by Baker, Katy
She nodded and followed him into the small space. He arranged the logs in the hearth, struck his flint to tinder, and soon had a fire going. In the tiny room the air heated quickly, chasing away the worst of the chill. Lia held her hands out towards the fire gratefully.
"What is this place?"
"It was once a hermitage," he replied. "Carved out of the rock by a monk who chose to abandon monastic life for that of a hermit. It's said he lived here alone for over fifty years, praying for any who came to seek his aid and spending his days contemplating the glory of God. But that was many years ago. These days it's a way-point for travelers, a safe haven if ye are caught out in bad weather. Like I said, it's saved my hide on more than one occasion."
A faint smile crossed her face. "Well, I'm grateful to that monk, whoever he was."
"Aye. Get warm. I’ll see to the horse and find us something to eat."
Ross went outside and led Traveler to an overhang of rock that would shield him from the weather. He took off saddle and bridle, gave Traveler some oats from his pack, and then began brushing the beast down.
All the while his thoughts kept straying to the lass and his meeting with Irene MacAskill. Her words kept playing through his head.
There is always a choice, lad. Always another path to tread. Ye canna change the past. But ye can change yer future.
Ross didn't know what to make of it. His mother, Thea, claimed that Irene MacAskill was a friend to the MacAuley clan and that everything she'd done, even though it had caused much strife, was done for their ultimate good. But his father, Laird Logan MacAuley, thought differently. Despite Irene’s intervention to aid the clan, he didn't trust the Fae and for good reason. He and his brothers had lost the best years of their life to a Fae curse.
By the time he finished grooming the horse full night had fallen. Firelight blazed through the windows of the hermitage, announcing their presence to anyone who might be looking. Ross frowned. He didn’t like it but Lia’s need for warmth was greater than the threat of bandits coming upon them in the night. He made a quick scout of the area and once satisfied there was nobody nearby, he stepped into the hermitage.
Lia jumped at the sound of his footsteps and whirled around. She was sitting as close to the fire as she could safely get and the strange overcoat she'd been wearing was laid out on the floor. It still stank of rotting vegetables. Amazingly, her clothing was all but dry underneath. She’d taken off her boots, along with some kind of foot covering and these were laid out by the fire as well.
Ross paused in the doorway. Now that she'd removed the coat and hood he got a look at her for the first time. She had hair the color of warm honey, a mix of brown and gold, and hazel eyes framed by long lashes. Her full lips looked like they smiled a lot although she wasn’t smiling now.
Realizing he was staring, Ross cleared his throat and crossed to the corner where he dumped the saddle and his packs.
"I dinna have much in the way of food," he announced, sitting down opposite her, careful to keep a distance between them. "Here." He held out a bannock and a slab of cheese which he’d taken from the saddlebags. "There's ale to wash it down with."
Lia took the offered food and nodded her thanks. For a while they ate in silence, the only sound the crackle of the flames and the slow drip of water outside.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked suddenly.
He glanced at her, surprised. "Doing what?"
"Helping me. You don’t know me yet you’re going out of your way to help me out. Why?"
The question startled him. Why would he not? Did she not realize that was the Highland way?
"Would ye rather I left ye on that hillside?"
"No. But I wonder why you didn't."
The suspicion in her tone stung him to anger. “I've said I will help ye. Do ye doubt me?"
She snorted. "Doubt you? Are you kidding? I doubt everything! Even the evidence of my own eyes! Where are we going? Who is this person who can help me? And how do you know about time-travel?"
He didn't want to talk about this. He wanted to go to sleep, put this day behind him or else drink enough ale to pass out. That was often the only way he slept these days.
"The place is called Dun Ringill,” he growled, fighting to keep his patience. “Seat of the MacAuley clan and my father, Laird Logan MacAuley. But the person I'm taking ye to see is my mother, Thea MacAuley."
"Your mother?” she said, eyebrows rising in surprise. “What makes you think she’ll be able to help me?"
He hesitated. How much should he reveal? Long years of a solitary life, of constantly watching his back had taught him to guard his secrets. But the road to Dun Ringill would be long indeed if he had to drag her every step of the way. He needed her to trust him. He drew in a breath.
"Because she's a time-traveler like ye."
Lia blinked several times. The fire crackled, sending shadows writhing across the hermitage walls.
Finally, she passed a hand over her eyes. "Another time-traveler. Of course. Why not? Am I losing my mind or dreaming all this?”
Ross raised an eyebrow. "Does this seem like a dream to ye?"
She huffed a breath. "No, it most definitely does not.” She fingered her temple where the stone had struck her earlier. “Okay, so your mother is a time-traveler. What about the rest of your family? Is your father a magician? Your brothers and sisters superheroes?” She waved a hand before he could answer. “Sorry, ignore me. I get snippy when I’m nervous. So your father is a laird? What’s that? Some kind of chief? Is he at Dun Ringill as well?”
He glanced at her and away again. “Aye.”
“Brothers? Sisters?”
He looked at her sharply. He had no wish to discuss this "No. No siblings."
Before she could answer, he drew his sword and began sharpening it with a whetstone, the harsh rasp of the metal loud enough to preclude further conversation.
Lia yawned hugely. Her eyes began to drift closed.
Ross rummaged in the saddle bag and pulled out a blanket. "Sleep."
She hesitated, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Take it. Ye will come to no harm. Do ye trust me?" As he said the words, he found himself hanging on her answer.
She met his gaze and Ross saw something flicker in the hazel depths of her eyes.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I trust you.”
Ross nodded. "Then sleep."
Lia wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, lay down by the fire and closed her eyes. In only moments her breathing evened out.
He frowned to himself. Why had he asked if she trusted him? And why had it suddenly mattered so much? The lass meant naught to him. She was a burden he would be well rid of when he reached Dun Ringill.
He picked up the whetstone again and continued sharpening his sword. The rhythmic rasp of stone on metal and the crackling of the fire were his only companions as night deepened around him.
Chapter 5
Lia woke with a start, sitting up and looking around wildly. Her heart began thudding in panic. Where was she? This wasn't her bedroom! It looked like...hell, it looked like a cave!
She scrambled up from the blanket and spun around, taking in the strange scene. Only after several heartbeats did she remember where she was.
Oh hell. Oh holy crap.
This was a cave. That really was a sword propped against the wall. That really was the dying embers of a campfire that had kept her warm through the night.
She really was in the sixteenth century.
She ran her fingers through the tangle of her hair and then rubbed at her eyes. So she hadn't been dreaming or hallucinating. Yesterday really had happened.
She slumped onto the floor and began poking the fire with a stick, coaxing the coals to life. By the light pouring in through the windows, she guessed it was some time past dawn and there was a chill in the air. Where was Ross? Had he left her?
Panic gripped her for a moment before she realized that he wouldn't have lef
t his sword behind. He must be somewhere nearby.
Ross MacAuley. Her rescuer. His face flashed into her mind. That auburn hair curling onto his shoulders, that strong jaw, those deep amber eyes that seemed perpetually troubled.
She was surprised to find that she felt well rested. She'd slept deep and dreamlessly, the sleep of the truly exhausted, and now she was eager for the day. Today she would take the first steps on her road home.
Footsteps sounded outside, and she turned just as Ross stepped inside. He paused in the doorway. His eyes swept over her.
"Ye are up,” he grunted. “Finally."
He crouched, fished something from the saddle bag, and tossed it to her. Lia snatched it from the air and realized it was a piece of flatbread, somewhat stale.
"Eat. The sun has already risen and we must be on our way."
"Good morning to you too," she said. "And I slept well, thank you for asking."
He scowled at her then grabbed his sword and buckled it around his waist. He had deep circles under his eyes. Hadn’t he slept?
She took a bite of the bannock and chewed mechanically at the tough bread, watching Ross as he held his hands out to the fire. His shirt, she noticed, pulled tight over a body sculpted with muscle. His hands were calloused, as though used to hard labor.
"You still haven't told me what you were doing at the village yesterday," she asked suddenly.
"That's my business."
Right. So it was going to be like that, was it?
"Fine." She finished her bannock, climbed to her feet, and went outside. The horse—Traveler?— swung his head around to look at her. Then he flattened his ears and bared his teeth.
"Not you as well!" she muttered in exasperation. "You and your master are about as friendly as each other!"
She turned to look out over the forest. It was a fine morning. The rain had blown through, leaving the landscape clean and sparkling. Raindrops clung to the grass like tiny diamonds and a fresh breeze brought the scent of flowers. Lia breathed deeply, steeling her courage. Yes. Today was a new day.
She picked her way down the hill to a stream and began washing her face. The water was icy cold but she gritted her teeth and made the best of it.
"Did I not say we had to get moving?"
Lia spun to find Ross standing behind her. Jeez! The man moved as silently as a cat!
"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to sneak up on people?" she snapped, pressing a hand against her thumping heart.
"And didnae I tell ye to do as I say? This is dangerous country to go wandering alone."
His arrogance stung her to anger. "I can take care of myself!"
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Is that so? Were ye taking care of yerself yesterday when I had to rescue ye from that village?"
Lia snapped her mouth shut. Damn him!
He held up a hand. “Listen, I didnae mean to snap at ye. But ye must understand that ye are no longer in yer own time. Ye are in mine. Here there are dangers of which ye are ignorant. Last night ye told me that ye trust me. If that is true, ye must do as I say. It's the only way I can keep ye safe."
Her anger leaked away, and she huffed out a breath. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just that all of this is so...so..." she shrugged, unable to find the words.
"Aye, lass," he replied. "I know. The sooner we reach Dun Ringill, the better."
She nodded. "You can say that again.”
Ross looked her over. "The first thing we need to do is get ye some different clothing. Ye canna go around half naked like that. People will talk."
Half naked? She was wearing leggings and a T-shirt! What was half naked about that?
Think, she told herself. Things are different in this time. Women wear dresses and men wear plaid like Ross. You have to fit in if you're going to survive here.
She nodded. “Right. I guess we’re going shopping then?”
ROSS HADN'T TRAVELED this road in a long time. It angled south for many miles before finally turning west towards the coast. This road, if he walked it long enough, would lead him home. Home? He shook his head. He wasn't sure what that word meant anymore.
They were passing through a sparsely populated land of fir trees and scrubby willow. The road, as he'd feared, was little more than a muddy track that sucked and pulled at the horse's hooves making the going slow and difficult.
The rain, thankfully, seemed to have swept through and the day remained a fine one with just a gentle breeze making the fir trees whisper as they wove their way beneath their spreading boughs. Pine needles carpeted the ground so thickly that Traveler's hooves made not a sound.
Towards midday, the trees thinned and signs of life began to appear. Dry-stone walls demarcated the fields, cattle and sheep grazed and the odd shepherd could be seen on the hills, guarding the flocks.
Their road was skirting along a shallow valley between two hills when Traveler suddenly swiveled his ears and snorted in alarm. Ross tensed.
Lia glanced over her shoulder at him. "What's wrong?"
He signaled for silence. He cocked his head and listened. Then he heard it: cries of pain somewhere up ahead. He reached over his shoulder and drew his sword, at the same time grasping the reins in one hand and kicking Traveler into a canter down the track. Lia yelped and clung onto the saddle horn.
They sped around the lee of a rock outcropping and skidded to a halt. Ross blinked at the sight that greeted him. A cart lay at a strange angle in the middle of the track, one axle broken and the bed tilting into the mud. Several people crowded anxiously around it. From beneath came howls of pain.
"Damn!" Sheathing his sword, Ross swung his leg over Traveler's back and jumped to the ground. "Stay here," he ordered Lia.
"What's going on here?" he shouted, striding over to the group. They were crofters by the look of them, six of them, dressed in simple home-spun clothing.
They parted to let Ross approach. As he reached the wagon, he saw that a man lay trapped beneath. He was alive but his face was white with pain and the broken axle had pinned him into the mud, lying across his thigh.
Ross knelt, examining the broken axle. "What happened?"
One of the women, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, answered. “We were taking the last of the crop to market.” She pointed at the turnips piled in the back of the cart. "We wouldnae normally come this way but there was word that bandits had been seen on the east road so we thought it would be safer, despite the rains. But the cart got stuck. Old Bella cannae pull much these days and we couldnae get it out." She nodded at the aging mare that stood docilely in the cart's traces. "Murtagh tried to lift the cart, but the axle snapped." She clasped her hands in front of her, a pleading expression on her face. "Could ye help us, my lord? We canna get it free, nay matter how hard we try!"
The man, Murtagh, had fallen silent, his eyelids fluttering. To Ross's mind, that was a bad sign.
"Ye look like a strong lad," he said to one of the younger men who was watching with a slack expression on his face. "Get yer shoulders wedged under that end of the wagon. When I say so, straighten yer legs and take the weight across yer shoulders. Understood?"
The youth licked his lips then followed Ross’s instructions.
Ross crouched under the wagon bed with his knees bent and braced his shoulders beneath it.
“Now!" he yelled.
He pushed upwards with all his strength, muscles straining as he fought to lift the cart. On the other side of the wagon, the youth did the same. The heavy wooden rim dug painfully into Ross’s shoulders but he ignored the pain, forcing his legs to take the weight. But the cart didn't budge.
"Heave, damn ye!" he bellowed at the youth. His lips pulled back from his teeth with the strain, a line of sweat springing up on the side of his face.
The cart shifted a mere inch—but not in the direction Ross wanted. Their efforts, instead of lifting it free, only succeeded in pushing it sideways, shifting its position on Murtagh's leg. The man howled.
"Stop!" cried
Lia suddenly, pushing her way forward. "You're going to crush him! You'll never lift it like this!"
With a growl, Ross relaxed his stance and glared at Lia. When had she joined them, ignoring his instruction to stay with the horse? Lord above, could the woman never do as she was told?
Ignoring him, Lia crouched in the mud next to the broken axle, her head tilted to one side, her lips moving silently.
For two, three, four, heartbeats she remained still, seeming deep in thought. Then she straightened. "We need a lever. It needs to be something strong that can take a decent amount of weight. If we get the angle and length of the lever right, it will be able to lift far more weight than by hand.”
Nobody moved. The crofters glanced at each other uneasily.
Lia placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t just stand there! We can get this man out but you have to do exactly as I say. He hasn't got much time!"
The crofters stared at Lia with open-mouthed expressions, taking in her strange attire, odd way of speaking, and her total disregard for Ross's authority.
Ross rubbed his chin. Beneath the cart, Murtagh moaned softly. "Fine," he breathed, realizing he had no better ideas. "What do you need us to do?"
Lia turned, scanning the landscape and then pointed to a broken-down wooden gate marking the entrance to a disused pasture. "One of those posts should do as a lever as long as it’s not too rotten. You," she pointed at one of the men, "go and break up that gate and bring some posts over.”
The man glanced at Ross. Ross nodded and the man scrambled to do as Lia said.
"Do you think you could roll that rock over here?" Lia asked two of the others. “It might be big enough to use as a fulcrum.”
The two men ran over to the large rock she’d indicated and began digging it out of the dirt. Once it was dislodged, they rolled it over to the wagon.
"Good. Now, we need to lessen the weight. Take those turnips out the back of the cart."
The crofters hurried to obey, tossing the turnips into a pile on the muddy roadside whilst Lia knelt by the broken axle. Ross knelt next to her.
