Through the Mist: Restoration

by C. Renee Freeman

  “Sir, what year is it?” she asked. She feared the answer as she withdrew her hand.

  “Why, ‘tis 1801.”

  She collapsed to the ground. She tried to place her head between her legs to avoid fainting. It must be a dream. It must! She felt him beside her. She looked up and found him gazing intently at her.

  “Madam, are you unwell?” Benjamin asked, his voice filled with worry. He carefully covered her hands with one of his massive ones.

  His hand was so warm. She could even feel a small callous on his thumb. Dreams could never be that detailed, could they?

  It was true that Beth and she loved Scottish romance novels where the handsome laird rescued the desperate damsel in distress. They even read historical romances where a heroine fell through a crack in time and landed hundreds of years in the past, usually in the arms of a dashing Scot. They never believed any of it could be true. Time travel was the work of fiction…right?

  With growing certainty, Tilly knew this was not a dream. She was indeed a damsel in distress, yet nothing about her current situation felt sexy. Something very bad happened to her. She slipped through a rip in the fabric of time, or she finally had been driven mad from grief, and her mind had created a new reality. Either way, she was royally screwed.

  She looked deeply into his eyes. “Please help me,” she implored. “I don’t know how I came to be here. One minute, I was sitting in my room, and the next….”

  She did not finish the sentence. Tilly could see he guessed that she referred to their night of passion, not the shift in time. She did not correct him.

  Benjamin helped her to her feet. “Show me where this cottage is,” he said.

  ∞

  It was a great idea. If Tilly had travelled back in time, she might find where the magical transport spot was in the pasture. She could just slip right back to the 21st century. If she was lucky, she could return to her room before Beth noticed she was gone. She would take this little adventure to her grave.

  They walked side by side in silence until they reached the center of the pasture where the cottage should have stood. She looked around and saw no trace, no remnant of the house. On the bright side, it proved that it definitely was not built in the 1750s, as Mrs. Douglas said.

  She stood perfectly still, listening for some slight humming or disturbance that would alert her to an enchanted place, some – oh, she didn’t know what! Wouldn’t she feel a tug back to modern times?

  Instead, Tilly was met with deathly quiet, save the sound of her companion’s breathing. She glanced at him. He watched her closely, probably expecting an answer. She had none.

  “You say an inn stood here?” he asked skeptically. “I have lived here all my life. I have explored every hill and valley. No dwelling has ever stood in this spot.”

  She began to tremble. How am I going to get myself out of this mess? she thought. What can I say? Would he think me deranged if I told him the truth? Could people in this time even comprehend the concept of time travel? Hell, I don’t know if I understand it!

  Her discomfort must have been clear to Benjamin, yet he could not know the true reason for it. He bade her stay where she was, a laughable request. She had nowhere else to go.

  She watched him prowl from one end of the pasture to the other, searching for her trail. She hoped he would find some sign that would lead her back to her own time, even though she questioned her sanity.

  Turning her attention away from him, Tilly inspected the area. The pasture lacked both fence and sheep, and the grass was knee high. The forest looked the same. Mustering her courage, she looked up at the hill. At the top, she saw the monolith that Beth and she examined the previous day. While there were hills aplenty around them, this was the only one thus marked. It was undeniable proof she was in the right spot, just not the right time. She silently prayed for the millionth time that this was all a dream from which she would soon awaken.

  At length, Benjamin returned to her side. She noticed that he looked a little pale. He took her hand and led her back to the campsite.

  After stoking the fire and ensuring she was as comfortable as one can be on a seat made of granite, he took a seat on a rock opposite her. He seemed to be searching for the right words to say. Tilly understood the feeling.

  “Let us speak plainly,” Benjamin said. His voice was shaky. “My father’s factor taught me how to track nearly anything. I saw your footsteps leading toward the forest. They appeared from nowhere. Of a sudden, your trail began from thin air.”

  He stared at her a moment before continuing. “There is no sign of another’s footprints so no one carried you,” he said aloud, obviously reviewing the facts more for his own benefit than hers. “I did not see hoof prints, so you did not ride a horse. You could not have ridden in a wagon or carriage, for the trail is too narrow in this section of the forest.”

  “Tell me, woman!” he said, gulping hard. “Did you spring from the mist like a wee fey?”

  She could see his mounting distress as he spoke. If it was 1801, they might be far enough away from centuries of superstition and illiteracy. He sounded like an educated man, so he probably did not place great stock in the legends of the wee folk. Would he believe in time travel? She was not sure if she did. She hoped she might awaken at any second, even if it was in a mental institution.

  Since she had no idea when that awakening might occur and presently had no means of returning home, she forced herself to face the truth. She was stuck here for an undetermined amount of time. She needed help, and he might be able to provide it. Mr. Douglas said Benjamin Campbell was a good man. Would he be willing to help her? She decided to take a chance and hope for the best.

  “I’m not a fairy or other supernatural being,” Tilly said. She noted the relief on his face. “I really was staying at a cottage in that pasture. I heard someone moaning in the woods.”

  She glanced at Benjamin. “I was afraid a poor sheep was hurt. You see, the pasture was filled with the animals when I was there,” she said. She could not tell from the blank look on his face whether or not he understood her. “I found you and…well, you know what happened.”

  “But, I told you no cottage has ever stood there, lass,” he argued. “How did you come from a place that does not exist?”

  “In my time, an inn stands there, and I was a guest.”

  “In your time?”

  “Somehow, I have traveled from the 21st century to…well, here.”

  Benjamin let out his breath in a rush and leapt from the rock. She thought he might run away in horror. He stayed, though he paced around the fire for several minutes. He raked his hands through his hair, making it stand on end. He looked positively wild.

  “Woman, what the hell are you trying to tell me?” he asked. He flung his hand into the air, not giving her time to answer. His accent grew thicker as he became more agitated. “Am I supposed to believe you somehow dropped out of the sky in your journey from the future?”

  It was her turn to pace. “I have no idea how I got here,” she said. Stamping her foot in frustration, she pointed an accusing finger at him. “It’s your fault! If I had not heard you moaning, I never would have crossed that damn pasture! I would be sleeping in my soft, 21st century bed right now!”

  They both stopped moving and glared at each other across the fire. Clearly, it was more than either one of them could fathom.

  “We need water,” he said softly, bending to retrieve a bucket beside the fire. “I shall return in a moment.”

  Seven

  Benjamin walked to the stream that was beyond the campsite. He took his time while he filled the bucket with icy cold water. Then, he sat on a rock to think.

  His deep sense of honor dictated that he should take the woman as his wife. He could not believe he had succumbed to the pleasures of the flesh. He was taught to be a respectable gentleman. He was not an ordinary man who could enjoy the delights of a whore, not that he believed she was one. Still, whore or not, he took advantage of h
er, and that was unacceptable.

  Mentally shaking himself, he refocused his thoughts. The more primitive part of him knew he had another choice. They were on Campbell land, and he was the only son of the current master of Castle Fion. He could smash her head with a rock and bury her lifeless body. No one need ever know about their tryst.

  No one, except him. Killing someone who harmed one’s family was one thing. Killing an innocent woman in cold blood was another. Could he live with the knowledge that he killed her simply because she might tell everyone about their illicit affair? He could not yield to such evil thoughts, no matter how convenient the deed might be. He loathed himself for even allowing the idea to enter his brain. He wondered if some small part of his father’s dark nature lived inside him. He sighed heavily. Thinking about his father would not solve the current problem.

  He could not help but think if she was insane. She said she travelled from over two hundred years in the future. What madness was that? He read many books of science and philosophy. New discoveries were being made every day, for they lived in an exciting age. He supposed it could be possible, but how?

  Examine the facts, Benjamin thought sensibly. He was an excellent tracker. He found no sign that anyone had been there except for the clear trail that started in the middle of the pasture and led to the forest.

  She wore strange clothes. He recalled the spongy feel of her blue coat, so unlike any fabric he ever touched. Her plain, white gown was not suitable for trekking around the countryside and, like her shoes, was not fashionable or practical. In fact, he could not imagine anyone walking more than a few feet in that outfit in the rough terrain of the area.

  Also, her manner of speech was very different. She spoke with him so informally and looked him directly in the eye. Frankly, she unnerved him with her boldness.

  Even more troubling was the fact she knew who he was and where he lived. He remembered the startled expression on her face when he confirmed his ties to Castle Fion. That part disturbed him the most. How could someone from another time know about his home? Who was this woman? Could she be a fortune seeker?

  He snorted in derision at the idea. He knew women like that existed. He did not think one would be so desperate as to wander in the woods, hoping to stumble upon a rich man. While he stood to inherit the Campbell estate, it did not yet belong to him. His father did not seem inclined to leave this earth anytime soon, so it could be years before he gained his family’s modest fortune.

  His heart was heavy. If she was a fortune seeker, she gained her wish by bedding him last night. She would shout from every rooftop that he took advantage of her if he did not offer to marry her. It greatly vexed him that he might bring a potential enemy to the castle where she would be in easy reach of his children. In a moment of loneliness, he let a wolf into his home.

  Benjamin shook his head. As remote as the possibility might be, she could be an innocent woman alone in a strange place. After all, he did not perceive guile in her manner. She truly believed she was from another time. Perhaps she was suffering from some ailment of the mind. Maybe she did not have devious plans to claim his hand in matrimony and steal his supposed fortune; she was merely confused from a recent trauma.

  Yes, that must be it, he thought. The way she rambled about a cottage and the town – why, she must have suffered some accident in the woods. She may have been lost and frightened for days before stumbling upon him. Her mind could be as battered as her body.

  He saw no evidence of injury on her person, though. With a broad grin, he recalled the thorough examination he gave her body the previous night. Her milky white skin was unmarked and smelled of vanilla. And, her clothes were cleaner than his. Someone who spent days lost in the forest would have looked and smelled like it. That explanation was just as implausible as the others.

  Groaning, he realized he had little choice since violence was not an option. He could not leave a helpless woman in the forest. The decision made, he rose from his seat. He would open his home to her and offer her refuge.

  At least, until he knew more about her.

  ∞

  Tilly sat by the fire for several moments after Benjamin left. Her mind reeled. Time travel was not possible. It was the stuff of fiction. She must be dreaming.

  She spotted a small rock on the ground. She picked it up and threw it hard at her foot. She swore in a most unladylike fashion when hot pain shot across her foot. “Maybe this is not a dream after all,” she said through clenched teeth.

  She stumbled to her feet and looked around the campsite. She spotted her shoes and robe and quickly donned them.

  She still held the plaid blanket. She studied the material. Her mother went through a sewing phase when Tilly was a child. She wore enough of her mother’s creations to recognize a handmade garment when she saw one. The stitching on the edge of the blanket was not made by a machine. Holding the blanket to her nose, she inhaled deeply. It smelled funny. Examining the fabric again, she noticed how thin and worn the material was in spots. If it was illegal to have tartan for many years after the ’45, could the blanket have been stored in a trunk somewhere?

  Shaking her head, she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders to chase away the chill. Tilly looked around the area and desperately wished for a proper bathroom. Unfortunately, the urgent demands of her bladder overrode the need for modernity, so she made her way behind a boulder.

  While she attended to personal matters, she recalled a failed family camping trip. Alex insisted upon taking the kids and her camping – once. Both Anna and she refused to ever go camping again. Ladies were not physically equipped for “roughing it” in the woods.

  Her morning necessity resolved, she walked to the horses. They briefly stopped picking grass to examine her, then returned to their meal. She ran a hand over the neck of one of the horses and whispered soothing words to it. Both animals were very healthy and had shiny chestnut-colored coats. They seemed accustomed to the current time, even if she was not.

  Tilly checked that Benjamin was nowhere in sight. She made her way to the stack of baggage on the boulder. Carefully, she undid the thick, metal clasp of one of the brown leather saddle bags and slid her hand inside. She found a bag of root vegetables along with bread and the crusty pastries they enjoyed for breakfast. Returning the articles to the saddle bag, she checked the other bag. Again, she found additional food items.

  She walked around the rock and checked the other saddle bags. She discovered more items there – a small bowl, a spoon, a spool of twine. She found a tattered book by an author whose name she did not recognize. Tucked inside it were folded pieces of parchment. She gently unfolded the document. She gasped when she saw the date at the top: April 17, 1801. Her hands trembled as she read:

  To My Son Benjamin –

  I have been travelling for many months and found your letters waiting for me upon my return to Tinberry Hall. I was deeply saddened to learn of dear Mary’s passing. She was a sweet girl who bore you hearty sons and took great care of your home.

  I am pleased the bairn survived. Fortunately, your wife gave you four male children before delivering the last child, a female. The girl will be of great help one day in your old age.

  By my calculation, your mourning period will not be much longer. When the appropriate time has passed, you must take another wife. I know the subject is not agreeable to you now, yet I am confident you know the wisdom of my words. You have a family and, when I have left this earth, you will have estates that require your attention. You need a suitable lady by your side.

  I sometimes wish I had married again after your mother died. I have found myself in many social situations where a good wife would have been exceedingly practical. The right match could even further one’s prospects, which I wish you would understand.

  I question your ability to find a suitable match in the country. Women of genteel birth are in such short supply there. Since you are in mourning, it would be inappropriate for you to begin the search on your own. I sh
all begin discreet inquires amongst my acquaintances, including my connections in London. I will find a woman of good breeding and character, and I will travel to Castle Fion with your future wife when she has been located.

  I can picture your face when you read my words. You are furious with your father. Benjamin, you were always a stubborn boy who hated me. Do not deny it. The time has come for honesty.

  You are a father. You are the future keeper of the Campbell name. You have responsibilities that are more important than any romantic notion of love. I indulged you when you met Mary because I saw the strategic advantages of your union.

  You were young then. You are a man now. Put aside your foolish pride. Your father can guide you in matters about which you have no knowledge. Consider my offer, Benjamin. It is for the good of your family.

  Before I end this correspondence, I want to discuss the education of your eldest son. Mrs. Donnelly is a capable governess for the younger children. Allan should receive advanced education at his age, though. I have found an excellent tutor for the task. His name is Daniel Ramsey. He is originally from Edinburgh. He is knowledgeable about a great many subjects and speaks several languages. He is well suited for the task.

  I have given him funds to purchase suitable materials for Allan’s instruction as well as books that could benefit the other children. I anticipate his preparations will take a fortnight. On his way north, he will visit with some old acquaintances. It might be at least two months before he reaches Castle Fion. My letter should reach you in time. Nonetheless, I gave him a letter of reference so that you will not turn him away.

  The hour grows late, and I have other matters that require my attention. I shall write again when I have found a prospect for you.

  Your father,

  Malcolm Campbell

  Tilly’s hands trembled violently. She refolded the letter and placed it in the book. She returned it to the saddle bag, careful to refasten the clasp. She hoped it would not appear that she had been rummaging through Benjamin’s things.