by Sarah Hoss
She took full stock of him standing on the other side of the room. Saying the man was huge was an understatement. Black hair hung to his shoulders. Bright blue eyes stared back at her, assessing the situation. He was what romance novels were written about. Strength, beauty, alpha-male, and raw sex.
He wore a black and white kilt with an off-white shirt; both covered in black soot. Smudges were all over his face, giving him a menacing appearance. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The smell of fire still lingered. She opened her eyes and stared at him. What had he been doing before she unknowingly summoned him here?
Chapter 4
Two hours had passed with no progress. Hamish was tired and aggravated. Where the hell was he and how the hell did he get here? All he remembered was trying to save his sister. Fear and sadness gripped his heart and squeezed at the memory of her lying on the floor of his burning cottage. He’d disappeared before he could save her. Would that mean she’d died or had someone else come in and gotten her? He hated not knowing.
“So, let me get this straight. You were in Scotland at your own house and now you’re in America in my house. And you have no idea how you got here?”
As he stood in her kitchen, Hamish switched his attention from staring out the small window, lost in thought, to Gillian. It didn’t make any sense to him either, but to register the look on her face made him angry. He was not crazy, though she clearly thought he was. “I’m not daft!”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I just can’t explain how I got here.”
“Well, I know how you got here, I just can’t believe you’re actually real.”
His mind drifted back to the moment he’d arrived, trying to figure out for himself what had happened. At first, he’d believed he was dreaming, so he’d taken a few tentative steps toward her. He saw her press herself into the wall, trying to get away from him. When he moved closer, he hadn’t expected her to react the way she did and the solid punch to his nose quickly relieved his mind of any thoughts of insanity. Taking the cloth away from his nose, he surveyed it.
“Looks like it might have stopped bleeding. Does it hurt much?”
She sat staring at him with an almost sorry expression on her face, but it was quickly taken over by one of complete satisfaction.
He sighed. “Nay, it doesna hurt verra much. I will remember to watch that right arm of yers in the future.” She took a glass of water off the table near her and handed it to him. He took a drink, then sat up straight in his chair. “I need to get back to my home, so if ye would be so kind as to help me, it would be much appreciated.”
“Oh, please, let me show you. Follow me.”
She headed out of the kitchen with him hot on her tracks. He waited while she opened the front door. Grabbing his hand, she led him out. “Go down the hall and take the stairs. Once you get to the street, hail a cab to the nearest airport.” Then she slammed the door in his face.
He stood there stunned, then glanced around to see if anyone was about and was thankful no one saw what just happened. He knocked on the door, but she didn’t answer, so he began to walk toward the stairs. Once he reached the street, he stilled and took in the sights. What the hell was a cab?
He took a step back as a large object—he didn’t know what it was called, but it was large, loud, and made of metal—went passed him. A woman walked by, leading a small growling dog. The woman was staring at him. Her eyes took in every inch of his height and when he smiled at her, she nearly tripped. She grabbed the dog up into her arms and began to jog.
He glanced down at himself. He was in his kilt and very dirty. He looked pretty bad.
He began to walk like a man that had nothing left. He didn’t know where he was going or what he would do, but he couldn’t stand here all night. He needed to think.
He wandered for hours. When he was tired, he found a bench at the edge of a garden. An old man who seemed destitute sat with him and the two of them talked. He learned that he’d lost over three hundred years and he was a long way from Scotland. He was careful to ask the right questions without the man thinking him strange. Without knowing how he’d arrived in the city they called Philadelphia, the only way to get back home to Newtonmore was to fly or take a boat. The first option didn’t sound like a good idea and both required money, of which he had none. But just because he could get to Scotland didn’t mean he was home. So, to quote the old man, he was up shit creek without a paddle. That made him smile.
The night became a little cooler as the sun had long set. The trees swayed softly with the breeze. Squirrels scattered up their trunks to find shelter within the branches. Shelter is what he needed to find. His stomach growled its protest at not having eaten all day.
There was a building off to his left that sat on the corner. Main Street Mission, the sign said. The old man told him it was a place to go when you had nowhere else.
He stood and crossed the street. Entering the building, the man at the desk just stared. He’d seen enough people walking the streets to know that he looked different. Nothing he could do about that now. The front entry was clean and white but had a definite smell of stale tobacco and dirty clothes. Some things through time never change.
He signed his name in a book and the man led him to a room with a bed.
“There’s a shower at the end of the hall and towels are in it.” The man looked him up and down.
Hamish thanked him and closed the door.
He was tired. His head hurt from all the thinking and trying to figure things out. The man came back a moment later with a hot meal and he sat down to eat. The aroma made his stomach growl and he took a bite. There wasn’t much flavor, but it was hot and he was finished in no time. He placed the plate on a table, drank the glass of water, and lay down.
He prayed sleep would come quickly.
Hot water rolled down Gillian’s skin and she sighed. She placed her hands on the shower wall and let the water massage her muscles. Steam floated like clouds through the bathroom. Knowing she couldn’t stand in there any longer, she turned the water off and stepped out. The reflection in the mirror seemed foreign to her. Many times throughout the day she’d wondered if throwing him out had been the right thing to do. She’d been scared, witnessing something she still couldn’t believe was real, but she was now feeling guilty. He was here because of her and she’d left him to his own devices in a place he knew nothing about. Who does that?
She dressed and headed into the kitchen to make some coffee. Reaching into the cabinet, she grabbed a mug when she noticed a hummingbird buzzing around the feeder outside her window. She watched, amazed at the beauty of the little bird.
A knock at the door made her jump and the cup fell from her hands and shattered to the floor.
“Shit.” She placed her hand on her heart as if that would still its racing beat and slowly walked toward the sound. She glanced at herself in the mirror that hung on the wall and let out a breath. Then she peeked through the peephole. She scrunched her eyebrows in thought at the guest standing outside.
“Seriously?” What was he doing here?
He couldn’t be here.
Please don’t let him be here.
She peeked again and the image was the same. She had prayed last night, before sleep had taken her, that the events she’d witnessed had been false. She closed her eyes and sighed, for the man outside was definitely real. Another knock and she unlocked the bolt and opened the door.
“What are you doing here?”
Tall, lean, and way too good looking, Hamish stood in the hallway. She didn’t need this. She had enough problems; she didn’t need him. She couldn’t take care of them both. It was too much. I’m going back to that store and give that woman a piece of my mind.
“Might I come in?”
He stood stiffly, waiting, and she c
onsidered her options. He looked lost and it pulled at her heartstrings. Unsure what to do, her sympathy won the battle against her brain and she stepped aside.
“I was about to fix breakfast, would you like some?”
Once inside, he turned around. “Aye.”
She stepped past him and headed for the kitchen with him following behind her. She pointed to the table. “Have a seat.”
The broom sat in the corner and she reached for it to clean her mess.
“What happened?”
Bending over to pick up the dustpan, she turned to look at him. “You scared me when you knocked.”
“I’m sorry.”
She used her foot to open the trash can and dumped the contents, then placed the broom and dustpan back in the corner. After washing her hands, she began to make breakfast.
“What happened to you last night?” She leaned herself against the counter, crossed her arms over her chest, and watched him.
“I wandered around, but the only thing I was able to accomplish was causing people to stare. I then sat on a bench next to a, I think you would call him homeless? He led me to a shelter where I spent the night.”
He met her gaze which caused her to look away. She opened the cabinet and pulled out a skillet.
“I don’t know what to do.”
She heard the aggravation in his voice, along with sadness and glanced over at him. He was looking away, but the emotion on his face told of his desperation. Whatever his story was, she was beginning to feel sorry for him.
Gillian sat a glass of orange juice in front of him and he took a long drink. The expression on his face let her know he thought it was really good, and she smiled. When he set the glass down, she poured him some more.
He reached out and gently grabbed her wrist. “I need to get home.”
Her eyes searched his. “Get you home? I can’t believe you’re here in the first place. I’m not sure how I can get you home.”
He let go of her and she walked over to the fridge. When she started to shut the door and turned around, she bumped into the solid wall of chest behind her. “What is this?” He stuck his hand inside, amazed at the cool air he felt.
“That’s a refrigerator. It’s where I store . . . Oh, come on. You know what a fridge is.”
He turned to look at her, closing the door.
“Am I to assume you don’t know what a faucet is either, since you came over and played with that, too?” she asked as she pointed over her shoulder at the object in question.
She rolled her eyes and he turned his back to her.
“I doona understand much of what is happening here, but I’d appreciate it if ye wouldna insult my intelligence.”
“Fine.” She shrugged. “I meant no offense. I’m sorry.” She placed her hands on the counter, wooden spoon still in her grip. “Remember, it’s a little hard to wrap my mind around all of this, too.”
His stomach growled and he walked over to where she cooked.
“What are ye preparing?”
“Bacon and pancakes. Smells good, huh?” She elbowed him lightly and smiled.
He smiled back. “Aye.”
Gillian turned slightly toward him and he leaned against the counter. They searched each other’s faces, memorizing, studying, trying to find a clue.
“Listen, I’m sorry. Let’s start again, okay?”
“Agreed. Why don’t ye tell me what ye were doing last night?” He walked back over to the table and sat down.
Gillian flipped the pancakes and grabbed a piece of bacon, nibbling on it as she thought. None of this made any sense. How on earth had this happened and why was she still allowing this stranger in her house? Had she lost her mind? Magic and spells were real and he was the proof.
She served the pancakes and bacon on two plates, then set them down on the table. Reaching into the cupboard, she fetched two small glasses and filled them with milk.
“Well, last night I slept, but I think you mean what happened two nights ago when you first came here.” She took a drink. “I witnessed a murder and the killer is after me. When I hid from him, it was in a store for spells and such. The lady gave me a protection spell to help me.”
“Spell?”
She watched as he took a bite of the pancakes. A look of sweet surprise touched his features.
“Immediately follow it with a bite of bacon. It’s even better.” She waggled her eyebrows. “The night you appeared, I was desperate and scared, so I followed the shop owner’s instructions.” She recited it for him, then thought deep for a moment. Even she had a hard time believing her own explanation.
“I’ll be right back.” Fetching the parchment off the coffee table in the living room, she went back into the kitchen and sat down. Handing him the incantation, she then repeated the words as he followed along. “I didn’t see any harm in doing it. She said it was for protection. If nothing else, it made me feel a little better.” For about thirty seconds.
Hamish laid the note in front of her. “Ye said it wrong,” then pointed to a spot on the paper.
She leaned forward and looked at the last three lines where he was pointing.
And wrap me in your protecting arms this night
Oh mighty great ancient one
Let this be your will, let it be done.
“Ye said his and it says your.”
She stared for a moment, then slowly peered up at Hamish. He was just getting ready to take another bite when his eyes caught hers and he paused, fork two inches from his open mouth.
“I doona believe it.”
Her head shook slowly back and forth. “I can’t believe it, either.” She stood and paced. “I mean, time travel isn’t possible. Spells aren’t real and yet . . .” She pointed to him. “. . . here you are.”
“Time travel—”
“—year are you from?” They spoke at the same time, then waited.
Hamish cleared his throat. “When I was standing in my cottage, it was October thirty-first, 1706.” His fork still hung in the air in front of his face. Slowly, he lowered it.
She swallowed. Her hand began to shake at the possibility. “And here you are eating breakfast in my kitchen in America on November first, 2014.” Could everything have worked as the lady said and the spell brought her a protector from the past?
“Fuck me running.” Her hands gripped the back of the chair. Goose flesh covered her arms and she crossed them in front of her, rubbing them to make it go away.
He smiled a devilish smile. “I doona ken if what ye just said is possible, but if it is, then it sounds like quite a challenge.”
Chapter 5
The Chief of the Macpherson clan walked into the solar room with an air of authority. His men respected him. He was fair and sought out all points of a situation before making judgments. This particular meeting was very important, so the unusual meeting place was also important.
Cluny sat down at the head of the table. He looked each man in the eye. To his right was his son, Ewan, and to his left sat James and Alexander. Fifteen men in all sat with him tonight.
Mrs. Cleary and one of her kitchen maids brought in two trays of food. One held deer meat and the other held cheese and bread. Alexander leaned to his left, out of the way, so a young maid could set the tray on the table. Wine had been passed around and the men spoke quietly amongst themselves. There was a fire in the large hearth that sat to the left of the table and the flames caused light to flicker and dance on the walls. Mrs. Cleary picked up a poker and stirred the embers, throwing another log on the fire.
One of the men leaned over and grabbed a piece of cheese and bread, placed it in his mouth, and rejoined the conversation.
Cluny stood.
“I want to thank ye for coming.” He turned to James and Alexan
der. “Please accept my deepest sympathies on the death of yer sister, Margaret.”
They nodded, faces somber.
“I’m here to speak to ye about the fires. Hamish’s house was the fifth burning in a year.”
The men all exchanged glances at each other as the news was shared.
Cluny took a drink, then answered the unspoken question. “I have been in discussion with Ewan and James. I wanted to be sure that all of the fires were related and not just mere chances of fate.”
The men nodded in agreement. Mumbles littered the room.
“What we know, is that they were all started in the same manner. The fires began in a field to look like an accident, as if the wind had simply blown the embers. But we found evidence on three of the fields, places where the burning was started. I want ye to be vigilant. Pay attention when people are speaking, focus when you are looking at things. I will randomly send people out on patrols.”
“Is that why ye sent us out with Hamish this last week?”
He glanced over at Marcus. “Aye, it is the reason. I want to catch this traitor, and if we are out, maybe we can stop it from happening again.” He searched the faces of each man sitting at his table. “This isn’t just a case of arson any longer. Now we have murder on our hands.”
“We found yer sister’s body amongst the burnt structure, but ye are aware that we never found Hamish’s body.”