by Katy Baker
“Yes, an old woman who I desperately need to find!”
“Nay, lass. She is far more than that.”
Sophie looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”
He took a deep breath, considering what to say next, how much to reveal. “She may look like a harmless old crone but she isnae. She is Fae.”
Sophie stared at him, her eyes wide. “What’s a ‘Fae’?”
“One of the fair folk. The immortals who founded Alba thousands of years ago. They have mostly faded from human knowledge but some still take an interest in mortal affairs. Irene is one such. If she brought ye here, then it was for a reason.”
“No,” Sophie said emphatically, shaking her head. “That’s impossible. She was not a fairy. There are no such things as fairies. She was just a strange old woman who brought me here...somehow.” Her words trailed off as though her explanation didn’t satisfy her.
“How did ye get to Scotland?” Callum asked. “Did ye sail the coast on a boat? Did ye ride up through England on a horse? In a carriage?”
“No, that’s not how I got here. I...stepped through....” She snapped her mouth shut, unwilling to say more.
Callum narrowed his eyes. She was keeping something from him. There was clearly more to this woman than she claimed. She was not an English noblewoman who was here looking for a friend who would help her trace her ancestry. Was any of her story true? Or was everything she’d told him a lie?
Ye are a fine one to talk, he thought sourly. Ye havenae exactly been honest with her either.
Sophie pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, sucked in a few quick breaths, and then looked at him. “Okay. Say I believe you. Say Irene MacAskill is some kind of fairy creature who brought me here by magic. What has that got to do with you? How do you know her? And how do you know about these Fae?”
Ah, now they were getting to it. Callum cocked his head, regarding her in silence. Through the years Callum had gotten good at spotting liars. He could tell if a merchant was trying to swindle him or if one of his warriors was evading questions. But he couldn’t read Sophie at all.
“Mayhap if ye tell me yer secrets, I will tell ye mine,” he said. “What is Irene MacAskill’s interest in ye? And how did ye know where to find Alfred’s dagger and the mark of the Disinherited?”
“I’ve told you, I don’t—”
“The truth!” Callum roared. “Dear God, ye are the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met!” He breathed deeply, gathering himself. “The truth,” he said, more gently. “Neither of us is leaving this room until I have it.”
SOPHIE’S HEART THUMPED painfully in her chest. Callum looked furious. He glared at her, unblinking, his gaze as penetrating as a dagger thrust.
What did he think she’d done? She had no idea who this ‘Alfred’ was or who these ‘Disinherited’ were. She didn’t know because he hadn’t told her and yet he’d begun flinging accusations around like grains of salt.
She pursed her lips. Anger was starting to win out. Who did he think he was shouting at her like that? And then blocking the door? Stupid, arrogant man!
“Get out of my way,” she said, fixing him with her own glare.
He didn’t move.
“Don’t make me scream,” she warned. “I’ll do it and Rhonda will come running. Then how will you explain why you’ve got me locked in here?”
His eyes narrowed. Then he stepped away from the door. She stalked over to it and yanked it open.
“Are ye going to yer employer?” he asked. “Are ye going to report everything ye’ve learned about me?”
She whirled on him. “No! What is wrong with you? I don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about! I’m going back to St Barnabas’s chapel. I’ll find my own way home from there.”
“The chapel is many miles distant. Through wild and dangerous country.”
“More dangerous than right here?” she retorted. “I’ll take my chances, thanks.”
She began to turn away but Callum’s hand fastened around her wrist.
“Dinna go, lass.” His gaze had softened, the anger gone. “I’m sorry I shouted. I shouldnae have done that. But I must know the truth.”
Sophie’s shoulders slumped, all the anger draining out of her like air out of a burst balloon. She was suddenly so tired. Tired of the lies. Tired of keeping up the pretense. Tired of being scared.
Callum said nothing, only watched her. She suddenly, desperately wanted to tell him everything, to have it off her chest and be done with it.
She shut the door and made her way over to the bed, sinking down onto the edge and leaning over with her elbows resting on her knees. Where was she even supposed to begin?
“You’re right,” she said, looking up at Callum. “I’ve not been honest with you. But I do know Irene MacAskill, I’ve not lied about that. And I did meet her in my homeland. But my homeland isn’t what you think it is. Or rather, when you think it is.” She swallowed thickly, steeling herself. “Irene brought me through time. I’m from the future. From the twenty-first century. And that’s where I’m trying to get back to.”
CALLUM STARED AT HER. Had he just heard that right? She came from the future? He did a quick calculation in his head. Wait. She came from over six hundred years in the future?
His first reaction was to laugh. Surely she was making fun of him? But the expression on her face strangled that laugh.
“Wait. Ye are serious?”
She nodded. “You asked for the truth. Now you have it.”
He blinked. It was ridiculous. Preposterous. Completely impossible. Except that it wasn’t. If she had told this story to anyone else, they would have probably thought she was insane. Or a witch. Possibly both.
But Callum wasn’t just anyone. His ancestors had been tangled with the Fae since time immemorial, since the very founding of Alba, and Callum’s life had been bound by his vow to them. He knew their powers, understood what they were capable of. There was no way Sophie could know of Irene MacAskill unless the woman had wanted her to.
And that meant Sophie was telling the truth.
He strode over to the window and stood looking down into the street. People wandered by, talking, arguing, laughing, going about their lives as they always did.
What would it be like to lead a normal life? he thought. I don’t even know what that is. Now I find Irene MacAskill has sent a lass back in time right at the same moment she appears to give me a warning.
There were no coincidences where the Fae were concerned. The two events had to be linked. But how?
“Callum?”
He noticed a slight tremor in Sophie’s voice. He turned to face her and discovered that she’d gone pale, fear in her eyes.
She swallowed thickly. “You’re not going to report me to the authorities are you? You’re not going to tell them I’m involved in witchcraft or anything?”
How could she think such a thing? He crossed the room and took hold of her hands. “Nay, lass,” he said softly. “I willnae allow any harm to come to ye. Didnae I make a vow to ye? Besides,” he added with a wry smile. “I believe ye.”
Surprise flitted across her features. “You do? You don’t think I’m crazy? Or a witch?”
A throaty laugh escaped him. “Lass, I think ye are neither of those things. I think ye’ve had the misfortune to be caught in Irene’s plots. I think we both have.”
Sophie let out a low sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. You have no idea how hard it’s been keeping up the pretense. I thought I was going to go crazy. I was so desperate to go home.”
“So that’s why you left the inn—to follow Irene?”
“Yes. Like I’ve been telling you. Although maybe I didn’t see her after all and I’m just losing my mind.”
“Nay, I dinna think ye are. Maybe it was Irene. Maybe she led ye to that courtyard so I would find Alfred’s dagger. Yet one thing is clear—she doesnae wish to be found or she would have allowed ye to catch her. I think until she decides otherwise
, until ye complete the task she has sent ye back here for, ye willnae be going anywhere.”
“Task?” Sophie said faintly. “What task? What use can I possibly be? I’m just a gardener. I don’t have any special skills or knowledge.”
Callum stared down at her. Oh, she was special all right, even if she couldn’t see it. Callum knew that right down to his bones. He’d never met any woman like her before.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “I will help ye find Irene and a way home.”
She smiled faintly. “Even though I’m the ‘most infuriating woman you’ve ever met’?”
He barked a laugh. “Aye, even though ye are that.”
She grinned, her eyes sparkling, but then sobered. “So you know my story but I still don’t know yours. You haven’t told me your connection to Irene or why you thought me a spy. And who is Alfred?”
His mirth died. He turned away and stalked to the window again. His secrets curled around his heart, squeezing. How much could he tell her? He wanted to tell her everything, to spill his secrets and be damned with the consequences. But years of hiding the truth was a hard habit to break. And besides, the less she knew, the safer she would be.
“My family, the Sutherland clan, has preserved knowledge of the Fae for many generations,” he said at last. “That’s how I know of Irene.” He didn’t mention the fact that he’d met her on the road or of his vow to the Order. That was not his secret to tell. “And Alfred was a friend of mine. He’d gone missing and one of the reasons I was riding to Dun Garnon was to look for him. That’s his dagger you found in the courtyard and that pin is a symbol of a group that I think might have taken him. They are called the Disinherited.”
A crinkle formed between her eyebrows. “Who are they?”
He shifted awkwardly. “Bad people. That’s all ye need to know.”
Her frowned deepened as though she suspected he was keeping things from her but she didn’t press the issue. “Right. So we haven’t found Irene, we haven’t found Alfred. What do we do now?”
“Leave,” he responded immediately. “It isnae safe here, not if the Disinherited discover I’m here. Pack yer things. We must be out of here within the hour.”
She nodded, crossed to a saddle bag, and began pulling the strings tight. “Where are we going?”
A faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “To my home. To Dun Saith.”
Chapter 8
Sophie glanced over her shoulder at Henborough disappearing in the distance. She wasn’t sure how she felt about leaving the place. On the one hand it had been a...what was the right word? ...challenging experience, what with all that had happened, and she was glad to be leaving it behind. But on the other hand, she’d seen Irene there. What if she was leaving behind her best chance to get home?
And yet she realized that Callum was right. If that had been Irene she’d seen, she clearly had no intention of revealing herself. And if she was a Fae as Callum claimed—a Fae!—Sophie could still barely believe she was entertaining that idea—then it stood to reason that she had used her magic to bring Sophie back here. And that in turn meant that Sophie would need Irene’s magic to send her back again.
She groaned inwardly. This was all such a mess. How had she ended up in this insane situation? All she’d wanted to do was trace her family and instead she’d been thrown into the past and gotten embroiled in some sort of plot that involved Callum, Irene and these ‘Disinherited’, whoever they were.
I should have stayed home, she said to herself. I should have stayed right where I was and carried on tending to Mrs. Owen’s dahlias.
They were riding steadily down a road of hard-packed earth with fields on either side. Marsh grass grew in clumps in the fields, indicating boggy ground, the water table high, and there were patches of standing water covering large parts of the fields which the grazing sheep were doing their best to avoid.
She saw that an attempt had been made to drain the land but the ditch that ran alongside the road wasn’t anywhere near deep enough and instead of allowing the run-off to filter downhill it had just become a collecting point for stagnant water.
The wind picked up, swirling her hair around her head, and she pulled the cloak tighter around herself to try to keep out the icy fingers of the breeze.
“I don’t much like the look of that,” she said, pointing at the sky ahead. It was turning an ominous gray.
“Me neither,” Callum replied. “It seems there’s quite the downpour brewing and we’re heading straight into it.”
Of course we are, Sophie thought sourly. Why did I expect anything else?
“I don’t suppose you’ve got an umbrella?” she asked.
“A what?”
She smiled. “Never mind. Something from my time to help keep people dry.”
Sure enough, the further they traveled, the grayer the skies became until after they’d rounded a bend in the road and begun descending into a wide river valley, the heavens opened and a torrent came hissing down. Despite the cloak, Sophie was drenched in seconds. A river of water washed down the road, swirling around the horse’s hooves.
Callum cursed under his breath and pulled the horse to a stop, looking around for somewhere to take shelter. There was nowhere. They were out in the open with not a tree or a building in site, only a sparse, rocky landscape of heather and bracken.
“We’ll take shelter at the next croft we come across,” Callum shouted against the hiss of the downpour.
Sophie nodded, lips too numb to reply, and hunkered down into her cloak. She was aware that she was now leaning against Callum, his broad chest against her back but she couldn’t bring herself to move. His body heat was the only thing keeping her warm and besides, she found she liked touching him.
Nothing else moved in the gray landscape as they made their way onwards. Everything had hunkered down against the weather.
Everything but us, she thought. We’re the only ones stupid enough to be out in this.
But as they continued traveling, she realized this was not the case. A small farm complex appeared through the gloom ahead, with a modest farmhouse, a few outbuildings, and a series of fields demarcated by stone walls. There were people out working in the fields. A line of men and women were grubbing in the dirt, even though the ground was so wet that water ran over their hands.
“What are they doing?” she asked. “Why aren’t they taking shelter against the rain?”
Callum glanced at the farm workers. “They canna afford to do that. They need to get their seeds into the ground. It’s been a long winter and a wet spring. If they dinna get the planting finished soon, it will be a bad harvest.” An undercurrent of anxiety throbbed in his voice.
He pulled the horse to a halt at the farmhouse door and swung down from the saddle. As he strode to the door and knocked loudly, Sophie dismounted and turned to watch the farmworkers. Men, women, even children were all bent double in the field, feverishly digging into the soggy earth, paying no attention to her or Callum. They looked pale and gaunt. No burger bar for them when they felt hungry. No coffee shops selling lattes and Danish pastries. A twinge of guilt went through her. She’d never really appreciated how easy she had it in the twenty-first century.
Callum muttered under his breath then banged on the door a second time. “Open up!” he shouted. “We seek shelter!”
The door stayed stubbornly closed.
“Ye are not welcome here,” said a voice suddenly.
Sophie spun to find that three large, well-muscled men had come around the side of the farmhouse. They held farm implements in their hands: a sickle, a spade, a fork.
Callum spread his hands wide. “We are only travelers seeking shelter from the rain. We mean no harm.”
“Do ye not?” growled a bald-headed man who appeared to be their leader. “Or mayhap ye have just come to finish what ye started?”
They took a menacing step forward and Sophie’s heart leapt into her mouth, all thought of a hot drink and a roari
ng fire flying out of her head.
Callum stood his ground. He pushed Sophie behind him and then laid his hand on his sword hilt although he didn’t draw the weapon. “I dinna know what ye are talking about,” he said, meeting the leader’s gaze squarely. “We are only passing through. Have ye had some trouble here?”
The leader hesitated, perhaps caught off guard by the honesty in Callum’s tone. He gestured to where the workers were toiling in the sodden fields. “As ye see. Our spring planting is ruined.”
“Ruined? How?”
The leader studied Callum for a moment then his eyes slid to Sophie. “By witchcraft.” He took something from his belt and tossed it to Callum who deftly snatched it from the air. Sophie caught a glimpse of a coin with the same snake and dagger insignia that had been on the pin she’d found in Henborough.
Callum’s face paled. “Where did ye get this?”
“From the travelers we gave shelter to not three nights ago. When we woke in the morning, they were gone and all the seedlings we’d planted had rotted in the ground. So ye will forgive me if we dinna offer ye the hospitality of our hearth.”
Callum stared down at the coin, turning it over in his hand. Then he tossed it back to the man. “I know naught of any witchcraft but I am sorry for yer hardship. We will trouble ye no longer.”
He indicated for Sophie to mount the horse and she was only too happy to oblige. She didn’t like the expressions on those men’s faces.
Only when she was seated on the horse did Callum turn his back on the men and swing up into the saddle behind her. He set his heels to the horse’s flanks and sent the beast into an urgent canter away from the farmstead.
“What was all that about?” Sophie asked when the farmstead was safely behind them.
Callum glanced at her but didn’t answer. He seemed preoccupied, a worried frown on his face, and he hadn’t said a word since they’d left the farm.
“Callum?” she pressed. “I know you recognized that mark, even though you said you didn’t. I recognized it too. It was the same one as on that pin wasn’t it?”