by Baker, Katy
Eleanor opened her eyes. She was lying facing the fire which crackled merrily only a few feet away. Finn was sitting exactly where he'd been when she’d fallen asleep, his back against the tree, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His bow leaned against the tree and his dagger was driven into the earth by his side. He was singing.
His eyes were fixed on the darkness beyond the fire and he hadn't realized she’d awoken. For a moment Eleanor just lay there, watching him, listening. His voice was beautiful. Deep and rich, he would put most club singers to shame. She didn't understand any of the words, as they were in Gaelic, but there was something about it that spoke of longing and sorrow but something else as well. Hope.
Eleanor lay still, not wanting to disturb him, until finally he fell silent and stared out into the night with a faraway look on his face. Only then did she shift position. Finlay’s eyes snapped to her and their gazes met across the flickering flames.
"My apologies," he murmured. "Did I wake ye?"
She shook her head. "That song. It sounded so sad. What was it about?"
Instead of answering he turned to stare into the darkness for a moment. "It’s an ancient song sung by my people. It tells the story of a Fae woman who fell in love with a mortal man."
"What happened to them?"
He shrugged. "They spent a long life together and then he died. She lived on and became a guardian of the Highlands." He picked up a branch and started poking at the fire. "Get some sleep, lass. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."
Exhaustion washed over her again. Her eyes slid closed and she drifted into sleep. This time there were no dreams.
ELEANOR AWOKE THE NEXT morning feeling stiff and sore. Her muscles ached from her flight through the woods and then the long trek with Finn. As she climbed gingerly to her feet, she found herself uncurling slowly like an old woman. Eleanor had always prided herself on keeping herself in shape and she could run ten kilometers with ease but it seemed the Highlands of the sixteenth century required a hardier disposition.
Stretching her arms over her head, she looked around. A pink smudge along the horizon told her that the sun would soon rise and already the chilly spring morning was alive with birdsong. The fire had died to embers which glowed in the still air and Finlay was crouching beside it. A small pot sat in the coals, bubbling softly.
"Good morning, lass," Finlay said with a small smile. "Would ye care for some tea?"
There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked weary, despite the smile. Jeez, had he slept at all? It took a moment for his question to penetrate Eleanor’s still foggy brain and when it did the incongruous idea of sitting in the Highlands, hundreds of years in the past, whilst sipping tea made her shake her head. This place certainly was crazy.
"You know what," she said, wrapping her arms around herself to keep warm and then crouching by the fire opposite him, "a cup of tea sounds fantastic. My mom used to say that a cup of tea and a chat would solve all the world's ills." She smiled wryly. "Stupid, eh?"
“Nay, lass," he replied. "It sounds to me as though yer ma is a mighty wise woman."
Was, Eleanor thought. Was a mighty wise woman.
She watched as Finn lifted the pot from the fire with a forked branch and carefully poured the contents into a small pottery beaker which he handed to Eleanor. She took it with a grateful nod and wrapped her fingers around it, enjoying the warmth that seeped into her chilled bones. It smelled of a mixture of herbs and as she set it to her lips, she thought she detected mint and chamomile.
Finn drank his own tea straight from the small cooking pot and then rummaged in his bag and tossed her another strip of dried meat. He shrugged apologetically. "If we make good time ye will be home by midday and nay doubt be enjoying a good home-cooked meal."
"Home-cooked?" Eleanor said, raising an eyebrow. "You wouldn't say that if you'd ever tasted my cooking. As soon as I get back, I'll be driving to the nearest burger bar and having the biggest, greasiest, most unhealthy burger I can lay my hands on!"
Finn stared at her with an uncomprehending look on his face and Eleanor cursed inwardly. Dammit! She must watch what she said lest anyone suspect her origins. Who knew how the people of this time would react to the idea of time travel? For all she knew they would think she was a witch and try to burn her at the stake!
She busied herself drinking her tea and munching on the strip of jerky. Finn began eating his own breakfast. Silence descended, punctuated only by the chirping of the birds that flitted through the branches above them.
Eleanor found her thoughts turning towards home. Today she would return to the hollow oak tree, the arch through time, and home. The relief was so great that she felt a little giddy.
Finn finished his jerky, downed the last dregs of his drink, and then upended the pot over the fire to douse the flames. He rose to his feet, a slight grimace of pain twisting his mouth.
"We’d better get moving.”
Eleanor climbed to her feet. "We aren't going anywhere until I've checked your wound."
He shook his head. “There’s nay need. It's only—”
"Only nothing!" she snapped. "I won't have anyone under my care die because I didn’t do my job properly!" Not again, that traitorous little voice in the back of her head whispered. Never again.
She pushed the voice away, crossed her arms, and raised her eyebrow at Finn.
He hesitated and then let out a sigh. “If ye insist."
He seated himself cross-legged on the bed roll and pulled off his shirt. Eleanor knelt by his side, unwrapped the makeshift bandage and gently probed the wound with her fingertips. She was relieved to find no sign of infection. The skin, although a little inflamed, did not feel hot and had scabbed over nicely. In fact, it was healing much more quickly than Eleanor expected.
"Good," she said. "It looks good. I'll re-bandage it but when you get home I want you to get your physician to have a look at it. If it starts to feel hot, you will need to apply a warm compress to help drain any infection."
He gave her a crooked smile. "Aye, my lady."
His eyes met hers and Eleanor was suddenly all too aware of how close they were. She cleared her throat and stood up abruptly.
"Right," she muttered. "Are we going to get out of here or what?"
"Aye, we are," he replied softly.
He stood and quickly pulled his shirt back over his head, wincing slightly as the fabric brushed his wound. He shouldered his pack, slung the bow across his back, and sheathed his dagger at his side. Then, with one last quick look around the campsite, he nodded at Eleanor and then led the way into the woods.
They made good time in the quiet spring morning and, as she strode along silently by Finn’s side, Eleanor found her thoughts turning towards home. In a few hours she would be back in her normal life. She would be seeing patients, doing the dishes, setting the alarm clock and groaning in annoyance when it went off. So simple. So normal. So...so...empty. The sudden thought startled her.
Isn’t that what you want? she asked herself. This little jaunt into the past is addling your brain. The sooner you get home and leave all this behind, the better.
She found herself glancing at Finn. He was unlike any person Eleanor had ever met. There was a quiet confidence about him, and yet she sometimes saw a glimpse of a deep sorrow in his eyes, quickly hidden. Yes there was more to him than met the eye but he must remain a mystery when she returned home and left him behind.
She asked Finn about the flora and fauna as they walked and he answered her questions patiently, smiling a little as though she was asking things any Highlander would have known since they were a child.
Eleanor didn't care. As she relaxed, she found herself enjoying Finn’s easy company. He poked gentle fun at her when she slipped on a riverbank and went sliding down on her backside but then gallantly held out his hand and helped her to her feet before half-carrying her back to the trail.
They were walking through a copse off scraggly trees when Finn
suddenly grabbed her and dragged her behind a tree. Eleanor yelped in alarm and Finn’s hand clamped over her mouth. He pressed his finger to his lips to indicate silence.
Eleanor nodded to show she understood his warning. Slowly, Finn guided her to a gap between two branches that gave a good few of the meadow beyond and pointed.
Eleanor peered through the gap, trying to see what had caught his attention. Then she spotted it. A huge red deer stag was feeding in the meadow. He hadn't seen them and was completely relaxed as he grazed. He looked old, with a thick ruff of hair around his shoulders, scars from previous battles on his flanks, and a huge set of antlers that stretched out, attesting to his prowess.
For a reason she couldn't explain, Eleanor was suddenly reminded of Irene MacAskill. Like the stag, Irene was old and bore the marks of her age with easy dignity. And despite that age Irene radiated power and strength, just like the stag in front of her.
"Wow," she whispered. "He's magnificent."
"Aye," Finn replied softly." But I fear this year's rut will be his last."
His hand rested on her arm and he was standing so close his hip touched hers. It was the lightest of touches and Eleanor wasn't sure whether he was aware of the contact but she sure as hell was. The soft pressure of his weight made her heart beat a little more rapidly than it should. He was so near that she could smell the scent of pine needles wafting from his dark hair.
Eleanor swallowed thickly, thinking of how she should extricate herself from his hold. But she didn't move.
FINLAY TRIED VERY HARD to concentrate but it was almost impossible with Eleanor this close. He’d grabbed her without thinking, wanting to show her the stag in the meadow, but now he realized he hadn’t released her and she hadn’t asked him to. Her weight against him felt good, really good, and there was a faint scent to her, something between rose petals and lavender. He had no desire to move, to break the light contact between them, even though he knew he should.
Something stirred within him as they crouched together, watching the stag, sharing this secret moment. Something he couldn’t quite name.
In the meadow the stag suddenly lifted its head, snorting in alarm. Then, with a flattening of its ears, it fled, pounding across the meadow and disappearing into the forest in the blink of an eye.
Finn tensed. He rested his hand on his dagger hilt and gazed in the direction the stag had gone, suddenly uneasy.
"What is it?" Eleanor asked. "What's wrong?"
He held up a hand for silence and slowly rose from his crouch. A noise carried on the air, coming closer. The drum of hoof beats. Finn drew his dagger, just as a mounted figure burst from the trees behind them, pulling his horse to a halt in a shower of mud.
Finn pushed Eleanor behind him and swung around to face the rider. The man’s head was shaved to a fine black stubble and he fixed cold eyes on Finn.
"Finlay! There ye are!” the man snapped. “Lord Stewart sent me to find ye. Ye stand accused of desertion and the penalty is hanging!”
Chapter 6
Eleanor’s heart thumped in her chest. Who the hell was this man? Where had he come from? Compact and muscular with a head shaved down to black stubble, he wore the same plaid as Angus and his men.
"Desertion?" Finlay snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. "What are ye talking about, Broag, ye damned fool! I’m here on Lord Stewart’s business!"
"Really?" The man called Broag said. “Then why have ye not returned to give yer report? Why are ye wandering the wild with this lass?"
Other riders emerged from the trees. Eleanor counted at least six, all well armed and cold-eyed. They were leading a spare horse.
Finn scanned the men as though assessing his options. "Call yerself a tracker?" he growled at Broag. “Ye canna see what is right in front of yer eyes! Canna ye see that I'm taking this lass back to Lord Stewart right now?"
Broag narrowed his eyes. "Is that so? If she's a prisoner, why didnae ye just let Angus and his squad bring her back yesterday?" Seeing the look on Finn’s face he nodded. "Oh, aye. They returned last night and gave a full account of what and who they'd encountered. Lord Stewart isnae best pleased his hound has refused to heel."
Finlay ground his teeth and a vein began to throb in his temple. Eleanor watched the two men with her heart in her mouth. What was Finn talking about? Taking her to Lord Stewart? He was leading her to the archway! He'd given his word!
"Angus?" Finn spat, his voice full of disgust. "Ye would have me leave the lass in his care? When he has Balloch in his squad? Would ye have the lass beaten and raped before Lord Stewart could question her?”
A sudden look of uncertainty crossed Broag’s face. Then he shook his head. "It’s fortunate then, isnae it that my men and I are here to escort ye and yer prisoner safely home?"
Finn waved a hand nonchalantly. "Aye, I suppose it beats walking. And ye brought me a horse I see. Most kind."
"Get her mounted up," Broag snapped. "Lord Stewart will have both our hides if we delay any longer."
To Eleanor’s shock, Finlay suddenly grabbed her by the wrists, his grip hard enough to hurt.
"What are you doing?" she cried. "Let me go!"
Finn’s face was an expressionless mask, his eyes cold. "Do as ye are told for once, woman!"
He unceremoniously dragged her across the clearing to the spare horse. She resisted, pulling against his grip, but he was far too strong for her and he yanked her along as easily as if she was a child.
Reaching the horse he pushed her towards the stirrups whilst he held the horse steady with one hand.
"Get up."
Eleanor glared at him. What the hell was he playing at? She studied his face, searching for any hint of his intentions but that cold, expressionless mask didn't waver. He stared at her impatiently.
"Get on the horse," he snapped. “Or I will throw ye on myself.”
Sudden anger flared in Eleanor’s chest. "Go to hell!"
With a growl of annoyance he grabbed her elbow. She reacted instinctively, swinging her free hand in a punch at his face. Dimly, she was aware of the men gathered in a circle around them. They were watching this exchange intently. Almost nonchalantly, Finn caught her forearm before her punch could connect and then grabbed her around the waist. He lifted her as though she weighed no more than a doll and thrust her into the saddle.
He swung up behind her, settling easily into the saddle and then reached around her to grab the reins. The horse was huge and the top of its back seemed incredibly high to Eleanor. She clutched grimly onto the saddle horn with both hands as Finlay kicked the horse into motion and they rode from the clearing.
"What are you doing?" she hissed at Finn under her breath. "Where are you taking me?"
"Quiet!" he breathed in her ear. "Dinna say a word. Both our lives may depend on it."
She clamped her mouth shut and did her best to fight down the swirling fear in her stomach. Broag and his men surrounded her and Finlay in a broad circle, blocking any chance of escape.
She laughed bitterly to herself. Escape? Where exactly would she go?
Finn rode expertly, holding the reins lightly and steadying her every time she swayed in the saddle. For Eleanor, the ride was torture. The terrain was uneven and bumpy, the horses moved swiftly, and Eleanor’s backside was soon bruised from being bounced around like a sack of apples. But she soon realized that a bruised backside was the least of her worries.
After riding for about an hour, they must have passed some sort of border because the wilderness began to recede to be replaced by small settlements, little more than isolated farmsteads and crofts. They looked abandoned, with no animals grazing in the fields and the doors to the cottages swinging open in the wind. Further on, they began running into mounted patrols. Each time the patrols would stop them, ask their business, and then wave them on their way.
At last they began to descend a sharp incline into a valley with a loch sparkling at its bottom. Around the shores of the loch Eleanor saw people milling around.
Hundreds of people, perhaps thousands. They were housed in tents, giving the place the look of a shantytown. A large, stone building sat at the mouth of the valley. It was too small to be called a castle but bigger than a house. Its lower story was constructed of gray stone, its upper story timber, and a thatched roof covered the top. She could see no windows on the ground floor and the only door was reached by steps that led up to the first level. The windows were narrow, easily defensible. Eleanor guessed it must be some kind of fortified manor house. The large wall surrounding the house gave another clue.
They rode down a muddy trail and into the encampment. There were armed men everywhere. On a patch of cleared ground some were practicing fighting in close quarters. The clink of metal on metal and the grunt of exertion was loud enough to carry over the hubbub of the camp. Others were crouched around campfires, eating, drinking, and playing games of dice. Nobody paid Eleanor’s group any attention as they skirted the banks of the loch and approached the manor house.
They were stopped at the gates by three heavily armed guards but were quickly ushered through when Broag explained who they were. They entered a cobbled courtyard. Finn pulled the horse to a halt and stable boys came running.
Finn dismounted and then held out a hand. Eleanor ignored the proffered help, and tried to dismount by herself. She swung one leg over the horse’s broad back and kept a tight hold of the saddle as she slid ungraciously to the ground. She heard Broag’s men snigger but Finn's arm suddenly went around her, steadying her and stopping her falling on her backside on the muddy cobbles.
She wrenched free of his grip and this made Broag’s men snicker all the harder.
"She's a feisty one," Broag said. "I'm sure Lord Stewart will like her!”
The men’s laughter sent a shiver right down Eleanor’s spine.