BLU: Paranormal Fantasy Romance (LOST CREEK SHIFTERS NOVELLAS Book 3)

by Samantha Leal

  The sun was a little weaker now that late afternoon was setting in and the air had grown chill. A slight wind rippled across the grass, and she hurried along, wrapping her flimsy jacket around her. She was almost at the site and could see the brown of the soil where the turf had been removed to reveal the ancient foundations. The trench was quite deep, and there was no sign of James. Scrambling down, she walked among the old stones. Part of a set of stone steps had been revealed and what looked to be the site of an old fireplace. Sitting on the steps, she drank the last of her coffee and placed the cup back in her bag. James would have a fit if she littered the site.

  It had been such an odd day. She could scarcely believe her meeting with Nora and reached into her bag for the miniature to remind herself that she wasn’t going crazy. It was real enough.

  Feeling a headache coming on, she closed her eyes for a minute. She hadn’t realized how tired she was and blamed Nora for leading her astray.

  Before long she was asleep.

  When she awoke, it was dark and she couldn’t see where she was. She was still leaning against the stone wall, her bag still on her lap, but she seemed to be in an enclosed space. She closed her eyes and opened them again, slowly moving them from left to right. On all sides were stone walls and just in front of her a fireplace. Rebecca tried to think where she was. She had come out to find James at the excavation site and must have fallen asleep. This must be a joke. They must have moved her while she was asleep. She must have been really knocked out! Standing up, she stretched her muscles, aching and stiff from sitting on her cold seat. She would have serious words with whoever did this to her.

  The place must be some sort of museum for all the artifacts around her, from old copper cooking pots to stone flagons of various shapes and sizes, looked ancient. There were wicker baskets containing apples, and half a rustic-looking loaf of bread and a dish of eggs stood on top of a well-scrubbed wooden table. The most amazing thing about the place was the smell: a funny mixture of smoke and animals and a sweeter smell of rotting vegetation. It was very authentic. Maybe the place didn’t have much ventilation. Desperate for fresh air, she started to head up the stone steps.

  “Katherine, will that be you down there?”

  The burr of a soft Scottish voice echoed across the silence. For a moment, she froze. She might be trespassing on private property, but it wasn’t her fault she was here and would soon be able to explain.

  As the door at the top of the stone steps opened, a dim light filled the room and there stood a man carrying a candle. He was dressed in what look like fancy clothes, a doublet and hose. Maybe he was one of those actors employed to bring the past to life; whoever he was, it was a relief to see someone. Walking down the steps, he peered cautiously at her and Rebecca had to stifle a giggle.

  Grabbing her roughly by the arm, he brought the light to her face.

  “Who are ye?”

  His act might have been funny if he wasn’t hurting her.

  “Hey, get off me.” She tried to struggle free, but it was useless and he pulled her towards the stairs. He was taking his role far too seriously, whoever he was.

  Pushed up the stairs, she found herself in a long room with wooden floors and stone walls. A rich tapestry was hung on the far wall, its rich colors apparent in the half light. This place was great. She would definitely visit it again in the daylight without this overzealous thespian by her side.

  The man jerked on her arm and pulled her towards an oak door. Inside was a great hall and in the center was a magnificent table laid out with swords and shields and other gruesome weaponry. A group of men were seated around a great fire, heads deep in conversation. As the door opened, they all looked up.

  “What is it Angus?”

  “I caught her d’oon in the scullery.”

  A fierce-looking man with wild, steely grey hair and a beard stood up and approached her. He was dressed in a green tartan shawl that was wrapped across his body, and on his feet he wore thick woolen stockings and tan leather shoes that laced up around his calf. He was the very image of a Scottish Highlander, directly from one of her history books.

  Her smile soon faded as he spoke.

  “Who are ye young wummin, and what are ye doing here?”

  His accent was much stronger than the first, and she struggled to tune into the words.

  “Well?” he shouted at her.

  Rebecca was starting to feel tired and bored by the joke. It had gone on too long and she wanted her bed.

  “Now look, I think it’s all very funny, but I need to go. I need to sleep.”

  The man glared at her as another joined him. He was similarly dressed but a little younger. He somehow looked familiar.

  “She’s not from these parts. Look at her dress and the way she talks. She’s a foreigner. She must be a Sassenach spy.” He drew his sword and held it in front of her.

  She almost fainted as the blade swished across her face. Maybe she was dreaming; it was all so unreal.

  “Wait!” a voice shouted from the back of the group. Although loud, the accent was much softer and gentle in tone. As the man stepped nearer, Rebecca let out a low laugh. She hadn’t recognized him under the red beard. It was James Anderson! Sammy must have been in on the joke all along.

  “Ha, ha, very funny James. I’m cold and hungry so let’s get out of here.”

  His brow furrowed as he approached her.

  “Ma name’s nae James, I’m Willy Stewart.”

  Rebecca started to panic. It didn’t seem as if anyone was joking; in fact, it was exactly the opposite. Something wasn’t right. The man looked like James, but he didn’t seem to be laughing and he didn’t seem to be James after all.

  “We should kill her now.” The man with the sword angled his blade. As his eyes narrowed, she realized where she had seen him before. He was the spitting image of Johnny Hampshire.

  Her heart pounded in her chest. She was either about to die or wake up from this nightmare.

  A strong hand pushed away the blade. “No Angus, I’ll take care of her.”

  “But we’re riding ‘oot early tomorrow, William, to join King James in Battle. What will ye do with the young wummin?”

  William thought for a moment. “I’ll take her with us.”

  The men scoffed. “Ye cannae take a young lass along with us. What if she is an English spy?”

  “Then all the better for her sitting on our side.”

  “But how will she travel?”

  “She will ride with me. Now we must make haste to be ready for the morrow.”

  The other men shook their heads but slowly moved out of the room, leaving Rebecca and William alone.

  Seeing that she was shaking from cold, he led her to the fire and brought her a small wooden stool to sit on.

  The whole thing seemed ridiculous. The only reality seemed to be coming from the heat of the fire and instinctively she held up her hands to feel the warmth.

  “So lassie, where are ye frae, and more importantly what are ye doing here?”

  Rebecca looked at him blankly. She didn’t even know where “here” was.

  “Where am I?” The question sounded pathetic on her lips.

  William frowned as if trying to understand the young woman sat before him. She looked so much like his dear dead wife Jane that he had almost cried out her name when first seeing her.

  “You’re in my hoose in Selkirk.”

  “And what year is this?” The question trembled on her lips.

  “Why, it’s 1513. The 7th of September to be exact.”

  There was a cold draught blowing through the shuttered windows and Rebecca shivered.

  “Wherever your frae, your nae dressed for the weather. Come with me, and I’ll find you somat to wear.”

  Lighting a couple of candles in the fire, he took her by the hand, and they walked out of the room and into a paneled hallway. There were more rugs and tapestries hung on the walls and an elaborate, wooden candelabra hung from the ceiling.
A giant stone staircase took them up to the next level and into one of the bed chambers. The floor was a polished, deep brown wood and at one end of the room stood a four-poster bed swathed with green velvet curtains.

  William strode over to a large chest and opened it up. Inside were numerous garments that he pulled out and laid tenderly onto the bed.

  “Here, try one of these.”

  There were several woolen tunics, and she picked up a blue one to try on. Rebecca was aware that he was watching her, and she suddenly felt awkward and shy in his presence.

  Sensing her feelings, he stepped outside.

  It was good to remove her flimsy clothes and put on something warmer. There were some thick brown stockings made of a woven cloth and she pulled them on before slipping the blue tunic over her head. There was a small hand mirror on a set of drawers, and she scanned her face in the glass. It was her face that reflected back, but somehow she looked different. Remembering the small locket containing the portrait, she pulled the band out of her hair, shook loose her pony tail, and started to plait her hair. The result was uncanny.

  William stepped back into the room and froze as if seeing a ghost. It was as if his beloved Jane was with him again. His eyes were wide as he rushed to her and pulled her close, his strong arms encircling her.

  “Jane, my beloved.”

  She could feel his anguish as he crushed her to him. Trying to find her lips, his face pushed into hers. Memories of her encounter with Johnny came flooding back, and she started to panic, beating at his chest with her fists.

  The whole thing was becoming too much for her and Rebecca started to cry. She couldn’t understand what was happening to her, and she was tired and hungry. All she wanted was to get back to the others.

  Her weeping brought him back to his senses and he suddenly pulled away from her, and with his head in his hands, he sat on the bed.

  “I’m sorry, lass; you looked just like my wife Jane.”

  Trembling, she sat next to him on the bed. “I’m Rebecca.”

  “Rebecca.” He spoke the name carefully, as if hearing it for the first time. “Ye look so like my wife. She died in childbirth with our first child almost a year ago. Where have ye come frae?”

  “I’ve come from the future.” It sounded like the line from a corny B movie, but it was the truth.

  William looked at her, his eyes troubled.

  “I know it’s difficult to explain, but this afternoon I was in Selkirk in 2015, and all I know now is that I’m now in Selkirk over 500 years in the past.”

  He shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

  How could she make him believe her? Her bag was still over her shoulder, and she reached inside it. The Starbucks cup was still there and she placed it on the bed along with the sandwich and flask. Unzipping the front pocket, she pulled out her iPhone. The locket had gone. She remembered looking at it before she fell asleep. It must have slipped from her hand at the dig.

  “What’s this?” He picked up the cup and gazed at the design.

  “It’s a coffee cup.”

  “What’s coffee?”

  It was too hard to explain.

  “I have this, too,” she said, holding up her phone.

  “What is it?”

  How on earth could she describe a cell phone to a 16th-century Scotsman?

  “Well, it’s a communication tool. You can talk to anyone in the world through it.”

  He looked impressed.

  “Show me.”

  It was hard to get a signal in 1513. He looked less impressed.

  She had an idea. Pressing the photo App she found a photo of herself back home in California and showed it to him. He was mesmerized.

  “I’m from America, a place called California.”

  Taking the phone, he touched the screen with his fingertips, barely able to register what he was seeing.

  She had an even better idea.

  “Let’s take a selfie.”

  Putting her head next to his, she held up the camera and clicked the button. The camera flashed and William shot up from the bed in alarm.

  “It’s OK, it’s just a photograph.” She handed him the phone to see the picture.

  It was almost too much for him, and he sat back on the bed shaking his head.

  “Are you some sort of a witch?”

  Rebecca touched him lightly on the arm. “No. For some reason, I’ve traveled back in time. Worlds collide with the past and present,’’ she recited, remembering the quote on the old Kirk wall.

  William looked her in the eye. “Me and my men travel to meet King James at Flodden tomorrow. We battle with the English on the 9th. If you’re from the future, do you know what happens?”

  Swallowing hard, she looked back into his eyes. He was so like James that her heart skipped a beat. How could she tell him that 10,000 Scotsmen would lose their lives? History had already happened, and she couldn’t change it. If she could, then she probably wouldn’t be here.

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  She touched his arm tenderly. He seemed so sad and so bewildered. It didn’t help that she looked like his lost wife and the whole phone thing had knocked the wind out of his sails. An impulse to kiss him passed through her. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body and felt a strong attraction to him. He must have felt the same for soon his mouth was upon hers, this time gently as their lips locked together in a soft embrace. His arms instinctively wrapped around her as he pushed her onto the bed, his body pressing into her. His hand traveled over her tunic and fondled her small, round breasts.

  He was panting heavily. It was a long time since he had tasted a woman and he wanted her more than anything else. It wasn’t just that she looked like Jane; there was something deeper, more primal, as if he had always known her. Pushing up the tunic, his hand started to explore the soft flesh of her inner thigh and as his fingers reached the soft satin of her panties, her body froze. She was a still a virgin and had never gone this far with any of her boyfriends before. She wanted him, but it was an automatic reaction. Maybe she was still recoiling from the thoughts of Johnny.

  William slid his hand from her tunic. What was he thinking? Although he had spent most of his life living on the barren moors, he was not a wild man. He considered himself a gentleman and was behaving like a beast. Sitting up, he straightened his ruffled auburn hair.

  “We need to sleep. We have an early start tomorrow. You stay in the bed, and I will sleep elsewhere.”

  Leaving the candle behind, he hurried out of the room before she could reply. The blood was coursing through her veins and her head thumping. She was starving and remembered the cheese sandwich. Wolfing it down, she poured some tea out of the flask. Somehow it was still hot and did the trick.

  Exhausted, she could no longer think straight. Climbing beneath the woolen sheets still fully clothed, she closed her eyes and was soon fast asleep.

  It was still dark when she woke. At first she didn’t realize where she was and thought she had been dreaming, but no, she was still in the dark bed chamber of William Stewart. There was a sound of horses and men gathering outside. She stood up and looked out the window.

  At least a hundred men had gathered outside, some on horseback, some carrying items in and out of the house. All were dressed in the same tartan shawls, some green and black and others red. Some of the men wore blue caps and others were bareheaded. Many of them were young men, perhaps not much older than herself. Her conscience weighed heavy; most of these men would be dead in a few days time, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  “Rebecca, are you awake? Come and eat before we ride. It will be a long day.”

  William had entered the room, and he looked tired. He had not been able to sleep that night as he was trying to understand everything that had happened; he still didn’t. He had brought her some of his squire’s clothes for her to wear. It would be safer if she disguised herself as a boy amongst the thousands of men. A cap would hide her lon
g hair.

  Dressing quickly, she ventured down to the dining room where men sat drinking ale and eating bread and porridge. She was handed a small bowl of thick porridge oats and a hunk of bread. She was so hungry that she wolfed it down and was handed a second bowl and a jug of ale to wash it down with. It tasted surprisingly good and she was starting to feel refreshed. Some of the other men eyed her suspiciously, but while she was under the guardianship of William Stewart, no man would hurt her. The time came to be off. She grabbed her bag, making sure her mobile phone was switched off to save the battery. What a scoop to take live photos of one of Scotland’s most famous and bloody battles.

  Before they set off, William wrapped a red woolen shawl around her to keep her warm on the journey. Mounted onto his horse, she sat behind him, her hands wrapped around his waist. She was frightened of what might happen, but she had never felt so alive before. If only her Mom could see her now!

  They rode out for most of the day . They would be joining King James and his men camped out near Flodden Hill. She was amazed as they passed the tiny hamlets. Some of the houses were little more than rough wooden and mud huts with smoke spiraling out of a hole in the thatched roofs. They passed peasants and carts and horses on the rough tracks, and Rebecca was astounded by the sights as they raced through the medieval countryside.

  She liked to feel Williams’s strong body next to hers. It felt so safe being close to him. His kiss still lingered on her lips from the previous night and something stirred within her. She ached for him to touch her again, and next time she would not stop him. That’s if there would be a next time. Her mind strayed to the historical facts about the battle: 10,000 Scotsmen would die. What if the old lady had been wrong about William Stewart and he didn’t survive? Or what if she had somehow changed the course of history just by being here?

  Soon they could see the campfire smoke in the distance. The small party had been joined by more men along the way and it had soon grown to over 500 men heading for the camp. Soon they were amongst men and horses, rounded tents and piles of weaponry, and the sounds and smells were overwhelming. There were makeshift fires over which black cauldrons were hung making countless broths and stews, while flagons of wine and ale were being handed around. It reminded Rebecca of a Tudor-themed rock festival.