Gene and Marjorie came to stand behind her. Marjorie laid a hand on Sky’s shoulder for a moment. “We’re going outside to the patio for a bit. Carol, Ethan and the baby are heading home. Lindsay, do you want to join us outside?”
“No, I want to see what the search brings up,” Lindsay told them.
Sky bid Carol and Ethan good night before turning back to the laptop.
“You’ve given me enough information to do a search.” Michael’s fingers flew over the letters. “Huh. Minnesota Fencing Club, Twin Cities Fencing Club and the University of Minnesota Fencing Club. This is going to be a cinch. There are only three to choose from in the entire state.” He clicked on the first. “Here you are, Sky. The Minnesota Fencing Club in Minneapolis,” he said. “Apple . . . apolis. Get it?” He grinned and pointed. “Look. They teach medieval combat classes. I’ll bet this is the one.”
She gasped. “This Internet, ’tis some sort of wizardry, surely.”
“Nope.” Struan came to stand behind her. “It’s technology. Click on the staff contact page, Michael.”
He did, and there it was, Connor McGladrey’s name. “Och, Struan, what do I do now?”
“Scoot over, Michael. I’ll compose the e-mail for Sky.”
“OK.”
Struan sat down. “Tell me what you want to say, and I’ll type the words.”
“Hmm. My name and clan, for certes, and tell him I’m Robley and Erin’s cousin, and that I’ve come from the fifteenth century with news of their daughter, Meghan.” She sucked in a much-needed breath. “Tell him I seek—”
“Let’s keep it simple. I think this is enough to catch his attention. I’ll add my cell phone number and introduce myself. We can tell him the rest when he calls.”
“Think you he’ll call yet this eve?” She gripped the edge of the table, barely able to contain herself. “Is that no’ a phone number there on the laptop? Can we no’ call him now?”
“They give lessons in the evening. It says on the contact page that e-mails are answered only when classes aren’t being held. Connor will call tomorrow morning.” Struan shut off the laptop, stood up and stretched.
“Be patient, Sky,” Lindsay told her. “I’m sure you’ll hear from Connor tomorrow, and if not, then we can call. In the meantime, let me show you where you’re staying for as long as you’re here.” She rose from her place. “Michael already put your things in the room, which is right next to mine. We share a bathroom.”
Sky’s gaze flew to Struan. “My thanks. You spoke truly. This Internet is most miraculous.” She looked from one to the next. “I am grateful to all of you for the help and hospitality you have so freely offered. If there is aught I can do—”
“Get a good night’s rest, and I’ll take you riding tomorrow afternoon.” Struan reached out a hand to help her up. “Do you want to join us, Lindsay?”
“Wouldn’t miss it, and I just happen to be off tomorrow. Good night, you two,” she said to Michael and Struan. “I’m taking my newest friend from the past to her room, and then I’m heading to mine.”
Sky’s mind spun from all that had happened in just a few days. Everything she’d learned, the new things she’d experienced overwhelmed her. She followed Lindsay up a flight of stairs at the front of their cottage and down a corridor.
“This was Struan’s room before he moved into his own place. It’s kind of masculine, but it’s comfortable,” she said, opening the door. “Michael’s bedroom is the one across the hall. Whatever you do, don’t open his door. It smells like a boy’s locker room. My mom and dad’s is the door at the end of the corridor.”
“What is a locker room?” Sky asked, bewildered yet again.
“Trust me. You don’t want to know.” Lindsay gestured for Sky to enter.
A bed, flanked by two identical chests with drawers, took up one side of the room. Sky was drawn to a framed likeness of Struan. She walked across the room and lifted the frame.
“That’s Struan’s senior picture. Practically every girl in school had a mad crush on my brother,” she said with a chuckle. “A deadly combination, blue eyes, wavy golden hair and dimples.”
“Aye, he is quite a comely lad.” Was that a pang of jealousy tweaking at her? Sky placed the image back in its place.
“The bathroom is off the hall between my bedroom and this one. There are clean towels and everything you’re going to need. Just look under the sink if you don’t see what you want on the counter.”
Sky nodded. “My thanks, Lindsay.”
“Let me show you how to work the lights and stuff, and I’ll leave you to get settled. Your bags are in the closet there.” She pointed to a door.
Lindsay showed her how to turn on the lamps, and then she left. Sky moved to the open window and looked out at the moon rising in the gathering darkness before pushing the pane closed. The temperature had dropped considerably. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered before turning back to the task of getting ready for bed.
Tomorrow, she’d talk with Connor McGladrey, and hopefully he would have information that she would find useful. If not, then at least she’d be able to put his family’s mind at ease about their daughter. Surely they’d be glad to hear of their grandbabies . . . who would be long dead by now. She rubbed her temples. “Och, ’tis far too disturbing to think of such things.” Tomorrow would soon be here, and mayhap she’d be a step closer to finding a way home.
She readied herself for sleep, images of Struan’s sparkling eyes and dimpled smile dancing through her mind. If only she’d been given in marriage to a lad such as he. How very different her future would’ve been.
Regret stole her breath, and her chest tightened. She had no claim to any future save that which awaited her in the past.
CHAPTER SIX
A mug of coffee and peanut butter toast in hand, Struan strode along the path toward his forge. His leather work boots crunched against the ground limestone path, a sound so familiar it seemed to him a “welcome home.” Home. His home. He breathed in deep, taking in a lungful of the clear mountain air.
Andrew and their apprentice wouldn’t arrive until eight or eight thirty, which was fine. It wasn’t even seven yet. Having the shop to himself for a while suited him just fine. He savored the early morning peace and quiet. With no distractions, he could think better and get things organized. By the time Brian and Andrew showed up, he’d be ready to begin the actual physical work for the day.
His mind strayed to Sky. He grinned at the memory of the way she’d inhaled her lasagna last night. Judging by her blush and the way she avoided eye contact, she’d hoped no one noticed. Gordon Hollow was yet another unfamiliar place, and she’d had so much to contend with the past few days. He certainly remembered what it had been like for him, facing new and unfamiliar surroundings, people and things every day. Protectiveness for Sky rushed to the forefront, and in its wake, anger at the fool who had meant to do her harm.
Struan stacked his toast on top of his coffee mug, and then he slid open the barnlike double doors to his shop and flipped on the overhead lights. Setting his breakfast on the old metal desk in the corner, he noticed the pair of medieval-style candlesticks sitting on the shelf, ready to be shipped.
His customers would go nuts over authentic, handcrafted tapestries, should Sky decide to make them. He could fashion frames, looms for weaving or whatever else she might need. All it would take was a bit of research.
She’d be far better off in the twenty-first century, blending in with their worldwide community of medieval and Renaissance reenactors and making a living doing what she loved to do. Sure, she’d miss her family, but she’d adjust. He and the Gordons would become her kin and clan.
His phone rang, snapping him out of his reverie. He pulled it out of his pocket, taking note of the unfamiliar area code. “Hello?”
“Who are you?” an angry male voice demanded, a slight lilt to his words.
“Struan Sutherland, and I’m guessing you’re Connor McGladrey.”
“I am. Explain the e-mail in my inbox this morning, and if this is some kind of prank, you will be sorry.”
“It’s no prank.” Struan hooked his foot around a leg of his desk chair, pulled it out and took a seat. “Sky Elizabeth of clan MacKintosh appeared out of thin air in the middle of the jousting field at the New York Renaissance Faire on Saturday. She’s from 1443, and she’s kin to you. Her brother is married to your daughter, Meghan.”
“The devil you say!” Connor exclaimed, his voice breaking.
“It’s true, and there’s more. Way more.” Struan raked a hand through his hair and told Connor the rest of Sky’s story as concisely as possible. “She believes you might be able to help her get home somehow, and she wants to give you news of your daughter.”
“Where are you?”
“Warm Springs, Virginia. Do you have a pen and paper handy?”
“I do.”
Struan gave him their location, the closest airport and directions to Gordon Hollow from Warm Springs. “I take it you plan to come here, then?”
“Humph. My wife and I will book a flight for today if we can. Expect us this evening or tomorrow at the latest.”
Struan opened his mouth to suggest a nearby bed-and-breakfast where they could stay, but Connor had already ended the call. Ah well, he’d let them stay in his camper if needed. He had an outlet he could plug it into for electricity, and they could use the guest bathroom in his house. He set his phone on the desk and scrubbed his face with both hands. The McGladreys would come, and maybe they’d take Sky away with them when they left.
What if she did manage to find a way to return to the past, and Oliver got to her somehow? He had no illusions about what would happen then. The Erskines would force the wedding, and Oliver would move ahead with his nefarious plan to do away with Sky. Tales of men and women who had met with suspicious accidents, mystery illnesses, or had been locked away to starve to death abounded in the Middle Ages. He growled low in his throat, itching to get his hands around the Erskine lordling’s cowardly throat.
“Hey, Struan.” Andrew strode through the doors. “How was Sterling?”
“Eventful.” Struan shuffled the papers on his desk. “I didn’t hear you drive up.”
“Irene needed the car today, so I rode my horse. I put her out to pasture with your herd.” He took a heavy leather apron from its post and tied it on. “Eventful? How so?”
He’d long ago shared his origins with Andrew. Not only were they coworkers, but good friends. They’d met while performing at the local Renaissance fair when he was about Michael’s age, and Struan had made Andrew’s first suit of armor for him. They’d been fast friends ever since.
Andrew took things in stride. He was as solid and steady as the mountains surrounding them, and Struan trusted him. “We have a new addition to the Gordon clan.” Andrew’s eyes widened slightly as Struan told the tale, the only outward reaction to Struan’s news.
Finally, one side of his friend’s mouth turned up. “Is she pretty?”
Struan huffed out a laugh. “Very.”
“Good.” Andrew moved to light the coals waiting in the pit. Once that was done, he opened the back door and turned on the fan.
They could utilize a more modern method for tempering their steel, using superheated melted salt, but he found the red-hot liquid to be much more dangerous, and he preferred the old methods. After all, those tried-and-true methods were how he learned his craft. He’d rigged a sluice sink next to the pit for the liquid cooling process, though. One of his many modern-day concessions. Struan flashed him a puzzled look. “What does her beauty have to do with anything?”
“Since she escaped her evil fiancé, she’s single, yeah?” Andrew returned his look with one that suggested Struan was completely dense. “We both know the selection of young single females hereabouts is pretty thin. I’m always on the lookout for potential wife material for you.” He turned on the hood vent above the burning coals.
“I’m only twenty-four.” Struan scowled. “Just because you recently tied the knot doesn’t mean I have to.”
“Trust me. You’d be a much happier man. It’s not like you’re the womanizing type. I don’t know if you realize this, but you’re not very outgoing. Wouldn’t you like to have someone to share your life with?”
“Someday.” But he’d choose a modern-day woman. Someone who wouldn’t care about his origins. He needed to be with a woman who would accept and love him for who he’d become, not judge him for where he’d come from.
“What are you going to work on today?” Andrew hit the foot peddle for the bellows, causing sparks to rise above the heating fire pit.
“I’m going to start etching the bearing sword for the Society for Creative Anachronism’s new King of Atlantia. I’d like to get that piece done this week. I thought I’d use the acid method for this one, intaglio, rather than engraving. It’ll give it a nicer, more antique-looking finish.”
“Mmm. Those folks from SCA . . . makes me wonder.”
He waited, but Andrew didn’t elaborate. “You going to tell me what you wonder about the SCA group?”
“Well, you came here from the fourteenth century, right? Now you tell me about this daughter of an earl who dropped into the middle of your jousting tournament from the fifteenth century. SCA is this huge organization that has divided North America and Europe into kingdoms. The members all play medieval and Renaissance lords and ladies, alewives, archers, swordsmen, et cetera. You all hang out on the fringes of mainstream society—with the ren fests and the SCA events and gatherings. Doesn’t it make you wonder? Just how many of the SCA and ren fest folks are displaced time-travelers like you and Sky, do you suppose?”
“I have wondered.” Even more so since Sky mentioned how the faerie calling herself Madame Giselle liked to hang out at the modern-day Renaissance festivals and meddle in the lives of humans. “Maybe I ought to start a Facebook page or a Yahoo group for displaced time-travelers like myself. What do you think?”
“I think you might be surprised by how many join.”
“After this weekend?” Struan grinned and shook his head. “Not so much. Sky told us about her family’s history with time travel, and she also mentioned this guy in Minnesota who’s from thirteenth-century Ireland. He owns a fencing club where they teach medieval combat. He and his wife are on their way here, by the way.” The sound of a motorcycle pulling into his driveway echoed inside the stone walls. “Don’t say anything about this to Brian.”
“I wouldn’t.” Andrew shot him another how dense can you be look, and set a sword into the glowing coals for its final tempering. “Apprentices come and go. You and I are here to stay, not to mention we’re friends. Your secrets are safe with me.”
“Thanks.” Struan gave him an appreciative nod as he reached for the long ceremonial broadsword. He’d etch the blade with the Latin phrase for the pretend king of the SCA’s pretend realm. Once the broadsword lay on a workbench, he headed to the storeroom for the waxy coating he’d apply to protect the steel from the acid.
“Morning. I brought doughnuts,” Brian called as he walked into the forge, a bag in one hand and his helmet tucked under his other arm. “Old-fashioned cake, glazed.”
“Oh man, I wish you’d stop bringing that shit here.” Andrew snatched the bag from their apprentice and took out a doughnut. “These are deadly, like cigarettes,” he said around a mouthful.
Brian shrugged. “I’m not forcing you to eat them.”
“I know.” Andrew grabbed another doughnut and tossed the sack on the desk. “I have two weaknesses: my wife and sweets.”
“Only two?” Struan chuckled. “Brian, after you pack the candlesticks for shipment, I want you to start water-cutting the rapiers for that Shakespeare theater order.”
“Great,” he said with a wide grin. “You’re going to let me do them without hovering behind me this time?”
“Yep. You’re ready.” He set waxy material for his project at the edge of the
coal pit to melt. Then he dug through a bin for a decent brush, so he could coat the blade.
The three of them settled into their work, and as always, a deep sense of peace and purpose filled Struan. He was a lucky man. He’d been snatched out of hell and placed in paradise. He spent the next hour or so transferring the pattern for the Latin phrase down the sword’s blade and began scraping the wax away from the letters. The acid would eat away at the blade to etch the phrase into the steel.
The sounds of Brian in the back, cutting blades from the roll of steel, and the hiss of heated metal being plunged into the cooling sluice provided a pleasant din. This was the life he was meant to live. He even loved the smells of metal-tinged steam and the coal fire burning away in the pit.
By midafternoon, his natural optimism had returned. Everything would work out. Like him, fate had plucked Sky out of a dangerous situation and placed her exactly where she needed to be to keep her safe. If he was lucky, her appearance had to mean she was meant to live the rest of her life in this century, and he wouldn’t be called upon to do anything other than help her adjust. Now that he could get behind.
And the McGladreys? Struan would go to Minnesota with Sky if need be, and once her efforts to get home failed, he’d be there to bring her back to Gordon Hollow to stay. She’d soon make a life for herself.
What if she didn’t want to return with him? What then? He frowned.
“Hey, Struan, are you about ready to head for the trails?” Lindsay stood at the entrance to his forge, with Sky beside her. She wore jeans and a short-sleeved cotton blouse with elastic around the bottom, emphasizing the curve of her waist. The front was embroidered, and a tie held it together just below the hollow of her delicate throat. After thinking about her all day, seeing her in the flesh sent his heart thudding. “Sure. Just give me ten minutes to close things up here.”
“Hey, Lindsay, how’s the new job going?” Andrew came to stand beside Struan, his eyes riveted on Sky.
“It’s going really well. When are you and Irene going to come eat at the restaurant where I work?”
The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4) Page 9
