"That's Nessie," Maggie said with a shrug. "At least, that's what the villagers call her. Her true name's a little more complex — and I won't be sharing it, of course. You know how Faeries are. Well, you don't. Now come inside," she said, a new sharpness in her voice that cut off all of Kay's questions. "Before you catch your death of cold."
With surprising strength, Maggie took hold of her arm and pulled her upright, and Kay staggered a little at the headrush. But she was more or less intact — and she was able to follow Maggie across the grass toward the little cottage, still shivering as she went, her mind trying to rationalize what she'd seen in the water. An optical illusion. An animatronic tourist attraction. A very strange tree, her mind playing tricks on her, an impending mental breakdown… after all, she'd been under a lot of stress lately, maybe the car crash had been what put her over the edge…
A wave of heat washed over her as they stepped through the door to Maggie's cottage, and she realized by contrast how freezing cold it truly was outdoors. Grateful for the warmth, she stood for a moment, peering around at the incredibly cluttered cottage. Maggie seemed to move through it gracefully, stepping around furniture as though there was plenty of space for her — but when Kay tried to follow, she kept bumping into the edges of tables, the backs of chairs. At Maggie's prompting, she settled into a huge, squashed armchair that was incredibly comfortable. Next to it, a small table covered in ornaments. She picked each one up, trying to ground herself in the reality of what she was touching, trying anything to keep the panic at bay.
"Here," Maggie said firmly, shoving a bundle of clothing into her lap. "Dry clothes for you. Clean, don't you worry. I'll turn my back so you can change." Kay did as she was told. She could feel herself going into survival mode… the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that she'd truly lost her mind. This was some kind of hallucination — a vivid vision, but a vision, nevertheless. Was she dying? Was this the last few moments of her life? People who had near-death experiences often reported incredibly vivid visions… maybe this was hers.
Well, it beat being dead, she thought dully. It was hard to focus — hard to truly conceptualize the fact that she might be dying. Maybe she was in a coma? Maybe they'd pulled her out of the lake, and she was lying in a hospital bed somewhere, dreaming this incredibly realistic dream? Discretely, as she changed her soaking wet shirt for the soft cloth tunic Maggie had provided her, she gave her arm a sharp pinch. It hurt… but that was about it. Nothing changed. Nothing melted away.
Well, if she was hallucinating, it was a very consistent hallucination. And, she had to admit, kind of an interesting one. Her brain wasn't a bad storyteller, all things considered.
Once she was changed — it felt much better to be dry and warm, she had to admit Maggie had been onto something there — she settled back into the soft armchair, and Maggie reappeared with a steaming pot of something or other that she poured into what looked like a clay mug, the kind her mother made on her potter's wheel in the shed. That little touch of home made her smile, and she sipped at the hot liquid in the cup, feeling it steady her.
"That's better," Maggie said with satisfaction. "Now we can have a proper chat about everything that's happened."
"Okay. Where am I?"
"Scotland," the old woman replied, a little testily. "I told you that."
"Right. Scotland, in…?"
"What do you mean, in? In Scotland. You humans and your labels, I don't know," Maggie tutted.
Kay recoiled a little, not wanting to aggravate her only ally in this strange place. "In the United Kingdom? Near England, and Wales, and —"
Maggie uttered a bark of laughter. "There's nothing united about this kingdom," she chuckled. "Human politics have never been my strong suit, though, dearie."
"How did I — get here, exactly?"
"Magic," Maggie said simply.
Kay wanted to laugh, but there was something so simple and straightforward about Maggie's tone that she found the humor fading right away.
"The magic of the Sidhe."
"Okay," Kay said cautiously, not wanting to disturb that particular wasp's nest. "Magic brought me to… to here. To Scotland. How am I going to get home?"
A shadow passed over Maggie's face. "That's a tricky one."
"I mean, surely there's an international airport in Glasgow? I could fly home — whenever. I mean, I've got a credit card, I can —"
"No, dearie. You can't. You weren't just moved through space, I'm afraid. You were moved through time, too."
Kay narrowed her eyes at Maggie, not especially keen to add this new adjustment to the list. "Through — time. Is that why it's so much later than it was when I crashed?"
"Later," Maggie said thoughtfully, "is a relative term. But if it helps… we're in the sixteenth century."
Kay reflected on that for a moment, taking another deep sip of her tea. "The sixteenth century."
"Aye."
"Sure," she said faintly. "Why not. I'm in medieval Scotland. Great."
"That's the spirit," Maggie said brightly. "You just hang on to that positive attitude, dearie, and you'll settle in fine in no time."
"So what part of medieval Scotland, exactly, am I in?" Kay felt like she was playing a video game, or something. This was ridiculous.
"Loch Ness," Maggie said with a broad grin. "About twenty minute's ride from Castle Grant."
Loch Ness, she thought faintly, shutting her eyes as she took another steadying sip of the broth Maggie had given her. Naturally.
Chapter 7
Maggie clattered off into the kitchen, leaving Kay to stare meditatively into the fire and wonder exactly how badly she'd lost her mind. Pretty badly, it seemed, if she was hallucinating not only a whole new country to get lost in, but also a whole new era. Why the sixteenth century? she wondered. It wasn't as though she'd been much of a history buff — that had been much more her dad's speed. He was always into all those old war documentaries, armies laying siege to one another, swords and shield, knights riding out from castles…
Hadn't Maggie mentioned a castle? Of course… Scotland was full of castles. A friend of hers had gone on holiday over there — a bus had taken her and a raucous group of twenty-somethings from castle to castle. They'd all been ruins, of course — Kay had looked at her friend's photo collection. They were beautiful things, ancient and crumbling… had that been what had prompted this hallucination? It seemed strange, of all the things she'd spent her life invested in, that a couple of casual conversations about Scotland and castles had shaped whatever hallucination this was that she was stuck in… but she supposed she had no choice other than to play along.
The creaking of the door behind her disturbed her from her ruminations, and she turned, surprised — had Maggie gone out the back door and come in again? But no — the shape in the doorway wasn't Maggie. It was even shorter than Maggie, to her shock. Did the woman have a child? No — a cloak fell away from the figure's head, and she recoiled in horror at what she saw. A pair of huge, furry ears, like those of a bat, were perched on the creature's head, which was covered in blue-gray skin, patched with fur. There was something vaguely aquatic about the impression she got from the creature as it turned, fixing her with dark, beady, deeply inhuman eyes.
Then it uttered a squawk of shock. She tensed up — was it about to attack her? Was her mind adding a level of danger to this hallucination? Should she grab one of the fire pokers? But the creature didn't seem ready to fight her — it seemed scared. But as they stared at each other, it surprised her by speaking in a voice that, while high and squeaky, was nevertheless reassuringly humanlike.
"I'm sorry! You surprised me. Are you a guest of Maggie's?"
"I guess so," she said cautiously. Now that it was speaking — even though its mouth had revealed sharp teeth when it did — she felt a little less afraid of it. It was so small… and something about that high-pitched voice suggested it was young, too. "I'm Kay."
"Darter Hob, at your service," the
creature said brightly, sketching an odd little bow that was incredibly charming. It pulled the cloak from its shoulders with one hand, tipped with sharp, pointed claws. She glanced at the other arm, unable to help noticing that there was something odd about it — it was withered and shrunken, held against the creature's side.
"Is your arm okay?" she asked, leaning forward a little. For all that he'd frightened the hell out of her with his appearance, that arm looked bad — like it had been burned, perhaps. The urge to help and heal was still with her, it seemed.
"Not really," he shrugged, "but it's as good as it'll ever be. A very old injury." Those bright eyes on her, curious. "Kind of you to ask. Now, I'm going to guess from your voice that you're lost in time too."
"That seems to be the situation," she said cautiously, glancing over her shoulder in search of Maggie. Was she really going to play along with this insane theory that she was lost in time, that she'd somehow been teleported hundreds of years into the past? Why did this Darter creature seem to recognize that as a likely possibility?
"When did you arrive?"
"Not long ago," she said, gesturing to her wet clothes where Maggie had hung them up to dry by the fire. "I guess I crawled out of the lake maybe half an hour ago?"
"You're adjusting very well! Most of them thought they were going insane for days on end, but you seem very calm."
"I'm definitely going insane," she said dryly, winning an endearing little chuckle from him. "What do you mean by — most of them? There are others like me?"
"Oh, yes! Anna, Nancy, and Elena — oh, they'll be so thrilled to meet you," he said brightly. "They all talk the way you do. They're wonderful, truly. You're going to love them. They all live in the castle," he explained. "With their husbands. Oh, I wonder who you're going to marry!"
That threw her for a loop, and she narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean — marry?"
"Oh, I shouldn't." He giggled, covering his mouth with that sharp-clawed hand. "The other three found husbands among Clan Grant, that's all."
"Clan Grant? What —"
"Darter Hob, is that you? Interrogating our guest?" Maggie broke into the conversation, pottering out of the kitchen with two mugs in her hands. She gave one to the creature and took the other for herself, and the three of them settled in around the fire, Kay feeling like she was part of probably the most bizarre family portrait in recorded history.
"Darter's a glashtyn," Maggie informed Kay pleasantly. "A kind of aquatic goblin. Most goblins are Unseelie — they're the bad guys — but not our Darter." At Kay's blank look, she waved a hand. "We'll explain all that to you in time."
"Politics," Darter said dismissively. "Maggie — before I forget — I've scouted the bog, as we discussed."
"Oh, aye? Any insight from those sharp little goblin eyes of yours?"
"It's as we suspected, Maggie. Wisps. Quite a few of them."
Maggie scowled, and Kay blinked at her, feeling like she was part of a conversation that she had no place in whatsoever. "I'd best go warn the Clan not to gather the bog iron," she said heavily.
Darter nodded.
Kay opened her mouth to ask questions — but found herself ambushed by a huge yawn.
Maggie chuckled. "Kay, I think you'd best get some sleep. I'm afraid there's not much spare room, but there's a huge cloak you can bundle yourself up in. I'd sleep by the fire if I were you. Chase the lake's chill from your lungs."
Kay nodded, feeling the weariness she'd been fighting washing over her in waves. Maggie fetched a huge, soft cloak lined with what felt like real fur, and she wrapped herself in it like a burrito. The cloak was soft enough that sleeping on the hard stones by the fire felt reasonably comfortable, and before she could so much as bid her hosts goodnight, she was fast asleep.
Chapter 8
No dreams, no stirring… Kay slept like the dead. When she woke, it felt like climbing out from the bottom of a deep, dark well… consciousness came back to her slowly, bit by bit. She could feel sunlight on her eyelids, hear the gentle sounds of people moving around in the cottage, but she was so disoriented by the deep sleep she'd been in that for the longest time she couldn't figure out where she was. Had all that madness about Scotland and time travel just been a dream? Was she about to wake up in her lonely double bed, ready for yet another day of tedious work, of waiting for her real life to begin?
Her eyes slowly slid open… and took in a hearth with a burned-out fire and a metal pot sitting in the ashes. She blinked hard a few times, almost hopeful that the vision would clear… but it didn't. Slowly, she sat up, blinking her eyes blearily as she peered around the cottage. In daylight, it felt even more cluttered — she could see just how much furniture there was, how many decorations, how many shelves of what looked like vials and jars of herbs, mysterious liquids and ointments… was Maggie some kind of healer, or herbalist? She thought of what she'd thought last night — that Maggie's house looked like a witch's cottage — and shivered a little despite herself. She also wondered what had been in the hot drink the old woman had given her.
But she was quickly drawn from those thoughts, as she blinked in the morning light, by the distant sound of hoofbeats outside. That was a sound she'd recognize anywhere… there was something like home about it, something so familiar in this unfamiliar place that for a moment it almost brought her to tears. She wanted to get up, to run out there and wrap her arms around the horse's neck and inhale the sweet smell of it… but instead, she pulled the cloak a little closer around her shoulders, drawing comfort from that instead. There were footsteps, now, coming closer and closer to the cottage, and she winced at the volume of the loud knock on the front door as the horse's rider, she presumed, made their presence known.
Muffled cursing came to her ears, and she couldn't help but smile a little as Maggie bustled down the stairs in a similar shamble of various articles of mismatched clothing as she'd been wearing last night. There was no sign of Darter — she'd gotten the distinct sense that the goblin was a nocturnal creature. She supposed that made sense, what with his bat-like ears. Her hallucination certainly had some internally consistent logic to it, that was for sure. What was going to be at the door, she wondered? A ghost? A demon? Maybe a sasquatch? She'd always loved the stories her father's friends told, their tongues firmly in their cheeks, about huge mountainous apes…
Maggie swung the door open, muttering irritably to herself about what hour of the morning it was, and Kay, curious despite herself, peered into the light that rushed through the door. The figure there was certainly enormous, that was for sure — a man at least six feet tall if not more, bent a little on Maggie's tiny porch. But he wasn't a sasquatch. He was human, from what Kay could gather — and to her shock, he was wearing a full kilt. Scotland, she remembered belatedly. Of course he was wearing a kilt. He had merry eyes, blond hair, and a rueful smile dancing across his face as he waited patiently for Maggie to finish scolding him for disturbing her rest so early. It seemed he hadn't noticed Kay yet — she was hidden by the bulk of the squashed armchair that stood between the fire and the doorway, and his attention was fixed on Maggie.
"Alright, Liam, you great oaf, what's the problem now?"
"Sorry to disturb you so early, Maggie, truly I am. But you know I wouldn't come bothering you before noon unless it truly was important."
"Aye, I suppose," she said, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously. "And I suppose it's not so early as it could be. And," she added thoughtfully, "I think I sense a present."
"Can't get anything past you," the man said cheerfully, pulling a cloth-wrapped bundle from behind his back. "Baked fresh this morning. Blair's shortbread."
"One day I'll figure out that woman's secret and nobody'll have any power over me any longer," Maggie grumbled, but Kay could sense that the old woman was smiling. She took the parcel. "What's the problem, then?"
"It's the herds, Maggie. They're behaving so strangely… something's afflicting them, and I've exhausted all the mundane options. Would you
consult with me?" That beseeching tone… Kay couldn't help but grin to herself. This man clearly understood his own charm… he was probably around her age, she surmised, and very handsome in a rough-hewn kind of way. And that accent… God, it was a nice accent, she had to admit. Her friend who'd been on tour had raved about how sexy the accents were over there, but this was the first time that Kay had properly understood what she'd meant. If this was what her dying brain thought sixteenth-century Scotland was like, she thought with a private grin, she supposed she could take it.
"Alright, then," Maggie sighed, standing back from the doorway and gesturing irritably to the interior. "I suppose you'd best come in. Just don't go behaving like a bull in a china shop. I still haven't forgiven you for breaking my favorite vase last time."
"All your vases are your favorite, Maggie," the man said patiently. He still hadn't noticed her, Kay could tell — too busy taking an elaborate amount of care as he stepped over the threshold to the house and carefully picked his way through the incredible clutter of the place. Kay couldn't help but wonder exactly how Maggie had set this place up in the first place — half of the pieces of furniture didn't seem like they could have fit through the doorway. Had she assembled them in here? Or was there some kind of magic afoot — a portal, maybe, used to teleport a huge, groaning dining table into a tiny space? If magic could teleport a woman through time and space, surely it could also be used to move furniture.
The man was inside, moving cautiously — and then those bright eyes fell on Kay, and he made a surprised sound in his throat, stopping dead in his tracks and almost causing a disaster as Maggie knocked into his back.
"Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't know you had a guest, Maggie."
"Hi," Kay said faintly. "Did you say you were having trouble with a herd of cattle?"
Chapter 9
Distracted By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Forever Book 4) Page 3