It was becoming clearer and clearer that this manor wasn’t the one she and Ben had been staying in. For a start, all of the lights were gone, all signs of electricity or modern technology. The entrance hall she found herself in as she descended the staircase had still not been restored to the hotel lobby she’d arrived in with Ben, and as she made her cautious way through to where the restaurant had been, she sighed in dismay to see yet more indications that she was insane. Instead of the fashionable, cozy restaurant she’d briefly seen on their tour, the room held just one long wooden table. Lord Weatherby sat at its head, with Sir Baldric to his right – men and women dressed like the maid who’d shown her to her room were bustling back and forth, waiting on the men.
But it wasn’t just Weatherby and Baldric at the great table. There, sitting at Weatherby’s left hand side, sat a stranger. He was tall and broad, a little like Baldric, though as he turned to look at her, she was struck by how handsome he was – clear blue eyes, a smile that lingered in them, blonde hair pulled back in fastidiously neat braids. And she couldn’t help but notice that he was wearing a tartan kilt. She’d seen a few men in kilts since she’d arrived in Scotland – but none quite as easy on the eyes as this one.
“Good morning, Lady Brianna,” Sir Baldric said with a smile, rising to his feet.
She realized after a minute that it was a gesture of politeness and fought the urge to laugh. That was a fun little touch from her deluded mind. The man in tartan was staring at her, his eyes intent, and she reached up to run her fingers through her hair, suddenly worried she looked a mess and wishing she’d thought to check her appearance in the little mirror that was in her room. How ridiculous was that? Wanting to look her best for her delusion… worried about what a hallucinated man would think of her. Germaine Greer would have a field day with that one.
“Brianna,” the man breathed, looking as shell shocked as she’d felt when she’d walked in on Ben and his little friend. “Could it be you?”
“That’s my name, yeah,” she said hesitantly, looking at Baldric and Weatherby, both of whom looked nonplussed. Had they been talking about her all morning? Telling this kilted man about their weird guest? Why on Earth had her mind invented such an elaborate story to tell itself? She kept forgetting that none of this was real, that it was all some elaborate dream. She didn’t have to be polite to this man, didn’t have to sit down for breakfast and say please and thank you and pass the salt… she could throw herself out the window if she wanted, strip all her clothes off and go sprinting through the house. None of it mattered because none of it could be real.
But for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to do any of that. The man in the kilt was rising slowly to his feet, and as sure as she was that all of this was a delusion, she couldn’t help staring at him. He was so tall, his broad shoulders covered by a black cloak that looked soft and comfortable – and was that some kind of musical instrument slung over his back, resting on his hip? It looked like some kind of harp, small enough to be carried – a travel-sized harp, she thought, resisting the urge to giggle. Why had her mind presented her with a harp-carrying Scotsman? Because unlike Weatherby and Baldric, this man’s accent was decidedly Scottish.
She realized he was moving toward her, and she stiffened a little. Even though it was her delusion, it was clearly sophisticated enough that she couldn’t guess what was about to happen… she had no idea what was motivating this man, this dream of a man, why he was walking toward her for all the world like she herself was the vision, not him. She realized with a shock that he was reaching out to her, and before she could step away or stop herself, he’d reached out and clasped her into his arms, pulling her close, holding her tightly and yet somehow carefully, as though worried she’d disappear if he squeezed too hard.
This didn’t seem like the usual greeting when you met a strange woman, Brianna thought blankly, feeling the man hold her tight. She couldn’t help but admire the attention to detail that her deluded mind was giving her – the warmth of his body, the softness of the cloak around his shoulders, even the way the harp bumped gently against her as he held her tight. He smelled incredible, too… that earthy musk that men had, something like sweat and soil, tinged a little with the scent of horses… it should have been revolting, but something about it made her breathe him in. The embrace was… surprisingly steadying. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed it.
He held her for a long moment, then pulled away, and she could see tears standing in his eyes as he looked at her. She looked back, not sure what was expected of her, a little concerned — and more than a little excited — that he might be about to kiss her. Well, she could think of worse things. But as he stared down at her, confusion began to dawn on his face, and he pulled back a little, glancing back toward Weatherby and Baldric. The Lord was setting about his breakfast, clearly not especially interested in what was happening, but Baldric had taken a few steps forward, clearly a little concerned about what was happening.
“I don’t…” The man cleared his throat. “Brianna? Is it you?”
“Like I said, that’s my name,” she said, frowning as she looked from him to Baldric. “Brianna Kendall. I’m from Chicago.”
“Forgive me,” he said, that vivid look of confusion still clear on his handsome face. “I – you look exactly like…” He shook himself. “You’re the image of my lost wife, Brianna, and what’s more, you share her name.”
That was an interesting little addition to her delusion. She tilted her head, wondering why on Earth her mind would have spun this particular plot point. She’d never been a storyteller in her life… why had she suddenly discovered the ability to daydream this vividly?
“Sorry?” she offered.
A smile flashed across the man’s face, and he rubbed his forehead with his hand, looking oddly bereft now that he’d realized she wasn’t who he thought she was. Despite her conviction that all of this was a dream, Brianna felt an odd touch of pity for him… and a strange regret that she hadn’t played along with his misconception. If she was going to be stuck in this bizarre dream, having a man like him thinking he was in love with her wouldn’t be too bad…
“Fascinating,” Sir Baldric said thoughtfully. “Robert, I don’t know how much your cousins have told you about the MacClaran curse, but…”
“Plenty,” the kilted man said, shaking his head. “I just… some part of me didn’t want to believe them, I suppose, for all that my brothers and I all left for that very reason. For all the good it did us,” he added with a dark look flickering across his face. “But… my apologies. Robert MacClaran, at your service, Lady Brianna,” he said formally, sketching her a surprisingly detailed little bow that sent a smile to her lips. “Of Clan MacClaran.”
“The guys that live in the castle, right?” she said, smiling. “I suppose it’s a real castle now, not a ruin?”
“Aye, that’s right,” he said, looking at her with curiosity. “A shame to hear the old place doesn’t survive through the years.”
“But my manor does, it seems,” Weatherby said smugly around a mouthful of eggs.
She felt a rumble in her stomach as she looked at his rather well-stocked plate, and as if sensing her hunger, Baldric gestured to a nearby servant, who hurried through the door at the other end of the dining room. At his insistence, she took a seat at the table opposite Robert, whose clear blue eyes hadn’t left her face. She lowered her eyes, a little embarrassed by the scrutiny, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks.
Why was she so affected by this man when she knew for a fact that he was nothing more than a dream?
Chapter 7
She’d never had this kind of problem before, and she had no idea what to do about it. Unreality could be a symptom of all kinds of mental illnesses, of course – she knew plenty of people with the kind of post-traumatic stress disorder that she had who had vivid dreams whether they were asleep or awake. Flashbacks, too, were reasonably common, and though she’d experienced a few of those, it wa
s pretty clear that all of this madness couldn’t possibly be a flashback. Not unless she was forgetting all the time she’d spent in medieval Scotland.
The men were deep in conversation about something or other – Baldric had brought up the topic, his sharp eyes fixed on her face, clearly sensing that she was a little overwhelmed by what was going on. She felt oddly grateful to him. Even though he was a dream, he was a polite dream, and a friendly one – one who was clearly interested in taking care of her, making her feel safe here. But he wasn’t going to be able to help her figure out what was going on, what to do about it. No, that was up to her. God, she wished she could talk to her therapist, just for a minute.
She took a deep breath as they brought her breakfast to her, trying to calm herself down as the familiar feeling of anxiety began to rise in her chest. She may not have tools designed to deal with hallucinations like this, sure – but she’d learned plenty from her years in therapy. She had plenty of grounding techniques to help her deal with the constant panic attacks that had plagued her in the months following that catastrophic negotiation. And the breakfast that had been placed in front of her – a hearty meal of fried eggs, bacon, beans and some toasted bread – offered her the perfect opportunity to try some of those techniques.
First, she watched the steam rising from the eggs, tracing the patterns that it carved in the air with her eyes. Then, she took a deep breath through her nose, smelling the aromas of the meal. As she did so, she wondered at how realistic it all was. Had she ever had a dream this vivid? If she hadn’t known any better, she’d almost have thought she really was still here… was it truly possible that the manor could have changed this much overnight? No, she knew that. The actual structure of the building had changed – that kind of thing just couldn’t have happened in the couple of hours she’d been away for. This was a dream.
But such a vivid one… and one full of such delicious food. She lost herself to her meal, her stomach clearly very happy with the food regardless of whether it was a hallucination, and once she was halfway through her plate, she was already feeling a lot better than she had been earlier. Funny, how even the dream of a good meal could make you feel ready to take on the world… or could it have been the grounding exercises she’d been doing that had helped steady her and get her ready to take on whatever it was that was happening to her? Part of her, though, had been hoping that she’d wake up… but that didn’t seem to be about to happen. Discretely, she pinched herself under the table, wondering if pain would do something about the dream… but she was rewarded by a stab of pain in the part of her thigh that she’d pinched, and nothing more.
“So, Lady Brianna,” Robert said formally, turning his attention to her with a smile that made her blush a little. “Tell us about yourself.”
“Uh,” she said, feeling a little ridiculous. But she knew how to do this – she’d sat in on hundreds of job interviews, it ought to be easy enough to just talk to people. “Sure. My name’s Brianna Kendall. I was born and raised in Chicago. Trained originally as a hostage negotiator with the police, but in the last few years I’ve reskilled and changed paths to work in more corporate roles.”
The three men were all looking at her blankly. Fair enough, too – she supposed that there was no such thing as a hostage negotiator in medieval times. So why the hell was her brain determined to make her think she was in medieval times? Was it something to do with her relationship with her job – with how unhappy she still was in being a corporate negotiator? Was her brain coping with her job dissatisfaction by literally transporting her somewhere where the job didn’t even exist? Triggered, perhaps, by the stress of her collapsing relationship?
“Do you have any idea how you got here?” Robert asked carefully.
She glanced at Baldric and Weatherby, who had already asked her this, but they didn’t seem inclined to interject, so she just shrugged her shoulders.
“My now ex-boyfriend and I were staying at the manor. I… well, it’s not important, but we had a fight and I walked out and got lost on the path around the manor. Someone on a horse found me and brought me back, and it was all… like this.”
Robert frowned. “You were staying at Lord Weatherby’s manor, you said?”
“Yeah. It’s a hotel.” She sighed, reasoning that she might as well play along with the time travel narrative. “In the future, I mean. It fell into disrepair at some point in the eighteenth century, and they’ve recently rebuilt and remodeled it as a tourist attraction.”
“Fascinating,” Robert said thoughtfully.
Lord Weatherby looked outraged. “How dare they let my manor fall into disrepair!”
“So you just – believe me?” Brianna asked, suddenly suspicious of this handsome stranger. Perhaps if she could find a logical flaw in his character, she might be able to use it as leverage to pry herself out of the delusion. “You, a medieval Scottish knight or whatever, believe that I, a random woman you’ve met, am from the twenty-first century.”
Robert laughed, a beautiful sound that made her heartbeat accelerate no matter how hard she was trying to focus on the matter at hand. “You flatter me.” He chuckled. “I’m no knight. A bard, if anything – a traveling musician. But aye, I believe your tale, Lady Brianna. My family and I are no strangers to time travel.”
“You aren’t?” she said blankly. Then she remembered something of what Baldric had said about there being others. “Right. There are other people who’ve come back too, for some reason.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “Other women, to be specific. Oh, more than a half-dozen of them, now.”
“Sure,” she said, shrugging her shoulders as she sat back in her chair. “Why not.”
“They were called here,” he said softly. “By a curse.”
“A curse. You realize how ridiculous that sounds?”
“Aye, I didn’t want to believe it myself,” he said, not missing a beat.
She couldn’t help but smile – nobody present had any time for her skepticism, it seemed. Well, fair enough. A delusion that couldn’t sustain itself in the face of doubt wouldn’t last very long, would it?
“But unfortunately, I’ve lived to see the effects of the curse first-hand.”
“Tell me about the curse, then. Who cursed who? A witch, I’m guessing.”
“Aye, a witch,” Robert said heavily. “A witch who was in love with a man of Clan MacClaran. For years, her motives were misunderstood – she was accused of trying to destroy the house. It wasn’t until her descendant returned to us – much as you have, Lady Brianna – that we learned the true story of what had happened. You see, her love for a man of Clan MacClaran was forbidden by the Laird at the time, and she was banished from his presence. Hurt and angry, she brought down a curse upon the house, that any MacClaran man who fell in love would live to see his love die a tragic early death.”
“What about MacClaran women?” Brianna asked, a little needled by the sexism. “Do their husbands get killed too? Seems pretty unfair to be dooming women who’ve done nothing wrong –”
“The curse was never intended to claim any victims,” Robert continued, shooting her a look – it was clear that he was used to being given the stage, and didn’t appreciate her questioning his tale. “It was a threat – her intention was to lift the curse as soon as she was allowed to be with the man she loved. But alas… something interfered.”
“A man, I bet –”
“Can I tell the tale, please?” He looked as amused as he did irritated. “You’re worse than my brothers. Anyway – she was captured, I’m afraid, and killed before she had the chance to lift the curse. But she tried her hardest, in her dying, to amend it. She couldn’t stop the loves of the MacClaran men from dying, but she did say that the men’s loves would return to them. It seems that that return has been taking the form of women from the future, like you, brought back through time to replace their ancestors.”
“Right,” Brianna said blankly. “So my… great-great-whatever grandmother died here, and
here I am to take her place. And you said her name was Brianna? She was your wife?”
“Aye, that’s so,” Robert said softly.
She felt a pang of sadness at the idea of a man so young being so cruelly widowed… but her curiosity was strong. “You knew about the curse, right? Why did you get married if you knew your wife was going to be killed?”
“My brothers and I fled MacClaran land years ago,” he said softly. “We were foolish. We thought that by leaving Scotland, we could leave the curse on our blood behind. I’ll admit, the three of us almost convinced ourselves that the curse wasn’t real – or that we were too distant from the main bloodline to be affected. But alas – both of my brothers lost their loves, and so did I.”
“But now I’m back,” Brianna said drily. There was a flash of pain on his face.
“No,” he said, as though speaking from a great distance. “No, I don’t think you – I don’t think she is. I think you’re someone else entirely.”
“Good,” she said firmly. “Because I am.” At least her delusion wasn’t going to start trying to tell her she was a completely different person – she felt a flash of satisfaction that her dream seemed to respect her strong sense of self, at least. “I’m sorry about your wife, though. That’s a nasty curse. So what’s the deal? Do I have to break it so I can go home? That’s generally how this kind of thing goes, right? I’ll go on some big adventure, break the curse, and then I’ll wake up in my own bed back home.”
Robert exchanged worried glances with Weatherby and Baldric. “I’m afraid not, Lady Brianna,” he said gently. “From what we can tell… well, none of the other returned women have gone back to their own times. They’ve all made a life here.”
“Right,” she said suspiciously. “But if I break the curse, maybe we can all go back.”
Highlander Returned: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 9) Page 5