“Unfortunately, yes,” the woman said abruptly, and Nancy breathed a sigh of relief. At least they weren’t going to have to play Charades to communicate. Somehow, she figured that her story was going to need actual words to get across. “What are ye?”
“My name’s Nancy,” she explained. “I was —”
“What,” the woman said testily, raising the stick in a menacing gesture. Her keen dark eyes were trained sharply on Nancy’s face, but they kept darting down to her equipment, her bare feet, the contours of the dry suit. “Not who. What are ye. Selkie?”
“What?”
“I’ve only met a few of your kind. Didn’t know any were still livin’ in the Loch. You’ve been keeping to yourself, I suppose. Or are ye new to the place? You’ll be wanting to meet with Laird Grant from the castle. The folk of the castle are liaisons between your kind and —”
“Sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” Nancy said, frowning. She was cold, and tired, and the woman’s accent was making it difficult to decipher more than a few words at a time. She was pretty sure she’d called her a Selkie, though. She remembered those from stories her mother had read to her as a child. Seal people, or something?
“Well? What are you, then?”
“I’m a — I’m a person?” she attempted, feeling ridiculous. What was this strange woman talking about? She’d be annoyed if she didn’t feel so thoroughly on her back foot, what with having a weapon wielded against her. “Sorry — I know it’s strange of me to knock on your door in the middle of the night, but I think I’m lost.”
“Lost.” The woman was peering up at her intently now — she took a few steps closer, lowering the stick slightly, and Nancy breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re lost? Lost from where?”
“The quarry near here?” she tried hopefully. “I was diving with a couple of friends … we got separated, I got lost, and I think I’ve somehow come up in a different body of water, or something… is there a quarry near here? A flooded quarry?”
“What’s that on you?” the woman demanded, gesturing with the stick at Maggie’s tank. “Some kind of hump?”
“It’s my diving gear.” Nancy frowned. Perhaps there was something wrong with the woman’s eyes? She didn’t look myopic, but so many older people refused to wear their glasses, insisting on just muddling by… her own grandfather seemed to feel that needing glasses was a sign of weakness, no matter what his family said. Well, easy enough to make it clearer for the woman. Nancy stripped down to just her drysuit, leaving her scuba gear in a pile on the front porch as the woman peered suspiciously at her. “See? Tanks, mask, fins, couple of torches… just diving gear.”
“You’re human.”
“Is there… anything else I could be?” Nancy tried to make the question sound joking, but something about the way the strange old woman was scrutinizing her made her efforts fall flat.
“Aye. Plenty else. But I believe ye.” The woman put the stick down in a decisive motion, then stuck her hand out. “Name’s Maggie. I live here by the Loch. Nancy, did you say?”
“Yeah,” Nancy said gratefully, shaking the old woman’s hand. “Nancy Kane. Good to meet you, Maggie.”
“Now tell me what in heaven’s name all of that is,” Maggie said, squinting down at Nancy’s scuba gear where it sat.
“Oh. Uh — just my gear. For diving. You know? scuba diving?” The woman just squinted at her. Nancy took that for a yes. “That’s the air tank, that’s the regulator… fins, gloves, depth gauge, backup light, my diving knife…”
“What’s that made of?”
“Made of? Uh, aluminum, I’m pretty sure. Maybe an alloy. It’s new.” James had talked her into the knife — he’d been in a few tight scrapes where a knife had saved his life and insisted that she carry a similarly wicked blade. She’d always made do with an old penknife her dad had given her, but a part of her did love new gadgets. Maggie had bobbed down next to the pile of gear and was gently inspecting it with the attitude of someone who’d never seen anything like any of it before. She seemed particularly suspicious of the plastic and metal parts of the apparatus.
“And that — that thing you’re wearing, what’s that?”
“This? My drysuit.” Nancy fidgeted at the fastenings around her wrists. “Keeps the water out.”
“Fascinating,” Maggie said thoughtfully. “You carry your air with you and go swimming?”
“That’s the idea, yeah.” Nancy couldn’t help but smile a little at this strange old woman. It was strange to think that there were people who hadn’t heard of scuba diving before. Where was she, anyway, for there to be someone so out of touch with technology? “Listen, I’m sorry to disturb you so late at night, but…”
“You’d better come in, I think,” Maggie said briskly. “I think we’ve got a lot to talk about. And you don’t seem too well,” she added, not looking up from the pile of equipment.
Nancy opened her mouth to explain that she was fine — and then closed it, feeling a wave of dizziness rush over her. The exhaustion and stress was finally catching up with her, it felt like — she staggered just a little, reaching out to steady herself against the wooden railing that surrounded the porch. Maggie patted her hand as she bustled past.
“Come in, dearie. Let me tell you where you are.”
Chapter 6
Nancy leaned on the railing until she felt ready to walk again, her heart pounding stickily in her ears as nausea settled in her stomach. Something felt wrong — something beyond the stress and after-effects of adrenaline, something beyond the exhaustion of a long day’s drive and a longer-than-anticipated swim. But what was it? It couldn’t be decompression sickness — she’d been far too careful for that, she was far too experienced to have come up too quickly. Besides, if it was that, she’d be feeling a whole lot worse than she was. This felt like the beginning of a nasty cold, or something… but not quite that, either.
Maggie had gone inside already and was waiting by the door with an impatient look in her eyes. Once Nancy had regained her balance a little, she shuffled after her, smiling with appreciation as the warmth of the cabin washed over her. Maggie ushered her toward a little fireplace, where there was a huge stuffed armchair only inches from the hearth. Scorch marks on the closest side of it revealed that it might have been a little too close. Nancy considered sitting in it, then thought better of it, given that her dry suit was still a little wet to the touch.
“Do you need a change of clothes, dearie?”
“I’ve got clothes under this, but thanks,” she replied, unfastening the drysuit and smiling as the warmth rushed across her bared skin. It was only a pair of spandex leggings and a long-sleeved shirt — anything bulkier than that would have felt strange under the drysuit — but it was enough to keep me warm in frigid water and will do for now, she thought as she removed the drysuit. Despite feeling distinctly under the weather, she still made a point of folding the suit carefully and placing it gently on the little side table that sat beside the armchair. Then she settled onto the ground in front of the fire, where a couple of cushions seemed to have been scattered for that exact purpose.
“Let me heat you up some stew.”
That was what that delicious smell was — there was a faint scent of vegetables and meat, a hearty, reassuring scent, that was interwoven with the other smells of the little cottage. Nancy took a moment to look around, sitting cross-legged on the very comfortable cushion by the fire. Where was the kitchen? There was what seemed to be a little pantry over on the wall along from the fire, but no sign of a stove or a fridge, of anything that would say ‘kitchen’. Another room, perhaps? But she couldn’t see any doors in the cottage save for the one she’d come in through. There was a little staircase over near the door, narrow and steep. Could it be that the cottage’s kitchen was upstairs? That seemed strange, given that there was clearly a dining table down here with plates and cutlery still set on it. Did Maggie have to carry her meals down every time she cooked them?
“Oh! That’s fun. I haven’t seen a fire used for actual cooking for a long time.” Nancy grinned. “Save for camping, of course.” Was this some kind of holiday house, maybe? A kind of rustic home-away-from-home? Or was this how she actually cooked — using a fire, not a stove? Nancy didn’t know if anyone still did that these days. There was something charming about the idea of cooking on a wood fire, of leaving the twenty-first century microwaves and stoves and ovens at home and spending a holiday without modern conveniences.
Maggie was fussing at the fire, rearranging the logs beneath the grate. Nancy watched the deft way she manipulated the embers, using the end of a piece of wood. She was surprised to see that. Usually, people had iron pokers and such, didn’t they? If Maggie actually did most of her cooking on this fire — which, it seemed, was the case — why didn’t she have a set of tools to make it easier? Still, she was making do just fine with the piece of wood, and when she had adjusted the fire to her satisfaction, she dropped the whole piece of wood on top of the blaze.
“Your accent,” Nancy said thoughtfully, still working on placing. “It’s wonderful. Scottish?”
“Aye, that it is, dearie.” Maggie laughed — it was a pleasant sound, even if it definitely brought the word ‘cackle’ to mind.
Nancy wondered what Maggie’s reputation among the local kids of the area was. She knew for a fact that her own friends and neighbors would definitely have assumed this woman was a witch. Not that there was anything wrong with being a witch, of course. Nancy’s own mother had had a collection of spells she was fond of using — Nancy never was quite sure whether her mother was entirely serious about the process.
“When did you move here?”
“Oh, when I was much younger,” Maggie said, and there was still that curious gleam in her eye that suggested she was in on some joke that was yet to be explained to Nancy. It was curious, but she didn’t quite know what to say to confront it. “But this has been my home for decades, now.”
“It’s a lovely home,” Nancy said, smiling. “How old is the cottage?”
“Oh, not as old as me. I had some of the lads from the Sept help me build it.”
That was strange, certainly. From the look of the thing — not that Nancy was much of an expert — she’d assumed the cottage was some carefully maintained historical building that Maggie happened to be living in. Something about it just felt… old. Medieval, maybe. Though she had to admit, there was nothing worn or run-down about it. The stones that made up the wall weren’t weathered or ancient, the wood of the steps had been firm and fresh. Perhaps it was just built in a medieval style, Nancy thought, frowning a little. Maggie might be an enthusiast.
“That’s wonderful,” she said, looking around at the cottage. “It’s so… old-world-y. Makes my little apartment seem boring.”
“And where’s that, then?” Maggie looked up at her keenly, her wrinkled face suddenly sharp. “Where’s home, for you?”
“Oh, I live in Raleigh. Near the scuba school, if you know where that is?”
“Raleigh,” Maggie repeated thoughtfully, tasting the word as though it was completely new to her. Could it be a new idea to her? Surely not. They weren’t that far out of town — and nobody who lived in North Carolina didn’t know the name of one of its biggest cities.
“Yeah. I have to admit, I got a little bit turned around — what’s the nearest city here?”
“There’s a village along the path a ways,” Maggie said, that same laugh creeping into her voice. “But we’ll get to that. Raleigh. Goodness gracious. And tell me, how did you get from Raleigh to here?”
“Oh, we took my friend’s truck.” She frowned at that memory — James was probably beside himself with worry. He and Hannah would probably have assumed the worst by now. Would they have told her father yet? She hoped not — the old man didn’t need the shock. The doctor had been at him about his cholesterol, but he never listened. She hoped that news of her terrible diving accident wouldn’t reach him before she could. “Drove up, got set up for the dive. The flooded quarry near here?”
“Oh, aye, I don’t get around too much these days,” Maggie said, eyes glinting. “You said you were diving? Carrying your air with you, like that?”
“Yeah, with the scuba gear. It’s what I do,” she said, smiling a little. She had a strange job — she always enjoyed explaining it to people. “I mean, mostly I’m an instructor, but I do it for fun as well. We all decided to check out this cave system in a flooded quarry up north of Raleigh, but when we got down there, there was a cave-in. Separated me from my group. Pretty scary, but I managed to find a path out through the caves and to the other side.”
“Oh, aye? See anything strange while you were down there?” Maggie enquired, sounding deliberately innocent, the way her father always did when he’d gotten her a present but was being mysterious about what it was. Like she knew something Nancy didn’t.
It was very strange — and stranger still, because she was right. Nancy had seen something strange down there. She’d chalked it up to the stress of getting separated, of her near-death experience… but she’d seen those strange glowing figures, hadn’t she? How could Maggie know about that? Maybe the old woman knew more than she was letting on about scuba diving. Or she’d had near-death experiences too and was interested in the kinds of visions that came to a panicking human mind.
“I did, actually. It was really weird. These tall, skinny glowing shapes — like people, standing all around me, talking about me in a language I didn’t speak.” She grinned. “It was strange, actually — it sounded a lot like the language you were speaking before. What was that?” Did Scotland have its own language? She was pretty sure it did — she’d met a few Scottish tourists in her time as a scuba instructor. “Gaelic?”
“Aye,” Maggie chuckled, “but probably not any kind you’d have heard before.”
A local dialect, then. That was interesting. “I wonder why I imagined them speaking Gaelic,” Nancy said thoughtfully.
“I don’t think you imagined anything at all, dearie,” Maggie said briskly, rising from the armchair and bustling over to the fire, retrieving a bowl from the table on her way. There was a wooden ladle buried in the pot of stew on the fire, which was now gently bubbling, and Maggie extracted it with a deft movement before spooning out a generous helping of steaming, delicious-smelling stew into the bowl. “Here. Eating something will help.”
“Very kind, thank you,” Nancy murmured, accepting the bowl from Maggie. The old woman grabbed a spoon from the table for her, too — it was wooden as well. Did Maggie have no metal cutlery at all? An interesting design choice, she had to admit. “This smells fantastic.”
“Eat up, you’re invited,” Maggie said again, something oddly formal in her voice. For no reason she could put a finger on, Nancy thought of the stories her mother used to tell about faeries, about the complex laws of etiquette they obeyed. Food and drink were a particularly thorny subject. There were many stories of humans unwittingly falling into unreasonable contracts with faeries, who offered them food and drink … with a carefully-worded catch that meant they were owed a favor as a result. And a favor could be anything from a day’s work, to a first-born child. Her father had listened to these stories with some amusement. Nancy remembered him laughing one day, saying that the moral of the story was to always read a contract before you signed it. Always a practical man.
But all of that was put out of her mind when she took a spoonful of the soup. It was absolutely delicious — she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she tasted it. She tried to pace herself, resisting the urge to wolf the entire bowl down. “This is fantastic, Maggie. Thank you so much.”
“You’re most welcome, dear.” Maggie’s eyes twinkled. �
��While you eat… would you like to know where you are?”
Chapter 7
“What do you mean?” Nancy asked around a mouthful of stew. “Where I am?”
“You’re not in Raleigh anymore. You’re a great deal further from home than that, I have to tell you.” She settled back into the armchair, heaving a great sigh. “You’ll probably not believe me. They often don’t.”
“They?” Nancy was beginning to worry. Maggie seemed to be reverting a little to the strange, hostile attitude she’d taken when they’d first met. She’d chalked that up to concern about a strange, scuba-suited person turning up on her doorstep in the middle of the night… but this was a little concerning. What did Maggie mean, she was far from home? How far could she have gotten in her brief time underwater? She still had half a tank of air left — that meant she couldn’t have been down there for longer than half an hour.
“Well, if I’m honest there’s been one like you before. You’ll meet her soon, I hope. She came from far away, too. But it took her a long time to come around to the truth of the matter. I’m hoping you’re a little more flexible in your opinions.”
This was getting stranger and stranger. But Nancy wasn’t willing to give up on the stew just yet — she kept eating, her concern about the odd things Maggie was saying eclipsed by how good it tasted. Maggie did seem like an older lady… was it possible her mind was starting to wander a little? That was fair enough. Nancy had certainly had experience with that… her grandmother on her father’s side had had Alzheimer’s in the years before she’d passed away. It had been hard, seeing the woman he’d known all his life slipping away, but there had been enough lucid moments to balance it all. Perhaps Maggie was similar — moving in and out of lucidity the way Nancy’s grandmother had. She resolved to be kind.
“You’re in Scotland, dearie,” Maggie said briskly. “And it’s the seventeenth century.”
Stranded By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance-Highlander Forever Book 2 Page 4