by Bess McBride
Dark-red liquid seeped down to the floor beneath Iskair.
“Let me see the wound,” John said.
I reached for Iskair’s kilt, but he stayed my hand and lifted the hem himself. John shot me a quick glance and then pulled his sword from his belt.
“Aye, I can tend to his wound. Ye may wish to turn away, mistress. The wound is in a delicate area.”
“I’m the one who has been bandaging his wound. I know exactly where it is.”
Iskair stared at the sword that John set into the fire.
“Dinna let yer blade slip, John!” he growled.
“Nay,” John said. “If ye will stay, mistress, pull the bandage away.”
I removed the cloth, setting it aside.
“Ye ken this will pain ye, Iskair. Is that a flask I see there near the wall?”
“Aye,” Iskair said. He reached for it.
“Ye had better drink some. Then we must decide what to do about rescuing my people.”
Iskair gulped the whisky.
“We will give it a moment,” John said. “Know that I am grateful ye came to warn the people and took them away.”
“But to no avail. Angus found us.”
“Aye, he did that, but they canna get far with the women and children. We could catch them.”
“Overland?”
“Nay, we have the birlinns. We will set out at first light.”
Iskair nodded.
“Are ye ready?”
“Aye, burn the flesh.”
John pulled the sword from the fire and without hesitation, he applied the tip to Iskair’s wound. Iskair groaned and grabbed my hand. His grip was painful, but I covered it with my own. The smell of burning flesh almost gagged me.
“Okay! That should do it!” I cried out when it seemed John wouldn’t lift the sword. He lifted the sword, and I looked down to see the hole charred and blistered, but the bleeding had stopped.
Iskair closed his eyes, his face mirroring his pain. I wiggled my aching fingers, and he opened his eyes.
“Forgive me! Did I harm ye?”
“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “You might feel better if we leave the wound unwrapped for the rest of the night.”
Iskair didn’t answer, but John did. He settled himself on the floor, setting the still-hot blade by his side.
“Aye, a good plan.”
I readjusted myself to sit next to the silent Iskair. I wondered if he had fallen asleep. Across the fire, John looked at me.
“Ye are cousin to my wife, Ann, then?” He threw a warning glance in Iskair’s direction.
I shook my head. “Iskair knows,” I said. “I just told him. I know it wasn’t my secret to tell, but I had to tell someone about myself and that I wasn’t alone.”
John didn’t appear angry, but in fact nodded.
“I understand. I ken who ye are. Ann and Cynthia mentioned ye. Iain said a man came wi ye. Dylan Morrison? Though he called young Dylan yer brother, I ken he is no such. Ye are courting, I believe? Cynthia told us of her return to the future and about ye and Dylan.”
I shook my head. “No, that ended last year.”
“Auch, I am sorry to hear that. Is there no hope?”
“No, none. I don’t even know where he is right now.” I hated the sob that crept into my voice.
“I hope he is alive. Ann told me of Dylan, that he is our descendant.”
“Yes, he is. So despite all this darkness and violence, you, Ann and the children do survive.”
“So I have heard.”
I looked at Iskair, silent, eyes closed. “What are you going to do now?” I asked.
“We finish this.” A hardness settled over John’s face. Before I could ask more, a light appeared in the stairwell, as if some of the men returned. The large man named Torq appeared first, followed by Andrew. Others joined them. They spoke in Gaelic before several of the men went outside and others went back up the stairs. Torq and Andrew came over to where we sat. Andrew set his torch into the fire before sitting next to John.
Torq crouched on his knees in front of the fire. He spoke to John in Gaelic. John nodded and turned to me.
“I assume ye dinna speak Gaelic. Torq said he set men to watch outside and others up to the garret. If Macleod sent two men back to the castle, he must be looking for something...or someone.”
“That’s what Iskair said.”
Torq eyed me silently. Andrew watched me too.
“Hello,” I said. “You should know that I had to tell Iskair about me, about Ann and Cynthia, so...”
“It is a pleasure to meet ye, mistress, under the circumstances,” Torq said.
Andrew nodded shyly.
“You too.”
“We heard ye brought young Dylan wi ye?” Torq asked. “How is it that he could travel? I kent it was only women, and students of Scottish history at that.”
“I found the dagger, and Dylan had hold of my hand. When we awakened, we had both traveled through time.”
“Where is the dagger now?” John asked.
“In the water off the beach near the boathouses on Dun Eistean. A wave carried it off, and we couldn’t recover it with the incoming tide. We had no chance to get it before we had to leave the stronghold.”
John clucked and shook his head.
“Ye will need the dagger to return home.”
“Yes, I will have to go back there and try to get it.”
“I dinna ken when that will be possible,” Torq said. “Angus will have left some lads at the stronghold if he didna find ye there.”
“Did you stop by there on your way here?” I asked.
John shook his head. “No, when Iain told us the news, we came straight here.”
“By boat?”
“Aye.”
“I need to get the dagger,” I murmured, almost to myself.
“I will help ye fetch the cursed thing!” Iskair offered, opening his eyes. “When all is settled and I ken Dun Eistean is safe, I will get yer dagger. Ye and yer man, Dylan, can return to yer home.”
I reared back at the anger in his voice, anger that reminded me he was capable of great violence.
“Good!” I bit back. I saw John and Torq glance at each other. I had no idea what they were thinking.
“Sorry! Iskair and I have been bickering, and I’m not really sure why. Probably stress.”
John’s lips lifted slightly, softening the obvious worry in his face.
“Aye, stress, as ye say.”
Iskair closed his eyes again, and I tried to inch away from him without notice. When I had scooted away by about a foot, I looked up to see John, Torq and Andrew watching me. I shrugged my shoulders.
“Am I going with you?” I asked.
“Aye, of course,” John said. “We canna leave ye here, though in truth, ye might be safer here.”
“I don’t know if Iskair should travel.”
“Mistress, no only must Iskair travel, but we need him to fight,” Torq said. “We dinna have enough men as it is.”
“How many men do you think the Macleods brought with them?”
“We were about to ask ye that, mistress,” John said.
“I was away from the castle when they attacked. Down by the beach. I ran back, but I fell and hit my head. I blacked out. By the time I got back, it was over, and everyone was gone.”
“Iskair?” Torq said.
This time, Iskair did appear to be asleep. His curly head had slumped sideways. In repose, his full lips softened, and he looked like a handsome overgrown boy.
“He sleeps,” John said.
“He was with me on the beach. He hid me in the woods and then ran back. As I understand it, he was shot as soon as he reached the hall upstairs.”
“Let him sleep,” Torq said. “There is plenty of time to ask him questions when we set sail.”
“Aye. We should all sleep. Ye as well, mistress.”
“Debra,” I said, watching the men unhook the sashes of their great kilts to
spread them around their shoulders like capes. Andrew promptly lay down.
“Debra,” John agreed. “Rest now.”
“I’ll try,” I said, moving over even further so that I could lie down. The last thing I saw before my eyes closed was John and Torq still sitting up, silently staring into the fire with no obvious intention of sleeping.
Chapter Twelve
Someone shook my shoulder gently, and I opened my eyes to gray light. Iskair, standing over me, held out a hand.
“We must leave,” he said.
Groggy, I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. The fire was out. John, Torq and Andrew were just at the point of walking out the door.
Torq handed me the cup of water.
“From last night,” he said when I looked into it. I drank it and handed it back to Iskair, who tucked it into the folds of his kilt.
He handed me an oatcake, and I bit into it as I followed him to the doorway. He walked with a limp.
“Are you in pain?” I asked.
“A bit,” he said, “but I have no time for such weakness.”
He descended a few steps and turned to hold out his hand for me. I hesitated, and he dropped his hand.
“Mind yer step,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Do what, mistress?” he said, reaching the bottom of the stairs and looking at the men walking toward the beach. I couldn’t see the boats yet.
“Reject your help.”
“It is naethin. Dinna apologize. I ken ye are afraid of me. I saw the fear in yer eyes last night.”
“No!” I said, reaching the ground where he had waited for me.
He strode off after the men.
“I’m not—” I called after him but bit back my words. I was afraid of Iskair, although I didn’t think he would ever hurt me. I stared at his rigid back. To say that I was afraid of him and still know with certainty that he would not hurt me made no sense at all. But then what did anymore?
The men paused and waited for me, and I hurried to join them. We walked onto the beach, and I saw the birlinns then—two beautiful Nordic-style boats with curved bows and tall masts holding furled white sails. Each boat held eight oars, and the men on the birlinns moved around. The boats had been pulled onto the beach, and we wound our way through the mud and around rocks.
When we reached the boat, Iskair turned to me and spoke in a low voice. “I have to touch ye to set ye into the boat, mistress, or if ye wish, one of the other lads can haul ye up.”
John and Torq were busy climbing in and didn’t hear the exchange.
“Oh, Iskair! I’m so sorry.”
“Still no need to apologize. What is it to be?”
“You can help me get in, please.”
Iskair took me by the waist and tossed me easily into the boat. I landed on my feet and sat down on the nearest bench, next to Andrew. Torq reached over the edge and helped pull Iskair in. I didn’t know what Iskair looked like climbing into a birlinn when he wasn’t injured, but he seemed to manage just fine.
He took up a seat next to one of the oars, but Torq waved him away.
“Save yer strength. We have enough arms. We will have need of ye later.”
I saw Iskair shrug. Then he rose and moved toward the back of the boat. I didn’t have the courage to sit with him...or perhaps I should say the gall, since I had shown him my fear.
I turned forward and hung on to my bench seat as several men pushed the boat out into the water before jumping in. The other birlinn launched simultaneously.
The men began rowing, turning the birlinns out into the bay. I was able to study them then. Most were tall and solidly built, all with long hair either hanging loose or tied back. Beards were the norm except for Andrew. Everyone wore the same length of tartan—the muted red plaid pattern favored by the Morrisons. Among them, they packed a lot of swords, pistols and knives. Each man sported more than one weapon.
“I know you said that Torq was your uncle, Andrew, and Iskair is your cousin, but is one of these men your father?” I asked my bench companion.
“Nay, mistress. My parents passed some years ago.”
“Oh! I’m sorry.”
Andrew nodded but didn’t seem inclined to talk. I suspected he was more shy than anything. I settled back and looked over my shoulder to see the castle garret fading into the distance. My eyes drifted to Iskair, who stared at me without expression. I pressed my lips together and turned forward, self-conscious of Iskair’s presence behind me.
To Andrew’s surprise, I slipped off the bench and huddled onto the deck, pressing my head against the hull as I prepared to doze.
“Are ye ill, mistress?”
“No, just tired. This is okay, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” he said. “Or ye could sit in the back of the boat with Iskair. It might be more comfortable for ye.”
“This is fine. Thanks.”
I had wondered how I would feel floating around on the sea in a sixteenth-century boat, but the ride was generally smooth—at least in the bay. I had no idea what to expect when we reached open water, where we would probably parallel the coastline as we traveled north. As it turned out, the rocking of the boat sent me to sleep, and when I woke, Iskair was bent over me, offering me a container of water.
“It is from Dun Eistean, so it will be Ann’s special sort.”
He lowered himself to the bench seat where Andrew had been sitting. I saw that Andrew had moved and worked an oar. The boat rode the swells, and I rose up on my knees to see that we were out to sea paralleling the coast to our left.
“Where are we?”
“We approach Dun Eistean. They will take the birlinns further out to sea so they are no spotted from the keep.”
“So there’s no chance to get back to Dun Eistean?” I asked.
“Nay, I am sorry. We suspect Angus has set some men to guard the island to keep us from returning.”
“I see.” I drank water.
“Ye fret about the dagger,” he said flatly.
I looked up at him. “Iskair, if you were suddenly thrust back in time, wouldn’t you want to know when, and if, you could return?”
“Aye, most likely.”
“So yes, I worry about the dagger. It was my idea to find the dagger. I didn’t know for sure that it would initiate the time travel because I didn’t know exactly how it worked, but it was my idea.”
“But ye are sorry ye came.”
“No, not really. Well, I am in a way, but then not. I am conflicted.”
“Aye, I would say ye are indeed.”
I fell silent and took another drink of water. “How long until we reach wherever it is we’re going?”
“Nightfall. Ye will stay on the boat with Andrew while we go ashore.”
“Where is that?”
“Near Ardmore Castle.”
“So you think they reached Ardmore Castle with the hostages?”
“I dinna ken that they could move that fast wi the women and bairns, but we will be there afore them.”
“And then what?”
“Take the castle back as best we can. The Morrisons have nowhere to go. They canna return to Dun Eistean, so they must take the castle. It is time that the Macleods know their place.”
“What about the Macaulays? Won’t they come to the aid of the Macleods?”
“When I left, my cousin Murdo Macaulay had gone to visit some of his tenants. The deed will be done before he returns. He may leave things as they are.”
“It all sounds so...sketchy.”
“Sketchy?”
“Doubtful, uncertain.”
“Aye, it is certain that the outcome is uncertain. But they have no alternative.” He nodded in the direction of the Morrison men.
“Why do you live with the Macaulays?”
“I canna say that I do anymore. Word will have reached my cousin that I warned the Morrisons of the Macleod attack.”
“But the Macle
ods and Macaulays think you’re dead, don’t they?”
“Aye, let us hope so.”
“Do you think your cousin will retaliate if he finds you alive?”
“Nay, I am his kin. He will be disappointed, but he will no thirst for my blood. I didna betray him, and I have no allegiance to the Macleods. In truth, his allegiance to them endures only as it suits his purposes.”
“So, I don’t understand. Why do you live with the Macaulays? They’re aligned with the Macleods, aren’t they? Wasn’t it hard for you to raid the Morrisons if you’re related to them? Isn’t that how you met Cynthia?”
“Aye, though I didna take her myself. My men, Murdo’s men, did that against my wishes. Angus asked my cousin to harass the Morrisons. It suited Murdo to do so. His restless men enjoy a good battle.”
For all that I had studied Scottish history, I really didn’t think of the kidnapping, wounding, maiming and killing of people as “a good battle.”
“Why do you live with the Macaulays again?” I knew I sounded like a broken record, but Iskair wasn’t answering the question.
He sighed heavily. “Why must ye keep repeating the same question?”
“Because you’re talking around the subject. You’re prevaricating, lying.”
“Well, ye would ken something about that, no Mistress Donaldson?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s a separate subject.”
“Deceit, untruths—they are all the same subject.”
I lowered my voice. “Are you talking about my traveling through time? That I lied about it?”
“Nay.”
“Well, you seem to be accusing me of lying, so what about?”
Iskair gave me a sideways look before rising to return to his seat, leaving me with the container of water and oatcakes. A strange sort of boiling rage overcame me, and I jumped up and stomped to the back of the boat. Thankfully, everyone else seemed largely preoccupied with rowing the birlinn, but I wasn’t sure I cared. I threw myself down on the bench beside him and thrust the water and food in his hands.
“Well, as one liar to another, at least give me the courtesy of telling me what you think I’m lying about. I’ve told you everything about me, which is a whole lot more than you’re telling me.”
“Woman! Must we persist wi this discussion?”
