Exiles in Time (The After Cilmeri Series)

by Sarah Woodbury

  Goronwy had nodded. “You think to wait. You think you can be patient and she will eventually give you what you want. You are mistaken.” He’d gripped Callum’s upper arm so tightly it hurt, but Callum hadn’t wrenched away.

  Goronwy looked into Callum’s eyes. “If you do anything to hurt her, I will stop you.”

  “I would never harm Meg. Never,” Callum said.

  Goronwy released Callum’s arm. “You did no more than your duty in coming here, in trying to stop us. I might have done the same had I been wearing your boots. But you will not ask for what she should not give. She would help you out of guilt or pity.”

  Callum cleared his throat.

  “You do not want that, no?” Goronwy had said.

  “No.”

  Goronwy had nodded and as Callum met his eyes, he understood that Goronwy would kill him if he perceived that Callum posed even a hint of a threat to Meg. And he would do it without a single twinge of conscience.

  Now, Callum gazed at Cassie, wishing that he could tell her anything but the truth. “How did you survive, Cassie?”

  “I had my bow and wire for snares in my backpack. I had a water bottle. It was summer, so I could feed myself with meat and plants I recognized. These aren’t my mountains but what is natural here was sometimes an invasive species at home.” Cassie shrugged. “Blackberries grow in Scotland too. Mostly I walked and slept rough, until after a week I got up the courage to approach a village—well, really it was a castle associated with a village.”

  “It must have been a shock to realize where you were.”

  Cassie made a sound of dismissal. “Even then, I didn’t know where I was. I made a fool of myself, talking American, thinking I could get help. My saving grace was that my hair was short then, boyish, and I wore a jacket and a hat against the rain. They thought I was a boy, a stranger, even English. The Scots blame everything on the English, you know, from a change in the weather to poor crops. The people in the village shut their doors in my face and fortunately, I had the sense to retreat to the woods. It was only later that they hunted me.”

  Callum didn’t like the sound of that. In fact, he didn’t like the sound of any of this. His stomach clenched as he pictured her—a girl alone—in the middle of medieval Scotland. “So you hid?”

  “I hid; I ran; I never slept. And then I made a friend.”

  “Who was that?”

  “The clan chief, Patrick Graham. His seat is at Mugdock.”

  Callum sputtered into his drink. “Did you say Mugdock?”

  Cassie laughed. “I was squatting on his land and he knew it, but he hadn’t forced me out, for reasons he has never shared with me. By then, the villagers knew I was a woman, though a very strange kind of woman. I’d gotten a reputation as a hermit, which was far better than a witch. They didn’t shun me anymore and let me warm myself every once in a while over a drink in the only tavern in the district. Maybe they began to accept me because their crops were really good the year I arrived.

  “Then, about six months after I settled here, I spotted a band of Stewarts riding across Graham land. I’d learned some Gaelic by then and knew of the rivalries and feuds among many of the clans. I took the opportunity to tell Lord Graham they were coming. He repaid me by speaking to his people on my behalf.”

  “And you’ve lived here alone ever since?” Callum said.

  “It’s not so bad most of the time,” Cassie said. “It’s better than being stranded on a desert island. I’m rarely hungry now …” Her voice trailed off, probably in reaction to Callum’s expression. He couldn’t hide either his horror at what she’d experienced or the realization that she’d been here so long. He’d lived in the Middle Ages for six months and had tried very hard not to look that far into the future.

  “I don’t know if I would have had your strength,” Callum said, and meant it.

  “Why? How did you get here?” Cassie said. When Callum didn’t answer right away, she moved closer, her expression intent. “You know something. Tell me.”

  Callum had to tell her. It wasn’t fair not to, not when she’d come so far all by herself. “It’s a terrible thing that was done to you, Cassie.” He took in a deep breath and let it out. “Let me say first that you and I are not the only ones from the future who have made their way here.”

  Cassie pressed her fingers to her cheeks. “What do you mean? It’s obvious that you’ve done very well for yourself, given that you serve the King of England, but …” She clenched her teeth together.

  “I came the same way you did, hitching a ride,” Callum said. “In my case, however, I was trying to stop them.”

  “Stop who?” Cassie said.

  That was the real question, wasn’t it? Callum cleared his throat and leaned forward resting his elbows on his thighs and looking straight into Cassie’s face. She knelt in front of him, focused on his face and gripping her knees with her hands.

  “Let me ask you this first: I know you’re an American, but did you ever learn enough about British history to recognize that what is happening now in Great Britain isn’t what happened in our world?” Callum said.

  Hesitantly, Cassie shook her head. “I studied biology in college. A little anthropology. If you knew my background, you’d understand why British history before Columbus held no interest for me.”

  “You’re Native American?” Callum said.

  Cassie nodded. “One-quarter.”

  “Okay, so … departing from history into the realm of science fiction, from what we’ve been able to piece together, we’re in an alternate universe that has followed a different path from the history of our world. I don’t know if it always was different or if it became different after travelers came from our world to this one.”

  “Who are we?” Cassie said.

  “I worked for MI-5, the British internal security service,” Callum said. “We learned about travelers between these two worlds when the brother-in-law of one of them told one of our people about it.”

  Cassie coughed a laugh and then stopped herself when Callum didn’t laugh with her. She studied him with her head tilted to one side. “You’re serious.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “And who are these travelers?” she said.

  “Well, for one, our new King of England.”

  Chapter Six

  Cassie

  “That’s not possible.” Cassie eased away from Callum, a wariness filling her that she hadn’t felt up until now. It was as if he’d become the lunatic the Scots had thought her to be.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” Callum said, “but it’s true. I came here six months ago, on the coattails of the King of Wales and his wife, Meg. Meg was born in Pennsylvania and our new King of England is their son, David.”

  “You are out of your mind,” Cassie said, trying to stave off the hysterical laughter that was brewing in her chest. She’d been taught to swallow down her emotions, but she couldn’t swallow this. “You have to be.”

  “Meg has traveled back and forth to this world three times,” Callum said. “The first time was in 1268 when she met and married Llywelyn. She returned to our world later that year before David’s birth. The second time was in August of 1284 when she was flying in a commuter plane from Pasco, Washington to Boise, Idaho.” Callum paused.

  Cassie’s mocking laughter dissipated in an instant. Her breath caught in her throat and she could barely speak around it. “What?”

  “The pilot lost control of his plane in a storm that shorted out his instruments. Instead of crashing into a mountain, he brought Meg to the Middle Ages. They came through somewhere on the west coast of Scotland, though they didn’t land there. The pilot, Marty, immediately flew south. He dumped Meg off at Hadrian’s Wall and then came north, never to be heard from again.”

  Cassie had both hands to her mouth, trying to calm her breathing which was coming in quick bursts. “So … so … so you’re saying … can you really be saying that he brought me?”

  “T
o be fair, it wasn’t the pilot who had the ability to travel between worlds, but Meg. She has no real control of it. It isn’t conscious, but seems to happen when world shifting will save her life.”

  “And the third time?” Cassie said.

  Callum’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Six months ago. That was my turn.”

  In Cassie’s family, white Englishmen didn’t engender a lot of sympathy, no matter how difficult their struggles, but her heart stirred for Callum now. “How did that come about?”

  “I was trying to stop her from coming back,” Callum said. “It’s my own fault I’m here.”

  Cassie eased back from him, realizing that as they’d been speaking, she’d moved so close to him that their faces were only a foot apart. “Then Meg could take us back, Callum. Back home. Couldn’t she?”

  Callum had been leaning forward too, but now he straightened. “Who’s to say?”

  His tone struck Cassie as off. As if they’d been revealing truths to each other and now he was hiding something. “But she’s done it three times. Why couldn’t she again?”

  Callum let out a sharp breath. “The problem is the way she does it. I’ve spent far too much time considering the possibilities myself, believe me. What’s she supposed to do to help us? Fly an airplane into a mountain? Deliberately cause a car crash? Jump off a cliff?”

  Cassie pursed her lips as she studied him. “I didn’t really catch it the first time, but you meant that her traveling happens only when she’s in danger, is that right?”

  “When we fell through time most recently, when I came here with her, she jumped off the balcony at Chepstow Castle. It’s a four story drop into the Wye River.”

  Cassie sat back on her heels, her enthusiasm squashed. She felt reality condensing around her again. “Oh. That’s a problem.” Then she got to her feet and turned towards the fire so Callum couldn’t see her face as she composed herself.

  “Just because you can’t get back to our world doesn’t mean you have to stay here, in this place,” Callum said.

  Cassie stopped in the act of stirring the pot over the fire, the spoon suspended over the porridge. “What do you mean?” she said without turning around.

  “David is the King of England,” Callum said. “He grew up in Oregon, like you, until he was fourteen. He would welcome you to London or to any of his castles in Wales, any time you wanted to come. You don’t have to live alone anymore.”

  Cassie held very still. Callum’s words had frozen her feet to the floor. Not live here? One hand went to her long braid. Cassie caught the end in her fist and she tugged on it. “Let’s—let’s leave that for another day.” She tossed the braid over her shoulder and turned to look at Callum. “We have more important things to worry about right now.”

  “Like getting word to King David about what has happened?” Callum said.

  Cassie laughed. “Not hardly. That can wait. Aren’t you concerned about what the MacDougalls have done with the rest of the men in your party?”

  Callum’s mouth dropped open. Cassie had surprised him. “You mean there were survivors?”

  “About a dozen,” Cassie said. “The MacDougalls gathered them up and marched them away, heading west.”

  “Do you know where they took them?”

  “My guess is Mugdock Castle, or close to it,” Cassie said. “I’m surprised that Lord Patrick is openly involved, but even if your friends aren’t there, he’ll know where they went. This is his land. The MacDougalls are his allies and they wouldn’t have marched across it without telling him they were coming, even if they didn’t tell him why.”

  “Where’s the MacDougall stronghold?” Callum said.

  “Dunstaffnage. Fifty miles from here.” Cassie had been there. The castle had been built on a prominent rock and was surrounded on three sides by the sea. Meg and Marty, admittedly unbeknownst to them, had dumped Cassie in a forest a mile to the east of the castle when they’d shifted worlds.

  “Too far.” Callum’s chin was set as he thought.

  It looked like Callum was starting to think like a soldier again. Just as long as he didn’t think he could act like one too soon: that concussion was going to give him trouble for at least a week.

  “There’s too much daylight between here and there,” Callum said.

  “I think you’re right,” Cassie said. “They had wounded of their own and would have had to go to ground closer than Dunstaffnage, at least for what was left of the night.”

  Callum looked hard at Cassie. “Do you really think they hoped to capture—or kill—King David? How could they possibly have thought that would end well for them?”

  Cassie shrugged. She’d heard about the Battle in the Severn Estuary nearly a year ago. The traitor, William de Valence, was famous up here too, though more because his daughter had just married a Scotsman than because of his plot to kill King David. Perhaps Alexander MacDougall thought he was a better man than Valence. Until now, the ins and outs of Scottish politics had concerned her only when they threatened her survival.

  “I can’t tell you,” Cassie said, “except that the MacDougalls have never been known for their timidity.”

  “Did you see what happened to the prisoners?” Callum said. “Did you see who they were?”

  Cassie shook her head. “I don’t know faces. It’s not like the rulers here traipse around to charity auctions and get their picture taken. I saw twelve bedraggled, blood-spattered, defeated men.”

  “What were you doing there in the first place?” Callum said.

  He had finally asked the question Cassie had been waiting for since he woke up, before they got side-tracked by the time travel thing. “I told you about warning the clan chief about marauders on his land?” Cassie said.

  Callum nodded.

  “Lord Patrick and I have an understanding: I let him know if I see something that might concern him and he makes sure that nobody bothers me.”

  “So you spotted the MacDougalls—when?”

  “I trailed them all afternoon,” Cassie said. “Since the MacDougalls are allied with the Grahams, I would’ve let them go once I found out who they were, but then they went to ground at the ambush site and didn’t advertise themselves in the way that they sometimes do. I decided I’d better stay and see what they were up to—for my own protection if for no other reason.”

  “You saved my life,” Callum said.

  “Maybe …” Cassie said. “You would have woken on your own. What would have been bad is if you’d looked for help from the wrong people and blurted out what happened without knowing who their friends were. My guess is that once the MacDougalls realized that King David wasn’t leading the company, they got out of there as quickly as they could. Do you remember a man shouting for everyone to stop?”

  Callum nodded.

  “That was Alexander MacDougall himself.”

  “If they’re smart, they’ll keep the prisoners until they can trade them for immunity from prosecution,” Callum said.

  “Good luck with that,” Cassie said. “Scots aren’t known for their forgiveness.”

  “At least Robbie got away,” Callum said.

  “Who?” Cassie said.

  “Robbie Bruce is James Stewart’s squire,” Callum said. “It was his horse that bolted right before the MacDougalls attacked.”

  “I saw that,” Cassie said. “I’m glad. He looked awfully young.”

  “So … Lord Patrick,” Callum said, switching topics without warning. “He never objected to your way of life or your clothing?”

  “He objects, but he doesn’t stop me,” Cassie said. “You have to understand that up here, everyone who isn’t a lord lives in remote hamlets or isolated huts. People are vulnerable to raiding parties. My information saved him a herd of cattle. He repays me by ignoring me.”

  Callum made a gesture that took in the whole of the room. “And by the loan of some tools?”

  “That too.”

  “He’s not going to like it that this time you�
�re coming in on the other side,” Callum said.

  Cassie gave him a long look. “Is that what I’m doing? Has King David already decided in favor of Bruce?”

  “He hadn’t when I left,” Callum said.

  “Then I’m on the side of peace,” Cassie said. “The MacDougalls killed a bishop. They captured your friends. It may be that Lord Graham doesn’t know what really happened.”

  “And if he does and condones what the MacDougalls have done?” Callum said.

  “Then we’ll see,” Cassie said.

  Chapter Seven

  Callum

  Callum got off the bed and didn’t immediately feel like falling over, which was a good sign. “How far do we have to walk to get to Mugdock Castle?”

  “Three miles,” Cassie said.

  “I can handle three miles,” Callum said. “My only injury is to my head, along with some bangs and bruises from the fight.”

  Cassie looked at him, skepticism written on her face. “You have a concussion.”

  “I’ve had one before,” Callum said. “I’ll feel terrible for a few days and then I’ll start to feel better.”

  “From what I saw at the ambush, you fought well. Have you been in battle before?” Cassie said.

  “Not here,” Callum said. “In Afghanistan.”

  “I didn’t know you guys—Brits, right?—fought there too,” she said.

  “Our forces fought there especially,” Callum said.

  Cassie picked up the padded shirt that Callum wore under his mail and held it out. “I know you need help getting dressed so don’t bother to pretend you don’t.”

  Cassie had taken the mail off him by brute force, but putting it on again correctly was more difficult. Together, they managed it. While nobody was going to confuse Callum for a Highlander, he once again resembled a knight in the service of the King of England. The men who’d attacked his company had worn armor over shirts and pants, though of a different style than Callum was used to: shorter pants, longer shirts which were more like tunics, and no kilts like he might have expected. Instead, they had worn blankets wrapped around their shoulders and torsos like cloaks, and pinned.