbling, resonant voice in her ear.
She shushed it, again, feeling absolutely ridiculous. What an absurd person to be fixated on – some great brute of a man who by all accounts may well have murdered a man in a tavern brawl. Absolutely not her type whatsoever – even if that kind of thing had been even remotely on the cards, given how much else she had to be getting on with. It was downright embarrassing to be giving the man this much thought – but no matter what she did, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t guilty, that there was more to the story.
Highlander Protected: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 3) Page 6