by Jane Stain
The flavor of Nadia's thoughts was troubling, and when she spoke to the stable master, she confirmed she was having fun at Ciaran’s expense. "Top o’ the morning tae ye, stable master. Bixby here came at the same time I did, but he has been hiding because he's lame, and a bit addlepated. He was afraid ye lot will cast him oot rather than give him something useful tae dae. He can dae work, see?"
Fuming, Ciaran had no choice but to pretend to be an incompetent man named Bixby, of all things. He did look rather silly holding the walking stick with one hand and the rake with the other, and he wasn’t about to set his ‘walking stick’ aside.
Nadia was laughing furiously in her mind. This wouldn't do. Ciaran thought deliberately at her, "Aye, ye hae won the moment, but I shall win the day, mark my words."
In their heads and silently, she laughed all the more at his threat.
He really couldn't blame her, seeing the ridiculous position he was in. Darn it.
The stable master was looking thoughtful whenever Ciaran glanced his way —which was not often. Ciaran was giving the work his best effort, under the circumstances. His full attention, anyway.
"My name isna stable master. Call me Ruadh. And I will give ye a try, Bixby. Ye dinna merit sleeping anywhere but here in the stable, which I reckon ye hae already found tae yer liking, sae ye may abide. But more than raking dung, I want ye tae go along out in the fields and help the lads bring in the cattle for milking.”
Outwardly, Ciaran tried his best to look slow of mind, yet grateful for the opportunity. "I thank ye, Ruadh." But inwardly he rejoiced with Nadia. "This is oor chance. We can gae up and report tae Eoin what we hae learnit sae far. And we can beg him tae bide another two days sae we can learn more.” He played like he was falling. “Ye wull want tae help me, seeing as how I'm lame and all." With that last thought, he grabbed her and used her to lean on, tickling her ribs as he did.
She elbowed him in the side to disguise her laugh and his tickle and then elbowed him again for good measure as the two of them headed arm in arm toward the front gate. But all the while, she was thinking about the first time they met.
She’d been tied up on a stone slab in the sacred grove waiting to be sacrificed. She had seen him rushing in with the other Murray horsemen, her friend Sarah, and Eoin’s brother Meehall. Ciaran felt in her mind how much she had admired his ability as a swordsman when he fought Tahra, before the druid child almost killed Sarah with her magic. But Sarah had freed Nadia and Ellie, and together they had lit the sacred grove on fire. Tahra had fled then, bereft of her magic, which came from the plants and taking the surviving Camerons with her, to fight another day.
He relented then and showed her the way he had seen her that day, not even a week ago. He showed her how beautiful she was, how graceful. He had resolved, the moment he saw her, that she should be loose and carefree and dancing out in the field under the moon at planting.
They held each other a bit tighter as they approached the front gate
"Hae ye e’er been marrit?" Nadia asked him in her mind. Her thought was curious, and prepared for grief. She was ready to console him if he was a widower.
With the color of his thoughts, he let her feel how grateful he was for her planned offer of solace. Talking with her this way felt so intimate, more so than anything physical they could do. It made him a bit giddy. "Nay, hae ye?"
Her answer came to his mind sweetly, like a favorite memory. "Nay. Folk get marrit older in my time, na till they are five and twenty at the least, and more often na till they are thirty."
He could tell she was sincere, but with the flavor of his thought, he playfully called her on it. "Nay!"
Her thoughts tickled his mind. "Aye, I telt ye true! Sae why hae ye na been marrit, Ciaran? Dinna folk marry quite young nowadays?"
He tried to keep up the light mood, but her question brought him back down to the earth beneath his feet. Not sad, just serious, he caressed her mind with his to let her know he didn’t resent her for changing the mood. "Aye, we dae marry young, but ever syne Baltair and I started running about with Eoin, the lasses hae shied away from us. Till ye and Ellie showed up and took an interest."
She pushed him away, playfully.
Holding the halberd sideways as if it was weak and unable to support him compared to her, he made a big show of limping so that she had to hold him up.
She tickled his mind with hers. "Wull, I would tell ye ‘Sorry tae hear the lasses shunned ye, but ye would ken ‘twas a fib. I always thought ‘twould be convenient, the ability tae read thoughts, but now I am na sae certain."
He sent mental caresses. "Certies, ye jest. This is amazing. And I wouldna want tae share this with anyone more than with ye."
She relaxed a bit in his embrace, so that he was the one who reached out to open the gate. So close. They came so close to having a field day together.
An authoritative woman's voice called out, "Nadia! What dae ye oot here? Get in the house and make up the beds."
Desperately, he tried to hold her mind close to his. "Canna ye tell her ye hae other orders already?”
"Nay. Ainly the clan chieftain can gainsay her. ‘Tis his wife."
Reluctantly, the two of them parted.
9
Nadia's attention was ripped away from Ciaran at the same time her mind was torn away from his by the distance between them. Just a foot did it. One moment, her consciousness was comfortably bathed in the warmth of his. The next moment, she was alone, and being sternly told what to do.
"Start yer straightening up in Tahra’s suite," said Eimhir (AEveer), the chief's pregnant wife.
Unable to form words, the idea of going near Tahra horrified her so, Nadia just stood and blinked stupidly at the finely dressed woman.
Eimhir responded to Nadia's blank stare by adding, "Tahra’s suite is above the stables there, dae ye see the windows?" When Nadia still didn't start moving, Eimhir threw up her chin and took Nadia by the hand, tugging her into the kitchen door after her. "Gae through the kitchen this way, through this door intae the main hall, and then up the stairway on the north wall…" She huffed up the stairs, tugging Nadia after.
At the top, there was a balcony that looked out over the great hall, with only one set of double doors which must go into Tahra’s quarters. Sure enough.
"Through there, lass.” Eimhir gently pushed Nadia toward the doors the way a parent sets a toddler to walking. “Dinna fash sae. Ye didna spoil her plans the way that lad did, sae ye hae naught tae fash aboot. See that ye get her rooms tidied up, and then gae across the great hall and up tae oor quarters and his parents’. When ye hae finished with that, gae doon intae the general quarters. Matilda has taken ill this day, and ye are the next most spry lass. See that ye earn yer supper." And with that, the knighted Cameron’s wife huffed back down the stairs, leaving Nadia standing trembling in front of Tahra’s door.
It wouldn't be too bad. She would keep her nose in her work and her face turned away from the druid child. She was wearing a very different outfit now than she had been then, and her hair was covered in a dust cap Mairee had found for her, so there was no reason Tahra should recognize her. Thus bolstering her confidence, Nadia knocked on one of Tahra’s huge double doors.
The druid child’s voice came from deep within her quarters. "I'm in the bath! If ye are a lass come tae dae the straightening, get tae it. If ye are a lad, then dinna enter."
That was a relief. If Tahra was in the bath, then she was much less likely to see Nadia. Much less likely. With that thought to buoy her spirits, she resolutely pushed the double doors open and entered the druid child’s quarters.
Tahra lived like a queen. She had a king-size canopied bed on a raised platform in the center of the room. It had heavy drapes that could be pulled around it, and three goose-down comforters had been shoved to one side. Nadia started there, making up the bed and straightening the drapes. She could hear Tahra all the while, talking to her maids, who were assisting her in the bath.
They faw
ned over the druid child.
"Why hae we been here sae lang, mistress? Why dinna ye open one o’ yer portals and take us somewhere else?"
"Aye, 'tis such a grand time when ye make a gateway and take us through tae anoother place. The grandest time o’ all."
"And how soon wull we gae intae the future as ye said?"
Nadia cringed with every impertinent question they asked, expecting to hear the whip any second.
Unlike when she spoke with her male warriors, Tahra’s tone was indulgent now, with the maids. "'Tis different this time. That fire which forced us tae leave the sacred grove drained someaught from me that doesna normally drain. ‘Twill take me longer tae regain my strength. Och, aye, that's the spot what itches most."
"’Twill take longer this time, but next time ye wull take us intae the future, aye?"
“Eventually I wull. Perhaps na next time."
"Hae not we been good enough? Are we not loyal enough? Dae ye na feel cared for enough?"
"Ye dae a fine job o’ it. Dinna Fash. 'Tis not o’ yer doing, this limitation. I hae not discovered the secret o’ gang tae the future yet, nor tae the past. Soon, I wull. O’ that, ye can be certain."
They all cooed at each other companionably to the sounds of the water swishing and dripping.
"So ye will na gae withoot us?"
"I didna say that. Nay, I must gae learn tae gae through time. But if I canna take warriors, then I willna take ye. Nay, I must gae alone, betimes."
"Na now."
"Nay, na now."
The tones of their voices were so sickeningly sweet, Nadia wanted to turn around and leave the room immediately, but she saw an open book across the room. An important book, and treasured, by the binding and by the way it was mounted on a pedestal. Wait, it was the book Tahra had been carrying just before she whipped that man to death.
The book called to Nadia, but she dared not go straight to it, lest one of the maidservants come in and see her and ask questions. She had to work her way around the room.
While she dusted her way along a huge dressing table with a mirror and dozens of clay jars full of ancient cosmetics, she couldn’t help recalling what it had felt like to share consciousness with Ciaran. Home, that’s what sharing her mind with the smirking highlander had felt like. Being in her true home, not in her dorm room at Celtic University, but back in her grandmother's home in New Hampshire. There, every item was lovingly placed and every guest was lovingly welcomed.
Ciaran's mind was mischievous, yes, but not evil. It was playful, like most young men’s, but rather than video games or sports, he played in practical jokes. The times he lived in made his practical jokes much different from any she had heard of before. It had been such fun to glimpse his memories of them, especially the time he put Senna tea in the warriors’ ale and warned no one but his cousins, who all laughed when everyone else ran for the bushes during the bonfire that evening—
The sound of someone standing up in the bathtub made Nadia feel faint. Taking deep breaths and grabbing hold of the dressing table and steadying herself so that she could make a dash for the door, she only barely heard what was said in the bathroom.
"Wull ye turn roond sae we can wash the back o’ ye?"
"Dae ye want for us tae wash yer hair?"
"Aye,” said Tahra, “the grove near here is dirty, ye ken."
Nadia relaxed against the dressing table when she heard Tahra get back into the bathtub, accompanied by the sounds of water being poured over her head.
Whew. She had a while. Heart pounding, Nadia crept straight over to the history book, dust rag in hand just in case anyone came in. If they did, she could appear to be dusting the book, rather than pouring over its contents. She gasped. It was a history book. From the future, 1918. Oh no. Tahra knew what was going to happen before it happened.
The history book was open to a page that said, near as Nadia could tell in a strange version of Gaelic:
...the Murray-Cameron battle raged on,
but when the Murrays won the day,
it secured their place in the mind o’ the monarch...
Desperate to get any information she could about the specifics, Nadia skimmed down the page, looking for dates and names. She nearly fainted again when a name bounced out at her.
...One warrior in particular, Ciaran Murray,
was instrumental in the Murray victory...
Tahra knew Ciaran’s name, and that he would be crucial in blocking the druid child’s efforts to get the Camerons ahead.
Nadia rushed out of the room before she was discovered.
10
Ciaran couldn't help leaning on the ‘walking stick’ as he followed the three other men out into the fields to round up the milking cows. If anything, this use of its powers had weakened him even more. If last time was any indication, it would take him all day to get back enough strength to defend himself properly, let alone use the halberd again. Oh well. This weakness played into his disguise as a lame man and taught him the movements he needed to play the part convincingly. He was thankful that he got stronger and stronger, yet could maintain the façade of being lame.
In truth, the hardest part was remembering to answer to the absurd name Nadia had given him, Bixby.
At first, the men all stayed together. Most of the cows had stayed together as they were wont to, especially those with calves, and the four kilted men easily got over to the other side of the herd and urged them on toward home.
The trouble was, Ciaran had to keep playing slow in the head while using the ‘walking stick’ to compensate for being lame. Which meant he had to move slowly.
And like cows everywhere who have been eating grass all day, these had a load to dump. And equally like cows everywhere, they all dumped as soon as they were made to move.
So ‘Bixby’s feet got much more soiled than Ciaran’s ever had. This was all down to Nadia and her notion that he was addlepated! He would find a way to pay her back, oh yes he would. She didn’t know who she was dealing with. Baltair had tried more than once to get the best of Ciaran, but Ciaran had always come out ahead. Until one day, Baltair had sworn off trying altogether. Ciaran still smiled, remembering how Baltair’s face had looked when he realized he had not his own plaid belted about himself, but his mother’s.
Two of the men took the easy cows home, along with all the calves, leaving Bixby and one other man to get the more stubborn cows down from the grassy patches up on the surrounding mountains.
“’Twill gae quicker if we split up,” the other man told ‘Bixby’. “There are two unaccounted fer, but nay matter how many ye find, be back at the gate by sundoon. They willna open it after that.”
Ciaran stumbled around till the man was out of sight and then, grateful for the chance to at last stretch his legs for real, climbed up his mountain in earnest. By now, he was well familiar with the Cameron branding mark on each cow’s rump. It was easily visible from a distance, so long as the cow wasn’t lying on her side, and so he had no doubt he could identify any cattle he found as either Cameron cattle or someone else's. The penalty for herding in someone else's cattle was steep, and he had been warned to take care not to do so. That the penalty would fall on him. Death.
Struck with the irony of that threat, he laughed to himself a wee bit. Little did they know he was marked for death anyhow. But with this thought came the memory of Nadia’s mind caressing his own, and a deep sadness overtook him. Would that he could start a life with her, have children with her. He would even go to her time if she didn't want to stay in his, just to be with her.
He was so taken up in these thoughts —and so sure no one else would be up here on the mountain— that he didn't realize Dolaidh (DO nee) was there until the man was talking to him. Fortunately, Dolaidh didn't recognize Ciaran from the incident at the apple wagon, but Ciaran sure remembered Dolaidh. For that reason, he knew the man was usually with the war party, and it gave him a good retort to the man's greeting.
"Two o’ them ower
here! Come help me surround them."
"Yer a warrior, herding coos?" said ‘Bixby,’ careful to sound addlepated.
Dolaidh laughed good-naturedly. "Sae ye hae me figurit, eh? Aye, ’tis scouting I am. Dinna fash. Nay Murrays lurk within site o’ this mountain. Thought I might as wull bring the coos doon with me. Why had ye na yet brought them? And ye are new. How are ye callit?"
“I am Bixby.” Ciaran clumsily gestured to his walking staff and then pointed to his leg, which he made a show of not standing on. "Why hae ye na taken them doon already?"
Dolaidh led ‘Bixby’ around to the other side of the cows so that the two of them could herd these stubbornest of the Cameron bovines down mountain. They were in position now, and out of habit, Ciaran locked eyes with the other man so he could nod when the two of them would rush the cattle.
Dolaidh raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
It took Ciaran a moment to figure out why, to remember that ‘Bixby’ was lame. He pursed his lips ironically to get the man’s attention, and then he used the ‘walking stick’ to go as fast as he could the way they had come.
Dolaidh held up his hand to admit ‘Bixby’ was up to the task, and once again nodded when it was time to rush the cattle from the direction opposite where they wanted them to go.
They did, and it worked. The cattle ran down the mountain a ways to the next patch of grass.
Casually as they walked down there, Dolaidh told him, "Ye said sae yerself. I'm a warrior, na a coo herder. And I shall fight Murrays on the morrow, whilst ye stay here with the lasses." He slapped ‘Bixby’ on the back conspiratorially. “I dinna suppose ye hae it sae bad, eh?”
11
Nadia grew anxious as she scrubbed the stew pot in a wooden half-barrel tub of lukewarm water with a rock and a plaid woolen rag that had seen better days. It was nearly dark outside, and Ciaran hadn't come back yet. Was he all right?
