by B. J. Scott
Dressed in a black hooded robe, it was difficult to tell if the person was male or female, but because it couldn’t be more than five feet tall, had a slight build, hunched shoulders, and a high pitched cadence to its voice, she guessed it was an old woman.
“You’ve grown to be a lovely young lady, Gweneth,” the woman said. “But then again, I knew you would. Yet, I must admit, I never thought I’d see you again.”
“See me again?” Gwen gasped. “I have no idea who you are and have never met you before. How do you know my name?”
“Och, you’re wrong, lass. We have met in the past and now you have come home.” The woman stepped into the moonlight. “I was there the night you came into this world, then saw you safe at your mam’s request.”
“That’s impossible. I was born in the United States, not in Scotland, and my mother has never been here.” Gwen scratched her head and focused on the woman’s face, but still didn’t recognize her. “You must have mistaken me for someone else. This is my first visit to Scotland. I’m twenty-three years old and—”
“And today is your twenty-fourth Saint’s Day,” the woman said, finishing Gwen’s sentence before her.
“How did you know it’s my birthday? I insist you tell me what’s is going on and who you are.” Heart hammering, Gwen fisted her hands at her sides as she moved toward the woman, but stopped suddenly when she realized she was no longer dressed in her pants and sweater. Instead, she wore a cotton chemise, a long brown wool skirt, and a plaid arisaidh—the outfit resembling those she’d seen in medieval movies. She glanced at her feet, surprised to see her hiking boots had been replaced by leather slippers. She patted her chest, relief washing over her when she realized the brooch her mother gave her was pinned to her clothing.
“This is crazy, where are my clothes?” She inspected the ground for her bag, but at her feet was a canvas sack. “I demand you tell me what’s happening.
“I’ll start by telling you my name is Beatha,” the woman said. “Do you recall collapsing after you chased the bairn into the woods?”
“Yes, and when I woke up on the ground a while later, it was dark and my clothes were soaking wet. But what has that got to do with me entering and leaving a so-called fairy ring, and how does it explain why I was dressed in slacks and a sweater one minute and in this medieval costume the next?” Gwen rubbed her aching temples. None of this made any sense to her, but she was determined to get to the bottom of it.
“What you experienced upon entering the ring, is what happens when a mortal trespasses into fae territory.” the old woman explained.
“But I didn’t enter it on purpose,” Gwen said.
“It doesna matter. The second time you felt the pain and collapsed was after you left the ring, which brings us to the present...or in your case, the past.”
“There is no such thing as a fairy ring.” Gwen glared at the woman. “And even if there was, I have no idea where the darn thing is, let alone where it starts or ends. What makes you think I even believe in this superstitious gibberish,” she challenged.
The woman clucked her tongue and crossed her arms over her chest. “You mustna question the beliefs of your ancestors, lass. Especially on Samhain Eve. Things happen on this night that dinna happen any other time of the year, so heed my warning and mind your words.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “One never knows who or what is lurking in the forest and might be listening.”
Gwen met the woman’s stare. She really seemed to believe what she was saying, but Gwen wasn’t buying it. “Why should I listen to an odd old woman I don’t know? There is nothing stopping me from leaving this clearing and going back to the castle. My friend, Beth, must be so worried.”
“You left the ring before sunrise on the morrow, so your friend willna be there. Naught will be as you remember,” Beatha said.
“What are you saying?”
“Leaving the fairy ring before dawn on the first day of November means everything will have changed. Had you remained where you were, you would have had the choice to return from whence you came, but you no longer have that option.”
Gwen paced as she tried to make some sense of all that Beatha claimed. “This is insane. Are you telling me that because I stepped outside a fairy ring I didn’t even know about that everything I know and love will be gone?” She didn’t believe what she was hearing, but then again, the woman had no apparent reason for making it up, and at this moment, Gwen wasn’t sure what was real.
“Na gone. They will just na be born for eight hundred years,” Beatha replied simply.
Gwen fought to keep her mouth from gaping open as she tried to process what the Beatha had said. She couldn’t deny that something strange, even unnatural, was going on and she’d somehow wound up smack in the middle of it. But implying it was possible to time travel really pushed the limits. The thought crossed her mind that this was some elaborate birthday prank Beth had concocted, and would explain why she hadn’t come looking for her. But Gwen was pretty sure her friend wouldn’t go this far.
The pin and the portrait of Lady Lilith immediately came to mind. She did bear a strong resemblance to the laird’s wife and Beth saw it too. That she felt drawn to the picture and experienced a sense of déjà vu when she entered Castle MacQuin for the first time were undeniable, but time travel was something she could not wrap her mind around. “You said I’d come home. If you’re trying to convince me I was actually born eight hundred years ago and not in 1993, that I was Lady Lilith in a past life, I don’t buy it for a minute.”
“I dinna said you and Lady Lilith were the same person,” Beatha replied.”
“Then what exactly are you saying?”
“You will soon learn the answers to all of your questions. But there is blood on the moon and danger lurks, so you must be careful who you trust.” Beatha pointed to the red halo around the full moon. “Telling people who you are and where you are from is also na a good idea.”
“Why do you speak in riddles instead of giving me a straight answer?” The more the woman said, the more confused she became and the larger the knot of trepidation twisting her gut grew. “You also claim that you witnessed my birth eight hundred years ago, yet you’re here now, which is virtually impossible, unless you’re some sort of witch or sorceress?” She couldn’t believe those words were leaving her lips, but until she could come up with a logical explanation, she had to consider all possibilities, real or imaginary.
“I was present at your birth and am here now. Some call me a witch and I have practiced as such, but I am what is referred to as an ancient, an immortal guardian of the past and protector of the future, a link between the fae and mortals,” Beatha said. “It matters naught if you believe in me. It is what you choose to do with the information that is important.”
“Why must I do anything?” Gwen asked. “If what you say is true, why can’t I simply go back into the fairy ring, return to where I came from, and forget any of this happened?”
As Gwen prepared to return to the ring, Beatha clasped her upper arm, her expression stern. “You canna go back into the ring. It is no longer there, and you left of your own free will.”
“Free will? I had no idea what I was doing, and if I had, I would have stayed put. I certainly did not deliberately tempt fate or expect to end up in the past.”
Beatha shook her head. “The ring only appears on the eve of Samhain and serves as a gateway between the fae and mortal worlds. Once you step out of it, you canna go back and the prophecy will be fulfilled.”
“The prophecy? Are you saying this is pre-ordained, something that was destined to happen?”
“I canna give you the details, as those you must discover for yourself. But I can tell you that the only way the prophecy could come to pass was if you entered the fairy ring on Samhain Eve, which you did.”
Gwen sat on a fallen log and cradled her face in her hands. She based her life and decisions on logic and facts and this was neither. She wondered if she pinched herse
lf if it would awaken her from this nightmare. What this woman was telling her couldn’t possibly be true, and she was never the sort to give up without a fight. People could not travel back in time, and there were no such things as fairies, fairy rings, and other mythical creatures. They were stories made up to entertain children or to share around a campfire. Even if her grandmother had told her they were real.
“I don’t know who put you up to this prank, but it’s not funny. I demand you tell me what’s going on, and I want to know now.” With fists balled at her sides, Gwen rose, prepared to do whatever was necessary to set things right. But Beatha was gone.
Chapter Four
Gwen quickly scanned the area, searching for the old woman, but soon realized Beatha had vanished as quickly as she had appeared. She glanced down at her attire, but nothing had changed. Had she not been still dressed in clothing from medieval times, she’d have dismissed the entire encounter as a bad dream, or even the ill effects from the haggis Beth convinced her to try at lunch. But she couldn’t ignore what was happening, any more than she could explain it. To make things worse, without her watch or cell phone, Gwen had no idea what time it was or how long she’d been in the forest. Judging by what Beatha said, it was well past midnight and her only option was to return to the castle ruins, where she prayed she’d find Beth and answers.
Locating the path in the darkness proved to be a challenge, but once she found it, Gwen sprinted in the direction of the visitor’s center. The trek took longer than she’d hoped and the sun was peeking above the horizon when she arrived at the curtain wall. Shocked to see a castle towering before her where the ancient rubble should be, Gwen stumbled to a halt. The ruins were gone and so was the visitor’s center. Peddlers were setting up carts filled with vegetables, bannocks, cheese, cookware, trinkets, and fabrics in the bailey. Crofters in period attire milled about, tending to their daily activities, and no one seemed to pay her any mind when she walked by them. She wished she had her camera. Without proof, no one was ever going to believe what she was seeing.
“None of this can be real. Not unless these people go all out for Samhain. But it doesn’t explain how this castle got here,” she muttered aloud as she climbed the steps of the keep, then entered.
“Good day,” she said to a woman rushing past. “Could I ask you something?”
“I dinna have time for questions, lass. Best you get yourself to the kitchen afore the laird catches you dallying, or Cook takes a strip off your hide,” the woman said before Gwen could finish.
“The laird, Cook?” Gwen wasn’t sure she heard the woman correctly. “Are you telling me that people are actually living here, and this is not some sort of medieval reenactment or Samhain celebration?”
“Have you taken leave of your senses? I dinna know what you mean by reenactment, and only those who practice the dark arts would celebrate a time when those from the netherworld walk the earth.” The woman frowned. “Laird MacQuin and Lady Lilith are already seated in the great hall and are expecting to break their fast. His lordship doesna like to be kept waiting. Lord Damen is away as he always is on Samhain, but is expected to return soon.” She planted her hands on Gwen’s shoulders and steered her toward the kitchen. “Make haste if you know what’s good for you.”
The people the woman referred to were those Gwen had seen in the portrait hanging on the wall in the visitor’s center, but how could that be? Laird MacQuin and his family died eight hundred years ago, so couldn’t possibly be sitting in the great hall awaiting breakfast. Gwen wanted to grab the woman and demand answers, but until she could get a better grasp on the situation, she thought it best to heed Beatha’s warning, and not disclose she was from the future. She didn’t believe it herself, so was certain those she was about to encounter wouldn’t either. If she ended up locked away for being insane, she might never get to the bottom of this nightmare.
Gwen’s chest tightened and her heart began to pound, her stomach twisting with dread. She wondered if this was really happening, or if she’d lost her mind, or worse, was dead and stuck in limbo forever. And if it was real, she might never find a way to go back to her own time, to her family and friends...to Kyle. She knew she loved him, but until now, she hadn’t realized how much. The thought of never seeing him again was unbearable and she decided if she got the chance, and he still wanted her, she would accept his proposal.
Gwen sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. She’d never been one to panic or to run in the face of adversity, but this had to top her list of challenges. Standing here speculating was not going to get her the answers she sought, so she squared her shoulders and padded into the kitchen—shocked to see the flurry of activity. Servants scurried about, some preparing the meal, while others carried trays laden with food. The clang of iron pots resonated in her ears and the tantalizing scents of oat bread, roast meat, and spices teased her nostrils.
“You, there!” a woman called out.
Uncertain who she was speaking to, Gwen glanced around the room, then came face-to-face with a woman storming toward her, toting a wooden platter containing cheese and bread. “Were you speaking to me?”
“Aye, and who else would I be talking to?” she snapped. “Dinna just stand there gawking. Take this to the great hall and be quick about it. Laird MacQuin is waiting.” She gave Gwen the tray, then dismissed her with a flip of her hand.
“So I hear,” Gwen mumbled under her breath. Since she’d never been inside the keep before, she had no idea where the great hall was located. She was about to ask for directions when a man brushed by her, carrying a platter of meat, so she followed him down a long corridor that ended at a set of ornately carved oak doors.
Gwen entered a large room filled with rows of wooden trestle tables and countless villagers. Ignoring the din of laughter and chatter, she focused her gaze on the dais at the far end of the hall. As she’d been informed, the laird—a tall, imposing looking man, she guessed to be in his mid to late fifties—sat with a pewter tankard in hand. Seated beside him was a much younger woman that Gwen recognized from the portrait as Lady Lilith. The tour guide said she’d been a child bride, forced to marry a man many years her senior, but as Gwen got closer she faltered and almost dropped the tray. She’d noticed some similarities when she first saw the painting in the visitor center, and dismissed them as coincidence, but looking at her now was like staring into a mirror at a slightly older version of her own reflection.
Caught up in the moment, Gwen wasn’t paying attention when she placed the platter before the laird, hitting a jug of mead and spilling it across the table.
“Fool!” Laird MacQuin sprang to his feet and turned to face another servant. “Clean up this mess, then see this woman is taught to be more careful, Robert. I think several lashes will teach her to keep her mind on her duties.”
Lady Lilith placed her hand on the laird’s forearm. “Please, husband. I’m sure she meant no harm. It does you honor to show mercy and forgive the lass this once.” She offered Gwen a sympathetic glance, her eyes widening as she studied her face. “I’ve na seen you here before. Are you new?” Lady Lilith’s voice wavered as she spoke. “What do they call you?”
“My name is Gwen and I only arrived here this morning.”
Upon hearing her name, Lady Lilith turned pale and swayed on her feet, clutching her husband’s arm for support.
“Are you ill? You look as though you might faint.” As Gwen prepared to go to Lady Lilith’s aid, the lairdess held her hand in the air. “I’ll be fine.”
“Now look what you’ve done. You’ve upset my wife and you’ll pay for your clumsiness,” the laird roared.
“Nay, husband. I’m fine, a little warm is all,” Lady Lilith said. “I beg you na to blame the lass.”
“I’m very sorry for spilling your mead, and promise to be more careful in future.” With downcast eyes, Gwen bit down on her bottom lip, hoping the laird would show her mercy.
Laird MacQuin grunted and waited for his wife to take
her seat, before addressing Gwen again. “You’re lucky I am in a generous mood today. My son will soon be returning and according to the missive I got this morn, he brings with him good news about an alliance and acquisition I’ve been after for some time.”
“Thank you,” Gwen said as she backed away. She’d managed to evade the lash this time, but thought it best she make herself scarce. There was no telling if the laird would change his mind, and the last thing she needed was to pique his ire or draw attention to herself. She couldn’t leave the great hall fast enough and when she reached the corridor, she heaved a sigh of relief. The question now was where to go and how to avoid another confrontation with the laird?
“Wait. I need to speak to you on behalf of Lady Lilith.” A young woman called out, then hurried over to where Gwen rested with her back pressed against the wall.
“Who are you and what is it you want?” Gwen asked.
“I’m Mara, Lady Lilith’s personal maid. My mistress would like to see you in her chamber, and bid me tell you.”
“Did she say why she wished to talk to me?” Gwen asked.
The lass shrugged and shook her head. “Nay, she dinna explain why, only that it was verra important and I was na to tell anyone but you,” Mara said. “Will you meet with her?”
Gwen took a moment to ponder Lady Lilith’s request. While she had no idea why the lairdess would wish a clandestine meeting, there was a chance she could shed some light on what was happening. “I’ll go, but you’ll have to show me to her chamber. I’m new to the castle and don’t know my way around yet.”
Mara bobbed a curtsy and smiled. “I’ll tell Lady Lilith you’ll meet with her, then escort you to her solar myself. She must wait until her husband has left the table before she can return to her chamber, but she will come as soon as he’s gone,” she said, then disappeared into the great hall.
Gwen was glad that Mara returned quickly and didn’t keep her waiting. Otherwise, she might have changed her mind. She shadowed the maid down the corridor and up a fight of stone steps that led to another long hallway. When they reached a large wooden door at the end of the corridor, Mara halted, then slid a key into the lock. “I take it this is the laird and lairdess’s room?”
