Timeless Mist

by Terisa Wilcox

  Kris couldn't help still chuckling. She shook her head. Why had he named his horse Elvis of all things? It couldn't be a fluke. She was fairly certain that name was not at all popular in this century. She doubted anyone besides Iain or herself had ever even heard it before.

  Heck, she didn't know more than two people with that name even in her century, and both of them had been famous for pity sake. She sighed. Maybe when they stopped for a rest, she could get some answers out of Iain. They could trade answers. She'd answer his questions in return for some answers to her questions. She nodded, that was fair. It would be an even trade-off.

  She continued to follow Iain for the next little while. He rode at a slow, steady pace, which gave her time to look at her surroundings. She recognized Schiehallion immediately. Mr. MacGregor had told her about the cone shaped mountain when she'd expressed an interest in it.

  The name actually meant several different things he'd informed her; the 'Maiden's Pap' or the 'Seat of the Caledonian Fairies' or the 'Fairy Hill of the Caledonians'. On the eastern side of the mountain was the Maiden's Well. Each May first, girls from the local villages danced and drank from the well to bring health and good fortune for the coming year. The view still captivated her and she stopped her mount.

  Iain noticed her stop and turned to look at what had caught her attention.

  "There is a small stream a short distance from here, lass." He said, gesturing to a small grove of trees not too far away, "we can stop and rest the horses there. Ye will still have a good view of Schiehallion from there. Ye might e'en be able to see the Maiden's Well."

  Kris nodded her agreement with enthusiasm. She hadn't been on a horse for a while and her butt was beginning to feel the effects of the ride. A rest would be a good thing.

  "Oh," Kris breathed as they came out of the copse of trees, "how beautiful." A small stream trickled close by, and at the edge of the trees and beyond that, a meadow full of wildflowers stretched out before them. She could see the snow-covered top of Schiehallion from here as well.

  Iain nodded, "aye, it has always been one of my favorite spots. E'en when we dinnae live in Rannoch, I always found this place soothing and a good place to think about things or think about nothing." He smiled and reached up to help her dismount.

  "Iain's thoughtful spot," Kris laughed.

  He grinned at her and easily lifted her down. When her feet were on the ground, she waited for him to release her, but he kept his hands resting lightly on her waist. She looked at him from beneath her lashes. He peered at her intently, his compelling eyes riveting her to the spot. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest, and her flesh prickled at his touch. She could feel the heat of his hands through her shirt. She enjoyed his closeness more than she wanted to admit.

  He drew her closer and she found she had no desire or will to back out of his embrace, so she did what she'd wanted to do since she'd had her first dream of him over a month ago, she relaxed, sinking into it instead.

  Her body tingled at the close contact, but she welcomed it. She lifted her head and her calm shattered when he pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was slow, thoughtful and surprisingly gentle.

  Iain was staggered at her response. The kiss had been a compulsion. He hadn't been able to control his head from descending nor his lips from capturing hers. It took all his willpower to keep the kiss light, when he'd wanted nothing more than to crush her to him and kiss her senseless. Every time he saw her, the need was the same. It only seemed to grow stronger, until he could no longer deny he wanted her. Especially after spending the morning with her. He'd begun to come to know her, and the more he discovered about her, the more he wanted to know.

  He raised his head a bit and looked at her face. Her eyes remained closed, her lips full and moist from his kiss. With a groan, he reclaimed her mouth hungrily.

  The kiss sent new spirals of ecstasy racing through Kris and the pit of her stomach into a wild swirl. His tongue explored the recesses of her mouth, which she readily opened at his prompting. She forgot everything for the moment, except his kiss and what it did to her. Just as she was beginning to think her legs wouldn't hold her up anymore if he continued, he released her.

  She clung to him as if to a life preserver, afraid if she let go, she'd slip to the ground because her legs felt about as steady as Jell-O. He stroked her hair as she continued to stand in his embrace. How long they remained that way, Kris couldn't say. All she knew was that it felt right, as if this was where she belonged. She felt safe and protected in his arms.

  She shook her head. How foolish. He was a medieval laird and she belonged in the twenty-first century. It would never work. Like her grandmother used to ask her when she brought home a boy she deemed unsuitable for her granddaughter, a bird may love a fish, but where would they live? Kris sighed and moved out of his hold.

  Iain sensed her change of mood and let her go, though he wanted nothing more to continue to hold her close. That should worry him, but for some inconceivable reason it didn't. At least not as much as he thought it should.

  He shrugged and moved to his horse to get the saddlebag full of food his màthair had insisted he bring with him, as well as the blanket. He handed the plaid to Kristianna who proceeded to spread it out on the soft, mossy ground.

  When they had the food spread out, he looked at her. She looked back at him, then started to giggle.

  "Do ye find my visage so amusing then lass, that ye would laugh at it?"

  "No, of course not," she assured him, still smiling. "It's just that you're so quiet." She raised a brow at him, "I know you have a lot of questions for me. Especially about what it was I found so funny earlier." She paused a moment, considering her next statement. "I have a few questions for you as well, actually."

  Iain quirked a brow at her. "And ye wish to trade answers wi' me, is that it?"

  She nodded.

  "If I say nay, ye will refuse to answer my questions, willnae ye?"

  "Not necessarily. But I think it would be fair if we just traded. It's the best way I can come up with that we'll both get our questions answered, don't you think?"

  Iain pondered her suggestion a moment or two before he nodded his ascent.

  "Aye,' twould be the easiest way, I imagine." He grinned at her, "and I will e'en give ye the first question, lass."

  "How chivalrous of you, my laird."

  "I've been known to trot it out on occasion. It doesnae show itself often, though, so I suggest ye take advantage of it whilst ye ha'e the opportunity." His eyes twinkled with mirth, and Kris' breath caught in her throat at the dimple that appeared on his cheek.

  She shook aside the sudden urge to kiss that dimple and concentrated on her first question. "Okay, here goes. Why did you name your horse Elvis?" She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  "Fair enough question, I suppose, and simple enough to answer." He shrugged. "'Tis a name my màthair taught me."

  "Your mother?" She was stunned. How could his màthair know that name? It was too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence. "Why would she…I mean, how would she…?"

  Iain held up a hand, "'tis my turn now."

  Kris' sigh could have blown him over. He grinned to himself. The lass was used to getting her way.

  "Here's my question, although I think ye know well what it is. What was it ye found so amusing today in the courtyard? 'Tis a wonder ye dinnae make yourself ill ye were laughing so hard."

  Kris took a deep breath. How could she answer that without raising his suspicions about his mother? Could she answer it without him being wary again? She closed her eyes briefly, wondering if she should give him the entire truth. She shook that thought away instantly. She'd already told enough falsehoods. She couldn't bring herself to tell another, especially if what she was beginning to suspect where in fact, true.

  "I'm not sure you're going to like the answer to that." She said, plucking nervously at her shirt.

  "Be that as it may, we agreed to this bargain. I willnae ha'e ye back
out now just because ye think I willnae like the answer ye gi'e me."

  "Okay, here goes." She thought for a moment before giving him the same type of simple answer he'd given her, "I found the name you chose for your horse funny." There, she decided, pleased with herself.

  Iain looked baffled. "Why would ye…"

  Kris held up her hand this time, "uh uh, only one question at a time. Now it's my turn." She laughed at his disgruntled look.

  "Ye play for keeps dinnae ye lass?"

  "What's fair is fair. You wouldn't let me finish my question before, so now I get to."

  "Fine, then. What is your next question?"

  Kris thought very carefully about how to phrase her next question in order to get the most information she could out of him.

  "When did your mother tell you about that name, and why would she use it in the first place?"

  "That is two questions again, lass."

  "No, it's not." Kris shook her head, "it's all one sentence so therefore it's all one question."

  "'Tis no' the way of it at all. 'Tis two questions." Iain insisted.

  "Whatever. You answer it, or them and I'll answer your next two."

  Iain glared at her a moment, then grinned. "Ye are a wily lass, arenae ye?" He glanced at the water a moment then, "verra well, ye win. When I was a lad, my màthair used to tell us bairns stories. Fantasy stories she made up to entertain us. Bedtime stories she called them. I was verra taken wi' them as a child and most nights couldnae wait until 'twas time for bed so I could hear another story. Elvis was the name of one of her characters. I assume she made the name up. She has a verra good imagination."

  "Bedtime stories." Kris wheezed. Her breath seemed to solidify in her throat. She took a gulp of wine and began to choke. Iain thumped her on the back several times. Finally, she raised her arms above her head until she got her breath back and settled the coughing. "What other kinds of stories did she tell you?"

  Iain looked at her and shook his head.

  "Okay, fine." She blew her hair out of her eyes and gave him a disgruntled look. "Your turn. But hurry because now I have a lot more questions for you than I originally had."

  Iain didn't hesitate, but jumped right in with his next inquiry, "why would ye find my horses' name so amusing?"

  Well, Kris thought, here goes nothing, or everything.

  "You have to promise me that you won't freak out. That you'll still answer more of my questions."

  Iain looked at her a moment, trying to puzzle out some of her words. He got the basic meaning of them and nodded.

  "Aye, lass. I promise ye that no matter what your answer, I will answer the rest of your questions. Now, what was so funny about my horses' name?"

  She eyed him skeptically for a minute then plunged in. "I found your horses name hysterical actually, not just funny. The reason I did is because Elvis is a name from my century. There are two that I know of. One was Elvis Presley, he died, but his music is still awesome, in my opinion anyway. Then there's Elvis Costello. They're both singers and they're both from my century. Well, they were actually popular and more in fashion in the mid-twentieth century, but I won't quibble over a few years."

  Kris watched him closely for his reaction. He stared at her, blinked a time or two, and closed his eyes as if trying to digest what she'd just told him.

  "Singers? Mean ye minstrels?"

  She nodded.

  Iain was suddenly pale as a sheet.

  "Are you alright?" Kris asked, reaching her hand out to touch his arm. He opened his eyes and looked at her with such bewilderment, her heart went out to him. Surely he got the implication of what she was telling him. Otherwise he wouldn't look so devastated.

  "I am well enough."

  Kris was quiet for a time, letting herself become lost in her own thoughts. There was only one way Sorcha could know those names. Okay, possibly two ways. First, she either met someone who also came from the twentieth century, or second, and here Kris hesitated to let the thought form. It pushed its way forward anyhow. Or second, Sorcha herself had somehow traveled here from another time, a time when both Elvis' were known.

  "Iain," she finally spoke.

  "Aye, lass. There isnae any need to say anything. I know what ye are thinking." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

  "Do you?"

  "Aye," he sighed, "I do. My màthair told me many stories in my youth. Some with those names ye mentioned in them."

  "We should go speak with your mother."

  "We will, soon. Howe'er, right now I think we should talk a bit more about this, dinnae ye?"

  Kris considered a moment. "You may be right. We want to have all our ducks in a row before we confront, err, talk to your màthair."

  "Aye, lass, ye ha'e that aright. And confront her we shall, together. If what we both suspect is true, she could ha'e saved us both a lot of trouble had she but spoken on this before."

  Kris nodded. She didn't want Iain upset or angry with his màthair. She didn't want to be angry at the woman either, but she found she couldn't help but be a bit peeved nonetheless. No wonder the lady had believed her story so readily.

  "Tell me about some of yours and your siblings' favorite tales. Maybe from them I can piece together some information about exactly when your mother is from." She stopped a moment, "she could have heard these stories from somewhere you know. Maybe from someone else who had somehow traveled from the future? Did you have any odd visitors at any time? Ones that maybe dressed funny or you just didn't understand?" She really wanted to give Sorcha the benefit of the doubt.

  Iain thought about that for several long minutes. Finally, he shook his head, "no' that I recall. I was just a lad. Still, I think I would recall someone like that, though mayhap no'." He looked at her, his eyes full of something Kris could not quite define. "I'm sorry, lass. I'm sorry I dinnae believe ye. If I'd known about my màthair," he hesitated, "I would have more readily believed ye."

  "There's no need." Kris waved away his apology. "If the roles had been reversed and you'd shown up in my time, I'm sure I would have done pretty much the same things, probably worse things too." Actually, she'd probably have called the cops and had him locked up in a mental ward. "Anyway, pour me some more wine and let's get down to business. You have some details to fill me in on. What kinds of stories did you like the best? And what about your brothers and sister? What kinds of tales did they enjoy best?"

  Chapter Twelve

  Iain's face took on a faraway look as he began. For the next hour or more, he regaled Kris with stories from his youth. As he spoke, Kris saw the Highlands through his eyes and came to have a better understanding and appreciation for the way of life in this century.

  True, it could be a hard and harsh life, with each clan struggling to scratch out a living and survive, but there was a beauty here as well. Kris could hear Iain's love for not only his family and his clan, but for this land as well.

  He spoke of his childhood with a wistfulness she could readily hear and understand. She laughed when he told of the pranks he and his elder brothers used to play. He chuckled along with her when he told her of how he and his brothers had filled the guardsmen's boots with pig muck then hid themselves to watch the reactions of the men. His description of the looks on the guards' faces when they stuffed their feet in their boots sent her into fits of giggles.

  "My brothers and I thought it a great jest and laughed long and hard o'er it. Until my father appeared behind us and fairly blistered out ears wi' a lecture until we thought the poor abused appendages would ne'er be the same again. I swore my ears were near to falling off he lectured us so long."

  "Reminds me of something my brothers would do." Kris said between chuckles.

  "Aye, I imagine a lad is a lad nay matter the century and finds mischief where he can."

  Kris munched on a piece of cold chicken, lost in thought for a moment or two before she gazed at Iain.

  "So, tell me, were there any kinds of things your mother might have told
you about that weren't common knowledge at the time? Things that seemed far-fetched and not possible?"

  "Ye mean where there things in her tales other than knights and battles, jousts and chivalry?"

  Kris nodded over the rim of her cup then reached for a particularly plump looking pastry.

  "Aye, there were many of those. I dinnae think them odd at the time. No' until I related a few tales to some of my mates when I went to foster wi' the Grant laird." He stared at the stream a short distance away for several moments. "Come to think on it, my brothers and I dinnae go to foster until well past the normal age for lads to do the like. At first, my màthair would no' e'en hear of it. Said she refused to ha'e her sons go off to ha'e someone else teach them the things that she and my father could teach them just as well, if no' better. She finally relented when I neared my thirteenth year. And then she insisted 'twould only be for a year or so, nay more than that. When it came time for Caitlyn to do the like, she ne'er relented. She put her foot down and wouldnae e'en hear it discussed. People thought it odd, but I ne'er thought much about it until now."

  "That's a highly unusual attitude to take, isn't it?"

  "Oh, aye, it is. Fostering is a tradition that goes back many years and is usually done when the bairn is nay more than eight or nine. Although 'tis sometimes done at a younger age, mayhap five or six."

  Kris gasped. "I can understand your mother not wishing to do that. It's certainly not something that's done in my time."

  Iain raised a brow at her. "Interesting," was all he said.

  "That it's not done in the twentieth century or that your mother was so against it?"

  Iain grinned, "both."

  "I agree." Kris drank the last of her wine. "Okay, what else?"

  "Hmm, let's see. She told us tales of horseless carriages, automobiles or cars, she called them. One of my favorite tales was of a man in a rocket ship flying off to the moon. Aye, now there is something that always fascinated me, especially as a young lad. She loved to make up games for us to play as well. When us lads would get too rough and start a wrestle or two, she would send out to the courtyard to 'burn our energies' she said. We played football wi' the guards." He gave her a mischievous smile, "she used to tell us that training in the lists was no' enough to tame all our excessive energy and tire us out. She was also heard to tell my father on numerous occasions that lads needed time to play as well as time for learning something other than swords and battles."