Troubled By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Forever Book 6)

by Rebecca Preston

  It was hard to get back to sleep after that — she lay awake for a long time, gazing miserably at the ceiling as her mind raced. The fact that she couldn't remember her own death… that was what was getting at her. It was as though something was being withheld from her… as though a secret was being kept that she had every right to know. Gritting her teeth, she turned over, settling down into th bed, irritated by how much the dream had frightened her. She counted her breaths, trying to settle her mind with meditation techniques she'd learned as a stress-buster back at med school… and slowly but surely, she felt herself settling, felt her body sinking into sleep again.

  This time, the dreams were different. She was still in a hospital bed, but how she knew that wasn't clear — around her, the scene had changed dramatically. Instead of a hospital, all she could see was void, dotted with distant stars… an unimaginably vast space, yet somehow, she knew it was a room of sorts in a much bigger structure. And while she was as still as she had been in the hospital, this time it had nothing to do with being restrained. Her limbs were free to move if she wanted them to… she simply chose not to move. Chose to lie utterly still as a group of shining figures gathered around her, gazing down at her prone body… though how she knew they were looking at her, she wasn't quite sure. All she could see when she looked at them was light, a bright, searing light that somehow didn't make her want to shut her eyes against it, even though it was much brighter than the dark room that surrounded her. They were vaguely humanoid, though the lines that defined them were hard to make out — long, slender shapes, maybe six or seven of them, and as she gazed up at them, she felt a tremendous sense of peace.

  Whatever they were — whoever they were — Karen knew, on a level deeper than any instinct she'd ever obeyed, that they were friends. They were on her side. They wanted her to be well… and more than that, they were going to see to it that she was. She could feel them touching her, feather-light though somehow not tickling her… but it didn't feel like the touch of a doctor. It felt like warm sunlight through an open window on her skin, moving this way and that, warming her skin and sinking deep, deep into her body. The warmth began to move through her, through her veins, through the cores of her bones… she felt it gathering in her chest like warm honey, pooling and sinking through her, and she couldn't shake the feeling that it was repairing damage she didn't even know was there. When she took a breath, she realized with surprise it was the first breath she'd taken in quite some time… and it eased into her lungs as smoothly and easily as anything.

  The glowing figures seemed to withdraw a little at that, and she got the strangest sense that their work was done, here. They were retreating from her quickly, seeming to get further away even though she couldn't see their legs moving — she sat up, opening her mouth to thank them for what they'd done, for saving her from that dreadful room, for healing her… but before her voice could free itself from her throat, they were gone, and all she could feel was the brush of wet grass and the weak sunlight on her face….

  And then she was sitting up in bed, shocked and a little amazed by how vivid the dream had been. Dawn had come — there was light filtering in through her little window and she was feeling surprisingly well-rested given how many dreams she'd had. She sat for a while, trying to process what she'd seen. Karen had always believed dreams didn't mean anything, but given the developments of the last few days, she was willing to revise that belief… especially given how unique and strange that dream had been. Those shining figures gathered around her… it had almost felt like an alien abduction, except for how utterly at peace she had felt with it all. As though she knew, deep in her heart, that they were friends… that they meant only the best for her….

  "Sidhe," she breathed aloud, her voice oddly loud in the quiet of the room. Had that been them? Had that dream been a dormant memory of her rescue from her hospital bed? It was an amazing contrast. She wished, feeling oddly sad, that she'd been able to thank them for what they'd done… for the awful death they'd spared her from. Thinking back to the patients she'd treated for the mysterious condition she knew full well how awful it could be in its later stages. Given the choice between that awful death… or a new life in this strange place…. well, she knew what she'd have chosen.

  But she had no way of thanking them, she thought, biting her lip. Or did she? What had Kay said — the Sidhe always brought people here for a reason. Could she have some role to play in this town — some purpose to serve, utterly different from the purpose she'd served back home… but perhaps even more important, if beings like the Sidhe had seen fit to arrange things this way?

  She'd do what she could, she decided, filled with a new sense of calm and purpose. She'd do her best to do as much good as she could. That had always been her goal in life — and why should that change, just because her time and place had?

  Chapter 14

  Karen felt much better than she had the night before as she headed down the stairs. Her body was a little achy from the ride the day before — muscles in her legs she hadn't used for a long time protesting at their overwork — but her mind felt clear and calm. It was resignation, in a way… but a positive kind of resignation, a determination to do the best she could with the cards she'd been dealt. And it was gratitude, too. Things could have been so much worse… she could have been dead. Could have been languishing in a hospital bed, dying an agonizing death. Instead, she was eating a hearty breakfast in a charming medieval inn… and there was a gorgeous man coming to have breakfast with her, too.

  "How are you, Karen?"

  "Better this morning," she said with a smile.

  He nodded, searching her face for confirmation that she was telling the truth.

  He actually cares, she thought, and that sent a warmth blossoming in her chest that threatened to make her blush again. "Thanks for talking with me last night. It helped a lot." She sighed, taking another mouthful of porridge. "I mean, it's a lot to deal with, but I think… if I can keep busy, find ways of making myself useful here, that'll help."

  "Well, funny you should say that," Connor said, raising an eyebrow. "I was going to go visit the sick milkmaids today. Would you like to come with me?"

  "The girls who came down with the cowpox first?" She leaned forward, interested. "It'd be good to talk with them about any contact they might have had with other people in the village if we're going to stop it spreading too much between people. We can make a list of who might have been exposed, start working on a quarantine plan — " She hesitated. "I can also have a look at their lesions, too, see if I can help them get better quicker." Sometimes being an epidemiologist made her forget her first job — taking care of patients.

  Connor seemed pleased to have her along with him — he kept grinning over at her from the back of his horse as they rode up the hill toward the house where two of the infected milkmaids lived. He was merely glad to have some help with the problem. That's all, she told herself… but she couldn't help but enjoy having Connor's company all to herself.

  "There are three of them that we know of," Connor explained as they rode. "Neil told me yesterday that the three of them have been home from work for a week or so, now. Two are sisters — Anne and Rhianne — and Mary's the third. She's a little worse off than the others, from what her brother was telling me. She had a fall about a week ago."

  Karen shook her head. "Fever can do that — throws your balance off. Poor girl."

  They visited Anne and Rhianne first. The little cottage they lived in with their parents was rustic and charming. Their mother led Connor and Karen through the kitchen, apologizing for the mess — Karen could see soiled bandages soaking in a tub and smiled approval. It seemed the lesions were being cared for well. Sure enough, there were two teenaged girls tucked up in two beds in the room they clearly shared, both of them with bandages wrapped around their forearms.

  Connor made introductions — the girls seemed weary and feverish, but they smiled brightly enough as they were introduced, curious about the ne
wcomer. Rhianne was the elder by a few years, but both sisters had the same blonde hair braided neatly behind their ears.

  Working carefully — there were no rubber gloves in medieval Scotland, after all, but she made do by covering her hands with a piece of clean bandage — Karen checked both girls' hands, nodding as her investigation revealed the characteristic round lesions that indicated cowpox. They were unpleasant to look at, and both Rhianne and Anne made sounds of disgust when they saw each other's injuries, but they were otherwise well tended.

  "Your mother's doing just what she should be," Karen said with a smile. "These will heal in a few weeks so long as you keep them clean — and they won't spread if you don't touch them. Are you feeling okay?"

  "I feel dreadful," Anne said plaintively. "I can't stop sleeping. I feel awful about poor Neil having nobody to help him with the cattle."

  "Don't worry about that," Connor said firmly. "We're helping him out, don't you worry. You just focus on getting well."

  "Are you going to visit Mary, too?" Rhianne wanted to know, a worried look on her face. "We're worried about her. She's a lot worse than us two — she's got sores all over her."

  Connor and Karen exchanged glances. It was unusual for the lesions to spread beyond the hands and forearms — how had Mary managed to spread them elsewhere? They said their goodbyes to Rhianne and Anne and headed for the third milkmaid's cottage, promising to send the girls' best wishes to their sick friend.

  A young boy met them at the door, his blue eyes shining brightly under a mop of red hair.

  "Good morning, Cameron. How's your sister doing?"

  The little boy bit his lip. He couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old, but the look of worry on his face belonged to a much older person. "She sleeps a lot," he said with a shrug. "And she won't eat much, even though Ma always tells her she has to get her strength up… I've been helping look after her sores, too, putting bandages on and everything," he said brightly, puffing out his chest.

  Karen couldn't help but smile — though she felt a twinge of worry and resolved to take the boy aside later to make sure he knew how to avoid getting infected by the cowpox when he was helping his sister.

  Mary had her own room up the cottage's little staircase. The window was shut fast and the curtains were drawn — it was stuffy in the room, with the sick, unpleasant smell that gathered in small spaces where sick people spent a lot of time. Mary wasn't much more than a bundle of blankets, and Cameron shrugged his little shoulders when Connor looked at him inquisitively.

  "Mary? Are you sleeping?" Connor said cautiously, moving closer.

  The bundle of blankets stirred, and a face peered out at them — the same blue eyes as Cameron, a mop of tangled red hair, and a listless expression that made Karen bite her lip. The poor girl looked miserable.

  "How are you feeling?"

  She shrugged her shoulders, not responding.

  Karen moved a little closer, reaching out to tug at the sheets, murmuring to Mary in an attempt to soothe her a little. "Mary, I'm Karen. I'm a doctor," she said softly. "Is it alright if I have a look at your sores?"

  The girl tensed, but she offered no protest as Mary eased the sheets back. Sure enough, the telltale cowpox lesions were all over her — on her hands and forearms, as well as right up her arms, and on her neck and chest. She was wearing a loose cotton shift that covered much of her small, busty frame, but Karen could see that her legs, too, were covered with sores.

  "You poor thing," she said softly, but Mary didn't seem to be listening — her eyes were far away. Feverish, maybe — some people found it hard to focus. "Connor was telling me you fell down?"

  "I fainted," Mary said unexpectedly, her voice raspy and ragged. "Fell down the stairs. Got blood and pus from the sores all over me." There was something automatic about her voice, robotic, as though she'd made this explanation dozens of times.

  Karen frowned, something about it troubling her… but she pulled the sheet back over the patient, aware that she was shivering a little with the exposure.

  "That can happen," she said softly. "The sores are spread by contact… that's why they come up on your hands first. You'd have touched the cow's udders, which had sores, then they spread to your hands… and I'm guessing when you fell you broke your fall with your hands, right?"

  Mary didn't respond, but Cameron was listening intently, so she kept talking.

  "That might have burst the sores and spread fluid from them across your body. They'll heal soon, though. All you need to do is keep resting, and make sure you don't touch the sores any more. That goes for you too, Cameron," she said firmly to the boy.

  But there was something about Mary's expression that was bothering her.

  Chapter 15

  They left Mary to her rest — the girl was so withdrawn and quiet that they felt like they were intruding just for being there. Compared to her friends, who were poorly and feverish but cheerful, Mary seemed a great deal worse… though as far as Karen could surmise, they were at about the same stage in the disease. Had the fall shaken her up? That was possible… Karen had worked with patients who were in shock from injuries. But she'd looked her over for any signs of lasting injury from the fall, and aside from a few scrapes and scratches on her hands, she hadn't seen anything…

  Cameron was positively vibrating with interest, clearly worried about his sister and wanting to know more about what he could do for her. He was a good kid, Karen thought with a smile — he reminded her a little of her own younger brother, Stephen. They were a little closer in age than Mary and Cameron — the girl was sixteen, seven years older than Cameron, where Karen's little brother was only a couple of years younger. But still… he'd always wanted to take care of her.

  "What can I do to make her get better?" Cameron asked; his bright little face creased with concern. "I bring her soup whenever Ma makes it, and I try to keep her company and tell her stories to keep her spirits up…"

  "That's good, Cameron," Karen said with a smile. "Keeping her spirits up is very important. She seemed a little sad."

  "She is," he said with a frown. "She used to talk lots more. She must be really sick."

  "Just make sure you're careful, okay? You won't be able to help Mary get better if you get sick too. Make sure you don't touch any of her sores, even if you're helping to bandage them, okay? Keep your hands nice and clean, wash them as often as you can, and if you see anyone else with sores, make sure not to touch them either. Can you do that for us?"

  The little boy nodded furiously, clearly delighted to have this great purpose. Connor chuckled.

  "Seems you've got yourself an apprentice," he said with a smile.

  "Is it okay if we come back to check on Mary in a few days?" Karen asked softly. "I'd like to talk to her about anyone she might have accidentally touched, just so we can make sure the disease doesn't spread… but she seems a bit too unwell at the moment, so I'm happy to wait until she's feeling better."

  "I'll tell her," Cameron promised. "I'll make sure she's feeling better in a couple of days, I promise."

  "You're a good brother, Cameron," Karen said with a smile. It was a little frustrating, not being able to talk to Mary about anyone she might have touched… the girls back at the other house had said they hadn't touched anyone since they'd been sick, but that didn't explain the spread of the disease to the rather unpleasant young men at the inn. Karen had wanted to ask Mary about those boys… but she'd decided against pressing the issue, given how quiet and miserable the girl had seemed. It could wait for a few days… or they could find other ways of investigating how the cowherders might have gotten those lesions.

  After they'd finished talking Cameron through the best way to help with his sister's lesions, they headed off into the early afternoon. Karen's stomach was grumbling, but she had plenty of experience in ignoring her own hunger in favor of her work — but Connor clearly had other ideas. They rode their horses into the woods, and he dismounted by a stream, where some wide, flat rock
s caught the midday sun. Then he surprised her by withdrawing a wrapped bundle from his pack — several crusty bread rolls, and what looked like a pot of home-made jam.

  "I thought you might be hungry by now," he said with a smile, and they sat together on the flat rocks in the warmth of the sun. The bread was absolutely delicious, as was the preserved fruit they spread liberally onto the rolls, and for a while they were content to eat in silence, with only the gentle sound of the water rushing by to keep them company.

  "I'm a little worried about the cowherders," Karen said finally after she'd swallowed her last mouthful of bread.

  Connor was leaning back on the rock — he'd taken his hair out of its tie and it was tumbling down across his shoulders as the sun glowed from his skin… the sight of him was utterly breathtaking and more than a little distracting, and she cleared her throat hard, trying to force herself to focus on the task at hand as her heart fluttered in her chest.

  "What about them?" he said with a frown. "You haven't had any more trouble with them, have you? Thomas was saying he'd banned them from the inn —"

  "Not me personally," she said with a shrug — though she was glad to hear the boys weren't allowed anywhere near where she was staying anymore. "I mean the ones we saw with cowpox lesions. It's strange that they'd have contracted the disease."

  "How so? They work closely with the cows."

  "Neil said they didn't help with milking them, though," Karen explained. She'd chatted with the old farmer the day before, idly wondering how it was that the young men had contracted the pox, but he'd dismissed her theory that they'd been helping out with milking in the absence of the maids. "They'd have had no contact at all with the lesions, which is what spread the disease."