[Runes of Argyl 01.0] The Runes of Argyl Trilogy

by Jessica Savage

  "Andra, I have just been praying for you. It is a miracle. I sat with you all last night and hoped to God that you would live and now here you are. But what are you doing out here? You have no slippers on yer feet and you are cold. We must get you back to the nunnery.”

  Andrea could only look back open mouthed. She had never had so little to say.

  "Come with me, you'll be catching yer death. I almost lost you once and I don’t want that to happen again. I have a little time before we join Alasdair Macolla MacDonald at Inverlochy to meet that bloody Campbell Clan.”

  "Alexhander!" a voice called across to them.

  He looked around in response.

  "Don't forget the meeting tonight," the man smiled and nodded at Andrea as he walked past them.

  Taking her gently by the arm, Alexhander led her down the small path to the gate in the wall. She walked the short way to the nunnery in a daze, convinced that at any moment she would wake up and return to reality. Her best bet for the moment was to remain silent. The name Alexhander was the same name as on the grave and in her Grandma's diary. Maybe the strain of the last few weeks had been too much, after all?

  They approached a great oak wooden door in a large square building attached to the chapel of the nunnery. After banging loudly for admittance, Alexhander attempted to pull her close and she froze in his arms, eyes wide in alarm.

  "Andra, I realize you have been weak and it is a sorrow that the child did not live, but there is time, and we shall have our son. There has not been one day that has gone by when I have been out with the men that I have not thought about you and what we have lost. It is not only your heart that has been broken."

  Pulling her closely, Alexhander brought his face to hers. She could smell his masculinity, sweat, and long days spent amongst men and horses. Turning, she lowered her head just as the door opened before them. A woman clothed from head to foot in black stood before them and looked as shocked as Alex to see the girl, her face turning white and her eyes widening.

  "Andra, my sweet child, where on earth have you been? Alex, I’m so sorry–I did not know that she had crept out. I only left her for a moment. I thought she was still unconscious. Now leave her to me and I will take care of her."

  For a moment he stood there, quietly looking at her as if thinking of something more to say. For all of his strength and weaponry, he looked like a broken man.

  "Go now, Alex. You can come to her later."

  With a nod of his head and a final look at Andrea, he turned around and walked back in the direction of the chapel.

  Abbess Helena looked quizzically at the girl. In the black cloak and wimple, she could have been any age but Andrea guessed she must be in her mid 50s. She smiled down at Andrea, but the warmth did not extend to her eyes.

  The two women walked down a small and dark corridor to another room that was sparsely furnished yet comfortable with a bed and a small table and chair. There was a grate within the fireplace that contained the remnants of an old fire, grey ash and soot. Combs and ribbons were strewn around the room and a small mirror rested on an old chest. The bed linen was exquisitely embroidered with pictures of birds and flowers and red velvet curtains hung around the bed posts, giving the impression of luxury among the plain fitments.

  Andrea sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. The room seemed almost familiar. Not that she had seen anything like it before, but her skin tingled with a feeling of déjà vu. The Abbess reached out and placed her hand on the younger girl’s shoulder. The touch of her hand caused Andrea to finally buckle, and she started to weep.

  "There, there, my girl. You have been through so much and you still need to rest. It is a pity that Alexhander has to go away to fight, but your husband is a good man, and he has suffered too. Perhaps you both need some time."

  Her husband! Andrea stared open mouthed at the woman before her.

  "I should know. I love my brother dearly."

  Andrea found her voice at last. "I don't know what's happened to me."

  Helena smiled sadly. "You have been very ill, my child. You lost your first born, a son, over a week ago, and we almost lost you too. Until last night, we thought that you would not recover. You had developed a terrible fever, and the physician said there was nothing else that we could do, except pray. Your recovery is truly a miracle. Now, with our care you will grow stronger each day and soon you will be able to go home."

  Home! Andrea's thoughts shifted to New York and Steve. She would have surely missed her flight back home by now?

  "Where is home?"

  “Why Dounarwyse Castle, of course, over the waters in Mull.”

  Andrea started to stand, and she could feel herself shaking. She grasped at the Abbess’ cloak. "You don't understand, I'm not who you think I am. Something has happened to me this morning. I was by the chapel, taking this to one of the graves."

  Holding up the stone, her hand started to visibly shake. Everything she said or thought seemed ludicrous, and she could feel herself start to shout.

  "All of this is ridiculous! This morning I woke and it was the year 2015. Now I seem to be in some BBC drama from the dark ages. What year is this, for God’s sake?" Andrea’s cheeks flushed as she became almost hysterical.

  The Abbess stood watching her with a growing look of concern on her face. She had seen this all before and something was wrong. Moving slowly to the table, she picked up a small flask and poured a quantity into a silver goblet.

  "It's the year of our Lord 1644, Andra."

  Sitting back on the bed, she started to weep once more. "I just want to go home."

  "You will be home soon, I promise. Now drink this, it will make you feel better.”

  Reluctantly taking the goblet in her shaking hands, Andrea sniffed suspiciously at the liquid. It smelled bitter, of herbs and fruit.

  "It will help you sleep. It will not harm you, I promise."

  Putting the rim of the beaker to her lips, she paused. This was all just a strange dream, of that she was certain. What else could explain this? She was tired too, and maybe the next time she woke, she would be back in the hotel room. Knocking back the draft in one, she handed back the goblet.

  The liquid, though slightly acrid, was warming with a hint of alcohol, and she felt a soft glow around her. The woman in front of her was speaking, but she could not understand the words, the face of the speaker growing hazier as her eyes grew heavier. Settling herself back on the bed, she was soon in a deep and dreamless sleep. The Abbess picked out a woven blanket from the chest and placed it over the girl to keep her warm. The small stone had fallen from her hand onto the floor. Helena picked up the small object and inspected it carefully. Then, slipping it into her pocket, she silently left the room, closing the door behind the sleeping girl.

  Chapter 6

  Alexhander McDonald was uneasy. His wife Andra had seemed strange, almost distant, like the first time he met her three years ago. Yet he had fallen in love with the odd young woman the moment he set eyes on her. She had been found in the chapel by Helena, lost and alone. She had been ill and talked of strange things, of a far and distant land from where she had traveled. On many occasions they found her in the early morning, slumped on the dewy grass surrounding the chapel. She had gabbled incoherently about trying to get home, and they had resorted to locking her door each evening to keep her from harm. Slowly she had gathered strength and had started to talk to him. She spoke of a magical land where metal machines carried men and women over both land and air, where people could talk to each other across the world using a small metal box. It was all so fantastical, so removed from his ken that at first he had thought she was mad. Yet there was something about this determined and strong young woman with the sparkling blue eyes that convinced him otherwise.

  As the months passed by, her strange talk diminished and she seemed to settle into a peaceful routine with the nuns and the help of his sister, the Abbess Helena. He had visited her often, and she had eventually reciprocated his l
ove. Everything had been going so well until she lost the baby and nearly died too. But now she seemed on the verge of madness again, talking strangely of things he could not understand. He would be fighting soon, and he feared for her safety should the war be lost.

  She had not shared his bed for several months. He had been frightened of her delicate condition and had not wanted to force his lust onto her. Yet he loved her with a passion and ached for her until he could hardly bear it. In a few days he would be gone and who knew if and when he would return? He had hoped to give her another child, so that even though he might not return, part of him would live on. He would go to her tonight and see how she was.

  Back in the room, Andrea woke with a start, wondering where the hell she was. The light had faded and long shadows fell across the bed. At first she thought she was back in the hotel bedroom and had just woken from a strange dream, but as her eyes became more accustomed to the light, she saw the shadows of the simple furniture and the outline of the embroidered birds on her quilt. For a moment she lay still, not quite knowing what to do or think, a bitter taste of herbs still lingering on her lips. Her mind raced back to the entries in her grandmother’s diary. Surely it could not be a coincidence, some grand hallucination that they were both party to – that would be ridiculous.

  Yet what was the alternative? That somehow she had found herself transported back in time to be with a man that Betty had met in 1956? Now that was ludicrous. But what else could explain her position? Alexhander was an extremely attractive man and she could see why her Gran had fallen for him. The dark and brooding good looks combined with a great physique and a gentle nature... What woman wouldn’t kill to be in her position? But that, too, was a ridiculous notion. This man, this phantom, whatever he was, had been dead for nearly four centuries. Back in her own time, his bones would be rotting in their tomb. There was no sense to it all, none that she could see anyhow.

  Moving quickly from the bed, she moved across the floor and made an attempt to open the door. She had been locked in. Cold and hungry, she crept back underneath the quilt. Although she was terrified, she would just have to sit it out. Either it was a terrible nightmare or a reality. But if Betty had somehow managed to live through the strange ordeal, then so could she.

  At the sound of approaching footsteps and the rattle of a key in the lock, Andrea lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. The sound of soft footsteps over the stone floor was soon followed by the hushed whispering voices of Helena and Alexhander.

  “She’s asleep. We better not disturb her.”

  “I need to be with her again Helena, before I ride to battle.”

  “Do you think that would be a good thing, my brother? She is still weak and tired, and I am not sure how strong her mind is.”

  A long sigh ensued as Alex looked over the figure of his sleeping wife.

  “When you return, there will be time.”

  “I may never return.”

  There was a pause as Helena crossed to where her brother was standing and put her arms around him.

  “Do not even think such a thing, Alex. God will be with you. I am certain.”

  “I am worried that she is returning to her old ways. When I first met her, when you had just taken her in, she seemed convinced she was from another time, another place, just as she does now.”

  “It is the fever, that is all. In a few days she will be quite herself again and well enough to go back home. Now you must go to eat with your men. Return here later and she may be awake. The draught I gave her will keep her sleeping for a few hours yet.”

  Andrea felt his soft breath on her forehead before his lips brushed the skin in a tender kiss. Real or not, she had never felt so cared for by a man.

  As soon as she heard the door close and the key turned, she opened her eyes and sat up. She would have to act normal, try and play her part until she could figure out a way to get back to the present time. The thought of being locked in this room and drugged for weeks was not a pleasant thought, and she needed to be strong and in her own mind to get back home. The key to getting back must be somewhere in the chapel grounds and perhaps the small rune had something to do with it. Back at the hotel, Geraldine had seemed to think it held some kind of magic. Searching in her pockets, she realized the stone was missing. The last time she had seen it was when she had shown it to Helena. She searched the room, but it was nowhere to be found. Perhaps the Abbess had taken it as she slept?

  The next time the door opened, it was a younger nun carrying a tray of food, and she brought it over to Andrea and laid it on the bed. Unlike Helena, the young girl had a smile that spread across her face. Her blue eyes twinkled merrily, and she left the room as silently as she had entered it. Andrea was starving and lifted off the cloth to reveal her supper. There was a simple yet wholesome mutton stew, thickened with bread and lentils and a dish of greens that tasted of spinach. There was a goblet of fortified wine, mead she guessed, and the food seemed tastier than she had eaten in a long while. It wasn’t long before the dish was clear and the goblet drained.

  As she wiped her mouth on the square of white linen, the door opened once again, and this time Helena walked into the room.

  “Andra, you are awake and have eaten. You look much better.”

  Andrea smiled back at the Abbess, remembering her resolve to play the game.

  “I feel much better, thank you. The food was delicious. I think I was a little overwrought earlier.”

  Helena smiled, although her eyes seemed more steely than friendly and she looked tired.

  “Alex will be back soon. He wants to stay with you this night.” Her eyes flickered before retaining their gaze.

  Andrea hadn’t prepared herself for that. Of course he was her husband. What could she expect? Maintaining her composure, she struggled to keep her voice steady.

  “Of course, he is my husband, after all.”

  Taking the tray, Helena bowed as she started to exit the room.

  “Just one thing, before you go. Did you happen to pick up the small stone, the one I showed you earlier?”

  The woman’s brow creased below her wimple. “A stone? I can’t remember such a thing.”

  There was something defiant in her manner.

  “I passed it to you earlier. It was etched with a series of strange markings. Surely you remember?”

  Smiling, the woman shook her head. “I have seen no such thing, my dear. You must have been dreaming. Now if you are feeling agitated again, I can always mix you another draught of the sleeping potion?”

  The offer came almost as a threat, but Andrea had to let it go. Something was definitely amiss, but she couldn’t afford to get on the wrong side of the Abbess. Maybe she was just being overprotective.

  “You’re right. I’ll just lie here quietly and wait for Alex. Thank you, Helena.”

  As soon as the Abbess had locked the door behind her, Andrea allowed herself to panic. What if Alex came to her tonight? What if he expected her to perform her wifely duties? Most of her friends would have jumped at the chance to have sex with such a gorgeous specimen. She only had a one-night stand once, and that was when she was a student and extremely drunk, so she couldn’t remember much of the event.

  If she tried to explain to him, he would only think her crazy again, but what was the alternative? Could she lie back and think of England? And what about Steve? She had never been unfaithful in her life, even if these were exceptional circumstances.

  It was too bad about the rune. Why had Helena lied about it? Maybe she was keeping hold of it to stop her from becoming agitated like before, but what if she needed the stone to get back home again?

  Andrea took a deep breath. One thing at a time, she told herself.

  Chapter 7

  A knock on the door broke her thoughts. He was here so soon! She sat up quickly in bed and pulled the quilt around her, feeling like a young virgin on her wedding night.

  It was only the young nun again. Smiling, she pro
ceeded to make up the fire and light a series of candles that brought a cozy glow to the room. Stepping over to the small chest, she brought out a white cotton nightdress inset with beautiful lace work and laid it across the bed. She left the room only to return a few minutes later with a jug of hot water and a bowl, along with a piece of soap and a length of material, presumably for washing with. Pouring the water into the bowl, she set it by the fire and beckoned Andrea over before leaving her in peace to attend to her toilette. It was good to feel the heat from the fire, and stripping off her clothes, she proceeded to wash. The soap was thick and quite greasy, but it had the aroma of lavender and helped her to freshen up. Her feet were still dirty from the morning’s walk and she dipped them in the water, feeling the warmth spread to her toes. At home she spent hours in the bath, the water as hot as she could stand, and lost in the fragrance of some exotic oil or lotion. She could have done with a bath, but even the small bowl of hot water seemed like a luxury at this moment in time. Once dried, she slipped on the nightdress. It fit her perfectly, the lace just skimming her ankles. She thought about the skimpy little outfits that Steve bought her that made her feel like a French tart. Why did she let him treat her like an object? She had never really thought about it before. She just accepted it, accepted Steve for what he was—basically a male chauvinist pig.

  A little knock at the door heralded the young nun once again. Walking over to the chest, she picked up a small comb and assorted ribbons, brought them to Andrea, and proceeded to brush through her long hair.

  “Do you have a vow of silence?”

  The young girl smiled and nodded. It was a shame; Andrea would have liked to talk to her. The face seemed so kind and trusting. Once the combing was finished, the girl tied a red ribbon into her dark locks, forming a neat bow.

  Andrea held up the mirror to see the finished look. The ribbon made her look somewhat cutesy, but that was unimportant. Her own face reflected back, and yet somehow it was different. The whole hairstyle was different and made her look more like her Grandma than ever. The only difference was the small beauty spot above her lip, probably the only thing that set the two young women apart.