RANGER (Forsaken Riders MC Romance Book 19)

by Samantha Leal

  She shuffled up close. The old woman smelled of mints and whisky and Rebecca wondered if she was a secret drinker. The thought made her smile. At her grand old age, surely she could do anything she liked?

  “I can see now it’s you dearie, ye hair’s a different color, but I can see it around your eyes. Aye, I can that.”

  Rebecca smiled. Poor Nora had obviously flipped or drank too much and was talking gibberish, but she would humor the old lady.

  “They said that you would be coming, and I’ve been waiting for ye. All of these years, I’ve sat and waited”

  Her eyes glazed as if she had slipped back into another time, and Rebecca wondered if she ought to go. She didn’t want to tire the poor old thing out, so she started to rise.

  Nora’s hand was soon on her arm. “I have something for you, lassie, but first pass me that glass on the table, will ye?”

  She reached for the glass. It felt sticky. Handing it across, the old lady fished her hand under her cushions and brought out a small bottle of McClelland’s Whisky.

  “Just a wee dram of the good stuff to warm me up. Will ye not be joining me?”

  Rebecca shook her head. It was probably better if one of them remained sober.

  “Go on, lassie. It will do ye good. Now pass me that other glass.”

  Nora poured out two generous measures, and while Rebecca sat and nursed hers, the old lady drank hers down in one. She was amazed and wondered if she should be drinking so much at her age.

  “I’m one hundred and three years old this Christmas, if you’re wondering. I put long life down to whisky and porridge.” She giggled like a schoolgirl–the after effects of the drink, Rebecca supposed.

  Nora patted the red cushion next to her. “Come a wee bit closer, lass, so I can hear you better.”

  Rebecca shuffled up even further.

  “So how are you finding our little village, Rebecca?”

  At least she remembered her name. She couldn’t be that senile.

  “It’s lovely. I only just arrived, but everyone I’ve met this morning has made me feel very welcome.”

  “Well, my dear, that’s one thing about this place. People seldom stray, and if they do, it’s never for very long. A little piece of home always stays in the heart.”

  Nora’s eyes were alert and bright and Rebecca wondered if it was a combination of medication and alcohol. Maybe it was just the drink. The effect of sitting close to the hot fire combined with the neat whiskey was starting to make her head spin.

  “Now, my dearie, if you could fetch me that wee box down off the mantelpiece.”

  Rebecca looked across at the fire. On the shelf above it stood an array of objects collected from over the years. There were dozens of old photographs, and from the style of the fashions, some must have been well over 100 years old. Sepia and black and white images stood in their dusty and age-stained frames. They were full of hollow-eyed people staring back into the lens and they all seemed to have a vague air of familiarity. In the center next to an old wooden clock stood a very small and plain-looking tin box with patches of rust showing through at the sides.

  Handing the box down to Nora, she sat and waited with some hesitation. The old lady was so eccentric that absolutely anything could be inside.

  “This was handed down from my great, great-grandfather, and from his grandfather before that. It’s very old, dating back several hundred years to about the time of the great Battle of Flodden. The old girl’s eyes sparkled as if remembering the event personally.

  Placing her thin hand into the tin she drew out a small object wrapped in tissue paper and carefully passed it over to the young girl.

  Rebecca gasped as she opened up the layers of fine paper to reveal an exquisitely engraved silver locket.

  “Open it, open it!” the old woman urged like an excited child at Christmas.

  As Rebecca slid her nail beneath the clasp, the locket fell into two halves. Inside was a beautifully painted miniature of a young woman. She was shocked and had to blink and look again. Two things immediately struck her: first, that the eyes were a brilliant blue, and secondly, that the face was hers.

  A shiver ran along her spine, despite the heat from the fire. She stared at the image a long time, hardly believing what she saw. The woman wore a blue dress in the Tudor style and in her hand she held an apple. Her strawberry-blonde hair was tied into a long, neat plait cascading over her shoulder, and a row of pearls was strung closely across her throat. In the background was a green vase or some sort of decoration, and on it was a picture of a twin-tailed siren that looked oddly familiar. She had probably seen something similar in her history books from this period but couldn’t quite recall what.

  It was reasonable, she supposed, to have some facial similarities to your ancestors, but the resemblance was uncanny. She looked across to Nora for answers.

  “That’s a portrait of the wife of William Stewart, the only member of the Stewart clan to survive the battle of Flodden. It was said that she was some kind of witch and that she used supernatural powers to keep him safe.”

  Rebecca wanted to ask more questions, but at that point the old woman shut her eyes and seemed to fall asleep. The conversation had obviously exhausted her, and after waiting another ten minutes, Rebecca decided to leave. Placing the miniature back on the table, she tiptoed out of the room, feeling slightly guilty at leaving without saying goodbye.

  She was halfway down the path when a voice called her back. Jane was running towards her.

  “You left this behind.” She placed the silver locket in Rebecca’s hand.

  “Oh no, it’s not mine. Nora was just showing it to me.”

  “She wants you to have it.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “It’s far too valuable! I can’t accept anything like that.”

  Jane frowned. “But it’s yours.” And with that, she ran back to the house.

  What a strange thing to say. Rebecca placed the locket carefully into her bag in the zipper compartment next to her cell phone. She would hand it back tomorrow, but in the meantime, she would show James. It would definitely be a conversation starter.

  ***

  The morning had been too weird, and she needed some normality. Hopping onto the local bus, she headed for the nearest town and spent the day window shopping. She also managed to find a branch of her favorite coffee shop and get herself a good cup of coffee and a muffin to have on the bus ride home. The coffee restored her equilibrium, and she couldn’t wait to see James.

  Sammy was on the lookout for her when she arrived back at base and ran out to greet her new friend. She seemed in a bit of a panic.

  “James is looking for you, and he’s furious!”

  Rebecca had no clue what she was talking about and asked her to slow down.

  “It’s James. He stormed in here about an hour ago looking for you. Something about the dig, but he didn’t say what.”

  “Where is he now? Is he still around?”

  “I haven’t seen him. I think he might have gone back out.”

  It didn’t make sense. She hadn’t even visited the dig yet, so he couldn’t have anything to be mad about. Perhaps Sammy had got it wrong. Maybe it was something about last night and Johnny. Whatever it was, she was dying to show James the miniature, and so leaving Sammy standing at the door, she set out towards the dig to look for him.

  The excavation site was not far. It was the foundations of a 16th-century dwelling that had received a lot of local and national interest.

  The sun was a little weaker now that late afternoon was setting in and the air had grown chill. A slight wind rippled across the grass, and she hurried along, wrapping her flimsy jacket around her. She was almost at the site and could see the brown of the soil where the turf had been removed to reveal the ancient foundations. The trench was quite deep, and there was no sign of James. Scrambling down, she walked among the old stones. Part of a set of stone steps had been revealed and what looked to be the site of an old fireplace.
Sitting on the steps, she drank the last of her coffee and placed the cup back in her bag. James would have a fit if she littered the site.

  It had been such an odd day. She could scarcely believe her meeting with Nora and reached into her bag for the miniature to remind herself that she wasn’t going crazy. It was real enough.

  Feeling a headache coming on, she closed her eyes for a minute. She hadn’t realized how tired she was and blamed Nora for leading her astray.

  Before long she was asleep.

  When she awoke, it was dark and she couldn’t see where she was. She was still leaning against the stone wall, her bag still on her lap, but she seemed to be in an enclosed space. She closed her eyes and opened them again, slowly moving them from left to right. On all sides were stone walls and just in front of her a fireplace. Rebecca tried to think where she was. She had come out to find James at the excavation site and must have fallen asleep. This must be a joke. They must have moved her while she was asleep. She must have been really knocked out! Standing up, she stretched her muscles, aching and stiff from sitting on her cold seat. She would have serious words with whoever did this to her.

  The place must be some sort of museum for all the artifacts around her, from old copper cooking pots to stone flagons of various shapes and sizes, looked ancient. There were wicker baskets containing apples, and half a rustic-looking loaf of bread and a dish of eggs stood on top of a well-scrubbed wooden table. The most amazing thing about the place was the smell: a funny mixture of smoke and animals and a sweeter smell of rotting vegetation. It was very authentic. Maybe the place didn’t have much ventilation. Desperate for fresh air, she started to head up the stone steps.

  “Katherine, will that be you down there?”

  The burr of a soft Scottish voice echoed across the silence. For a moment, she froze. She might be trespassing on private property, but it wasn’t her fault she was here and would soon be able to explain.

  As the door at the top of the stone steps opened, a dim light filled the room and there stood a man carrying a candle. He was dressed in what look like fancy clothes, a doublet and hose. Maybe he was one of those actors employed to bring the past to life; whoever he was, it was a relief to see someone. Walking down the steps, he peered cautiously at her and Rebecca had to stifle a giggle.

  Grabbing her roughly by the arm, he brought the light to her face.

  “Who are ye?”

  His act might have been funny if he wasn’t hurting her.

  “Hey, get off me.” She tried to struggle free, but it was useless and he pulled her towards the stairs. He was taking his role far too seriously, whoever he was.

  Pushed up the stairs, she found herself in a long room with wooden floors and stone walls. A rich tapestry was hung on the far wall, its rich colors apparent in the half light. This place was great. She would definitely visit it again in the daylight without this overzealous thespian by her side.

  The man jerked on her arm and pulled her towards an oak door. Inside was a great hall and in the center was a magnificent table laid out with swords and shields and other gruesome weaponry. A group of men were seated around a great fire, heads deep in conversation. As the door opened, they all looked up.

  “What is it Angus?”

  “I caught her d’oon in the scullery.”

  A fierce-looking man with wild, steely grey hair and a beard stood up and approached her. He was dressed in a green tartan shawl that was wrapped across his body, and on his feet he wore thick woolen stockings and tan leather shoes that laced up around his calf. He was the very image of a Scottish Highlander, directly from one of her history books.

  Her smile soon faded as he spoke.

  “Who are ye young wummin, and what are ye doing here?”

  His accent was much stronger than the first, and she struggled to tune into the words.

  “Well?” he shouted at her.

  Rebecca was starting to feel tired and bored by the joke. It had gone on too long and she wanted her bed.

  “Now look, I think it’s all very funny, but I need to go. I need to sleep.”

  The man glared at her as another joined him. He was similarly dressed but a little younger. He somehow looked familiar.

  “She’s not from these parts. Look at her dress and the way she talks. She’s a foreigner. She must be a Sassenach spy.” He drew his sword and held it in front of her.

  She almost fainted as the blade swished across her face. Maybe she was dreaming; it was all so unreal.

  “Wait!” a voice shouted from the back of the group. Although loud, the accent was much softer and gentle in tone. As the man stepped nearer, Rebecca let out a low laugh. She hadn’t recognized him under the red beard. It was James Anderson! Sammy must have been in on the joke all along.

  “Ha, ha, very funny James. I’m cold and hungry so let’s get out of here.”

  His brow furrowed as he approached her.

  “Ma name’s nae James, I’m Willy Stewart.”

  Rebecca started to panic. It didn’t seem as if anyone was joking; in fact, it was exactly the opposite. Something wasn’t right. The man looked like James, but he didn’t seem to be laughing and he didn’t seem to be James after all.

  “We should kill her now.” The man with the sword angled his blade. As his eyes narrowed, she realized where she had seen him before. He was the spitting image of Johnny Hampshire.

  Her heart pounded in her chest. She was either about to die or wake up from this nightmare.

  A strong hand pushed away the blade. “No Angus, I’ll take care of her.”

  “But we’re riding ‘oot early tomorrow, William, to join King James in Battle. What will ye do with the young wummin?”

  William thought for a moment. “I’ll take her with us.”

  The men scoffed. “Ye cannae take a young lass along with us. What if she is an English spy?”

  “Then all the better for her sitting on our side.”

  “But how will she travel?”

  “She will ride with me. Now we must make haste to be ready for the morrow.”

  The other men shook their heads but slowly moved out of the room, leaving Rebecca and William alone.

  Seeing that she was shaking from cold, he led her to the fire and brought her a small wooden stool to sit on.

  The whole thing seemed ridiculous. The only reality seemed to be coming from the heat of the fire and instinctively she held up her hands to feel the warmth.

  “So lassie, where are ye frae, and more importantly what are ye doing here?”

  Rebecca looked at him blankly. She didn’t even know where “here” was.

  “Where am I?” The question sounded pathetic on her lips.

  William frowned as if trying to understand the young woman sat before him. She looked so much like his dear dead wife Jane that he had almost cried out her name when first seeing her.

  “You’re in my hoose in Selkirk.”

  “And what year is this?” The question trembled on her lips.

  “Why, it’s 1513. The 7th of September to be exact.”

  There was a cold draught blowing through the shuttered windows and Rebecca shivered.

  “Wherever your frae, your nae dressed for the weather. Come with me, and I’ll find you somat to wear.”

  Lighting a couple of candles in the fire, he took her by the hand, and they walked out of the room and into a paneled hallway. There were more rugs and tapestries hung on the walls and an elaborate, wooden candelabra hung from the ceiling. A giant stone staircase took them up to the next level and into one of the bed chambers. The floor was a polished, deep brown wood and at one end of the room stood a four-poster bed swathed with green velvet curtains.

  William strode over to a large chest and opened it up. Inside were numerous garments that he pulled out and laid tenderly onto the bed.

  “Here, try one of these.”

  There were several woolen tunics, and she picked up a blue one to try on. Rebecca was aware that he was watching he
r, and she suddenly felt awkward and shy in his presence.

  Sensing her feelings, he stepped outside.

  It was good to remove her flimsy clothes and put on something warmer. There were some thick brown stockings made of a woven cloth and she pulled them on before slipping the blue tunic over her head. There was a small hand mirror on a set of drawers, and she scanned her face in the glass. It was her face that reflected back, but somehow she looked different. Remembering the small locket containing the portrait, she pulled the band out of her hair, shook loose her pony tail, and started to plait her hair. The result was uncanny.

  William stepped back into the room and froze as if seeing a ghost. It was as if his beloved Jane was with him again. His eyes were wide as he rushed to her and pulled her close, his strong arms encircling her.

  “Jane, my beloved.”

  She could feel his anguish as he crushed her to him. Trying to find her lips, his face pushed into hers. Memories of her encounter with Johnny came flooding back, and she started to panic, beating at his chest with her fists.

  The whole thing was becoming too much for her and Rebecca started to cry. She couldn’t understand what was happening to her, and she was tired and hungry. All she wanted was to get back to the others.

  Her weeping brought him back to his senses and he suddenly pulled away from her, and with his head in his hands, he sat on the bed.

  “I’m sorry, lass; you looked just like my wife Jane.”

  Trembling, she sat next to him on the bed. “I’m Rebecca.”

  “Rebecca.” He spoke the name carefully, as if hearing it for the first time. “Ye look so like my wife. She died in childbirth with our first child almost a year ago. Where have ye come frae?”

  “I’ve come from the future.” It sounded like the line from a corny B movie, but it was the truth.

  William looked at her, his eyes troubled.

  “I know it’s difficult to explain, but this afternoon I was in Selkirk in 2015, and all I know now is that I’m now in Selkirk over 500 years in the past.”

  He shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

  How could she make him believe her? Her bag was still over her shoulder, and she reached inside it. The Starbucks cup was still there and she placed it on the bed along with the sandwich and flask. Unzipping the front pocket, she pulled out her iPhone. The locket had gone. She remembered looking at it before she fell asleep. It must have slipped from her hand at the dig.