by Katie M John
I did my best to act like the other young ladies around me, even though the corsets were ridiculously uncomfortable and the great swathes of fabric made it almost impossible to do anything properly, including sitting on the narrow wooden pew of the church. This lead to a lot of undignified wriggling on my part and sighs of exasperation from Lady McGarrick.
Even here in the remote Highlands of Scotland, a woman’s dress was a secret language designed to tell the world about the wealth of her husband, her world outlook, and her political allegiance. It felt like a veritable minefield of chances to screw up.
Church went on for hours, or so it seemed to the uninitiated but there were moments it got interesting, like when Reverend Smith began going on about how the local people must revoke some of the remaining pagan rituals and festivals that were nothing less than Satanic worship and would surely condemn them all to an eternity in Hell. His passionate sermon was punctuated by the slamming down of his bible and a ripple of quiet Amens from the congregation.
As soon as we escaped the gloomy church, I grabbed Glen by the arm, breaking him away from his fan club and asked him what the Reverend had been talking about.
“He’s talking about the old world autumn and fire festivals, that happen over the next couple of weeks.”
“And don’t forget the Night of the Dorcha Sìthiche,” Aileen added.
Aileen was one of the few girls who had been kind to me since my arrival. She was also one of the only girls who didn’t seem to have a thing for Glen.
“Dorcha Sìthiche?” I asked, with a really bad attempt at the Gaelic.
Ever so slightly, Glen shook his head in Aileen’s direction, as if to warn her not to say anymore. This only fuelled my curiosity even more and I waited for Glen or Aileen to reveal more, but they didn’t, and we we soon interrupted by a huddle of Glen’s friends.
I’d gotten used to given the cold shoulder by pretty much everyone in the village so I didn’t take offense when I soon found myself manoeuvred out of the circle and pushed to the edge. As I stood there, doing my best to look occupied and not bothered by their rudeness, the figure of a hunched over old lady stooping down, gathering something along the churchyard wall. Seeing no one was interested in what I was doing, I headed towards the wall. The woman sensed me approaching and raised her head, although her back seemed to be permanently calcified into an arch.
“You’re new here,” she said, fixing her busy eyes on me.
“My name’s Skye,” I replied, smiling.
“Aye, I know your name, lassie. I also know your story.”
She bent back down to continue her task, which I could now see was gathering mushrooms. The basket she carried over her arms was already half full of elderberries, rosemary and a small collection of odd looking mushrooms that I wouldn’t have trusted. I stood for a moment, stymied by the odd belief that she might actually know my story—my real story. But that wasn’t possible. How would an old lady like this even comprehend the idea of time-travel?
“Are you Meg?” I asked, remembering that Glen had said something about an old lady who lived in the village but wasn’t really a part of it. There was something of the old world around her and the fact that she had been one of the very few people not to attend church, I guessed that her belief systems weren’t exactly standard. Everything about her screamed Witch, especially as a small skinny black cat with bright eyes was winding its way around her legs as she stumbled along the wall.
“I’m Meg. Old Meg. Wicked Meg,” she said, more to herself than me. “You’d best stay away from me, child. You’re already cursed enough.”
My attention was drawn back to Glen as he called out my name across the church yard. When I turned back to say goodbye to Meg, she had disappeared. I blinked before scanning the area. There’s no way she could have moved so quickly with her bones so crooked.
I skipped across the space towards Glen and Lady McGarrick who was wearing her increasingly regular look of disapproval.
“Don’t run, Skye, please. It’s not proper.”
Glen rolled his eyes at me in solidarity and I could see he was fighting the smile from his lips.
“We’ve been invited to take tea at the Campbell’s. We’re due within the half hour,” Lady McGarrick announced before turning to speak with another fine lady in a fancy French hat.
It amazed me that they had no flushing toilets but they all wore the very latest French fashion, which wasn’t exactly designed for the practicalities of the Scottish Highlands weather or terrain.
“What were you doing?” Glen asked nodding his head in the direction of the wall. “You looked like you were talking to someone.”
I furrowed my brow. “I was speaking with Meg.”
“Oh, I didn’t see her.” He threaded his arm through mine and when I flinched, he looked at me with question.
“Won’t people chatter?” I asked.
“They’d talk more if a gentleman from the same house as the lady didn’t offer his arm.”
I shook my head and relaxed. “Besides,” he continued. “They already think you and I are a…”
The blush came quickly and I felt myself warm all over as I laughed, pretending the idea was stupid—And I wanted it to be stupid so badly because over the last few weeks, I had found myself falling for him. Hard.
And how couldn’t I? He was hot as hell, funny and full of mischief. He was a sunshine child in a man’s body and he was kind, a strength almost impossible not to be drawn to. Not only that, he was magical.
We hadn’t spoken of his shifting abilities since coming back to the village and I still had no idea how it worked in terms of when and why his transition took place. Was it a full moon scenario like with werewolves, or…
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, seeing I was lost in my head.
I offered him a smile. “Lots of things. One of them being how kind you are and how much I like being in your company.”
This time it was Glen’s time to blush and the colour suited him. “By the gods, you’re actually complimenting me,” he teased.
I nudged his arm and swayed into him. The sparkle of his eyes, inviting me closer. “I compliment you all the time.”
“No you don’t. In fact, most of the time, you’re telling me off worse than Nanny Fi.”
I stiffened. Was that the case? Had I really been giving Glen such a hard time. Admittedly, I’d been a bit emotional over the last couple of weeks, but surely I had a pass for that what with having been in a devastating helicopter crash, finding myself in a different century and being lost far away from home and the people I loved without any way of getting back to them.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly.
“What for?”
“Being an ass.”
Laughter burst out from his mouth as he scanned around to check that my sailor mouth hadn’t been overheard. “Well, maybe just a little,” he said, stopping our walk and turning me so that we were facing each other. His deep brown eyes searched mine and all at once, the rest of the world seemed far far away.
“I can’t imagine how hard it is for you, Skye.” His hand reached out and stroked a stray piece of hair that had freed itself from the ridiculous up-do Fi had insisted upon. Instinctively my hand clasped his and held it against my cheek for a moment.
“You’ve made it easier,” I said, not caring if I was crossing the line. I’d been desperate to say something to him all week but hadn’t found the opportunity. Now seemed about as right as it was going to get.
“Maybe all of this was something meant to be,” he said, cocking his head to one side. “I have the strangest feeling since you came into my life that…”
“Are you ready to go?” Lady McGarrick said, clearly wishing to interrupt our PDA.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
The tea with the Campbells had been hideous. Not only had it been a minefield of delicate china, too many big dresses and too small furniture but it had also been a minefield of too many questions. Glen ha
d been a great wingman, helping me dodge several of Mrs Campbell’s more probing questions, especially in relation to people she knew in London society.
When we had left, Glen told me not to worry too much about Mrs Campbell as she had delusions of her own grandeur and importance. We had giggled and bumped into one another, our hands fleetingly touching, our fingers passing over each other’s. I had snatched mine back for fear he might take hold of them and then we would be face to face connected and I couldn’t trust myself not to lean in and invite him to kiss me—god how I wanted him to kiss me.
Later that night, we were sat by the fire. Glen was sat with a basket at his feet and a sharp knife in his hand. He was whittling wood, carving a piece of pine into a small doll. He’d already made several others over the last couple of nights. When I’d asked him why he was making them, he had told me it was to pass the time.
And there was a lot of time to pass.
I was really struggling without the abundance of electronic distractions, and even though this potentially gave me lots of time I could spend reading, the reading material was limited and dreary; several leather bound books on agricultural science, a bible, a book of religious writings, a couple of Gaelic books that I couldn’t even begin to decipher and a small book of travel writing about journeying through the highlands, which was the one I had opted for out of pure desperation.
This meant I ended up spending more time watching Glen than was good for me. I knew he could feel me watching him, but for most of the time, he was absorbed in his task of carving the dolls, an activity that seemed more purposeful than just time-passing.
I reached forward and picked one up, causing Glen to look at me and raise an eyebrow in warning. I replaced it back in the basket and opened my book back to the page I had left it. “Don’t you get bored of carving the same thing?” I asked.
“That’s what makes it relaxing. I don’t have to think too hard.”
Lady McGarrick looked up from her embroidery, the other exciting activity on offer.
“Skye has a point,” she said, fixing her son with a stony stare. “Besides, you know how I hate those things in the house.”
Glen’s jaw tightened but he didn’t respond and the tension was thankfully broken by Fi bringing in a tray of hot coco and plate of supper sandwiches.
Lady McGarrick placed her embroidery back in the wooden box by her chair and stood, thanking Fi for her services before turning to say goodnight to both Glen and I. I didn’t think Lady McCarick and I would ever be friends but I was grateful to her for her help and her kindness.
When she had gone, Glen placed another log on the fire, poured the hot chocolate from the silver pot for both of us and filled his plate high with sandwiches, which weren’t quite the comforting sandwiches of home but toasted bread stuffed with cold cuts from the beef joint we’d had earlier. When I had suggested to Fi that she try the sandwiches with soft buttered bread instead and maybe stick some salad leaves in for garnish, she had looked at me like I was from a different planet, which I guess I kind of was.
I took a bite and snorted at the amount of horseradish she had put in, causing Glen to laugh. He spent a lot of time laughing at my expense but I didn’t mind. It made me take myself a little less seriously, something I had always struggled with.
Seeing him lean back in the sofa and relax, I took the opportunity to ask him about the festival Aileen had mentioned that morning. His brow immediately furrowed and a shadow crossed his eyes.
“I really don’t want to talk about it, lass. It has nothing to do with you. It’s for those who were born here.”
“So it’s secret?”
He gave a curt nod and stuffed his mouth full of sandwich making it impossible to answer any more of my questions.
“However,” he said as soon as he’d emptied enough of his mouth to speak. “The Festival of Fires is in a few weeks and that’s my favourite evening of the night.”
“Will there be dancing?” I asked, grinning.
“Aye, lots of dancing, and drinking, and mischief and firelight. It’s the night when all the usual clan politics are put to rest and we all celebrate the miracle of life and her seasons.”
“It sounds fun,” I say, thankful for a promised distraction.
“Lots of couples get together on that night and the run up to Christmas is full of weddings and more parties. There’s not a lot else to do in the village once the winter sets in.”
Glen’s mention of winter jolts me. I hadn’t thought I’d be here to see a change in the season. I just assumed that somehow, I would have been magically transported home—although the prospect of that was fading with each day.
“I need to find a way to get home before the winter,” I declared, eliciting a look of sympathy from Glen.
“Aye, I know lass, but I honestly don’t know how we’re going to do that. Perhaps you should talk with crazy old Meg. She keeps the old history, the stories of the other worlds. Perhaps she can help you.”
“Yes,” I said, feeling inspired and recalling the sense that she had already known my secret. “Maybe she can.”
“Just do me a favour and make sure no one know you’re going to see her.”
“Why? She’s just an old lady.”
“There’s already enough gossip in the village about you and I, lass. If someone sees you heading to see Old Meg, it will confirm their stupid suspicions that I’ve got you in the family way.”
I snort. “They don’t think that!” I say.
The cheeky grin on his lips tells me that they do. “Wow,” I mouth. “That’s crazy.”
He shrugs. “Maybe, but don’t think I haven’t passingly thought about how it might be nice if it were true.”
This time, my full laugh escapes and fills the room. “Glen McGarrick, it’s the fun bit beforehand you’re interested in. Not the baby.”
“Aye, maybe but I’m eighteen and a man now. A wife and wee bairn is something to look forward to.”
“Yeah, we’re going to have to agree to differ on that one. In my world, people don’t get married until they’re nearly thirty.”
Glen’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. “Thirty! Ach, you’re an old man by thirty. Why would you want to wait so long before taking a wife to your bed?”
The realisation of the differences between our worlds hit me. He’s had no idea girls and boys in the future hook up with a swipe to the right and then spend the night together without ever speaking again.
“You don’t have to wait,” I said, tentatively, not wanting to open Pandora’s box too far.
He placed his sandwich plate down on the table and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “They don’t wait to be married? But what about all the bairns?”
“The babies? People don’t have them.”
He throws himself back against the sofa laughing and then returns to his previous serious pose. “What do you mean, lass? You’re here. How did that happen if people aren’t having babies?”
I sigh and shake my head. “I don’t mean, never—they get to choose. They can take measures to stop women falling pregnant. A special type of medicine, or a…” I feel my cheeks redden. I hadn’t thought the evening was going to end with me giving Glen a twentieth century sex education lesson.
“A what?” he asked, not caring that I was getting uncomfortable.
“A barrier that goes over the…” I clear my throat. “That goes over the man’s you know. It’s like a sleeve made of latex.”
“Latex? What on god’s earth is that?”
“Do you think we can stop this conversation?” My corset was suddenly feeling super tight and there wasn’t enough air in the room.
“Apologies,” he said, picking back up his half-carved wooden doll. “It’s just your world sounds so strange. Can I ask one thing more?”
“Okay,” I said, bracing myself. “What is it?”
“People still fall in love in your time, don’t they?”
“Yes! Of course!” I replied
, not able to look him directly in the eye, because I wasn’t sure they did anymore.
He nodded as if satisfied, and I returned to my book and he to his carving.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next day, Glen was gone. And for two days after that. Neither his mother or Fi offered any explanation about his disappearance and I guessed it probably had something to do with his shifting. I was plagued by quiet fears all the time he was gone, worrying he might not come back or that when he did, it would be over the shoulder of a hunter.
Life felt empty without Glen around and the boredom I had already been feeling now felt even worse. In the end, I decided to take Glen’s advice and seek out Old Meg. I wasn’t going to get home sitting around and moping, and this wasn’t a holiday, no matter how much I kidded myself about that.
The heart of the village wasn’t very big and most of the houses were nestled together along the loch bank. The McGarrick’s house, or rather small castle, was the first property of the village you came across on the road to Inverness, then there were a few small fields, the church and then the cluster of white washed cottages that included an inn. After that, there was a steep incline and small tracks wound their way down from it towards more isolated fisherman’s cottages. It would be a day’s job to check out each one, maybe more by the time I descended and ascended each track and it was hardly going to be discreet if I had to knock on each door and ask if Meg lived there. I continued along the high track, daring myself to look down the cliff edge on which tall pine trees seemed to impossibly grow. It was so beautiful and in so many ways, no different to how it still looked in my time—not like London that was constantly morphing into something new and shiny like it was never satisfied.
The morning tidal mist had passed and it was a beautiful golden autumn day. My very favourite kind of day and it was good to walk now that my bruising and injuries from the crash had almost disappeared. The only lasting sign would be the ugly scar that ran like a crescent moon under my shoulder. It had been thanks to Glen’s careful tending that the thing hadn’t got infected and had healed as well as it could given the rudimentary medical access.
