by Willa Blair
As they approached the loch, Jack stopped abruptly, rearing up on his hind legs. Ian instinctively pressed his knees into the horse’s sides and leaned forward so as not to fall off. He swore under his breath as he tried to control his horse. Loud swearing from his father and brother told him that their horses had reacted the same way.
“What the hell is happening?”
“Can’t you feel it, lad?” Duncan shouted as he fought his horse. “The air is changing, and the horses are frightened. This is exactly the way it was when I came through the mists. You must go now! Ride toward the water. Go!”
Ian had been too concerned with Jack to notice the change in the air, but now he realized that his father was right. The air felt…different. Time seemed to freeze as a cold mist rose from the ground in front of them. He felt every hair on his body stand on end, and his veins felt like they had ice water in them.
“What are you waitin’ for, Ian? This is it! If you want to find your lass, you have to go now!” Duncan’s horse was turning in nervous circles, his eyes rolling in fear. Ian glanced at his brother, saw that Robbie was fighting to control Lucifer.
“Robbie?”
His brother met his eyes, his face grim. “Well, lad, I guess it’s showtime. After you.”
Ian looked at his father, “Da…”
Duncan’s voice was gentle. “Go, son, and remember what I told you. I know you’ll find her and bring her home. I love you, lad.” He looked at Robbie. “Robbie, take care of your brother, and come home safely. I love you. Go!”
“I love you, Da!” Clutching Bonny’s reins in one hand, Ian dug his heels into Jack’s sides, and the great horse charged forward, careening into the mist.
****
Duncan watched Ian disappear into the mist. Robbie was right behind him, but as he reached the mist, it abruptly dissipated, and Lucifer charged over dry ground, skidding to a stop at the edge of the loch. Robbie wheeled the stallion around, riding back and forth over the place where the mist had been, confusion evident on his face.
“What happened? Where’s the mist? Where’s Ian?”
Duncan nudged his horse forward. “It’s gone, son. He’s gone.”
“But why couldn’t I follow?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you weren’t meant to. Maybe this is something Ian needs to do on his own.”
“Bullshit! That’s my brother, all alone and in God knows what century! I can’t just leave him there by himself!”
Duncan well understood the look in his oldest son’s eyes. It was the same look he imagined was in his own eyes.
Fear. Man’s greatest fear was the unknown, and at this moment, that’s where Ian was. They had no way of knowing what time or place he was in, and would not know until he returned to them. If he returned to them.
Duncan felt no small amount of guilt as well, guilt for the part of him that was glad that both of his sons weren’t gone. But that meant that Ian was alone, left to his devices in an unknown time.
All they could do now was wait. “Come on, lad. There’s no more we can do here. Let’s go home.”
****
The mist dissipated, taking the chill with it. Within moments, the sun once again bathed Ian in its warmth. The horses skidded to a shaky halt right at the edge of the water, breathing hard. The surface of the loch was as smooth as glass, and there was no sign that anything had been amiss.
“Well that was something I could happily live my whole life without ever experiencing again,” he said over his shoulder. There was no answer, and he turned his head to look behind him.
Robbie wasn’t there. Ian frantically looked around, calling his brother’s name over and over.
There was no answer.
He was alone.
For whatever reason, his brother had been unable to follow him through the mist. Though Ian had assumed he’d be going alone right up until mere minutes earlier, now that he truly was alone, he felt his stomach clench. Jack shifted his great hoofs nervously, picking up on Ian’s unease.
“Easy, lad. We’ll be all right,” Ian muttered, trying to convince himself as well as the horse. He reached into his saddlebag, withdrew his whisky flask, removed the stopper, and took a hearty swig. “Liquid courage,” he muttered to the horse, who nodded in agreement. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Bonny was okay. “I guess this is it, then. Let’s head east.”
He tugged gently on the reins and they set off across the meadow. The landscape looked almost the same as it had before the mists appeared, but the trees seemed to be less full than they’d been before. And it was utterly silent; there were no sounds of distant cars or airplanes. There was no doubt in Ian’s mind that they were in another time.
Hopefully, it was the right one.
He kept the horses to a walk, cautiously scanning his surroundings for any sign of motion. Suddenly, Ian felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He yanked on the reins, causing Jack to rear up on his hind legs, neighing in surprise, just as an arrow landed in the grass in front of his hoofs.
There was a great ruckus, and a number of horses bearing kilted men burst from the trees to their right, surrounding him within seconds. The men were armed with bows and swords, all of which were pointed right at him. He froze, hands raised to show he wasn’t reaching for his own weapons.
One man rode forward, dirk in one hand, sword in the other, controlling the horse with his legs. He was large and powerful-looking, with long, shaggy auburn hair and a heavy beard. He looked Ian over quickly, a menacing glare in his eyes as he questioned him in Gaelic.
“Who are you, and what are you doing on Fraser lands?”
Ian remembered what his father had said about the Mackenzies and Frasers being allies. He answered the man in Gaelic, calling upon all his skill as an actor in an attempt to hide his fear. These men looked the type to shoot first and ask questions later.
“My name is Ian Mackenzie, and I’m…”
As he spoke, the men became agitated. Ian stopped talking as the men moved in even closer, making no effort to lower their weapons. He opened his mouth to continue, to try and explain why he was there, but was interrupted by the angry voice of the bearded man.
“Get off your horse. Now!” He made no move to do so, for it would leave him defenseless against so many armed men. The other man’s eyes flashed with anger, and he and several others rushed forward with their swords raised, forcing Ian to dismount or be run through.
As soon as Ian was on the ground, Jack anxiously sidestepping away, some of the others dismounted as well. Ian had barely enough time to grab his dagger before he was engaged. He stepped back towards his horse, trying to hold the men at bay, wishing his sword wasn’t strapped to his saddle. But there were too many of them. As Ian twisted to his left to fend off one man, one of his comrades came at him from the right.
Ian’s head exploded with pain as the world around him went black.
CHAPTER 8
She sat before him on the great black stallion as they cantered up the hill. She was preternaturally aware of every part of him that touched her, from his arm wrapped around her waist, his fingers lightly grazing her belly, to his warm breath stirring the hair behind her ear, to his strong thighs cradling hers, to the hard flesh pressing against her bottom, making her own body throb with desire every time the rhythmic strides of the horse brought their bodies together.
He brought the horse to a prancing stop at the top of the hill, and they watched the sun melt into the loch in a fiery ball, painting the sky with streams of scarlet, violet, and orange.
“I love you,” he murmured in her ear, and she twisted around in his arms to twine her fingers in his thick hair, pressing her mouth to his. He crushed her in his embrace as they kissed. As their tongues danced together, his warm breath washed over her.
Abby sighed and opened her eyes, gasping at the sight of Conall’s eerie yellow eyes just inches from hers.
“Conall, get away! Don’t you have some defenseless man to tear t
o pieces or something?”
She carefully got to her feet. It was her second morning here, and her knee was much better. She had lain awake for a long time the night before, mulling over what to tell Alannah. She was running out of time before Alannah would begin to demand answers, and she still hadn’t thought of anything that sounded plausible.
Her thoughts turned to Ian. He was no doubt worried sick over her. Had he called the police? Were search parties scouring Loch Ness? Did he think she’d fallen into the black waters of the loch and drowned? She felt a terrible pang of sorrow as she imagined what he and his family must be going through trying to find her. And what about Adam? He’d been against her coming to Scotland from the beginning, and when she didn’t check in, he’d be worried sick.
As soon as she was able, she would borrow a horse and try to make her way back to the loch. Perhaps she could find her own way back, once she was up to the task. Conall’s excited whining indicated Alannah was back, and Abby turned to greet her, forcing a smile upon her face.
****
They had just finished their breakfast when Conall ran to the door, growling deep in his throat. Then there was the sound of hoofbeats coming down the road and stopping outside the door.
“Quickly, Abby, get into the bed!” Alannah helped her up and had just finished pulling the furs over her when there was a pounding at the door and a loud voice yelling for her. “It’s Ewan! I told him not to come back here for a few days. What does he want?”
Alannah opened the door a crack and peered out, Conall standing protectively at her side. She spoke to Ewan for a moment, and then closed the door.
“I am needed in the village. Ewan is waiting for me.” She quickly filled a basket with some clean linen strips for bandages and several packets of medicines and other items. She turned to Abby. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’ll leave Conall with you. Don’t go outside unless ’tis truly necessary.” Abby nodded, and Alannah hurried outside, pulling the door firmly shut behind her.
****
They rode to the other end of the village. Alannah slid from Epona’s back before Ewan could offer assistance. There was a small fenced-off area for horses, and Alannah led Epona through the gate, where she trotted over to greet two horses that stood together. Alannah took a moment to study the other horses. They were magnificent animals. One was a black-and-white mare, and the other was an elegant stallion, with a pure black coat and a long, wavy mane and tail. Both were enormous and had lovely feathered feet. She wondered what kind of man would own such fine beasts. The black horse was agitated, galloping from one end of the pen to the other. He was still saddled and bridled, though his companion was not.
Ewan impatiently called her over, and she followed him to a roofed hut with three walls. A ladder leaned against the wall of the hut, and in the middle of the floor was a large root cellar—a deep pit covered by a trap door made of wooden posts lashed together. When it was hot outside or when the sun entered the hut, a piece of hide was placed over the door to keep the heat and light out.
On the rare occasion that they had a prisoner, he would be kept in the root cellar. There was an iron ring set into the right-hand wall, and the prisoner was usually tied to it to prevent him from tampering with the food stored there. The trap door was weighted down when there was a prisoner, so even if by chance he was able to stand up on a crate or sack of vegetables, he wouldn’t be able to push the door up from below.
Anyone who had committed a crime or was an enemy from another clan was kept in the cellar pending a decision by the village elders. Prisoners were generally given food and water twice a day, as well as a fur or two for warmth. They were allowed out several times a day, under heavy guard, to use the privy.
Ewan called over two of his men, who stood with their bows at the ready while he raised the gate and lowered the ladder.
“The prisoner has a head wound. You will tend it. I want him alive for questioning.” Alannah hated being given orders by Ewan, but now was not the time to argue with him, not while a man’s life might be at stake.
“I’ll do my best, Ewan, as I always do. But perhaps you should have thought about that before you hit him over the head hard to enough to require my assistance.” Ewan scowled menacingly at that, but Alannah ignored him. “What did he do, anyway?”
“He is a Mackenzie spy. Cease asking questions and be about your business. He is senseless and his hands are tied.”
The expression on his face made it clear he would say nothing more. Alannah descended the ladder. Ewan handed down her basket, a torch, and a bucket of fresh water before pulling up the ladder and lowering the gate.
She turned to look at the prisoner, who was lying awkwardly on his side. His hands were tied behind him and attached to a length of chain, which in turn was secured to a ring embedded in the floor. She knelt beside him, shining the torch on his face, which was covered in blood. There was a small puddle of it pooled in the dirt beneath his ear. She stepped back, setting the torch into an iron ring on the wall, and contemplated the prisoner.
He shouldn’t be tied like that. It was unnecessary, as there was no way for him to get out of the pit, and it was certainly not going to help his injury. But he was a big man, and if he regained consciousness while she was tending him, he would be able to hurt her. Alannah muttered a curse in Gaelic and reached into her boot, withdrawing her sgian dubh. She knelt beside him and cut the rope around his wrists before rolling him to his back. She folded one of the furs and placed it beneath his head.
She removed a candle from the basket and lit it from the torch on the wall, and returned to his side, setting the candle beside his head so she could see. Wrinkling her nose at the strong metallic scent of his blood, she dunked a piece of linen in the water and after squeezing out the excess, gently cleaned the blood from his face.
She retrieved the candle and leaned forward to examine the wound. The light illuminated the man’s face and she stared for a moment.
He was very handsome, with a straight nose, high cheekbones and full mouth. The lower half of his face was covered with black stubble, unlike the shaggy, unkempt beard that covered Ewan’s face. She leaned forward to study him more closely.
What was she doing? She was supposed to be treating his wounds, not ogling him. Suddenly, she felt like she was being watched, and looked down to see that he was staring at her with glazed green eyes.
She looked around frantically for her sgian dubh, and froze when she saw that it was mere inches from the prisoner’s hand. Her breath caught in her throat as her heart began to race. Fool! She had carelessly left the dagger lying within reach of the prisoner! When he made no move toward it, she looked at him in surprise. He had slipped into unconsciousness once more.
She quickly replaced the dagger in her boot and turned her attention to the injury. There was a gash at his hairline with a bruise around it. The location of the injury explained the large amount of blood; scalp wounds always bled a lot.
She rummaged in her basket, removing a packet of herbs and a small bowl. She dunked the bowl in the water and added the packet of herbs to it, stirring the mixture with her finger until it formed a paste. She gently spread the paste on the gash, hoping it would repel infection. She tied a clean strip of linen around his head and packed up her things, leaving the bucket of water and a cup, along with the torch in its holder on the wall. Whoever he was, she did not want him waking alone and in the dark.
She ascended the ladder, careful not to step on her skirt, and climbed out of the pit, avoiding Ewan’s outstretched hand. “I don’t need your help, Ewan.”
He followed her out of the hut. “Are you daft?” he hissed. “Why the hell did you untie his hands?”
“Because it was cruel for you to leave him lying like that. He can’t escape. Right now he isn’t even awake.”
“Will he live?”
“Do you care?”
“I cared enough to bring you here, didn’t I?”
“I believe
he will recover, though it’s always difficult to tell with head wounds.”
“Then I will have one of my men tie him to the chain once more. I will take no risks with him. He’s a big, braw lad, able to do a great deal of damage if he’s awake.”
“What will you do with him?”
“It’s not your concern. He is a Mackenzie spy and will need to be questioned when he wakes. Speaking of that, what news of the lass?”
“No news yet.” As she said the words, though, Alannah could not help but wonder if the sudden appearance of the man had something to do with Abby. The appearance of two strangers in their village in two days was certainly something to think about. “Come get me if his condition worsens.”
They had reached the pen, where the big black stallion continued to gallop back and forth, tossing his head angrily. Alannah fetched Epona and led her to the fence to climb onto her back. “I am concerned about that stallion, Ewan. Can you not tend to him?”
“He won’t let anyone near him. If he tires enough to let us near, we’ll take care of him. If not, he stays as he is. I have no time to stand here and try to make friends with that black devil.”
He turned on his heel and strode back to the hut. As he passed the pen, the black horse charged the fence, neighing in fury. Alannah caught her breath as the horse skidded to a stop just before crashing into the wooden slats, then wheeled on his hind legs and took off the way he had come.
As she rode back to her cottage, her thoughts were on the handsome prisoner. She hoped he would recover, even if he was an enemy. That damned feud had gone on long enough. She dismounted at the gate and led Epona into the yard. She heard Conall’s eager barking from inside the cottage as she opened the door to check on her other charge.
Alannah opened the door and stepped inside, laughing as Conall jumped on her. “How are you feeling, Abby?”
“I’m feeling much better…” Abby’s voice trailed off as the wolf dropped back to all fours and she saw that Alannah’s clothes were streaked with blood. “I guess someone was badly hurt, then?”