Outsider (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 4)

by Natasha Brown

  Jock’s saddened eyes were turned toward Creag, who shook his head in response and suffered renewed throbbing when he did. He placed his hand to his temple and closed his eyes for a moment before mumbling, “I cannae say I ever remember hearing such a story, lad.”

  “Aye. Not much of a surprise after the ringing of yer bell.” Jock sniffed and pointed to Creag’s forehead. “Well, ye might be wondering why I tell this tale. Its reason being, I be expecting my mam to return to shore again and find me. Auntie says Mam was not quite right in the head and threw herself into the sea, drowning herself when I was just a child, too young to remember much. But Auntie does not have the soul of a bard, one who can see beyond plain sight into the magical world around us. Not like my mam and I do. I know the truth—that my mam be a selkie, and she could nay ignore the ocean’s call and had to return home.”

  It was unlike anything Creag had ever heard, or at least so he thought. He had no interest in crushing the lad’s spirit. It was that vitality that appealed to Creag, so he answered, “I pray she returns to ye soon.”

  Jock nodded and brushed aside a few locks of hair from his face. For the first time, he began to let his deep sadness show in the way of watering eyes. The lad sniffed again and rubbed his cheek. “Well, Auntie sent me to ask after my uncle’s whereabouts, and I dinnae want to make her angry waiting too long.”

  “Thank ye for telling me about yer mam, lad. She sounds like the kind of woman I would be lucky to meet,” Creag said.

  From the open air outside the byre, a woman’s voice called out, “Jock, what are ye doing here?”

  The lad turned around. “Auntie wants me to ask after Uncle Hendrie.”

  Kristie walked into the darkened space with a plaid folded over her arm, holding a bowl. Steam wafted up from it, but its aroma couldn’t carry past the pungent manure. She handed it to Creag, who accepted it eagerly. Green kale swirled at the top of the pottage and peas mixed with leeks and cabbage settled at the bottom. Now that it was below his nose, he breathed in the smell of rosemary and thyme. His belly groaned as he fumbled with the wooden spoon.

  “Domnall and Hendrie have not been seen since they shoved off yesterday.” Kristie put her hands on her hips and nodded toward Creag. “Only thing I found was this outsider washed up on our shore, looking a sight.”

  “His name be Creag,” Jock said, lifting his chin.

  “Have ye remembered yer name, then?” she asked as Creag lifted another spoonful to his mouth.

  He didn’t have to answer, for the lad chimed in, puffing up his chest in pride. “I named him. After the rocks the seals clamor over near the sea—Creag.”

  Kristie stared at Jock, then Creag, who was still chewing his last bite. She waved her hand about her head. “Ye will not be catching me calling him anything but his God-given name. So, I suppose it be Outsider for now until he remembers, and a spot of pottage might jog his memory right quick. He will be on his way soon enough once his leg heals up.”

  “But where will he be off to if he does not recollect who he be or where he belongs?” Jock questioned with a frown.

  “Ye need not worry about that, lad.” Kristie put her hands on her hips. “Ye best prepare yerself for all the questions about the outsider Eileanor will be asking once ye arrive home.”

  Jock hung his head in defeat. “I will do my best, but I never have the particulars she be asking after. She says I am not worth the trouble.”

  Creag’s next spoonful of pottage began to swim in his vision, so he was forced to lower the bowl to his lap. His head drifted back to settle against the roughly hewn timbers behind him as he tried to focus on the woman and boy.

  She put her hand on Jock’s shoulder. The edge was lost from her voice. “Well, ye tell her that if she wants more details, she should just come see me. Tell her I said so.”

  Jock’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Miss Kristie, she does nay favor being told what to do. Not even by Uncle Hendrie.”

  “I have seen men in battle, heard their shrieks echoing through the dale.” Her face darkened, and she shook her head. “Ye can trust that the sight of yer auntie storming across the field set to get in a scrape would not make me cower. Go on now—tell her we have seen no sign of Domnall or Hendrie. I will be sure to send Hendrie home straightaway when they show their faces.”

  Jock glanced over at Creag, who was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. The boy stepped closer to him and squatted down, resting his hands on his knees. “Ye be looking awfully peaky, Creag.”

  Creag grinned dizzily up at the lad. “I cannae keep my eyes open. My head is banging louder than the bell ye spoke of earlier.”

  Kristie directed the lad outside. “Leave the fellow—we dinnae know if he is a dangerous sort. Ye best hurry home, Jock.” She returned to Creag and unfolded the plaid that she’d held pressed to her chest. In one smooth motion, she shook it out to cover him.

  Creag couldn’t fight the urge to let his lids slide shut: it was too much of a struggle. The discomfort of the hard wooden board his head rested against was nothing to the pounding inside his temple. He couldn’t think about who or where he was.

  While his thoughts broke apart, he heard Kristie’s voice say from a distance away, “Ye best keep to the byre if ye know what’s good for ye, Outsider, or yer head will not be yer greatest concern.”

  Chapter 3

  Kristie watched him sleep for a time, observing the slope of his jaw and the mass of wavy dark locks that framed his face. In the time he’d been awake, he’d seemed pleasant enough, though she knew not all fearsome men were spiteful or militant on the surface. The ones to be wary of wore the façade of kindness, and honey dripped from their lips.

  They didn’t see many strangers through their parts. It wasn’t the Lowlands, after all, where numerous burghs housed large numbers of townsfolk. There weren’t many reasons to travel through the Highlands unless you were visiting kin, fighting for your clansmen or trading or conducting business. There always seemed to be news of the King of Scots’s movement through the country, but since his accomplishments in the Battle of Bannockburn, the nervousness amongst his citizens had solidified into a rallying pride of their king and their successful fight for independence.

  Kristie didn’t have the time to watch after the man like he was a child. Regrettably, Jean had made the choice to bring him onto their land. No matter how little they knew about him, Jean had decided they would not turn their back on him. But Kristie still wished she could secure him with a rope or shackles.

  Kristie didn’t want Jean to worry, but if the men didn’t return, her sister-in-law and she would have to successfully produce enough wealth to pay rent. Over the last year and a half since Kristie had joined her brother’s home, she’d watched him toil over his land, learning from his victories and mistakes.

  Nature never waited for men to take action. The season was moving ahead, and it would be foolish to wait for her brother to return before getting started on the tasks that needed tending, but keeping a mysterious man in their byre was a problem, even if Jean didn’t want to acknowledge it.

  She returned home at nightfall. When Kristie stepped inside the smoky space, her sister-in-law’s eyes, fixed on the door, widened. She’d clearly hoped to find her husband returning. She covered her disappointment by busying herself at the fire to place a round of dough onto a smoothed piece of sandstone, which was sitting in the peat embers.

  Kristie may not have been able to tie the outsider to the byre, but she did lock their door shut securely behind her.

  “Still no sight of Domnall, but I saw Sacharie earlier. He said he would spread the word and help to search for them,” Kristie mumbled and walked closer to the fire. She rubbed her dirty hands together to get some feeling back. “Are ye sure about keeping the outsider? We have too many things to deal with to bother with a stranger’s problems. I do not have the time to look after him.”

  Jean watched the bannock begin to rise on the stone, looking more an
d more like a proper scone. When the round bread was cooked, she cut it. “I know it may be troublesome, but he was brought to our shore. I cannae turn my back on someone in need, not when the fairies delivered him to us. I have to think there must be a reason, though we dinnae know what it be.”

  Kristie didn’t want to upset her sister-in-law by arguing her point. The woman was pregnant and worrying about her husband’s return. Kristie knew what that felt like, so she held her tongue.

  The night passed in silence. The women ate and went to sleep without much of a discussion. Their nighttime prayers were lost in the rafters of the home. Muttered requests for protection dispersed into the night.

  Before Jean had risen, Kristie was up, eating a hardened bannock from the night before. She went outside as she swallowed a gritty bite. The dry bread scratched its way down into her belly. The sun was just peering over the hillside.

  Kristie looked again to the loch, searching for ripples of movement, and found nothing but birds flying into the wind. Her warm breath billowed into the air. She hadn’t expected to discover her bad luck had turned overnight, but just the same, a small part of her had held out hope that Domnall would come walking up the slope, holding his largest catch yet, wearing a crooked grin.

  It was not the way she had thought to spend this day, worrying about her brother. She had been aware of the anniversary’s coming, though she tried not to dwell on it. Kristie had cast aside Jean’s attempts to bring it up. Her sister-in-law had encouraged Kristie to travel to the kirk because it had been so long since she’d visited the grave at the church.

  Beside her, the yellow straw roof glowed bright as the rays of the sun finally reached it. Soft tapping and cracking sounded when it began to warm. Kristie needed to get to work, but there was the matter of the outsider. She went into the byre to find the ponies beginning to shuffle around. A few of their sheep bleated outside, their whining calls breaking the silence. And still, the stranger slept in the very spot she’d left him the night before.

  She ventured closer to him and knelt down. His chest rose and fell, a clear sign he had not passed away in the night. The swelling on his temple had gone down, but the scrape remained just as crusty and red. She had no notion whether he would perish or recover. All she could do was wait until he did one or the other.

  Kristie stood up and tentatively left the enclosure. She lifted the front of her skirts as she hurried over the fields. The cows’ silhouettes decorated the craggy hillside. She’d noticed new growth near their plot of beans and wanted to make sure the weeds hadn’t choked them out.

  It was then she saw the unmistakable form of Eileanor coming across the unplowed section of land. As she got closer, Kristie made out her round face pinched in a scowl. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the onslaught of questions that were no doubt about to take place.

  “Morning, Eileanor,” Kristie said when their neighbor was close enough to hear.

  Eileanor’s dark hair was pulled back into a bun as it always was, with a few short stray locks radiating from her temple. Her dark-blue plaid wrapped her upper body and was pinned at her chest. When she was only a few strides away, she stopped to put her hands on her hips. “What is this I hear about a stranger washing up on our shore?”

  “What did Jock tell ye?”

  “Well, he told me ye found a man who dinnae remember who he be and that he named him after some rocks—silly lad. He cannae tell a tale properly, so I came to find out for myself.”

  Kristie clasped her hands together and answered, “Aye, it be true. I found a man on our shore who cannae come to tell how he be here. He fell asleep when Jock was leaving and has not opened his eyes since.”

  Eileanor tisked and shook her head. “Ye sure he still draws breath?”

  “Aye, he was alive when I left him sleeping in our byre.”

  Their neighbor looked over Kristie’s shoulder toward their home. “I cannae help but wonder if that be asking for trouble. What if he wakes in a violent rage—or what if he be a reiver? Or worse—an Englishman?”

  “I have heard him speak. Englishman he is not.”

  “Do ye know, dear, cattle thievery can happen anywhere. Not just near the borders.” Eileanor frowned at her as if she were the bearer of bad news.

  “Aye, I know.” Kristie sighed. It pained her to be in agreement with the woman. “I made it plain as plain that we would not take to him thanking our kindness with thievery. He does not seem the brutish type, and Jean did not wish to leave the man to die.”

  Eileanor’s eyebrows rose, and she leaned forward as if she were telling a secret. “Aye, but keeping a man under yer roof—ye being unmarried and all?”

  Kristie took a deep breath before answering, feeling her cheeks flush in anger. There was one thing she hated, and that was when she felt judgment being passed on her. Her throat tightened. “Kindness and hospitality be our concern. I have been busy praying for Domnall and Hendrie’s safe return.”

  Eileanor’s dark eyes flashed, and she lifted her chin. She pursed her lips together before answering, “Aye, to be sure. If Hendrie does not return soon, William will be forced to have Jock help him plow the fields, and that lad was not made for hard labor. I dinnae have to tell ye yer brother has always been up to tricks—getting my husband into trouble of all kinds. What are ye going to do about it?”

  “Trouble the likes of feeding yer family,” Kristie snapped back. She knew the woman had to be worrying over her husband’s safety, but she wouldn’t tolerate someone besmirching her brother’s name. He was a good man who may have had a weakness for fishing, but he wasn’t careless when it came to the lives of others. “I will do what I can. I have searched up and down our loch looking for them, and I will keep looking.”

  Kristie spun around and started back toward the house before she said anything she’d regret. She heard the woman call out, “I should suppose ye will not be inviting me to look over yer outsider, then?”

  Kristie stomped past the bean seedlings without an answer, and again, Eileanor hollered after her, “Ye best send my husband home as soon as he gets back!”

  Ahead of her, she saw Jean open the door of their house and poke her head out. She stepped outside and raised her hand to wave at their neighbor with a confused smile.

  Kristie cast a quick glance over her shoulder to see Eileanor wave back and turn heel. She was relieved to see her go, but when Kristie got closer to Jean, her sister-in-law crossed her arms and frowned. “Got into another scrape with Eileanor, did ye? I dinnae know why the two of ye must crow at each other every time ye talk.”

  “As soon as she stops passing judgment on others, I will hold my own tongue.” Kristie looked toward the squat silhouette of their neighbor’s home in the distance. “It will not be long before she goes up and down the whole coast, telling everyone in the clan that Domnall got Hendrie into trouble.”

  She regretted saying anything when she noticed the dark circles under Jean’s eyes. Her sister-in-law looked like she might cry when she pulled her plaid closer around her shoulders. “Between worrying about Domnall and doubting if I was right to keep the stranger, I got not a wink of sleep.”

  “He sleeps enough for the both of ye. And he did not murder us in the night, so that must count for something,” Kristie said, trying to make her feel better, though she knew she couldn’t. “Ye are all kindness and heart, Jean.”

  Jean’s milky complexion seemed even paler than usual, and Kristie grew worried. “When was the last time ye felt the bairn move?”

  Jean rubbed her forehead and sighed. “I dinnae know. I have been fretting about Domnall’s return, so I have not noticed.”

  She was nearing the time they expected the bairn’s arrival, and Kristie couldn’t bring herself to consider another mortality. It would be too much to bear. “Ye go try to rest yerself spinning thread, and I will look over the outsider.”

  Jean nodded and turned to go back into the warmth the home provided. They were beginning to run low on
peat. The stack of bricks inside the door wouldn’t last them another two weeks before it would be time to go out to cut and dry more, something Domnall did with the help of Hendrie and Sacharie.

  Kristie went around the home, noting all of the places the clay daub had peeled away from the stones. In truth, the home was crumbling so much, it would be best to rebuild if they wanted to remain dry and warm next winter. For now, patching would do. She had it in her mind she’d set to work on the back side of the house at the shared wall of the byre. Then she might get some work done while keeping her eye on their sleeping stranger.

  After confirming he was still sound asleep, she went to collect what she could in the way of sticks and small rocks. She knew where Domnall always went to find the best clay and returned with her hands full. The skies were now covered with gray clouds, and the wind blew as it always did, but she couldn’t detect the smell of rain.

  She worked away at packing the eroding sections with fill material and pressed the thick mud over the top, securing it in place. It was tiresome but necessary. The weather was hard on everything, leaving nothing untouched.

  It was past midday when she heard a man clear his throat. She looked up into a familiar lined face and paused in her work as he took a step closer. “Oh hello, Sacharie.”

  The gray-haired man’s voice was scratchy and forceful. “I have come to look over this outsider.”

  Kristie sighed. “Thank ye. Jean wants to leave him be, but I do not like it one bit.”

  “Well, I can tell ye if I have seen him before.” He hooked his thumbs behind his belt and lifted his chin. “Still no sign of yer brother?”

  She sighed and stood up. “Nay, not a one.”