by Katy Baker
He felt no break, but that didn’t mean much. He was no healer and had only been trained in the most basic field medicine. Carefully, he turned her wrist over and examined her palm. Her skin felt rougher than expected, showing callouses from hard work.
“These aren’t the hands of a noblewoman,” he said. “If I didnae know any better, I’d say ye were used to hard labor.”
“And you’d be right,” she replied, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I never claimed to be a noblewoman. I’m a gardener, although I trained as a botanist.”
“A what?”
She laughed, a sudden clear sound that lifted his heart. “Yeah, most people look at me like that when I tell them. A botanist is somebody who trains in plant biology. I run my own gardening business now.”
None of that made much sense to Callum. “Are ye saying ye are some kind of farmer?”
That laugh rang out again and Callum found himself smiling in response. It was infectious.
“No,” she replied. “Although I can help people if they want to start growing their own fruit and vegetables, but only on a small scale. It’s mostly decorative plants that I grow or help people with landscaping so they have somewhere nice to sit outdoors.”
“Ye grow flowers for decoration and yet ye tell me ye are not a noblewoman?”
She snapped her mouth shut as though she’d revealed more than she intended. Her expression closed and he found himself wishing she would smile again.
“Things are different where I come from.”
He didn’t press her. Taking hold of the stick, he laid it along her wrist.
“This will hurt. There’s naught I can do about that. Are ye ready?”
She nodded tightly.
He took the strips of plaid and used them to tie the stick firmly against her wrist, wrapping it tightly. She grimaced, a low gasp escaping her, but other than that she made no sound at all. She was a brave one, this strange woman who’d appeared in his life.
He stood. “That will have to do for now. Once we get to Dun Garnon we can have a proper healer examine it.”
She rose after him and a thick silence stretched between them. Callum had the sudden urge to reach out and brush a strand of wet hair back from her face but he forced his hands to remain by his side.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For all you’ve done.”
He said nothing. This woman was like a spring flower, fragile yet strong, battling against the winds of winter that buffeted it.
“Ye are welcome,” he replied gruffly.
At that moment the rain started again, hissing out of the sky in a torrent.
“Curse this damned spring!” Callum growled. “I canna remember one so wet! Come, let’s hurry.”
They returned to the horse and mounted. Together they rode into the driving rain.
Chapter 4
Sophie hunkered down in her coat, wishing she’d brought an umbrella. Or a poncho. Or even a hat. Despite her coat, she was soaked to the skin but at least she wasn’t cold.
The man seated behind her saw to that.
She dare not turn her head to look at him, but she could feel him. Heat radiated from him in waves and, trapped in the cage of his arms, she felt warm and...something else. Safe?
You barely know this man, she told herself. You met him, what? A few hours ago? So stop thinking such ridiculous things!
She peered around as they rode, hoping against hope to spot something she recognized. A car. A house. A plane crossing the sky. Anything familiar. But she found nothing. Just the vast, endless expanse of the Highlands on a gray and rainy day.
“Where did you say we’re going?” she asked.
“To Dun Garnon,” Callum replied. “Home of Laird Murdoch MacKay.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him and then wished she hadn’t. His hazel eyes were fixed on her. “He’s a friend of yours?”
“Aye. I’ve known him since I was a bairn. We’ll soon be sitting in front of a roaring fire with as much food and drink as ye can guzzle.”
She forced a smile although nerves fluttered in her belly. She’d never heard of this Dun Garnon place but there were bound to be more people there, people who would notice her outlandish clothes. She’d already seen Callum looking at her strangely, although he’d not mentioned her clothing and seemed to accept her flimsy explanation of where she’d come from. She knew people in medieval times were superstitious. How would they react to her?
People in medieval times? she asked herself. So you’ve accepted you are in the past?
She ran a shaky hand over her face, feeling panic fluttering in her stomach again. Shit. How was she going to get out of this? The first priority was to reach somewhere dry and warm and have her wrist treated properly.
And after that?
She had no idea what came after that and she forced herself not to think of it. If she did, she might panic completely.
“How is yer wrist?” Callum asked.
“Better,” she replied truthfully. It still hurt but since Callum had bound it, the pain had lessened to a dull ache. She remembered his fingers on her skin and a shiver went through her. He’d been surprisingly gentle, despite the obvious strength she’d felt in his hands. She glanced at him. His hazel eyes were scanning the terrain, head turning from side to side. Her gaze fell on the sword strapped to his side and she remembered the way he’d almost attacked her in the chapel, as though he’d been expecting an enemy.
Who was this man?
“What brought you to the chapel?” she asked.
“Same as ye I reckon,” he replied. “I wanted to get out of the rain. I may be a Scotsman and used to our fierce weather but that doesnae mean I have to like it.”
“And do you normally go out riding in the rain?”
His gaze went flat, his expression darkening. “Nay. Not normally.”
His tone warned her she was prying. She said nothing more and turned to face forward. They were riding along the bottom of a wide, deep valley with a shallow river running through it. Steep, bracken clad hills rose on either side and the sky hung above like some vast piece of slate. They might have been the only people in the entire world.
But as they reached the end of the valley and rounded the base of a hill they came out onto a broad river plain. A loch sparkled in the distance and herds of sheep dotted the plain. Here and there she saw smoke rising from the chimneys of small crofts.
“There,” Callum said, pointing. “Dun Garnon. We’ll be there within the hour.”
Sophie squinted into the rain, following his outstretched finger. She saw nothing but a gray smear hugging the shores of the loch. But as they rode closer the gray smear resolved itself into a huge building with high walls, several towers with battlements running the whole way around. A pennant flying from the highest tower snapped in the breeze.
A castle! Sophie’s jaw dropped. She was riding towards a real medieval castle!
It grew larger and larger until it dominated her vision, crouching over the lands around like some giant beast guarding its lair. The surrounding area had been cultivated and, as they passed through fields of cabbages, onions and broccoli, Sophie couldn’t help examining them. To her eye, the crops seemed stunted and sickly.
“The crops should be further along than this,” she said. “Especially the purple broccoli and spring cabbages.”
“Aye, they should,” Callum replied darkly. “But it was a harsh winter and it’s been an even harsher spring. We’ve had more rain than I can remember and many of the fields have been flooded.”
Small thatched houses began to appear along the road and they were soon passing through the village that surrounded Dun Garnon. The streets were muddy tracks and there were few people around, the villagers clearly being sensible and staying inside out of the deluge.
Callum guided the horse up the muddy road to a gate set in the outer wall of the castle. Sophie swallowed thickly, fighting down a rising fear. What would she find within?
“Dinna worry,” Callum said, as if reading her thoughts. “Murdoch MacKay is a good man. Ye have no need to worry.”
Sophie nodded dumbly, not trusting herself to speak.
Guards watched the gate, looking miserable as they stood in the rain, but Callum was obviously recognized because they let him through without comment. He guided the horse into a wide courtyard then pulled up and dismounted, dropping easily to the cobbles.
Sophie stared at her surroundings, heart thumping rapidly. This was not some old ruin only visited by tourists. This was not some place where she would be asked to pay an admission fee or be ushered towards a gift shop. No, this was a very whole, very real, very alive medieval castle.
“Lass? Sophie?”
She startled and found Callum looking up at her. “Ye can get down now.”
In a daze, she swung her leg over the horse’s back and slithered to the ground, hitting the cobbles hard enough to make her legs buckle. She staggered and would have fallen if Callum hadn’t darted forward to catch her.
He lifted her back to her feet “Um. Thanks.”
He released her just as a young boy of around twelve came running from a timber and thatch building that she guessed must be the stable. The boy gave her and Callum a bow.
“My lord, my lady,” he said. “I’ll take yer horse.”
Callum handed over the reins. “My thanks.”
The boy led the horse away just as the large double door that led into the main keep opened and a man came hurrying out. He was much older than Callum, with a mane of gray hair that fell to his shoulders and a close-cropped white beard. He was tall and broad and wore a long plaid belted over a gray tunic.
“Callum Sutherland!” the man bellowed. “As I live and breathe! Ye should have sent word, lad! I would have had my men ride out to meet ye!”
“Murdoch!” Callum called, smiling. “It’s good to see ye, my old friend!”
The men embraced heartily, thumping each other on the back.
“What brings ye here?” Murdoch asked, stepping back. “It is quite a ride from Dun Saith and in this poor weather as well.”
The smile slid from Callum’s face and he glanced briefly at Sophie. “We’ll discuss that later.”
Some kind of unspoken understanding seem to pass between the two men and Murdoch nodded.
“And who is yer beautiful companion?” he asked, turning a wide smile on Sophie.
“Laird Murdoch MacKay,” Callum said formally. “May I present Lady Sophie MacCullough, a visitor to our lands. I met her on the road. She is injured and I offered her shelter here.”
Laird MacKay’s eyes widened only slightly as he took in her clothing. Then he bowed smoothly. “Welcome to Dun Garnon, Lady MacCullough. Any friend of Callum’s is welcome here. Whatever aid I can provide is yers.”
“Um...thanks,” Sophie stammered.
“Come,” Laird MacKay said. “Let’s get inside and out of this confounded rain.”
He led them up the steps and through the doors into a large, vaulted hall. Sophie craned her head back, staring around in awe. The floor was constructed of bare flagstones strewn with fresh-smelling rushes and large tapestries covered the walls. Tables and benches filled the space with a larger, grander table at the far end in front of the fireplace. A huge fire roared in the hearth, and Sophie was blessedly grateful to be in out of the weather.
“Elspeth!” Laird MacKay yelled as they entered. “Get over here!”
A middle-aged woman with her hair braided in an intricate design around her head hurried over.
“Ye bellowed, my dear?”
“We have visitors,” Laird MacKay announced.
“So I see.” Elspeth gave Callum a hug. “It’s good to see ye,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps yer visit will ease my lord’s temper. He’s been like a bear with a sore tooth cooped in here while the weather’s been bad.”
“I havenae!” Laird MacKay said indignantly. “I’ve been most placid.”
Elspeth rolled her eyes at Callum who grinned before introducing Sophie.
“Welcome to Dun Garnon, my dear,” Elspeth said, taking in Sophie’s strange attire but making no comment. Then she noticed Sophie’s injured wrist. “Oh, my. Come, let’s get that seen to straight away. We’ll leave ye two to get reacquainted,” she said to the men. Then her gaze sharpened. “And by that, I dinna mean get drunk!”
Laird MacKay gave his wife an innocent look. “As if I would!”
Elspeth took Sophie by the arm. “This way, my dear.”
Sophie glanced at Callum but when he nodded, she allowed herself to be led to a door at the back of the hall. At the threshold, she paused and glanced back at him. He and Laird MacKay had their heads together, talking in low, urgent voices. He didn’t even notice Sophie leave.
Elspeth led her through the castle, which appeared to be a confusing maze of corridors, stairs and rooms, until they came to a large chamber on the upper floor. Chattering all the while about the weather, the problems they’d had with supplies, the merchants who were due to visit next week, Elspeth ushered Sophie into the room.
She found herself in a large, opulent chamber. Dark wood paneling covered the walls and floor but colorful hangings that adorned the walls relieved the dour color. A large four-poster bed dominated one half of the room.
Elspeth bade Sophie sit on a chair by the window and she sank down gratefully, fearing her trembling legs wouldn’t keep her standing much longer. A knock sounded and Elspeth opened the door to admit an old woman carrying a leather bag.
The woman was short, wrinkled, and reminded Sophie of Irene MacAskill although the woman’s hair was bright white rather than gray.
“Mary is our best healer,” Elspeth explained. “She’ll have ye fixed up in no time.”
Sophie nodded dumbly as Mary unwound the bandage and splint that Callum had tied around her wrist and carefully examined her arm. The woman’s hands were warm and as dry as sandpaper but she had a gentle touch.
“It isnae broken,” she announced, much to Sophie’s relief. “But is badly sprained. I’ll bind it up and give ye something for the pain. Dinna use it too much for the next week.”
Sophie nodded dumbly as the woman bound her wrist with clean bandages and then handed her a packet of some kind of herb. “Take a pinch of this in ale no more than four times a day,” she instructed.
Sophie took the packet. “Thank you.”
Mary nodded, picked up her bag, and left.
“Let’s get ye out of those wet things,” Elspeth said. “Ye’ll catch a death if ye aren’t careful.” She tilted her head, regarding Sophie with a penetrating expression. “I must say, I havenae seen garments like that before. Those trews are positively scandalous! Do all women wear such things where ye are from?”
“Um, yes,” Sophie said, floundering. What could she tell this woman that wouldn’t make her suspicious? “I’m from London. These clothes are all the rage there.”
To her relief, Elspeth nodded as if this explained everything.
“I see. Well, fashionable as yer garments may be, ye will catch yer death if ye stay in them. I’ll have the maids bring hot water so ye can wash and change.”
She went to the door and yelled something into the corridor. Sophie crossed to the window and looked out. Rain still sheeted down but gaps in the clouds to the east allowed the sunlight through. The waters of the loch sparkled.
Reality hit her like a punch in the stomach. I’m in the past, she thought. I’m in 1409. This is actually happening.
Her pulse began to race, sending a wave of dizziness through her so strongly that she had to grip the window sill to keep from falling.
I mustn’t let these people find out, she thought. She was no great student of history but she knew enough to realize that people in these times were highly superstitious. If she revealed she was a time-traveler how would they react? Think her a witch? Try to burn her at the stake?
The door opened and this time a line o
f serving women marched in carrying a bowl of steaming water, cloths, hairbrushes, and clothing slung over their arms. Elspeth bade them put the bowl of water onto the table and lay the clothing on the bed before she ushered them out.
She opened a pouch that hung at her waist, taking out a pinch of something which she tossed into the water. The delicious scent of lavender filled the air and Sophie breathed it in deeply, allowing the scent to settle into her lungs, relaxing her muscles.
Elspeth took a small cloth like a flannel from the bundle on the bed and held it out to Sophie. “Ye will feel much better once ye are clean and dry. Trust me. Would ye like me to help ye bathe?”
“Um, no thanks,” Sophie said quickly. “I’ll just have a quick wash.”
Taking the cloth, Sophie dunked it in the hot water and then quickly ran it over her face and hands, relishing the feel of the soft material against her skin and the sensation of the hot water chasing away the cold. When she was done, Elspeth handed her a larger cloth like a towel and Sophie used it to dry her hair.
“Callum says he met ye on the road,” Elspeth said, turning away and sorting through the pile of clothing. “Is that right?”
Sophie hesitated. What was she supposed to say? Yes, I bumped into him when I traveled back through time? “That’s right. I took shelter at a chapel when the storm came. St Barnabas? I fell and hurt my wrist. Callum offered to help.”
Elspeth raised an eyebrow. “Ye were at St Barnabas’s chapel by yerself? Without an escort? I would have thought yer husband would have accompanied ye or at least sent a maid or man at arms with ye. It isnae safe for a woman to be out alone— particularly out there in the middle of nowhere.”
“Husband?” Sophie snorted. “I don’t have a husband and as for a man at arms or a maid, well, let’s just say that where I come from we don’t really have those kinds of things.”
Elspeth gave her a shrewd glance. “Ye said ye are from London but yer name isnae English. MacCullough isnae it? That’s Scottish, a lowland clan if I remember rightly.”
