Born of Fire

by Kella McKinnon

  Petra tugged at her arm. “Come. Let’s get you warm and dry.”

  “Go ahead, take this off. Put on the dry clothing.” Petra fingered the damp cotton of her t-shirt. As soon as the door had closed behind them, she had started chatting and hadn’t stopped. “Do they dress so differently in Fife? I never knew. Of course, I’ve never been there myself.”

  “Well, not exactly. I mean, we dress the same as people here most of the time.” Nessa skirted her questions as best she could. Funny how quickly her mind was adapting to the language. Words were sliding into her head and off her tongue now as if Pict was the only language she’d been born to, and not one she had only ever spoken in private with her family. Already, somewhere deep inside, she was suspicious that the entire reason she had been born into that family was because she was destined to end up here. Only that wasn’t possible. Why would she be the one, after hundreds of years? She just didn’t have the ego to believe she was that special. Maybe other, distant members of her family had been here too? Maybe even Gram… Wouldn’t Gram have told her though?

  They were in one of the small, round, wooden buildings surrounding the broch. It was cozy but rather dark, since there were only two small windows, and the heavy wooden door was currently shut against the crowd of curious people still milling around outside, pretending to be chatting with friends about the weather when all they really wanted was to catch a glimpse of what was going on inside. She was glad to see that so far none of them were so bold to peek in the windows. It still gave her the sinking feeling of being surrounded; trapped. And then there was Angus, who was looking around at everything with great interest, as if he was in a museum.

  The floor was packed earth, and gave the whole room a dusty, clay-like smell, which wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It was kept bare and smooth with a large straw broom that leaned against the wall near the doorframe. The entire center of the room was taken up by a stone hearth, which was round and several layers high, with a large iron pot hanging over it on an iron tripod and chain. She wished there were a fire burning to warm her up.

  She shivered again, and Petra shoved the clothing at her insistently. Nessa took a tunic from her and fingered the fabric. It was soft and finely woven—linen, if she wasn’t mistaken, and dyed a dark blue. She had perhaps imagined that the fabric her ancestors had worn to be courser or more primitive in some way. This cloth was beautiful.

  Petra watched her study the clothing. “Is it not to your liking? Should I find you something else to wear?”

  “No…no this is fine. I just…well, I don’t usually undress in front of my uncle. Or other men.” She tilted her head to indicate the man who had brought Angus in, who was now standing in front of the closed door. He was watching her intently, as if waiting for a private show denied to all the others outside. Meanwhile, Angus still wandered around, studying the sparse furniture and poking into a few boxes and bowls that lined a single shelf against the rounded wall. The shelf had been carved to perfectly fit the curve of the wall. She looked more closely. Were some of those bowls and cups made of gold?

  There was a firm knock at the door, and the man guarding it jumped to attention, making way for—the door opened—the King. It shut behind him with a loud bang and the guard moved back into place.

  Nessa’s heart picked up speed. That strange sense of something washed over her again. It was as if she was trying to remember something that was playing at the edge of her mind, but she just couldn’t grasp it.

  Bridei looked her up and down, once more all but ignoring Angus. “You’re still wet. Why haven’t you changed clothing?”

  “She doesn’t undress in front of men”, Petra told him, as if it were the oddest thing she’d ever heard. “Not even her own uncle. The people of Fife must be so much stranger than I knew.”

  Especially not my own uncle, Nessa thought. She wasn’t a prude by any means, but being naked in front of Angus? Ick. She could probably live with the other man seeing her nude if it came down to it; modesty really wasn’t her biggest problem right now.

  Bridei moved closer to her. He had the strength and grace of a panther, she thought. And the closer he came, the faster her heart seemed to beat, until it was beating even faster than the butterfly wings in her stomach. He stopped just in front of her, reached out and took her chin in his hand, stepping too closely into her space. This time it was a gesture of control, rather than affection, as with Veda.

  “So shy? Are you hiding something beneath your clothing that you don’t wish us to see? A weapon, perhaps?”

  “No…I…”

  His nostrils flared, and for a moment she almost imagined his eyes had widened in surprise. He abruptly dropped his hand from her chin.

  “You… what?”

  Nessa could feel her face heating. She couldn’t fathom why this was such a big deal to her when her life was in danger. Talk about ingrained cultural taboo. “My uncle has never seen me without clothes on.”

  Bridei seemed to consider this for a moment. “I know of a people who insist on keeping their skin covered from each other as if their bodies are shameful to them. They call themselves Christians. Their priests are always coming to me, trying to convince me to follow their Christ. I send them away. Skin is meant to know the sun and feel the sea-breeze.”

  Nessa’s mind raced. Send them away…was this a way out? “How do you know I’m not a Christian priest then?”

  He looked amused. “Because only men come to me. The followers of this Christ keep their women subdued and silent. And covered from head to foot in thick woolen cloth. You are not dressed like a Christian woman, lass.”

  Bridei turned and nodded to the man at the door. “Take the uncle to the hall and tend to him there.”

  Nessa had never seen such a look of abject disappointment, but he obeyed immediately, corralling Angus and leading him away. Damn, she was so stupid! Why couldn’t she just have dressed in front of him? Maybe they could have stayed together longer. Maybe even long enough to get away.

  “Wait, will I get to see him later? Angus!” She started towards the door, but her progress was stopped short by Bridei’s hand on her arm.

  “Don’t worry Ness”, Angus called to her. “I’ll come back for you later. You just wait here and stay out of trouble.”

  “No, you stay out of trouble!” She pulled at her arm. “Let go of me!” The King released her with a dark laugh.

  “A fiery lass. Not a goddess. Not a Christian. Just Nessa of Fife. You speak our language quite well, but with a slight accent. One I’ve never heard before”, he said thoughtfully. “But then, we don’t get many visitors from Northumbrian strongholds, at least not since the last rebellion.”

  Nessa felt a wave of panic wash over her. Why had she said Fife? She had read the text a hundred times. She knew these people were basically at war with the lands to the south. Why couldn’t she have said Dal Riata, or even Ireland? Norway would have done just fine. But noooo, she had to tell him she was from bloody Fife!

  “Umm.. Pictish is my mother’s tongue. I grew up in Fife, where my father is from.” Where they spoke what, English? Old English. Really old. She wouldn’t understand a word of it. The language had changed too much in a thousand years. She would just have to hope she didn’t meet any English speakers while she was here. It couldn’t possibly take long before she managed to find Angus and get them both back to the well. A few days at most. Then she would be back home, taking care of the farm, visiting Gram, going out with Nathan to their favorite restaurant…

  “Why are you here?” Bridei had circled around and was standing in front of her, his dark eyes missing nothing. She could smell him; an enticingly exotic, masculine scent that rose from his warm skin. The tattoos marking his face made him look primitive and uncivilized. Because he is, Nessa! she reminded herself.

  She mentally shook herself. Think, Nessa. Think fast! “I…we…my uncle was taking me north. We got a little lost.” She tripped over her words in part because she was freezing an
d her teeth had begun to chatter again. Finally giving up on her pride in favor of warmth, she shoved the dry tunic at Bridei so she could take off her damp, clinging t-shirt, not even caring that he was watching. The last thing she needed was hypothermia on top of all her other problems. She left the bra on though, tossing her wet shirt onto a wooden stool and reaching again for the tunic. It slid over her head, coming to a rest just below her knees. She’d noticed the other women had hiked theirs up shorter and belted them at the waist, but she needed all the warmth she could get. And she didn’t have a belt. She pulled the tunic up in the front just far enough to unfasten her jeans. The soggy denim was tight and stiff, and she had to struggle, shimmying and wiggling the fabric down her legs, letting the tunic fall in place after it.

  “He was escorting you to be married?” Bridei asked. His voice was a little huskier than before, his nostrils flaring slightly again as he watched her wrestle the wet fabric from her body. Men. They were apparently the same in any time.

  And of course he’d assumed she was going to get married; after all, why else would a woman be travelling from home, if not to become the property of a man? Little did the King know that Nathan had been trying for months to eke even a solid commitment out of her. She just couldn’t bring herself to settle down. But on the other hand, what a good, plausible reason for her to be travelling…

  “Aye. My father has arranged for me to marry…um, a friend of a friend. That’s where I was going. When we got lost.”

  “Whom are you to wed?”

  “I can’t say. It’s a secret arrangement.”

  “A secret marriage? For what purpose? Are you with child?”

  His eyes fell to her slim waist and flat stomach.

  “No! No, of course not.” She knew from her books that the Picts didn’t condone children outside of marriage any more than modern day Scots did, though that was changing in Scotland and elsewhere. But here, now, there was a structure to society, a time and place for children, which the Picts cherished as gifts from the gods and symbols of prosperity. No, she wasn’t pregnant, but she was reminded that she was due to start her period any moment now. Great. It had better hold off until she could get out of here.

  “Give me your father’s name.”

  “Malcolm Brodie.” That had been her grandfather’s name, not her father’s. She sincerely hoped there weren’t any Malcolm Brodies currently living in Fife who were about to meet with trouble they didn’t deserve.

  Bridei pulled Petra aside and whispered instructions to her. Then he took one last pensive look at Nessa, and simply left.

  Bridei signaled to Namet from across the yard, then went into the broch, sinking into his chair; the King’s chair, where he sat to listen to his people, settle disputes, judge the guilty, and on occasion plan for battle. But now he waited for Namet with his body still stirred and aching from his recent encounter with the mysterious and beautiful woman in his roundhouse, and not enough time to do anything about it. He shifted uncomfortably. The lass, Nessa of Fife, Not a Goddess—his lips quirked at that—was something to behold. Oh aye, he had wanted her, from the first moment he’d set eyes on her, dripping wet and looking much like a half-drowned pup, with her long, exotically golden hair falling in sodden ringlets around her face. What man wouldn’t? He couldn’t remember his body ever responding so powerfully to an attractive woman, but it was her scent that had done him in. It was achingly similar to the sweet smell that had haunted his dreams ever since that night on the shore near Orkney. That scent alone was enough to make him throb with need, and he wondered why it was so.

  It was such a shame that he couldn’t bed her, even if it turned out she was just a harmless lass and not an enemy after all. He had rules about such things, and it was rules that made him a powerful King. Many women would do anything to share his bed, and some would try to bend his will with their bodies. He was above such things. No woman could sway his mind, let alone his heart. His heart belonged solely to the people he led and protected. But ah, gods…if only he could have his hands on…

  His thoughts were interrupted when Namet appeared, pulling up a chair to sit in front of him, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

  “Tell me, Namet.”

  “He rambled a lot. Much of what he said made no sense. But all in all, he claims he and the lass are here from a future time, and he is trying to save us all from destruction by a tribe called the Vikings.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a tribe.”

  “Neither have I, though I think he may be referring to the Northmen, by the way he described them when I asked. It doesn’t matter anyway, because the lunatic says he didn’t land in the right time at all, that he meant to arrive three hundred years from now.”

  Bridei’s eyebrows drew together. “Do you believe him?”

  “Of course not. The man is crazy. Even the lass seems to know that. What did she say?”

  “Their stories don’t match. One of them is lying…or both.” Bridei sighed, started to lean back in his chair, then thought better of it. He didn’t need to display his lust for the lass, not even in front of his most trusted advisor. “I’m afraid that we may have yet another spy on our hands.”

  “They’re nothing like the last ones”, Namet pointed out.

  The last two caught spying on him had had their heads returned to Ecgfrith in a turnip sack.

  “No, they’re certainly not.” The now-headless ones had been sly; cunning. Their story had been seamless, their words convincing in all things. It was only his extreme caution and perseverance that had rooted them out. Since then, he had trusted no one.

  Namet nodded in agreement. “What kind of spies don’t have their story straight ahead of time? There’s something strange going on here. They could have been hiding in the well for days, coming out only after dark. Who knows what they could have learned?”

  “And only when the priestesses arrived…”

  “They had to show themselves.”

  “Perhaps Ecgfrith is wise, sending a woman and a bumbling fool. Who would suspect them of treachery?”

  “It may not be Ecgfrith, though I agree he is the most likely. We do have other enemies to consider. There may even be some among the tribes of Orkney who still refuse to accept my rule. But you’re right, their appearance is too strange not to take every precaution.”

  “What will we do with them?” Namet asked.

  “Leave the man to the priestesses.” Bridei’s mouth turned up at the corners in amusement. “I can think of no better way to break a man than with such an onslaught of feminine wiles.”

  “And the lass?”

  “I will keep her with me.” His lips curled further. “I would not ask any of my men to face a danger that I would not face myself first.”

  Namet laughed. “If that is danger, my King, then let me be the one to risk death.”

  Bridei gave him a half-smile that clearly said he was no longer amused. “Besides, you will be busy scouring the village for signs of any others who do not belong here. Tell the people that anyone caught harboring a stranger without my knowledge and consent will be punished. We will not permit anyone or anything to jeopardize the security of Tallorc.”

  Nessa spun around in the tunic, letting it swish and wrap around her legs, while her arms were half-bared by the elbow-length sleeves. Apparently she didn’t warrant a belt with a golden buckle like the other women wore, but the fabric was remarkably soft, and there was a thin band of braided threads adorning the hem. She was allowed to keep her sandals, but Petra had taken away her jeans and t-shirt.

  She finally had a moment alone to let everything sink in. I absolutely cannot believe I am here in seventh century Scotland. This is crazy.

  “This is absolutely crazy”, she said out loud to the empty room. Ever since she’d been left alone (locked in, but left alone), she’d been going back and forth between the edges of panic and fascination, walking on a very thin tightrope. She needed to make a plan, to keep herse
lf from falling over the edge.

  She had to get out of here; that was for certain. She had to find Angus, get them both back to that infernal well, and go home to Gram and Nathan. There…she had a plan. Okay, it wasn’t much of a plan, but it gave her just enough purpose to stay calm and not freak out. Freaking out would only make things worse. She was okay. Angus was close. She would find him. He was a genius and knew how to get them home. Everything was going to be fine.

  The door opened.

  And once again he took her breath away on the wings of those damned butterflies.

  “Bridei”, she said, as if she needed to remind herself again just who he was. He tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving her.

  “Lass.” In the dim indoor light, the black tattoos on his face stood out starkly, making him seem slightly menacing. She knew who he was, and how he’d kept his power for all these years. How he’d won so many battles and cowed so many people; entire tribes. He was merciless. She should be afraid of him, but she realized she wasn’t; at least not as much as she should be. She was more fascinated than afraid.

  “You’re coming with me.”

  “My uncle?” she asked.

  “Is safe.”

  “Prove it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin. She needed to know where Angus was if she had any hope of sneaking away with him tonight.

  He looked mildly amused. “I don’t have to prove anything to you, Nessa of Fife.”

  By the tone of his voice when he called her Nessa of Fife, she knew he still didn’t believe her story. At least not all of it.

  He gestured to the open door, and she grudgingly walked through it, careful not to brush against him as she did. “Can I at least see him later? Which building is he in?” There were at least thirty or forty that she could see, stretching up and over the hill. “We really have to leave tomorrow. My future husband is waiting for me.”