"Aye, I'd recognize those features anywhere. Aelfred, did you say your name was? Have we met at a clan gathering?"
"I don't think so," Aelfred said, shaking his head. "I've been gone for… well, it's hard to say exactly how long. It's rather a long story," he said with a hesitant smile.
"Well, I'm looking forward to hearing it," Brendan said firmly. "And your timing is excellent. Laird Donal is dining with his tanist shortly — I'm sure he'd be thrilled to have a kinsman join them and tell his tale. But forgive me." His eyes shifted from Aelfred down to Melanie… and a curious look came into his eyes as they flicked over her.
She realized belatedly that he was looking at what she was wearing. Jeans, modern boots, a raincoat from the future… she certainly looked out of place among these men. She scanned the walls and the courtyard, aware, too, that she was the only woman in sight.
"My name's Melanie," she said firmly, sticking out a hand for Brendan to shake. He took it in his own, a smile on his face as he shook it. "Melanie Orwell."
"Melanie, it's a pleasure. I imagine you're having a rather strange day." There was a knowing glint in his eye as he looked between Aelfred and Melanie.
She nodded, a little taken aback. "As a matter of fact, I am. I come from…" She hesitated. How to explain where she was from to this medieval man? How to explain time travel? Did he know about faeries, or whatever strange alien creatures had been responsible for her disappearance from her own time and appearance here in his? "I come from a faraway land."
"Aye, let me guess. A faraway land, unknown to any here, a land of strange steel beasts and electricity…"
Her eyes widened a little and she looked back and forth between Aelfred and Brendan, nonplussed. Had she gotten her history wrong, somehow? This man knew about electricity — she hadn't thought that was a thing, yet. "How do you —"
"My wife," Brendan said with a twinkle in his eyes. "She comes from Baltimore."
That word, on this man's lips, made her blanch. She might not have been an expert on medieval history, but she knew that Baltimore hadn't been a city in the medieval era. Was the dream falling apart, starting to contradict itself?
But Brendan was chuckling, shaking his head. "I think you need to meet her for yourself — her, and the six others who've come before you. You're not alone, Melanie. And you're in absolutely the right place. Now, follow me. I imagine the two of you must be hungry?"
Her stomach growled a little at the mention of food, and she nodded, still taken aback by this medieval soldier's knowledge of her country. It suddenly made her feel all the further from home, to hear him refer to it so casually… and now she was itching to meet his wife, this woman from Baltimore. And he'd said there were others… Maggie had suggested as much as well, back at her little cottage. She wasn't the first woman to be abducted from her home, it seemed, and brought here. Her mind raced as they strode across the courtyard together.
Aelfred was gazing around with wonder at the courtyard and castle walls as though he'd never seen such a strange sight in all his life. Maybe he hadn't. She supposed she didn't know what the Faewild was like — it wasn't as though she'd spent much time there.
God, this was weird. The amount of new information she'd taken in over the last few hours was enough to make her dizzy. So, she focused on walking across the courtyard, one step at a time. There was the faint scent of baking bread on the air, and she let that occupy her focus, too, looking forward to a hearty meal. Maybe eating something would help her think a little better. Maybe with a full belly, she'd be able to figure out how exactly she'd gotten here… and how to get home. Because as charming as it all was — especially Aelfred, she couldn't help but think with a grin — she wanted, more than anything, to wake up in her own bed at home.
And she was beginning to worry that that wasn't going to be an option for a very long time… if ever.
Brendan led them up the broad set of black stone stairs that lead to a pair of enormous doors set in the castle wall, at least twice Melanie's height and carved from thick, formidable wood, reinforced with iron. They stood open, which she was relieved by — she had a suspicion it would take a few men to move those great doors back and forth on their thick hinges. The thought that this whole castle must have been built by hand occurred to her, and she shook her head, feeling her twelve-year-old fascination with castles beginning to rekindle. This place was amazing. Dream or hallucination or complete mental breakdown, whatever it was — at least it was interesting.
They found themselves standing in a great entrance hall, with low benches all around its four walls, leading toward a great tapestry that hung on the furthermost walls between two high windows that looked out onto a view of the Loch. She supposed that that was the Grant house crest, but she didn't get much time to admire it — Brendan was heading for another pair of doors, smaller than the entrance doors but still rather grand, set in the wall to their right. The noise of their footsteps echoed through the entrance hall as they strode through it and then through the second set of doors, and Melanie's eyes widened as she stared around one of the most crowded dining rooms she'd ever seen.
There had to be a dozen long tables here, if not more — and each table seemed to seat at least a dozen people, all talking and laughing as they broke bread and filled their stomachs. The tables were all groaning with food, and as she watched she saw a few white-clad people scurry back and forth like waiters, clearing emptied plates and bringing fuller ones to a large central table that seemed to be dedicated to holding the food. There were bowls of stew, plates of what looked like meat leftover from the night before, roast vegetables aplenty — and dozens of crusty bread rolls that looked freshly baked, confirming a suspicion that had arisen when she'd smelled the scent of baking bread. The room was partially lit by light that spilled through a series of windows in its walls, but such was its size that a few lanterns helped to lift the gloom on the far side of the room, too.
They got more than a few curious looks as they headed across the dining hall, threading their way through the crowds of people. Melanie realized that men were looking at her in particular, and it didn't take her long to realize why when she caught a glimpse of a table mostly occupied by women. They were all wearing skirts and gowns! She looked down at her denim-clad legs, feeling acutely self-conscious… then felt annoyed with herself for feeling improperly dressed. It wasn't as though she'd known she was going to be turning up in medieval Scotland for lunch, now was it? Everyone could just deal with what she was wearing.
They continued through the hall, all three of them ignoring the sidelong looks and whispers from the gathered crowds. At the far end of the hall, on a kind of raised platform that elevated it above the rest of the space, was another table — and Melanie got the sense that this was a special table. At it sat two men, gathered around the top of the table, clearly in deep conversation about something or other. And at the other end sat three women, both of them staring directly at Melanie with identical expressions of curiosity, excitement… and what was undeniably recognition. What was going on? They were dressed like any of the other medieval women she'd seen so far, but somehow, she got the sense that these three knew what was happening…
But it was the men at the other end who spoke first. One of them got to his feet. He was a tall, handsome man with blond hair and a pair of clear gray eyes that reminded her undeniably of Aelfred… though they didn't shine like moonlight the way his did. He gave Brendan a curious glance, and the soldier stepped forward, clearing his throat.
"May I introduce Laird Donal Grant, of Clan Grant. And his tanist, Malcolm Grant," he added, gesturing to the man who had hastily gotten to his feet at the sound of his name. Malcolm looked a little younger than Donal — cousins? Melanie wondered. Or brothers? His eyes were gray, too, but his hair was copper-colored, and unlike the clean-shaven Laird Donal he wore a short beard which didn't take the youthful look from his face. "This man calls himself Aelfred Grant," he said, and a knowing look passed between the
three of them.
"A kinsman," Donal said warmly, stepping forward to grasp Aelfred's hand warmly in his own. "Welcome home, cousin. Which branch of the family is yours?"
"That's what I'm hoping to uncover, actually," Aelfred said with a chuckle. "I've been away a long time, I'm afraid."
Malcolm was looking at his face intently — studying those shining gray eyes, Melanie supposed, watching the thoughtful way he was looking at her friend. "I think I can hazard a guess where you've been," he said thoughtfully, "with eyes like those."
Aelfred's hand rose to his face in surprise, and he blinked a few times. "What about them?"
"My mother has eyes like that," Malcolm explained, exchanging glances with Donal and Brendan, both of whom nodded. "She says they were a gift from the Fae."
"Aye, that's where I've been living!" Aelfred said brightly, the look of worry leaving his face in an instant. "You said your mother was from there? I didn't realize the Grants were related to —"
"Not related," Malcolm said quickly, raising his hands. "She was a Changeling child, you see. Spirited away as a young girl, and returned — well, sometime later. It's hard to tell."
"The same is true of me," Aelfred said with a nod. "I was maybe five years old when the Sidhe took me away."
"And you've only just returned now?" Donal's eyes widened. "A whole life spent in the Fae… I'd imagine you've some stories to tell, cousin. Please, join us. And your wife is welcome, too — "
But Melanie choked on a giggle at the look of alarm on Aelfred's face at the misunderstanding. "Oh, no! We're not married. We just met. In the Loch, actually," she added, feeling a little self-conscious about using the Scottish word for it — but at the same time, suspecting it might be rude to use the English one, somehow. "I'm Melanie Orwell."
"Knew it."
There was something strange about that voice — a woman's voice from the other end of the table. The three women there, all of them in pale gowns, had risen to their feet and approached the little group, eyes bright.
"I'm Anna Grant," the shortest among them said, a dark-haired woman of barely five foot with a rather imposing demeanor and body language that suggested she was used to being listened to when she spoke. "Lady of the castle and wife to the Laird. This is Nancy, and Elena."
Nancy smiled and gave her a little wave. The taller woman was blonde, with bright green eyes and a smile that reminded Melanie a little of her father. The tallest of the three, Elena, was more reserved. Her gray eyes were cool and calculating as she took Melanie in from head to toe, and Melanie was reminded strongly of the encounters she'd had with policewomen when her cases had gotten too complicated — or unlawful — to be dealt with by private citizens. But the women's faces and demeanors weren't what she was interested in right now.
"You're American," she said sharply, looking straight at Anna as she finally placed what was strange about her voice. "Right?"
"That's right," Anna said with a grin.
"So am I," Nancy put in brightly. "And so's Elena. I'm from North Carolina."
"Baltimore," Elena said, tilting her head a little. "You?"
"Los Angeles," she said faintly, feeling suddenly well and truly out of place again. "What — how?"
"Same as you, I think," Anna said with a smile. "Come and sit down with us."
Aelfred was already deep in conversation with the men at the other end of the table, and Melanie didn't see the point in interrupting the family reunion. Besides, she was very, very interested in what these three women had to say. So, she took a seat with them, the thought of lunch forgotten as the four of them settled down together.
"Hang on — so you're Brendan's wife?" she asked, remembering what Brendan had said about where his wife was from. "Or is there someone else from Baltimore running around?"
"Brendan is my husband," the red-haired woman confirmed, a reserved smile on her face. "No other Baltimore locals around. Not yet, at any rate."
That sent curiosity alarms ringing in her head, but she took a deep breath. One thing at a time. Let the information come to you freely, don't go chasing it until you have to… that was her father's big tip when it came to solving cases. And this was a hell of a case and no mistake. Anna took a deep breath.
"So, if you haven't figured it out yet — this is Scotland. Medieval era, sixteenth century — toward the end," she added with a shrug of her shoulders. "If you're interested in that kind of thing. History buff, by any chance?"
"Not really," she said faintly, fidgeting with a splinter that was coming loose from the table. "Unless you count a phase of being obsessed with castles when I was twelve."
Nancy giggled. "That's more than I had," she confessed. "I'm a SCUBA instructor, can you believe it?"
"I mean, I guess that comes in handy with the lake?" Melanie said blankly. "But I guess you can't refill the tanks."
"Nope. I've been doing a lot of free diving since the weather's been nice, though," she said brightly, eyes twinkling.
"I was a soldier," Anna explained.
That made sense — her body language confirmed it. Soldiers always held themselves a certain way — Melanie was pretty sure it was designed to make them look as big and imposing as possible, and the fact that it even worked on a woman who was barely five feet tall was an indicator of how effective it was.
"Still am, I suppose, though I never thought I'd do so much work with swords."
"Anna was probably the most equipped to deal with all this of all of us," Nancy put in. "She already knew about swords and everything."
"How?"
"I was one of those nerds who studied sword fighting," Anna said, a wry grin on her face. "It was a weird hobby, but I've never been more grateful for anything in my life."
"I don't have any useful hobbies at all," Melanie said, shaking her head. "So — a soldier and a SCUBA instructor. What did you do, Elena?"
"Baltimore PD," Elena said simply. "Homicide."
"Yikes." She smiled. "I thought you were a cop, actually. Something about your face."
Elena tilted her head to the side, looking thoughtful. "You spend a lot of time around cops?"
"A little, in my line of work. I'm a private investigator. Or at least, I was," she added, shaking her head with a sigh. "I was on a job before I came here, actually. Hoping it got cleaned up for me."
The women were exchanging glances. "You've got to meet Helen," Elena said firmly. "She's a PI too. From an FBI background."
"That's a hell of a road," Melanie said, blinking. "But — but — okay, so, what's the common denominator here? I'm trying to see it, but —"
"Between our careers?" Anna chuckled. "There isn't one, I'm afraid."
"Then why are we all here?"
Elena sighed. "Because we all died, Melanie. That's why."
Chapter 9
Melanie looked back and forth between the women, a little taken aback by the bluntness of that statement. "We all —"
"Died, yes," Anna said, giving Elena a slightly frosty look, "though we don't like to put it that bluntly, generally —"
"I don't think we died," Nancy pointed out, narrowing her eyes. "I think we nearly died, and the Sidhe yanked us out at just the right time, healed us up and let us loose here."
Melanie fought the urge to laugh at how ridiculous that sounded — for all the world as though they were pets who didn't know what was best for them. "The same way my dad catches the mice my cat drags inside, nurses them back to health then releases them a few blocks away to give them a fighting chance?" she asked.
To her surprise, Anna burst out laughing. "That's exactly it!" she choked out between gales of laughter.
Nancy was giggling, too, and there was even a soft smile on Elena's face as she quietly waited for her friend to settle down. Melanie felt a bit of her tension ease, and let her shoulders drop. They were getting curious looks from the men at the other end of the table, and she grinned, giving them a little wave to indicate that all was well.
"Maggie di
d say something about that," she said quietly once the laughter had fallen down. "About how I was most likely about to die, in my — timeline, or whatever. But I wasn't exactly paying much attention. I'd just crawled out of the lake."
"Oh, I bet she didn't like that," Nancy chortled. "Maggie hates not being listened to."
"In my defense, I was still pretty sure I was having some kind of acute psychotic episode," Melanie pointed out, feeling a little attacked. "Or that I'd stumbled onto a film set or something. That was my prevailing theory, anyway — that all of this was some Game of Thrones rip-off they were shooting, and I'd ended up stuck with two of the most serious method actors I'd ever met in my life."
"Spoken like a woman from Los Angeles." Anna chuckled, shaking her head. "No, it's all real, I'm afraid. The whole deal's far too elaborate to be a film set. Unless we're in the biggest Truman Show of all time," she added with a grin.
"If so, the special effects are amazing," Elena said darkly.
Melanie got the feeling that the tall woman didn't exactly like joking about these things.
"Tell us about yourself, Melanie. What was the last thing you remember about the future?"
The future, she thought faintly, a chill running down her spine. Was her own time really going to be reduced down to one word like that — the future? The way the three of them spoke about it made it seem inaccessible, distant, like something that they'd dreamed once. Why had none of them gone back home? She could feel her heartbeat trying to pick up and she took a steadying breath, focusing on the here and now. "Uh, well, my dad and I run a private investigation organization. Have done since I was a teenager, basically. My mom died when I was young," she explained, smiling a little at the familiar looks of sympathy on the women's faces. Everyone always looked sympathetic. It was awkward to explain that the grief wasn't really hers — that she'd been too young to even remember her mother properly. It was her father who'd been most hurt by the loss of her mother. Still, she appreciated the kindness. "It's pretty simple stuff. A lot of cheating spouses and the like. Anything too thorny, we pass over to the cops."
Trusted By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance Page 7
