Mary blinked — the boy at her side collapsed into giggles. “I suppose I’d best get used to that. Donal, hush your noise. This is my other son, Donal, wee hellraiser that he is.”
Donal sketched a formal little bow to her — the effect somewhat ruined by the giggling fit he was clearly still gripped by.
Cora smiled. “I’m Cora Wilcox. Pleased to meet you all.” She hesitated. “You have a lovely home.”
“I think we’ll have a lot to talk about later, Cora,” Mary said, thoughtfully. “For now, you’re an honored guest in our house. Margaret will show you to your quarters when you’re ready. For now, I think it best we all get some rest and let Cora finish her work.”
Donal whined. “But I want to see the wee bairns! I’m an uncle now,” he added wisely. “I need to start teaching them life lessons.”
Ian cuffed him around the ears, not hard. “Git.”
The crowd dispersed. Cora tapped gently on the door before she let herself back in. Colin was holding his daughter, gazing into the little girl’s face in absolute rapture. Audrina was cleaning her son’s face with the corner of the bedsheet.
“I’ll give them both a bath for you, don’t fret.”
Colin looked up, eyes aglow. “Thank you, Cora. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”
“Don’t thank me til I’ve cleaned up,” she chuckled as Audrina gently handed over the baby boy. “They’re beautiful little souls, honestly. Do you have names all picked out?”
Margaret had stepped into the room behind Cora — she had readied a couple of large basins of water, a perfect temperature to bathe the babies in, and some soft clean blankets for them to be swaddled in. She and a couple of the maids set to bathing the newborns while Cora checked on Audrina and gently cleaned her up.
“You’re in pretty good shape for someone who’s just given birth to twins,” she told her, gently removing the last of the soiled bedclothes — there were clean sheets hidden beneath the layers of bloodied ones so the exhausted mother wouldn’t have to be moved too far. Good thing, too — Audrina was already asleep. Colin was stroking her tangled hair back behind her ears the way she liked to keep it — he looked up again as Cora tucked a clean blanket around his wife.
“So you’re from Audrina’s time,” Colin murmured, eyes twinkling.
“What?” Cora looked up. “I thought you called her Maeve.”
“My wife has a few names. And a few lifetimes, for that matter. She was brought here by magic — by our need for her. My need for her. And it seems that her need for you brought you here too.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cora murmured. With the birth over, all the questions and confusion that she had put aside were beginning to resurface. Where was she? And now — for the first time, stirring like an unwelcome guest in the back of her head, a different question, the kind of question that belonged in low-budget science fiction.
When was she?
“Get some rest, Cora Wilcox,” Colin said kindly, reaching out to touch her arm — she realized she had been staring at him for several minutes without speaking, her own thoughts taking over her mind. Silly, silly — but it was dawn, and she hadn’t slept in what felt like years, and —
“What’s happening?” she whispered. “Where am I? What — what is this?”
“You’re in Scotland, friend. A few hundred years before your time, if my wife is to be believed.”
“No.” She swayed again, entire mind screaming. “No, that’s ridiculous. I — I have to —” And without having any idea of where she was going, or what her plan was, Cora turned from the room and fled, door closing hard behind her. She ran down the winding stone corridors, up the stone stairs and down again, past servants and soldiers who stared curiously at the newcomer as she fled past them. Finally, she found a door to a room with nobody in it, and she slammed it shut behind her and collapsed onto the stone floor.
Chapter 7
For what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, Cora just sat on the floor and shook, with absolutely no thoughts managing to permeate the whirl of panic in her head. She knew nothing, thought nothing, felt only overwhelming fear and isolation — fear of this strange world she’d found herself in, of the strange wild people she’d encountered, even of their voices, that unfamiliar accent that she struggled to make out. All she wanted was home — the bay area, the Golden Gate Bridge. God, even a visit to her local coffee shop would calm her nerves. Tears began to well up in her eyes as she thought of her cats — where were they? How long had she been gone, and how long would she be gone? Would someone find them and feed them? Where was her car?
What had happened to her, back in the real world? She refused to think of this one as real — a good part of her was holding out hope that this was all an incredibly detailed and realistic dream she was having. That would make sense, right? The trauma of the miscarriage had prompted this ridiculous dream of her lost best friend not only being alive, but happy with a handsome Scottish husband and a pair of beautiful twin babies. But she had been in a car crash, she remembered that much — the flash of the headlights, even a dim suggestion of screaming metal. Then she’d woken up on a dirt road and nearly been trampled by a horse. Had she disappeared? Jesus, who would even miss her when she was gone?
She became slowly aware of a tapping on the door that had been steadily growing in volume. Maybe this was a room they used for — arrow making, or something, whatever medieval Scottish people did with their spare time. She’d have to clear out. She looked around, searching for another door so she wouldn’t have to face whoever was out there, and realized with a start that she was in a chapel. It had to be — a huge book on a raised dais at the front of the room, and pews arranged in classic formation. There was something overwhelmingly comforting about realizing that some things didn’t change too much. Steadied by this (and by remembering that her rosary beads were still around her neck) she found the strength to stand, body still shaking.
There was a voice outside the door — after a minute, she recognized it as Ian’s. The man who’d found her on the road, who’d brought her here to this blasted castle. The man, her more practical side added, who had ensured that she wasn’t currently wandering around lost in the woods with even less of a clue about where she was or what she was doing. And who knew what could have happened to her? Medieval times weren’t exactly renowned for the safety and independence of women, were they? Were they even in medieval times, exactly? Cora hadn’t paid a great deal of attention in history class — much more interested in giggling with her friends over stupid jokes in the back row. She regretted that more than a little, now that she was actually faced with an honest-to-God historical event.
“Come in,” she mumbled, moving away from the door — it opened easily once she’d made her invitation. He could’ve forced the door open any time over the last few minutes, but hadn’t. She appreciated that little gesture of respect to her privacy.
“Are you alright?” He stood there, looking not entirely sure what to do with his hands, but the concern in his eyes was real and she stood back to let him into the chapel, breath rushing out of her.
“Not exactly. A lot’s happened.”
“If you need me to take you home — we’ve got horses less ornery than the one you met earlier—”
She laughed dizzily, sounding a little insane, at the idea of Ian riding a horse all the way to twenty-first century San Francisco. He was a determined sort of fellow, true, but she wasn’t sure that was an option. “No, Ian, thank you, I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Please. Anything. Our family owes you a great debt.”
She flicked his compliment away with a gesture of her hand. “It’s my job. And my calling. And Audy — Maeve — is my — well, she was my best friend. Back home.”
Ian looked confused.
She rolled her eyes, sat herself down on a pew and gestured for him to join her — which he did, cautiously, looking at her like she
was a horse that was about to spook and kick him in the stomach. Well, maybe she was. Maybe she should just go mad and get it over with. Make herself someone else’s problem for once. Just scream and rave and sprint around in circles until they had to confine her to a padded room in a tower somewhere. Don’t mind her, just the local madwoman, they’d all say in their ridiculous accents…she laughed aloud at that idea, then realized that Ian was still staring at her, waiting for her to speak. God, they really were going to think she was mad. She made a conscious effort to calm herself, to gain some control of her mind — and thankfully felt her wits begin to clear a bit. Good old practical Cora.
“Tell me,” Ian said gently, still looking lost. “Tell me where you’re from.”
She took a deep breath. “Ian, I’m from the future, I think. I’m from a different continent, a different country, a different time. Does that — does that make any sense?”
“A little. Maeve’s told us as much about herself.”
It was Cora’s turn to stare at him dumbly. “What?”
He chuckled. “We’re not quite as backwards as all that.”
“Thank God for that. I was a little afraid you’d have me burned as a witch or something.”
Ian’s face went blank, his hazel eyes darkening instantly.
She blinked. “That — that was a joke...”
“Not a very funny one, I’m afraid,” he said flatly. “Not with the Inquisition burning scores of women and men with no regard to their innocence or guilt.”
“I’m sorry, Ian,” she said quietly, reeling with this abrupt reminder of history’s less savory side. “I honestly — in my time, all that’s in the past. We joke about it because it doesn’t happen anymore...”
“The castle’s previous midwife went home to visit family in Italy,” Ian said bluntly. “She was captured and burned as a heretic. All because she understood herbcraft. What’s unholy about understanding the properties of God’s creation? Only the Inquisition knows.” Ian tilted his head, looking at her closely. “You look like her. She was — she was very special to all of us here. I’d avoid making jokes about witchcraft if I were you.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she murmured.
He nodded, brusquely, averted his gaze from hers.
“Go on, then. How’d you get here?”
“I don’t know! All I remember is crashing my car — uh, that’s sort of like a horse, only made of metal…with wheels...”
“We do have carts, Cora.”
“Of course. But these are — well, anyway, I crashed, and then I woke up on that dirt road, and that’s where you found me. Honestly, that’s all I remember. And here I am, completely lost, and I have no idea how to get home or what to do with myself or whether I’m actually just losing my entire damn mind or hallucinating or dreaming or dying on the side of the road and making all this up to comfort myself —”
He took her hand in his — a surprisingly comforting gesture that steadied her heartbeat, which had begun to race with her thoughts and her garbled words. “Cora,” he said gently. “I know nothing of your time, or your history. I don’t know how you got here, or whether it’s even possible to send you home. But I do know a few things. The first thing is that you’re not crazy — I believe your story, because it happened to Maeve, too, and I’d trust that woman with my life.”
Cora let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. “Thank you. That’s — that’s really good to hear.”
“The second thing is that as long as you’re here, you have a home at Castle MacClaran, my word as a man of the clan. You have done us a great service in caring for our Lady, and you’ll be under our protection as long as you need it.”
“Thank you. If I’m going to be lost in time and space, I suppose I could do worse than a beautiful castle.”
He smiled. “The third thing, Cora of clan Wilcox, is that you’re a good person. You woke up in the middle of the night in the pouring rain with a strange man yelling at you, and you not only saved him and his horse, you put all your worries aside to help his family. That’s not an everyday kind of bravery.”
She ducked her head, a little embarrassed by the intensity of his gaze. “I — you needed a midwife. That’s my job. Anyone would have —”
“Not anyone. You. Now, I don’t know what brought you here, but I know that your being here saved our lady Maeve and her wee bairns. Whether that’s luck or divine intervention, I can’t say. But I know that I, for one, am glad you’re here.” He cleared his throat, a little gruffly. “And while we’re talking here, I’d like to apologize for my rudeness on the road.”
Cora couldn’t help but laugh. “You were in a foul mood, weren’t you?”
He chuckled ruefully. “That I was. And you put me in my place.”
For a moment, there was quiet, and Cora became aware that he was still holding her hand in both of his — huge, rough hands, but surprisingly gentle. For some reason, the look in his eyes reminded her of the way the Laird had looked at Audrina. She looked down.
“You look a lot like Colin.”
“People do say that a lot. We’re cousins,” he explained. “His father and mine were brothers, fought together their whole lives. We grew up together. I’m his tanist — second in command,” he added when she looked blank. “He often says I’d be in charge instead if I wasn’t so damn arrogant.”
“Sounds about right,” she said frankly, and he laughed. “He seems like a good man.”
“He is.”
“So do you. Arrogance aside,” she added, smiling.
“Oh, get to bed with ye,” he laughed, getting to his feet. “I think we all need some sleep. Margaret told me where your chambers are — let me show you there. We’ll have lots to talk about when you wake, but it’ll do none of us any good to try to sort things out in this state.”
She took the hand he offered, feeling a lot more settled than she had since she’d arrived at the castle. Yes, she was in a strange place and a strange time — but the people she was surrounded by were kind, and good. And more to the point, Audrina was there. Between them, they’d get to the bottom of what had happened. For now, sleep sounded like the best thing in the world.
She hardly remembered the journey through the castle, the path to the room that had been set aside for her — but it was clean, and a fire was burning in the grate, and the bed was made up. The fabric was unfamiliar and the walls were strange, but it was a soft warm place to lie. Ian left her there — she was asleep almost before he’d shut the door behind him.
Chapter 8
Cora felt like she slept for a thousand years. When she woke, it was uneasily — she had the strongest sense that she’d had a thousand dreams that she couldn’t remember, but for vague fragments and snatches…a gout of flame, red fabric, a series of stern, unforgiving faces and a deep, guttural sense of fear and dread. She sat up in bed and reached for the beads at her throat, running them through her fingers in an unconscious gesture that calmed and steadied her. The tiny wooden cross that hung from them she tucked under the neckline of her dress. It was looking a little worse for wear.
As she’d been sleeping, someone must have come into the room and left a pile of fresh clothes at the end of the bed. Margaret, probably — that woman moved incredibly quietly when she wanted to. Not that Cora probably would have woken up even if a herd of elephants had trampled into the room. Still feeling groggy and out of sorts, but too awake now to return to sleep, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood. Yes, a change of clothes was a good idea. She unbuttoned the dress with clumsy hands and pulled it over her head, casting it aside distastefully — she’d find out about laundry arrangements later. The gown they had left for her was simple, but comfortable, the fabric a little rougher than she was used to, but a big improvement on the grimy dress she’d been wearing for more than a day.
She could certainly use a bath, though. She’d splashed a little water on her face after the birth, and obviously had cleaned the
blood and assorted bodily fluids from herself, but it had still been a long time. A long, hot shower would be absolute heaven, but somehow she doubted that medieval Scotland’s plumbing was going to measure up to her expectations. Sleep had seemed to settle her a little — she felt much less insane when she faced the reality of her situation. Medieval Scotland was where she was, and she was damn well going to make the most of it.
She was starving, though. Food hadn’t exactly been high on her list of priorities. As if by magic, as she thought of food, her eyes fell upon the small table that stood by the door — there was a small plate of pastries, cheese and fruit laid there.
“I love you, Margaret,” she murmured, almost sprinting across the room to jam an entire pastry into her mouth. It was tart and sweet, some kind of preserved fruit, the pastry deliciously flaky and clearly homemade. She supposed everything had to be homemade — it wasn’t as though you could just pop down to the local shops for some frozen pastry, after all. God, this place was going to take some getting used to.
Once she’d wolfed down the pastries and most of the cheese (and discreetly dusted the crumbs from her front) Cora decided it was time to talk to Audrina. Really, she ought to let the woman rest — after all, she’d just given birth to twins — but for God’s sake, there were extenuating circumstances, here. Besides, it sounded like she was the Lady of the castle. She’d have plenty of time and leisure to rest. That Laird of hers would make sure of it, Cora knew.
She wandered out into the corridor and drifted down it, taking a bit more time to get her bearings. The castle wasn’t so difficult to navigate once you were paying attention — the layout was simple if you ignored how similar all the winding hallways were. She found her way down to the kitchen, where she was pleased to see Ian seated at a long bench alone, setting about a plateful of pastries like the ones that had been in her room.
“I hope you’ve had some rest too,” she challenged, sitting across from him.
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