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

by Rebecca Preston

  This looked just like a witch's cottage that was for sure.

  Chapter 31

  They tethered their horses to the tree out the front of the house, which had a low-hanging branch that seemed ideal for the purpose. Karen carefully untied the bundle of shortbread from the innkeeper, hoping it was still warm. They were almost up to the porch, Karen bracing herself to knock, when the door flew open, revealing the short-statured figure of Maggie grinning at them from her threshold.

  "I'd heard I was to be expecting visitors," she said brightly, her eyes shining from her wrinkled face.

  Suddenly, the apprehension Karen had been feeling vanished, replaced by a feeling of warmth and comfort. Why had she been so worried about visiting Maggie? She'd met her already — she was a friendly old woman who only wanted to help. Sure, she might have her quirks, too, but who didn't? Was this how Karen had been received by the villagers? she wondered. Were the reasons for their suspicions as simple as that?

  "I've been wanting to talk to you," Maggie said, pointing one crooked finger straight at Karen in a way that made her feel a little uneasy. "To welcome you properly. We didn't have much of a chance to talk last week, did we?" Her beady eyes rested on the bundle in Karen's hands, and she started forward, smiling.

  "These are from Thomas, the innkeeper," she explained, presenting them to Maggie. "He was telling me you helped heal his back?"

  "Oh, that old fool," Maggie said dismissively, waving her hand. "No magic required at all, there. I gave him some oil and told him to lie still on a hard surface. His imagination did the rest."

  Karen laughed, delighted that she'd correctly guessed the real nature of the cure. "The placebo effect! I had my suspicions."

  Maggie's eyes were twinkling. "Maybe one in ten of the problems brought to me requires anything else," she said cheerfully. "But I'm pleased that word's getting around of my penchant for shortbread. Come in, you're both welcome." She liberated the bundle from Karen's hands, making an approving sound when she felt that it was still warm, then bustled inside with a vague gesture that indicated they should follow.

  Connor grinned down at her when she hesitated, nudged her in the ribs and mouthed, "She likes you."

  That was all the encouragement she needed — she took a deep breath, then stepped over the threshold of Maggie's cottage.

  The first thing that struck her was how unbelievably crowded it was. It felt like an old furniture store, so cluttered with shelves and tables that she could barely find a path through the chaos… and every piece of furniture was absolutely jam-packed with decorations, or jars full of mysterious substances, or candles, or herbs, or miscellany… for Karen, who preferred a more minimalistic decor, the place was exhausting to even look at. She could feel Connor by her side, grinning down at her as she took the place in.

  "Don't mind the mess," Maggie called cheerfully. She was bustling about, holding three mismatched glasses in one hand and a few plates in the other. There was a small table over by the hearth, surrounded by three squashed armchairs, and this seemed to be where they were being invited to sit down — obediently, she took the seat Maggie had offered her, feeling the warmth of the fireplace wash over her. It was strange — the place felt dark and close, but she didn't have any trouble seeing, even though the light through the windows was rather weak. How did Maggie move about so quickly without knocking everything over? Karen felt like she didn't even want to breathe, she was so worried about upsetting the careful balance of the little room.

  "Is Darter about?" Connor asked, glancing sideways at Karen as though a little worried about her. "Karen hasn't met anyone… like him."

  "He's asleep upstairs," Maggie said, her eyes twinkling thoughtfully as she fixed her gaze on Karen. "You'll meet another time, I'd warrant."

  "Who's Darter?" Karen asked, glancing between them. "Another apprentice, like Kaitlyn?"

  They both chuckled as though she'd said something funny. "Aye, in a way," Maggie said thoughtfully. "Though not very like Kaitlyn."

  The glasses were all lined up, and Maggie pinned an expectant gaze on Connor, who grinned and pulled the bottle of mead out of his satchel. The old woman clasped her hands together, visibly pleased, and Karen couldn't help but blink — had Connor mentioned the gift? How had she known it was in his bag? But she decided against questioning it as Connor poured them each a generous helping, and they toasted each other before she sipped cautiously at the liquid. It was absolutely delicious — like spiced honey that sent a warming buzz right through her whole body. Maggie unwrapped the bundle of shortbread, too, inviting them to take some. Not the healthiest morning tea she'd ever had, she thought with a grin, but when in Rome…

  "Now, how are those cows getting on?" Maggie asked briskly when they'd all had a piece of shortbread, as though bringing their little meeting to order.

  "Just fine, Maggie," Connor said around a mouthful of shortbread. "You caught each and every one of the sick ones, and every check we've made of the rest of the herds has come up clean."

  "Good," Maggie said with satisfaction. "You let me know once the pox have disappeared from the sick ones and I'll come up and see which ones can be returned to their herds without risk of reinfection."

  "How do you do that?" Karen asked, curious despite herself. "How do you tell which ones are sick?"

  "There's a knack to it," Maggie said briskly… and Karen got the sense that this particular piece of information wasn't one that Maggie was willing to share. "How about the other patients? How are they faring?"

  Connor glanced at Karen, clearly deferring to her — that pleased her, and she finished her piece of shortbread as she sat forwards. "Not too badly," she said thoughtfully. "We've got five sick milkmaids altogether — the first three, obviously, with two more diagnosed more recently — and maybe ten cowherders, plus little Malcolm who caught it from his father. With the cattle quarantined we shouldn't see any more cases of animal-to-human transmission… that just leaves community transmission to worry about. That's cases spreading between people who haven't had contact with the cows," she added when Connor looked nonplussed — though Maggie seemed to be following the jargon just fine. "And of course, … we lost six of the patients."

  Maggie tilted her head, a thoughtful look on her face. "Lost them?"

  "The storm last week," Connor said heavily. "The six young men who were killed…"

  "Ah, yes," Maggie said, an odd expression on her face. "An interesting event. You're saying all six had the pox?"

  "That's right," Karen said, frowning a little. "We found it when we examined their bodies. Pox all over them — not just on their hands."

  "Very strange indeed," Maggie said, and Karen could still see her mind working away over something — but somehow, she got the feeling that prying about it was a bad idea. If Maggie had something to share, she'd share it when she was ready and not a minute before. "Any idea what killed them?"

  "That's what we were hoping to ask you about," Connor said. "I've asked the scholars at the castle, but no conclusive ideas."

  "Well, I have a theory," Maggie said softly. "But I can guarantee you're not going to like it."

  Chapter 32

  Karen and Connor exchanged worried glances. The expression on Maggie's face was somber, and she even lowered the piece of shortbread she was halfway through.

  "Something came through," she said softly. "A few weeks ago — the Monster told me about it, but I'd hoped it was just Karen here."

  Karen's eyes widened. "The Monster — talks to you?"

  "Aye, in her way," Maggie said, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

  A thousand more questions rose to Karen's mind — but Maggie seemed a little annoyed to have been interrupted, so she suppressed them, sitting back in her seat, and taking another steadying sip of the mead. It was so delicious… she made a note to find out where Connor had gotten it so she could think about getting hold of some for her own stores.

  "She keeps an eye on the Burgh down there
— eats up any small Unseelie creatures that sneak through and comes to fetch me when something more serious happens. She helped you to the surface, too," she added, giving Karen a beady-eyed stare. "Said you were fast asleep, though."

  Karen stared. She'd been wondering how she got from the Burgh, which by all accounts was at the bottom of the Loch, to the grassy lake shore she'd woken up on. The idea that the Loch Ness Monster itself had carried her up to the surface was… well, wild, to say the least. "I should thank her," she said softly, glancing over at Connor. "I could take her a gift of fish, maybe?"

  "Fish, or meat are good gifts for Nessie." He smiled and then turned back to Maggie, a more somber look on his face. "What came through?" Connor asked. "Did the Monster say?"

  "She hadn't seen them before," Maggie said, shaking her head. "So, the image I got was confused. But I've got my theories. First — tell me exactly what you know about the attack."

  "Two of the men were dragged from their beds through the windows of their houses," Connor explained. "The other four were out checking on the herds — it was as though something swooped down on them and carried them off."

  "They were covered in wounds," Karen chimed in, wanting to help Maggie with as much information as possible. "Deep slashes, like claw marks from an animal, as well as the injuries associated with hitting the ground from a great height… and their expressions were terrified, too. I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd died of fright — some kind of cardiac event, not just the injuries and the fall itself." She hesitated, thinking of what she'd seen that night when she'd looked up into the clouds… the hot wind, the stinking smell in the air… "And I think I saw… I mean, I might have been imagining it, I'm not sure, but I swear I saw something like… wings, up in the clouds. Wings wrapped in shadows."

  "A few of the villagers said the same thing," Connor said abruptly, leaning forward with a look of sharp interest in his gray eyes. "I thought they were imagining it — they're a susceptible lot, and what with all this talk of people being carried off… but you saw wings?"

  "I think so," she said. "But it was hard to see… almost as though the clouds were casting shadows over them, or something." She looked at Maggie, who was taking all this in, quietly working her way through the shortbread. "Does that help at all?"

  "It confirms a few suspicions, that's for sure," Maggie said heavily. "Have either of you ever heard of the Sluagh?"

  Karen's face went blank. It wasn't a word she'd ever heard before, let alone a creature she recognized by name… but a shiver ran down her spine regardless at the heavy way Maggie spoke the word. Connor swore softly under his breath, and Maggie nodded grimly.

  "What's a Sluagh?"

  "Trouble," Maggie said flatly. "And hard to hit. They're incredibly fast and agile in the air… and those shadows they're cloaked in make them incredibly hard to hit. The Watch still has a stock of iron-tipped arrows, don't they?"

  "Aye, stored at the castle. I've put in a request to have some distributed to the watch here in the village — might suggest that a few of the Keep's best archers come down as well, if it's Sluagh we're dealing with. Are you sure?" he added, frowning. "I thought they were drawn by war."

  "They're drawn by misery in all its forms," Maggie said, shaking her head. "War's a common one… but there are no end of causes of despair."

  Karen bit her lip, hoping someone was going to explain just what the hell a Sluagh was. It seemed serious, whatever it was — both Maggie and Connor looked utterly dismayed about whatever the creatures were, and she could tell by the tension in Connor's jaw that he was more worried now than he had been before hearing Maggie's theory. This was bad. "What's a Sluagh?" she tried again, feeling a little out of her depth.

  "Of course. You don't know." Connor scrubbed at his face. "They're… well, Maggie, you know better than I do. I've never run into one face to face."

  "I have," Maggie said flatly. "Nasty creatures. Some of the worst among the Unseelie… and the enormous flocks they travel in don't help. No wonder the Monster had trouble telling me what she'd seen — those shadows are hard to see through at the best of times. You did well to make out wings," she added, giving Karen a nod. "When you get hold of one, they look like a cross between a rotting corpse and a raven. Great big wings with the feathers falling off them in chunks, flesh that stinks like it's been in the sun for days, more bone visible than skin… ugly creatures, and spiteful. They ride the west wind, and they're ruthless when it comes to hunting."

  She shivered, not liking the image this was summoning. "They pull people out of their beds?"

  "Aye, if their quarry is abed, they'll burst in through a west window and carry him away," Maggie said heavily. "That's what happened to those young men, I'd warrant."

  "Why those six?" Connor wanted to know, leaning forward. "Why did they take those men and nobody else?"

  "They're drawn to despair and misery," she said, frowning. "Plague victims, the sick and dying, usually."

  Karen's eyes widened. "The pox. Could it be the cowpox that attracted them?"

  "I suppose so," Maggie said, but there was something oddly hesitant in her face… and Karen made the connection soon enough.

  "But why didn't they take everyone with the pox?" she said softly, half to herself. She thought of Mary, for some reason — the poor girl had far more lesions than any of the men who'd been taken, and she seemed a great deal more despairing than they were. If the Sluagh were drawn to despair, why hadn't they taken the girl as well?

  "Much more to learn," Maggie said, frankly. "But what you need to know is that the only thing that kills Sluagh is iron, fire or sunlight. Once you're chosen as their victim, they'll hunt you until dawn… or until you name someone else to die in your place. They'll carry you aloft, drain the life from you, then drop you."

  Karen shook her head, thinking of the looks of utter horror on the faces of the men. Just as she'd suspected — they'd been dead before they'd hit the ground, the life drained out of them by these monsters.

  The rest of their morning tea passed in somber silence, and Karen felt thoroughly shaken when Maggie showed them to the door. She'd hoped that talking to Maggie about what was attacking them would help… but more information hadn't helped. It had only made her feel more powerless, more afraid… and more confused about what exactly was going on.

  Chapter 33

  “Well," Connor said, breaking a long silence. They were riding their horses aimlessly back toward town, though she wasn't exactly looking forward to getting back. "At least we've got a bit more of an idea of what we're dealing with."

  "But no way to fight it," Karen said heavily. "What if those creatures come back tonight? What are we going to do to keep the villagers safe?"

  "Tell them to stay inside and bar their west-facing windows," Connor said with a grim shake of his head. "Especially the ones with pox. We ought to visit the sick on our way back."

  It felt good to have something to do, at least. They rode up the hill to where Anne and Rhianne lived — both the girls were asleep, but they gave their mother the warning to keep the west windows shut. Karen was a little hesitant about explaining why, but Connor didn't flinch from explaining that they had a theory that a supernatural creature that rode the west wind had been responsible for the deaths of the young men a week earlier. Anne and Rhianne's mother listened wide-eyed, and before they'd even finished, she was bolting her western windows shut, shaking her head in dismay.

  They visited Mary's house again, too — as before, Mary was refusing all visitors, but they passed the message on to Cameron and his mother. The boy, undaunted, brandished a butter knife and told them that if anything came for his sister, it would have him to deal with. They visited the more recently infected milkmaids, too, and the herdsmen who remained — which left only Rosemary and her son Malcolm. For that particular visit, Karen waited outside the fence, feeling strange. It seemed the villagers were clumping together more as they passed her, shooting suspicious glances over their shoulde
rs at her. She sighed. She'd hoped that keeping to herself and staying out of the villagers' way would help them realize she wasn't any kind of threat… but it seemed that suspicions of her were only growing.

  Was there any way to prove she wasn't a witch, she wondered as Connor headed back out to meet her? Could she publicly bathe in holy water, perhaps? Wear a silver cross around her neck to prove it didn't melt or bubble her skin? How did a person go about proving that they weren't a witch, anyway? Wasn't the whole point of witches that they were hard to spot? She sighed, leaving the thought alone. No use dwelling on something she couldn't change. Like her mother had always said — what other people thought of her was none of her business.

  But it rapidly became her business when they reached the inn. It was late afternoon, and she could tell from the street that the inn was packed and busy — but there was something strange going on. Many of the patrons seemed to have congregated by the windows and were peering out at the street as though waiting for something to happen. She frowned, glancing up at Connor, who also looked nonplussed.

  But that wasn't all. Thomas was waiting outside the inn, his arms folded and a tight look on his face — some mix between embarrassment and annoyance. And she realized with a shock that the wooden crate at his feet contained the clothes she'd packed carefully away in her room — she recognized the fabric of a dress she hadn't gotten around to wearing yet, a gift from Connor. Why were her things out here on the ground outside the inn? And what did Thomas want from her? She had a horrible suspicion she knew what was about to happen…

  "Good afternoon, Thomas," she said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "Is everything okay?"

  "It's not, I'm afraid," Thomas said heavily, glancing behind him to the patrons in the windows — all of whom did a poor job of pretending that they weren't trying to listen to this conversation. "It's the townsfolk. They're not happy about you staying here."