It would have been a much simpler matter for him if she'd not spouted her tale about being from the future. He would have discovered what clan she belonged to and returned her to them if they were allies. If they'd turned out to be enemies, he'd likely have ransomed her.
Mayhap he could have worked out some kind of treaty between her clan and his. He was not averse to marrying to secure some peace for his clan. Although he would prefer a much more biddable maid than Kristianna seemed to be. As long as she wasn't a Campbell that is. He would rather do almost anything than try to treaty with them.
Now? What was he to do with the lass now? If she spoke the truth, none of the neighboring lairds or clans would have any knowledge of her. And, if he were honest with himself, how could he deny she spoke the truth? He cast a glance at her pack and the extraordinary items still strewn on the table before him.
Either she was a witch, or…he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Or she spoke the truth about being from the future.
Iain considered himself fairly well educated, but even he had a difficult time wrapping his mind around that thought. Wasn't the world supposed to end long before the numbers she'd spouted? All the priests said so. Not that he'd believed them, of course, but there were a great many who did.
He rose from his chair and walked to the window. Looking out at the meadows beyond the walls of his keep, he breathed deeply of the fresh, spring air. His whirling thoughts were beginning to give him pains in the head.
He'd grown to manhood on tales of the Fae mucking about in people's lives and stories of people who'd stood on fairy hills or in fairy rings only to disappear and never be seen or heard from again, but he'd never really believed them. He'd thought them all just stories parents told their bairns to keep them from misbehaving.
Still, he mused, Scotland had always been a land of magic and power. He'd noticed the difference the first time he'd left and returned home again. He'd known it the moment he set foot on Scottish soil again. He'd sensed it in his soul. 'Twas as if the land itself was alive, even the air seemed to crackle with anticipation and eagerness.
What in the name of all the blessed saints was he supposed to do with a lass who claimed she was from the future? Several hundred years in the future to be exact. Heaven forbid anyone else in his clan discovered her tale. The lass wouldn't last a se'nnight. He would be unable to keep her safe from the superstitions and fears of his people. Even in this modern age, old superstitions died hard.
Why he cared and wished to keep her safe was something he didn't care to examine to closely. Unbidden, the image of her stuck in the truck with her rear end aloft came to his mind, followed by the feel of her in his arms and his lips on hers. Iain closed his eyes and willed the image away.
He said he'd give her time to prove her tale, but how much time could he give her? And how did she think she could verify such a story? Mayhap he could pawn her off on some unsuspecting laird and still gain something from the exchange.
Ahh, but when he thought of her smile, and her eyes bright with tears, something tugged at his heart. He didn't like the thought of some other man kissing her, touching her, holding her. Those were precisely the things he wanted to do, all of them and more.
Bah! 'Twas impossible for him to feel anything in his heart when he knew for certain he no longer possessed that particular organ. Both of his betrothed wives had cured him of any notion he might have entertained that love even existed. To care for one's family, aye, that was right and proper, but to feel anything but kindness or duty was another matter altogether.
One day he would take a bride, someone young enough to train to his ways, get her with a child or two so he'd have an heir then leave her to her own devices. He would provide for her, care for her, see she was well fed, housed, and clothed, and let that be the end of it.
* * *
"The big jerk," Kris mumbled as she paced her chamber, her irritation growing with each step. She crossed to the door and glared at it. "Just who do you think you are locking me in here? You have no right." She banged on the door, "let me out."
The voices she heard on the other side refused to answer. She stuck her tongue out at the door.
"Look, whoever you are, you tell that bonehead laird of yours to let me out of this room right now. Just let me out and I'll be on my way." To where, she had no clue, but anywhere was better than here. Maybe if she traveled back to the forest, she could somehow get home. Maybe it had something to do with the heavy mist that clung to the trees in the woods.
"Are you even listening to me?" Kris pounded on the door again.
Had they left? She pressed her ear against the thick wood, but could hear nothing. With a longsuffering sigh of frustration, she leaned her forehead against the door. How long she stayed that way, she wasn't sure, but finally she moved, realizing she had to do something. She couldn't just stand here and wait for Iain to come back.
She crossed to the chair where she'd hung her nightshirt to dry after she'd washed it out the night before. Still damp.
Her head jerked up when she heard muffled voices on the other side of the door. She ran back to the door and put her ear against it again. She still couldn't make out any words, but one of the voices sounded distinctly feminine. Maybe it was Elsbeth come to rescue her or maybe someone who could help her, someone who could at least let her out of here long enough to hightail it back to the woods.
"Let me out of here." She beat on the door once more. "Please." She pleaded.
The door swung open almost immediately. Kris jumped out of the way, then stopped and stared, open-mouthed. In the doorway stood one of the most beautiful women Kris had ever seen.
Good grief, the woman would put any supermodel to shame. She strolled into the room with a noble grace Kris could never hope to achieve even on her best day. Her gaze swept Kris from head to toe and back up again, missing nothing. The woman's regal bearing made Kris very self-conscious of her own state.
She glanced down at her rumpled nightgown and tried unsuccessfully to smooth it a bit. She felt like the queen of grunge. Well, there wasn't much she could do about her appearance, as this was all she had to wear at the moment, besides her nightshirt of course, and that was still wet.
Thick, dark hair cascaded over the woman's shoulders in graceful waves. In dismay, Kris reached up to touch her own hair, which hadn't seen a brush in almost two days. Finger combing just didn't cut it. Her foray into the woods hadn't done it much good either.
Her grandmother's voice sounded in her ear "never let anyone make you feel less than you are, Kristianna Elizabeth. You are a bright, beautiful young woman with a lot to offer anyone who cares to take the time to look."
Kris straightened her shoulders and met the woman's eyes with as much dignity as she could muster.
The woman's blue eyes were full of life, although Kris detected a deep pain in their depths. She broadcasted a noble certainty and calmness that made Kris shift her feet nervously, though she tried her best not to.
She moistened her suddenly dry lips. "Hello."
"Good day to ye." The woman inclined her head a bit. "I am Sorcha MacGregor." She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her sad eyes. "You must be Kristianna."
"I-yes, I am." Who was this woman? Was she Iain's wife? Kris searched her memory for what she'd read about Iain, as well as what Mr. MacGregor had told her. Oh! Was this the woman that Iain loved? No, that couldn't be. Mr. MacGregor said she'd been a Campbell.
"I am Iain's màthair."
Well that cleared that up.
"'Tis a strange garment ye have there."
Kris followed Sorcha's gaze to the chair where her Pat's nightshirt was still drying, "I suppose it is," she shrugged.
"I thought mayhap ye would like something a wee bit more substantial than broth." Sorcha turned as Elsbeth bustled into the room with a tray laden with food.
Elsbeth placed the tray on the small table and smiled at Kris.
"Yes, thank you. That would be wonder
ful."
Come, sit, and eat," Sorcha took Kris by the hand and led her to the table, "and while ye eat, ye can tell me all about yourself." She broke into an easy, friendly smile.
"You want to know about me?"
"Of course, my dear. 'Tis not very often that we have guests. I don't know why my son had the bad manners to lock you in here, but I have my suspicions."
"Possibly because he's a big jerk." Kris mumbled under her breath. She heard Sorcha chuckle, however, and realized she must have heard her. "I didn't mean…"
. "No need to apologize, dear." Sorcha cut her off, "I know well what my son can be like. I also know he is not verra trusting. 'Tis a verra unsettling time, ye understand, and to trust to easily could mean a great deal of danger to all of us just now."
"I'm sure it is, but he's still a jerk," Kris grumbled.
"I heard a bit of commotion a short while ago." Sorcha ignored that last statement, "I assume it had to do with you?"
Kris said nothing, just nodded again. How much could she tell this woman? Could she trust her? How would she react if Kris told her the truth? Did she even dare to give out the whole truth, even about being a Campbell, when currently stuck in a century where Campbell's and MacGregor's were mortal enemies?
"Ye have nothing to fear from me." Sorcha placed a gentle hand on her. "I will cause ye no harm. I may even be able to help in some way if ye tell me your story."
Kris sat back in her chair, not sure what to do. Tears stung her eyes and though she tried desperately to hold them back, they slowly found their way down her cheeks.
"Ye poor dear." Sorcha was immediately at her side. The concern in the older woman's voice, and the gentleness of her touch only served to bring more tears. Kris always found it hard to stop the tears once they started. And even more difficult to stop when she had someone to comfort her. That's why she didn't let herself cry very often. She was certain it didn't help the situation much now, seeing that she had been close to tears since she had come to terms with the fact that she was indeed stuck in the past, with little or no chance of ever getting home.
Sorcha wrapped her arms around Kris, rocking her gently while making soothing noises. She glanced at Elsbeth, who only shrugged. After several minutes, Kris' sobs slowed and finally stopped. She wiped her eyes with the damp cloth Sorcha handed her, and blew her nose. She had to stop giving in to these outbursts. She hadn't cried this much ever, not even when she'd broken up with David.
"Better now?" Sorcha asked.
"Yes, I think so." She offered a wobbly smile. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm not usually this emotional."
"'Tis quite natural, my dear. From what Elsbeth tells me, it has been an emotionally trying few days for you. It tends to take its toll on a body." She sat in the chair opposite Kris, but held onto her hand. "Now, ye must tell me what is troubling you so. I always find it helpful to talk out my troubles. The sharing of them doesn't always lead to a solution, but it helps lessen the direness of them."
"My grandmother used to tell me that." Kris smiled.
"A wise woman then."
"I don't know if you'll believe what I have to tell you." Kris took a deep, but shaky breath, determined not to let the waterworks start again. She shrugged, "I'm not sure I believe it yet, and I'm the one it's happening too." Her voice came out helpless and frustrated.
"Why don't you tell me all and we shall see what I believe, hmm." Sorcha coaxed. "Why don't we start with your clan name?"
Kris took another deep breath, "my name is Kristianna Armstrong." She decided to wait awhile before she would divulge Campbell as her name. It was safer that way.
"I see. And my son locked you in here because you are English." It was more a statement than a question.
Kris nodded.
"There is more to it though, aye?"
Kris nodded again.
"Would ye like to tell me about the rest?"
Kris rose from her chair and paced the length of the room. Where to begin? How much could she tell this woman? Would she really believe any of it? Or would she tell Iain they had to lock her in a rubber room somewhere? She turned and faced Sorcha.
"I'm not really sure how I got here, or even why I'm here."
"Where is your clan?"
"I don't really have a clan as you would call it." Kris offered her a half-smile. "Where I come from, we don't have clans. My parents are who knows where, probably fighting with each other. My brothers and sister are probably frantic about finding me, but I know that's going to be impossible to do."
"And why is that? I am sure Iain could see to returning you to them."
"I don't think so. My home is in the United States. America." A look of startled surprise passed over Sorcha's face. But it was there and gone so quickly, Kris was sure she'd imagined it.
Sorcha cleared her throat. "And where is this America?" She asked, carefully.
"It's across the ocean."
"Do ye mean the English Colonies?"
"Well, no, not really. They aren't the colonies anymore, and they certainly aren't under the English anymore. We won our freedom from the English well over two hundred years ago."
"I'm confused again." Sorcha shot Elsbeth a speaking look. "You say you are from across the ocean, yet ye are not part of the English Colonies in the new land. Then ye tell me your country won its freedom from English rule two hundred years ago. How is that possible?"
"Well, it's, umm, it's because it hasn't happened yet."
"Kristianna," Sorcha rose from her chair, her voice filled with patience. She placed her hands on Kris' shoulders to stop her pacing. "What is it ye are really trying to tell me?"
"I-um," Kris hesitated. She took another deep, fortifying breath, then, "I'm not from this time. I don't belong here. I'm not even from this century. I'm from the twenty-first century." She met Sorcha's gaze, waiting for her reaction, praying the woman wouldn't think her completely mad, and have the guards come drag her to the dungeon to await her burning at the stake.
"The future?" Sorcha breathed.
Kris nodded.
Sorcha turned to look out the window. Silence filled the room. Kris watched her take several slow breaths as if trying to digest it.
"What year?" Sorcha asked in a whisper.
"2008."
"The future." She said again. Finally she swung back to meet Kris' gaze. "Ye are from the future."
Kris could only stand there and nod, afraid to say anything else.
Sorcha crossed the room and took Kris' hand in hers. "Ye must tell me everything ye remember lass. Leave nothing out. Ye said ye don't recall how you got here?" She shot Elsbeth another glance.
Kris shook her head, dumbfounded.
"Do you remember what happened before ye arrived here? Before you ended up in the woods?"
"You mean you believe me?"
Sorcha paused and looked at Elsbeth again. "Aye, lass, I believe you." She led Kris back to the chair she'd departed to pace and sat down with her. "Now, ye must tell me everything you remember. You cannot leave out a single detail."
For the next hour or so, Kris told Sorcha all that had happened since she'd gotten to Scotland. How she'd arrived, her stay in the castle and her research into the MacGregor history.
"Why did ye wish to research the MacGregor history?"
"Ever since I can remember, I've been fascinated with everything about Scotland. I'm studying art-history in college, and when I was offered the chance to come on this trip with my class, I jumped at it. I didn't really have any choice about which castles or inns we'd be staying at. I ended up in this castle. Well, sort of this castle. This castle in the future." Kris rose to pace again. It was a bad habit she had of not being able to sit still. Some people found it quite annoying when she sat there tapping her foot or swinging her leg, so she paced.
"Anyway, I saw this painting of Iain and well," she shrugged, "I was quite taken with it. With him, actually. He's very handsome. I have a curiosity streak as big as Montana." She s
topped when Sorcha chuckled. "Oh, oops. I mean as big as the Highlands."
Sorcha smiled. "I guessed your meaning, lass. I can also understand your curiosity. 'Tis said I have an extra-large dose of the like myself. I must admit to the truth of that. It has led me to many different things in my life, some good, some bad, and others quite wonderful." She smiled wistfully. "My daughter inherited that from me, sad to say." She frowned slightly; a look of deep sadness touched her eyes.
Kris wanted to ask her about her daughter, but Sorcha continued. "I have found that my curiosity has also led me into several difficult situations as well."
Kris nodded in complete understanding. Though she doubted this lovely woman had found herself anywhere close to the difficulties in which Kris now found herself.
"Is there anything else you remember?" Sorcha asked, before Kris could dwell on just how much in trouble she might be. "Do ye recall what you were doing, or what you did, just before you went to bed that night?"
"No," Kris stopped pacing and tapped her chin for a moment, then shook her head. "nothing. When I try to think about it too hard, it gives me a headache."
Sorcha rose to her feet and embraced her. "We will work on this mystery together and jointly we shall figure out what we can do. If there is any way to return you to your home, we shall find it together."
Kris returned her hug, "thank you," she whispered with feeling. "You have no idea how much I appreciate not only your listening, but your believing me as well."
"Ye must promise to tell me everything you remember, no matter if it seems unimportant to ye or not."
"I promise."
"Now," Sorcha was the first to pull away. "I will have Elsbeth see to bath for you, as well as some clean clothing."
Kris nodded and wiped her eyes. She watched as the older woman went to the door and spoke to whoever stood outside. After a short conversation, she returned and nodded to Elsbeth, who left immediately.
"'Tis all seen to. Ye shall be soaking in a nice, hot bath within the hour." She settled herself into a comfortable chair by the fire. "Tell me more of what ye did the day you found yourself here and we shall see if that prods forth some more helpful memories."
Timeless Mist Page 9
