by Willa Blair
Ian had never in his twenty-eight years spoken that way to his father, but it was obvious that Duncan was keeping something from him, and now was not the time. He looked up to see Robbie’s face flushed with anger, and realized how tightly he was holding Duncan’s arm. He loosened his grip and took a deep breath.
“Da, please. What are you not telling me? I can’t lose her now, not when I’ve just found her again.” Ian’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Lads, we need to leave now,” said Duncan. Ian opened his mouth to protest, but Robbie grasped his shoulder with an unyielding grip, silencing him. “We need to go home and make preparations. There are things I need to tell you, and things that must be done. But there’s nothing more we can do here until then. You have to trust me. I’ll tell you as much as I can on the way home.”
Ian was torn. Part of him was still clinging to the hope that Abby would turn up, but he knew, deep down, that she wasn’t there. He looked at his father and brother and nodded. “Aye, let’s go.”
The men rode at a fast canter back to MacNab’s, Ian leading Jack behind him. When they arrived, they decided that Jack and Bonny and the second trailer would be left behind for the time being. That way, all three men could ride together back to the Mackenzie farm.
****
Duncan felt both his sons’ eyes upon him as they left MacNab’s, and knew they wouldn’t be put off any longer. He took a swig of water, wishing it was whisky.
“I’ll tell you as much as I can now, enough for you to understand some things. The rest will come later when we have more time. It sounds completely unbelievable, but I need for you to listen and know that what I say is the truth, aye?”
Ian and Robbie glanced at each other and then Ian answered. “Just tell us.”
Duncan took a deep breath. “I never spoke of it to you before, but I was married before your mum.” Ian and Robbie gaped at him in shock. “It was over thirty years ago when she died, and I was devastated. I couldn’t bear to be in our home without her. So I left that night, during an awful storm, telling no one that I was leaving. All I had with me were a few supplies and my horse.
“I rode for a few days, cutting across the northern tip of Loch Ness and turning south, following the eastern shore. I had no destination in mind, but somewhere deep down inside, I knew where I was going. This makes no sense, I know, but it’s true. Then, not far from where Abby disappeared—in fact, I would wager it was damn close to the same spot—I began to feel strange. My horse shied, almost throwing me, and my blood turned to ice in my veins. There was a cold mist, and the sun was gone. I thought I had passed into the spirit world.
“After a few moments, the mist vanished. The sun shone once more, and my horse, Wallace, finally settled down. We continued on our way for a short while, and then there was this horrible sound. It was like nothing that I had ever heard before. I looked up to see where the sound was coming from.
“There was a great foul beast in the sky, and I screamed in fright, causing Wallace to take off at a wild gallop. All I could do was hold on as he ran as though the hounds from hell were after us. He veered away from the loch across the meadow and through the trees. We came upon the road, the one we’re driving on now, in fact. There was another loud noise, a screeching sound, and another great beast came at us from the right. It stopped just before it would have hit us, and there was a burning smell. Wallace stumbled, and I went sailing over his head. Then everything went black.
“When I came to my senses, I was lying on my back on the ground. My whole body ached. I opened my eyes, and…” Duncan closed his eyes briefly as he recalled the moment. “The most bonny blue eyes were staring down at me. It was Laura. She’d nearly hit me with her horse trailer, but fortunately her reflexes were brilliant, and she stopped in time. Though not before givin’ me the fright of my life.” Duncan paused to take another drink.
“Da, I don’t understand what the hell this has to do with what is goin’ on now with Abby.”
Duncan went on, ignoring Ian. “You haven’t asked me about the foul beastie I saw in the sky, but I’ll tell you what it was anyway. It was an airplane.”
“Da, why did an airplane give you such a fright?”
“Because, lad, when I rode out of the mist and almost got run down by your mum, it was 1978. I had never seen an airplane, or a truck, before, because when Wallace and I rode into that mist, it was 1578.”
CHAPTER 4
Abby lost track of time as she paced back and forth between the tree and the shore of the loch, screaming for Ian until she grew hoarse. She sat down on the boulder, wrapping the blanket tightly around her in a vain attempt to warm up. She felt as though ice water ran through her veins. It reminded her of the many times she’d donated platelets back home, and they’d given her saline at the very end. The saline was cold, and she’d always felt unnerved by the sensation of the cold liquid running through her veins. Focus, Abby. You’re starting to lose it. Get up and start moving. You won’t get any warmer sitting here on a cold rock.
She stood, wobbly on her aching legs. Oh God, where was he? None of this made any sense. He would never have just left her stranded there. You’ll freeze if you stay out here much longer. If he was coming, he’d have been here by now. You need to start walking!
“Okay, okay,” she mumbled to her internal voice. She didn’t want to leave; if he came back, he wouldn’t know where to find her. But what else could she do? She didn’t know how long she’d been out here alone, but it had surely been hours. She was so very cold, and she suspected she was in shock. Her mind kept wandering, and that wasn’t a good sign.
She started walking back toward MacNab’s farm. Maybe she would run into him on the way. It was at least half an hour’s ride to the farm, and on foot it would be significantly longer, but she had no choice.
As she trudged through the high grass on aching feet, Abby tried to ignore the terror that crept through her. She should have reached MacNab’s farm by now, shouldn’t she? Maybe she’d misjudged the distance. But the sun was low in the sky, shining through the ramparts of the castle, and before long it would be pitch dark. Never mind that now. Just keep walking. Despite the encouraging words of her inner voice, she was starting to panic. Her heart raced and she couldn’t catch her breath. She tried singing to herself as a distraction, but she couldn’t get the words out.
She continued walking as the sun dropped, her calves and feet screaming in agony. Every few minutes she yelled for Ian as loud as she could. Her despair and confusion grew as each time her call went unanswered. I know I should have reached the road by now. I’ve been walking for hours. This doesn’t make any sense. She began to panic as she realized she was lost in the dark, her breath coming in sharp gasps as her heart thundered in her chest.
Her heartbeat seemed to grow louder, and she stopped walking, realizing it wasn’t her heart at all. She held her breath and listened closely. Hoofbeats! It had to be Ian; he had found her at last!
“Ian! I’m here! Ian!” She shouted his name so that he could find her in the growing darkness. The hoofbeats pounded closer.
Wait a minute, she thought. That sounded like more than one horse. Ian must have called for help from MacNab or his brother. There were flickers of light approaching her. As the riders drew closer, she could see they carried torches!
A new chill crept over her. Torches, not flashlights? Who exactly was riding toward her? She’d never heard of any kind of crime in this area, but there was always a chance that some lunatic was lurking out there. Maybe she should hide until she was certain it was Ian. As she looked around frantically for someplace to hide, she heard shouting. They had seen her, and were now heading in her direction.
“Oh shit,” she muttered. Any relief she’d felt upon hearing those hoofbeats was gone. She was from New York, and any woman from New York knew that it was not a good thing to be alone in the dark with a group of strange men. She had to get the hell out of there. She threw off her blanket and took off at a run.
But like every doomed female in every horror movie she’d ever seen, she made it no more than ten steps before she tripped over some unseen obstacle and pitched forward. She threw out her hands to break her fall but landed hard on her right hand and left knee, crying out from the shooting pain. Get up, Abby! Through sheer determination and a rush of adrenaline, she managed to get to her feet, and began to run again, gritting her teeth against the pain.
The hoofbeats thundered up behind her, and she was jerked off her feet and plunked down sideways in front of one of the riders, his horse never breaking its stride. His arm was clamped so tightly around her waist that she couldn’t breathe. She must have made some sound of distress because his arm loosened a bit.
Her hand brushed against a familiar texture and she glanced down in surprise. This man was wearing a kilt. And not a modern-day kilt that buckled at the waist and was worn by police pipe-and-drum bands and people at Highland festivals. This was a Great Kilt, yards of wool pleated and belted around his waist, the excess material draped over his shoulders like a cloak against the evening chill. Ian wore a plaid such as this for his re-enactments and formal occasions. This man was wearing it while riding a patrol in the dark.
Along with a dagger in his belt, another in his boot, and a sword strapped to his back. What the hell?
“C’ainm ‘tha ort, a chaileag? Cia as a thàinig thu?” His deep voice was rough and guttural in her ear…and completely incomprehensible.
She realized he could only be speaking Gaelic, but the only words she knew were a few toasts and some of Ian’s endearments. This was clearly neither of those things. She tilted her head back to look up at him.
All she saw at first was hair. The man’s face was barely distinguishable amidst a thick beard and wild hair. He spoke to her again, and she just shook her head, trying to convey that she didn’t understand him. He muttered under his breath and said no more.
What the hell was going on? These men looked like they were right out of a history book. Although Gaelic was still alive in some areas of the Highlands and the western islands, Abby was almost certain that they would have spoken to her in English first. Then there were the weapons. In twenty-first century Scotland, most people did not carry their swords and daggers with them.
Abby had an awful sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as she tried to come up with an explanation, and she decided that she’d better avoid speaking until she had a better sense of exactly what was going on here.
For now, though, she knew she must resign herself to her current position. Even if she could somehow get away from her captor, she couldn’t wander around aimlessly in the dark, injured and lost. She would just explain herself to their leader when they got to wherever they were going. These men hadn’t hurt her; surely they would let her use a phone to call Ian.
Ian. How would he possibly know what happened to her? Would he look for her and then give up, deciding that she’d left in anger?
The rhythmic canter of the horse lulled her into a kind of trance. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before they rode into a village. Most of the dwellings were dark, the villagers apparently already settled in for the night. They stopped in front of an isolated cottage at the far end of the village. There was light inside; whoever lived there was still awake. The man she’d been riding with handed her down to one of the other riders, and then dismounted. He scooped her up in his arms once more and carried her to the door, pounding the wood with one meaty fist. A low but menacing growl sounded from inside, and a female voice called out in Gaelic.
“Cò tha sin?”
“Tha mise Ewan.” He shouted some other things in Gaelic, and the woman replied. The man slowly pushed open the door. A young woman rose from where she sat eating at a small table, a large animal at her side. Was that a wolf? Abby’s eyes widened at the sight of the animal, who growled softly, its teeth bared. The woman placed her hand on the animal’s head and spoke quietly to it. After glancing up at her, it stopped growling and sat, though the fierce expression remained on its face.
From the body language and the tones of their voices, it was obvious that the woman and the man did not get along. As they spoke, Abby looked around the cottage. It was one large room with a hearth on the far wall where a fire merrily snapped and crackled. She wished the man would put her down so she could drag her frozen body over to the fire.
A pot was suspended over the fire, a delicious smell emanating from it. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it had been hours since she’d eaten, and that had only been some cookies and lemonade. A small table and two chairs stood against the wall by the door. The third wall had a small bookcase with some shelves above it. There were about a half dozen books neatly lined up on the bookcase, but none of them looked modern or mass-produced. The shelves were full of jars, flasks, and baskets, and there were bunches of fragrant herbs and vegetables hanging from the ceiling. The fourth wall was taken up by a large bed covered in furs. A wooden chest stood at the foot of the bed.
But as homey as the little cottage looked, it was all wrong. There was no TV, no stereo, no oven, no coffeemaker, no refrigerator. The light came from the fire and from candles placed around the room. There was nothing to indicate that Abby was in the twenty-first century. Her insides twisted. Where was she? Or, more importantly, in what century was she?
The man shifted Abby in his arms and gestured at her with his free hand. The young woman approached with a candle in her hand and stared at Abby, her eyes growing wide with surprise. She hissed something at the man, snatching some furs from the bed and tossing them in a pile in front of the hearth. She gestured to the pallet and the man carefully sidestepped the wolf and laid Abby down. The woman quickly ushered him out the door and closed it firmly behind him.
The woman knelt beside her, holding a candle. She had long reddish-blonde hair that fell in a riot of curls down her back, and bright blue eyes that seemed kind. She wore a long gray skirt and a white blouse with a laced vest over it, and her feet were bare. None of her clothing was in any way modern. She looked at Abby’s face for what seemed like an eternity, a strange expression in her eyes, and finally spoke.
“C’ainm ‘tha ort, a chaileag? Cia as a thàinig thu?”
Oh God! Was she really stuck in this place where no one spoke English? Tears burned her eyes as she shook her head mutely, trying to indicate that she did not understand. The woman gently wiped away Abby’s tears with her thumb, a slight smile of understanding appearing on her face.
“What’s your name, lass? Where did you come from?” Her voice was gentle, her accent thicker than Ian’s, but just as pleasing to the ear. Abby let out a sigh of relief to hear words she could understand, but she did not answer. She needed time to think about what to say. This woman seemed kind, but that would change as soon as she took a good look at Abby’s clothes and heard her speak.
The wolf came over, stretching its big head towards Abby. The young woman placed one hand on the animal’s head, and with the other gently took Abby’s trembling hand and held it in front of the wolf’s nose. He sniffed, then licked her hand.
“Do not be afraid. This is Conall. He’s very protective of me, but he knows you are not a threat. He will not harm you.” Abby tentatively stroked the gray snout, and relaxed slightly when the animal didn’t make any threatening moves.
“I am Alannah Fraser, and you’re on Fraser land. Ewan said you were hurt. I’m a healer. Let me see to your wounds.” She reached out, and Abby scooted backwards as quickly as her aching limbs allowed, her actions so sudden they startled the other woman.
Alannah studied her for a moment with shrewd blue eyes, but she did not press the issue.
“Are you hungry?”
Abby’s stomach growled in response, and she felt her face flush. Alannah smiled, her eyes twinkling with mirth. The other woman’s smile put Abby at ease and she nodded.
Alannah stood and retrieved a bowl from a shelf on the wall.
She dished out
a bowl of stew and placed it with a chunk of bread and a flagon of water beside Abby on the floor.
“Thank you.”
Alannah inclined her head in response. “I understand you’re afraid of me, but you don’t have to be. I assume your wounds aren’t life-threatening, so they can wait until tomorrow.”
She went over to a chest on the floor and removed a long white garment, placing it beside Abby. “You can sleep in this, if you like. Here are some furs if you get cold. Perhaps in the morning, you’ll be ready to talk.”
She smiled kindly and then removed her vest and skirt to reveal a white underdress. She folded the garments and placed them on a chair, and blew out the candle. She climbed into bed, and the wolf jumped up to lie beside her.
Abby lay in the dark, trying to get her thoughts under control, trying not to cry. Oh God. Though it seemed utterly impossible, the only explanation for all that she had seen tonight was that she had somehow gone back in time. She was at the mercy of this young woman, in some unknown time in which there was a reasonably good chance she would be burned as a witch. She knew she couldn’t walk far on her injured leg, but she would have to try and make it outside to hide her clothes somewhere.
She waited until her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she was certain by the steady breathing from across the room that Alannah was asleep. Clutching one of the furs and the nightgown to her, she inched across the floor to a chair. Biting her lip hard to keep from crying out at the pain in her knee, she pulled herself slowly and painfully to her feet and wrapped herself in the fur. As she hobbled to the door, a soft noise coming from the bed startled her. She froze, holding her breath and slowly turning her head, praying that she hadn’t awakened Alannah.
She hadn’t, but the wolf’s eyes were open, his head raised slightly as he watched her. She stifled a gasp of fright. What would she do if he attacked her? He was friendly enough when his mistress was standing beside him, but he could easily consider her a threat now. She stayed still for an interminably long time, but Conall remained where he was. He finally lowered his head to rest on his forepaws, though he continued to stare at her.