Nanny to the Shifter

by Leela Ash

  In the year of our Lord fifteen hundred and thirteen.

  ***

  All was quiet across the hillside, the air eerily calm as before a storm. The occasional sound of a horse braying or a man shouting echoed across the valley, disturbing the peace. A bright sun gleamed across the vast blue of the skies as William Stewart waited for the signal for the battle to commence. He did not know that thousands of the men and boys around him would be dead by the time the sun rose again, one of them being his King. But he could not alter history or the lineage of over 10,000 men. It was possible, however, that he could shape his own destiny.

  ***

  Rebecca Brooke stared out the window. All week the weather had been cold and dreadful, and a low mist had hung over the valley, blotting out the wonderful view that the brochure had promised. For a summer vacation, late August in Scotland had proved to be a damp squib so far. OK, so it was a working vacation, two months working on a 16th-century archaeological dig in Scotland. It had sounded pretty awesome at the time. Cool, yes. Cold–no!

  It was her first proper assignment and her first time in Scotland. She would have preferred Egypt or India, but she had been allocated to Scotland instead. Although she had been told to pack for the weather, she had ignored the advice. Living most of her life in California, she spent most of the time in shorts and miniskirts that showed off her tanned and toned legs. What she needed here was a woolly jumper and thermal underwear! She had managed to buy a few pairs of thick leggings and wore these under her shorts and socks. It wasn’t her best look, but at least they showed off her figure. Most of the other girls wore thick, shapeless sweaters over practical-looking outdoor pants that didn’t do them any favors.

  Not all was lost, however. There was James Anderson.

  James was the lead archaeologist on the dig, a Scotsman and an expert on Scottish history. Not only was he handsome, but he was intelligent, too–the new sexy. With his deep auburn hair and brown eyes, no woman was safe. Not that he noticed her, or anyone else for that matter. By breakfast, he had already eaten and gone out to the dig, and when he returned, his nose was always in a book. At least he was eye candy.

  Her cell phone rang in her pocket and Rebecca looked at the number. It was her Mom. She had only been here for a couple of days but she had already phoned twice to see if she was eating properly and if she had managed to see the Queen of England yet; it was a no to both.

  “Hi, Mom.” She tried not to sound bored.

  “Becky, sweetheart, how are you doing out there?”

  “Same as ever. How’s Dad?”

  “He’s good, sweetie. Are you eating OK?”

  The conversation continued thus and Rebecca tried hard to stifle a yawn. Her Mom meant well, but sometimes she could be overbearing.

  “Are you tired, honey? You sound tired.”

  “No, Mom, I’m still a bit jet-lagged. We haven’t been able to go out on site yet because of the good old British weather.”

  “Well, don’t forget you could check out our relations there. We do have a great Aunt, twice removed, if she’s still living. She must be at least 90 by now. Wait a minute, and I’ll get you the details.”

  “Mom...” But it was too late. Rebecca could hear her Mother scrabbling around in her bag for one of her notebooks.

  “Here we are. Have you got a pen handy? It’s Mrs Nora McPherson, the Old Vicarage, Selkirk. Did you get that, sweetie?”

  Rebecca hadn’t any desire to visit a relative who wouldn’t know her from Adam, but agreed with her Mom just to shut her up. After she promised her mother not to fall into a Loch, the call was finally over.

  Sammy, a bespectacled English girl, was walking towards her with a smile. She had done her best so far to avoid her. Sammy was a “jolly hockey sticks” type who was always trying to arrange outings and activities for the others.

  “Hey, Rebecca, do you feel like braving the weather and heading into the nearest village this afternoon? We might even find a pub–do you want to come?”

  They were all staying in a large rented property on the outskirts of a village, and Rebecca hadn’t had time yet to get her bearings.

  Sammy was of the baggy jumper brigade and Rebecca felt nothing in common with her. She would rather stick pins in her thighs than have to make small talk.

  Shaking her head, she stood up to leave when Johnny Hampshire strode into the room. Johnny was handsome yet arrogant. He was Scottish but had attended an English public school and spoke with a very clipped accent. He worked closely with James, and neither man had much time for each other. Unfortunately, Johnny had noticed her long blonde hair and treated her like the local bimbo. For once she wished she was wearing Sammy’s shapeless garb.

  “Hey, Becky, fancy a stroll in the heather with me?” he grinned suggestively as he looked her up and down, before placing his hand territorially on her arm.

  She wanted to tell him to go screw himself but was far too polite.

  “Actually, I’ve already arranged to go out with Sammy.” Rebecca shrugged his arm away and his grin slipped into a sneer.

  “Frigid bitch,” he muttered under his breath, the muscles clenching around his jaw line.

  “What did you say?”

  Johnny smiled again, but this time it made her shiver with its coldness. “I said have a great time” and with that, he turned and slowly left the room.

  “What a creep.” Sammy made a face as he left and Rebecca laughed. Perhaps the afternoon wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

  They ventured out into the mist and fog. The drizzle was light yet constant and Sammy loaned Rebecca a bright green jacket to wear. There was no one to see her wearing it in this place, and James would probably find it sexy.

  The girls walked along a little path, and for once Rebecca was glad she had bought a decent pair of walking boots. She could feel the mud slip and slide beneath her feet and was glad that she wasn’t wearing her usual flimsy sneakers.

  After half an hour, they had almost given up hope of finding a place when they stumbled across an old coaching house –The Bluebell Inn. Relieved, they staggered inside, dripping water across the polished floorboards as they made their way to the bar and ordered double whiskies to warm them through.

  Rebecca looked around, amazed at the place–it was like stepping back in time. Apart from the two of them, the bar was occupied by several all men wearing tweed jackets and caps. They all stared back and nodded. She must have looked as strange to them as they did to her, in waterproof, fluorescent pink boots.

  Sammy walked back with the glasses of golden whisky. The whisky tasted good. It was the best thing about Scotland so far. As it hit the back of her throat, her whole body seemed to glow.

  “We’re just down the road,” Sammy laughed. “I bet we can see our place from here–I’ve just spoken to the barman, and this is the village of Selkirk.”

  Rebecca coughed and started to choke on the amber nectar. Selkirk was the place where her old relative lived, and she was staying literally on the doorstep. A shiver ran through her as if there was something sinister about the connection, as if it was always meant to be. Maybe it was just a mixture of the cold and the alcohol or perhaps she was still jetlagged? She laughed at her foolishness. There was something surreal about the whole thing, standing in the middle of this Scottish pub, dripping wet and drinking whiskey among the tweed-clad locals that made the whole thing seem absurd. A couple of double whiskeys later and she had soon forgotten all about her ancient relative.

  It was evening when they rolled out of the door and into the darkening air. The mist had lifted slightly and a smell of decay lingered. The night had started to draw in and wrap itself around the girls, chilling them to the bone as they hurried quickly along the road, this time taking the more direct route. The path took them past an old church, its old Norman tower looming in the darkness. Next to it, Rebecca could just make out the dark shadows of the ancient gravestones and, stopping for a second, she peered through the rusting iron rai
lings and wondered if any of her ancestors were buried there. Sammy proceeded to pounce on her making ghostly wailing noises and Rebecca shrieked with delight as they ran on, not stopping until they were back inside, safe and sound.

  It wasn’t late when they returned, but Rebecca was tired, still recovering her recent flight.

  As soon as her head hit the pillow, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. If it weren’t for a noise outside her door, she would have probably slept all night. She stirred and reached on the bedside table for her watch. It was only 10:30 and she realized she had a terrible thirst from the whiskey. She always slept naked and quickly slipped into her fleecy dressing gown, a present from her Mom, before opening the door and setting off down the landing towards the stairs. There was some juice in the kitchen downstairs, and if she was quick no one would see her.

  A noise on the landing made her stop in her tracks; perhaps it had been the same noise that woke her? All was quiet again apart from the muffled voices coming from the downstairs lounge.

  A hand grabbed her arm as soon as her foot reached the top step.

  “Becky.”

  Johnny was suddenly in front of her, and from the smell on his breath, he had been drinking for most of the afternoon. His hand was squeezing her arm against the wall and she struggled against his strength. His eyes were like slits and there was a hint of cruelty behind the steely grey as he looked her up and down. She could feel her face start to flush as she realized that her gown was gaping at the front, and she quickly brought up her free hand to hold it together.

  “For God’s sake, Johnny, let go of me. You’re hurting my arm.”

  Licking his lips, Johnny sneered at her as he brought his face directly in front of hers.

  “How about a little kiss first?” His breath was hot and sour, and Rebecca turned her face away from him.

  “Fucking little tease, I’ll show you.” He slammed his weight against her, pinning her to the wall as his free hand started to work its way underneath her gown, groping up her bare leg towards her thigh.

  Rebecca was stunned. She disliked Johnny, but it was hard to believe he was capable of this, however drunk he might be. She tried to strike him and started to shout for him to stop, but he released her arm and covered her mouth to gag her. His other hand by now had slid to the fastenings of her gown and started pulling at the buttons. He was soon grabbing at the soft flesh of her naked breast, his hand rough and greedy as he squeezed at her nipple, now hard and erect in his fingers.

  “I knew you wanted me, you little bitch,” he said, and as he thrust his pelvis into her stomach, she could feel his hardness rubbing against her.

  At first she had been alarmed by his behavior, but now she felt powerless and sick at the thought of what he might do to her.

  His hand was almost suffocating her, and she thought she might black out when suddenly he released her, his whole weight lifting away from her. Someone was coming up the stairs. Without hesitating, Johnny had disappeared around the corner just as James came into view. She looked startled as she pulled the robe around her, too stunned to cry.

  “Are you OK?”

  His voice was rich and deep, lilting softly on the question, a look of concern in his eyes.

  She nodded quickly in reply. “Yes, I thought I heard a noise. I came out to see what it was.” Rebecca couldn’t look him in the eye, and she sensed that he didn’t believe her, his eyes searching the landing for something or someone.

  “You’re sure you’re OK?”

  This time their eyes met and she felt a strange tingling run through her spine. It was almost as if something passed between them, some knowledge or sense of something shared. He must have felt something too for his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as if trying to remember something but not quite catching hold of his thoughts.

  “I’ll say goodnight, then.” And with that, he was gone.

  Leaning against the wall, she let her body sink to the floor until she sat on the landing. She was so tired, past tired, and her emotions were doing cartwheels through her brain. Maybe she should have told James about Johnny, but she had just arrived and didn’t want to make trouble. After all, Johnny had been drunk, not that it was an excuse. Who knows what would have happened had James not arrived when he did? She shivered again at the thought.

  No, she didn’t want to think about that; she just wanted to sleep.

  The next day it was much brighter but still raining. There would be no dig again today. She had slept right through to 10:00 am, and by the time she had dressed and gone down to breakfast most people had finished. Sammy sought her out as she drank a strong cup of coffee to wake her up.

  “Hey lazybones, you’ve missed all the news. You’ll never guess.”

  Rebecca raised an eyebrow. It was all she could manage. “What?”

  “Johnny’s walked out. He had a big fight with James last night, and he left early this morning.”

  The coffee dregs tasted bitter in her mouth. The coffee was terrible here and she had already started having withdrawal symptoms from her favorite brand. She remembered the previous night’s activities and wondered if that had any bearing on the matter.

  Some of the girls were catching a bus to the nearest town, but this time she declined the invitation, wanting a day to herself to catch up on her reading on the history of the place.

  For an hour she struggled with the dusty textbook. She loved history because it was exciting, but the pages she was reading about the Battle of Flodden seemed as dry and unimaginative as the sands of the Sahara. Rebecca stifled a yawn as she looked out the window. A weak sun was shining through a break in the clouds, and for the first time she could appreciate the beauty of the landscape before her. It was hard to relate the splendor of this area to the thousands of bloody deaths centuries before. Ten thousand Scotsmen had lost their lives in the battle and some of them had been from these small villages. She had a sudden urge to explore the land and tread along the pages of her history books. Packing herself a quick lunch, she made up a cheese sandwich and finding an industrial-sized flask in one of the cupboards, filled it up to the brim with tea. Her head was still thumping from the whisky and she needed plenty of liquid. At least it would be better than the coffee.

  After pulling on her walking boots, she set off with no particular intent.

  There was only one main road passing through the village and she quickly found that she was on the same route as her walk home the previous day. Within ten minutes, she had arrived at the graveyard and the little church. It didn’t seem as morbid in the daytime and swinging open the iron gate, she walked up the mossy path towards the church. Huge slabs of stone lay facing upwards on the grass, headstones of the long departed that had sunk and collapsed with age. The inscriptions were now barely visible, the surfaces gnawed away by time and nature. She couldn’t help but think about all of the forgotten lives lying rotting beneath her:

  Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything

  Heading to the church, she tried the iron latch on the great oak door. Surprised, she found it open and stepped inside the small porch. She had never been inside an old church before and was immediately taken by the hushed and hallowed space within. The air smelled stale and faintly of chrysanthemums and musty hymn books.

  It seemed almost a violation to step over the stone flagged floor partly made out of old tombstones, so she tiptoed around the edges, hardly daring to make a noise. Walking down the line of pews, she stopped at the altar, a small table covered in a green velvet cloth supporting a large white and gold plaster cross. The sun was shining through the east window and the colored light from the stained glass formed patterns across the stone walls. Rebecca wasn’t religious, but as she stood there in the silence she thought she could sense a presence, something spiritual and eternal.

  “Can I help you?”

  Although the voice was soft and gentle, Rebecca almost shot out of her skin like a frightened rabbit caught trespassing in the farmer’s f
ield.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Henry Parsons was the vicar of St. Andrews. He was a tall, middle-aged man with a receding hairline.

  Rebecca blushed. She wasn’t really sure if she was just allowed to walk into an old church like this.

  “I’m really sorry. I hope you don’t mind me taking a look around the church. It’s my first visit to Scotland.”

  Henry beamed down at Rebecca as if she were the second coming herself. He liked Americans; they were always so interested in his tour of the little church and he liked to think that he was an interesting speaker.

  “Not at all, my dear. We love to extend the hand of friendship to our cousins across the Pond. I can show you around if you like?”

  Hesitating, she looked at her watch.

  “It won’t take long, I promise.”

  She smiled; it was difficult to say no; besides, it might be interesting.

  First he showed her the chancel arch. The church had first been built in the 12th century, and this was the oldest and most original feature that had survived.

  They walked to another part of the church that had been built later in the 16th century.

  “Of course, one of the largest families here in those times was the Stewarts of Selkirk, and they built this part of the church in memory of their dead. Almost all of their line was wiped out in the Battle of Flodden. Seventy men set off from Selkirk and the surrounding villages, and only one man returned.”

  Rebecca ran her fingers along the cool stone walls and tried to imagine the hands that had shaped the stone. An inscription had been carved into one of the larger blocks and she stood back to read the words:

  Praeteriti praesentisque temporis collatum mundos se colliduntur.

  Henry came to her rescue. “It’s a Latin phrase and quite an unusual one. Translated it means, “Worlds collide with the past and present.” We think it must mean the world of the living meets that of the dead. What do you think?”