Time and Space Between Us

by Diana Knightley

  “Shit, he’s going. Quentin, he’s going!”

  Quentin raced toward the beach after Magnus with me one second behind. Zach and Emma followed at a run as well. All racing toward the beach and the furious looking storm.

  By the time I came over the hill Magnus was roaring down the sand dunes toward a man on horseback.

  “Magnus!” I ran harder, not understanding why. What in the world would I do once I got there, watch? I couldn’t just watch him fight. I needed a gun. Quentin probably had one. Probably.

  Magnus had his sword drawn. As he closed on the man and horse, bellowing wildly, he brought the sword around in an arc, meeting steel with steel. A clanging crash, surrounded by arced lightning. Dark skies. Wind whipped sand in our eyes. The sand-blasting pain bringing the fearful tears that demanded to come.

  “Magnus! Come back, we should still go this way; don’t leave yet! We have a plan!” My words were whipped around my head and wildly away behind me.

  The man who had come from the storm was weak. I could see it, disoriented and dazed, but he was also on high, swinging down against Magnus. Magnus was sweeping up. They fought brutally for long moments, spinning in a circle.

  Quentin stood on the dune, not drawing his gun. “Quentin? Shoot him!”

  He shook his head.

  “Shoot him!” I grabbed his arm, deciding to grab his gun away and shoot the man myself. Because then we would have two boxes. We would only need to find one more. We could take our time.

  But Quentin struggled against me. “I’m following orders, Katie.” He wrenched my arm behind my back to stop me from grasping at his clothes. “I’m following orders. He told me not to draw my weapon. He doesn’t want a body here — any questions.”

  “You know what Quentin? You’re an asshole.” I turned as Magnus swept the sword, spun, and whacked it against the man’s right arm. The fighter dropped his sword. He grasped his injured arm and slumped forward. Magnus had the reins in his hand. The horse bucked and fought and Magnus pulled attempting to control the crazed horse.

  He was trying to get his hand into the man’s sporran to find the vessel. He had a foot on the stirrup and was trying to heave himself up while the horse spun and bucked — but then the man grabbed Magnus in a chokehold.

  Magnus’s feet left the ground kicking the air, and that was all I could watch.

  I raced toward him. Quentin yanked the back of my shirt, trying to stop me. The wind rushed toward me. It felt like an uphill climb — the world conspiring against me — but he needed help.

  I had to help.

  And then worse — Magnus thrust his hand into his own sporran — his lips were moving. He was reciting the numbers while holding onto the vessel about to jump time—

  just as my hand grabbed his arm to yank it away.

  His eyes,

  deep,

  dark,

  enraged,

  met mine and it was —

  Too late.

  The force of it hit me like a concussion grenade. It slammed into me so brutally my head snapped back. Lifting, stretching, shoving. I was yanked. Something held my wrist painfully tight. Air rushed past. I was thrown left and right. Then my body felt like it would be torn in two, pushed and pulled and ripped into pieces.

  And then it got really, really fucking bad. Every nerve, every synapse was twisted. All cells pried up, and every. Single. Bit. Of. Skin singed away.

  And that part, it lasted for forever. Just pain, gasping breath, endless buffeting, and screams that went on and on and on — knives in my ears.

  Make it stop screaming!

  — I wished I could pass out. I begged God or the universe or whoever was in charge of what this was to let me die and please bring on the darkness instead of this piercing red riot of pain.

  And that was it for a really, really long time.

  Chapter 13

  “Kaitlyn! Stop screaming!”

  Magnus’s muffled voice filled my head. It was me making that noise, but I couldn’t stop. Because it wasn’t really me screaming, it was my body. I had no control. His hand clamped down on my mouth, hard. I breathed in rasps through my nose against the heel of his hand, trying to make sense of what I was seeing: darkness, his shoulder up against my ribs. Was I up or down and cold — jeez, it was cold. I shuddered against his chest.

  He was stone cold still, pressing down, forcing me to not breathe, to not move, to not make a sound. His face emerged from the dim and turned into my focus. His eyes glared. His jaw was set, his lips formed a soundless, “Shush.”

  I had been moaning. I tried to stop, to go still, to be quiet, but my breath wouldn’t stop gasping. My heart banged in my chest. My pulse roared in my ears. I tried to be quiet but everything was terrifyingly loud.

  And worse, I couldn’t get enough air.

  And worse again, the pain rolling me under once more.

  Chapter 14

  Magnus shoved away.

  His hushed voice said from nearby, “How dare ye, Kaitlyn, how dare ye do this?” He stood over me. Dim through the darkness and my foggy, pain-riddled sight. “I have commanded ye, as my wife — ye have made an oath, in front of God, that ye will obey me and this—“ His last words were a growl, “Tis unforgivable.”

  I heaved a breath from my lungs and gasped for another as my body — limp, damaged, possibly unalterably broken, but definitely paralyzed, at the least — flung up the backside of another wave of pain and then crested and crashed and tumbled down the other side with a moan. I wasn’t paralyzed, I could freaking feel everything.

  His voice continued, “What, would ye do, Kaitlyn, stop me? You have promised me your devotion. How dare ye. What would ye have me do, watch ye die? Twould be my fault. I canna battle with ye a’holdin’ my arm! I canna fight with ye sharin’ my horse. You want tae die? You will make me watch it, and you will take me with ye.” The tops of trees and a black night sky formed his background. His eyes were furious, his face set. His voice so loud it hurt my ears despite my fists clamped over them tight.

  I wanted to answer, to argue, to beg, to do or say anything. But all I could do was clench my whole self against another wave of anguish and to squeak out, “It hurts.”

  His voice came close. “I have been telling ye. Tis verra painful. I am in the midst of it too.” He swept the cloak off his shoulders and placed it over me, tucking it in under my knees and around my back. Then he sank to the ground. His back was to me. His arms were around his knees, sword in his hands. “You need tae rest. If ye wake, and I am nae here, I am attempting tae get a horse. I would ask ye tae bide here and remain quiet, but ye nae mind me, so I will save my words. Tis in your best interest though tae remain unfound.”

  Chapter 15

  Time passed; minutes or hours or days, I couldn’t tell. I woke occasionally, pulled up the edge of the cloak to check. Magnus was sitting like a sentry in front of me, holding his sword, awake. Until finally after a great deal of time and after the waves of pain subsided leaving me weak and ill, I pried the edge of the cloak away, and he was gone. I was on a forest floor, surrounded by cold damp leaves. The sounds of a dark night, animals hooting and rustling, were magnified around me. I found myself somewhere in time and space, but where? It could be America of course — perhaps a seagull grabbed me by a strand of hair and carried me to Minnesota or some other freezing place. But the pain all over my body? It could only be explained by Somewhere Else.

  And now I was alone.

  And Magnus was pissed.

  I tucked my head to my knees in a tight circle and tried to go completely quiet.

  * * *

  Later, I heard a rustling — and then without warning the cloak was pulled away. Magnus appeared in my still foggy vision. Everything was dark and faint, plus nighttime. He put a finger to his lips to silence me, then held out a hand to help me up. I swayed from the sudden change of position and collapsed against his chest.

  He led me to the horse. I was freezing and my head was spinning. Vertigo
— I thought I might faint. He wordlessly placed my hands on the side of the horse, shoved my face to the fur, and hefted me on his shoulder up and over. I ended slung over the back of the horse completely stuck. Like a sack of something. My short little sundress and tiny panties on view to the whole entire world. Because it had been a warm day in Florida for September and I had wanted the last thing Magnus to see to be my bare legs. And now he was seeing my bare legs in freaking Scotland, where he expressly, undeniably, irrefutably told me not to come.

  And it was so cold. Now that I wasn’t in pain anymore, I clenched tight shivering. I wanted to move to sitting but if I went off balance I would fall on my head. If I fell back, it would be on top of Magnus, and then he’d have to heave me back up. So like a sack of potatoes, I lay there doing nothing helpful at all.

  Magnus retrieved the cloak and deftly climbed behind me. He shoved an arm under my waist lifting and turning me, so I ended astride the horse. Then he wrapped the cloak around me and tucked it in around my legs. He urged the horse forward into a walk.

  Magnus remained perfectly quiet. His arms were around me, pressed to me, arms tight, holding. I knew he was cold without his cloak, but there wasn’t any way I could survive without it. The horse picked its way along the roots and rock, the uneven terrain, around trees and fallen trunks. We went slowly in the half-light of predawn. Our Not Speaking continued for a really long time until finally he said, “Are ye cold?”

  I shivered a bit, but said, “I’m okay, it’s cold, but I’ll be okay.”

  “I canna make a fire. We must put a distance between us and Talsworth. We will arrive at Balloch in about six hours.” He turned the horse around a tree jutting into our path.

  “How did you get the horse?”

  “I have beaten a man for it.”

  I bit my lip to hold back my tears. What had I been thinking? I had wanted Magnus to be able to trust me to do the right thing. But I had screwed it all up. I was so sure I needed to stop him from going, I went with him. Now I was a burden.

  As if he could read my thoughts he said, “I canna risk sendin’ ye back now. It would attract attention and I daena know if ye can make the trip.”

  “I don’t want to, it hurts.”

  “I know. But ye canna stay here. Tis nae safe for you.”

  I nodded sullenly. I had believed he went back and forth because he liked adventure. There was no way he did that for any reason beyond duty.

  He asked, “What do ye have inside your bag?”

  I recited from memory. “My wallet, my Burt’s Bees lip balm, my phone. Oh, and a protein bar.”

  “We should eat that. I am verra hungry.”

  I dug out the bar, ripped open the wrapper, and took a bite. I passed him the rest. I was famished, but he generally ate three times as much as me. I got out my lip balm and smeared it on my lips.

  I asked, “What happened with the second vessel?”

  “We landed outside the castle walls. Twas dark and the horse was wild. The man fell, injured, but guards were comin’. I dinna have time tae get the vessel. I picked ye up over my shoulder and ran tae the forest.”

  “While you were in this much pain?”

  “Aye. When we get ye tae Balloch we shall decide what tae do with ye.”

  I went silent and for the next few hours we rode in silence.

  Chapter 16

  Balloch castle was amazing — old, big, awesome, and daunting. Towers jutted up beside a wide arched gate. The road carried many people all dressed much like Magnus usually. Except they were smartly bundled in layers of cloaks and wraps. There were many wooden carts, piled high with bundles, pulled by horses. A carriage had just entered the gates ahead of us.

  “Keep your head down, Kaitlyn. I will ride fast tae get tae the interior before we are noticed.” I pulled the cloak over my face. The steady beat of the horse quickened as we hustled through the crowds, clip clopping over the brick road. We passed through a large gateway and turned right just within. We traveled along the interior wall, keeping to the edges of the wide, crowded courtyard until we came to a dark sheltered spot. Magnus slid off, tied our horse to an iron ring, and put out his arms so I could slide into them. He held me tightly around the shoulders as he hustled me through a series of doors into an even darker, colder interior.

  We came to the top of steep winding stairs, rough hewn and uneven, with no railing, and he led me down into what must have been the castle’s kitchen. The ceilings were very low. At tables at the far end five women bustled around carrying bowls and pots. Nearby a fire blazed in a circular pit. Three small chickens raced by.

  Magnus said, “Wait here,” and left my side for the far end of the room where the women worked. I kept the cloak over my head and stared at the ground trying to ignore a chicken that was clucking and scratching perilously close. It squawked and scattered as a small terrier rushed over and pawed my shins, sniffing my sneakers. I hurriedly arranged the cloak to drape, so it hid my shoes but the damn dog was drawing attention to my feet. Wait, now two more dogs joined in, sniffing and circling my legs.

  Magnus returned a minute later with an older woman who shooed the dogs away.

  Magnus said, “I’ll need tae go secure us a room. Madame Dougal has said for ye to wait in the wine cellar. You will be undetected.”

  The older woman said something unrecognizable though it sounded a lot like scolding. She shook her head and spoke fast and loud with guttural noises that were quite frankly frightening. I suspected she was irritated by me. Perhaps my lack of clothes. My inability to speak the language. My sudden intrusion. Magnus led me with a firm hand on my lower back to a room at the opposite wall of the kitchen. Then through that room to an even larger room containing wooden racks stacked with dusty wine bottles and large casks and barrels. The room was darker still, gloomy, and very cold.

  “I winna take long Kaitlyn. I will find a room and procure ye dressings. Then I will return for ye. Once you are in proper clothes twill be easier.”

  “Okay. Come right back though, this is—“

  “I know, tis verra hard, bright and loud and—“

  “It’s not. It’s dark and foggy and everyone is faint. Except for my breathing, my heartbeat, I can hear it too loudly. It’s really…” I bit my lip. I had come uninvited. I couldn’t expect sympathy.

  Magnus closed the front of my cloak. Nodded quietly. “I will hurry.”

  He slipped away leaving me standing in the cold shadows of an ancient castle, somewhere in the world, somewhere lost in time.

  Chapter 17

  A half hour later or so passed. I was watching the progression of a spider that had decided to scale the shelf nearest me, distressingly close. It was working on a web, disinterested in my growing fear. I was so thirsty. The dusty bottles made my parched mouth even drier, and I had no idea how to open one of these bottles. Was I allowed to open one of these bottles? I was by myself, and I didn’t know what the rules were. Footsteps sounded on the other end of the room.

  “Magnus?”

  A man’s voice grumbled, “Who’s there?”

  I turned to the closest shelves, shielding my face, attempting to pretend to be busy looking over the ancient bottles. There were no labels though, nothing to look at really, just bottles on their sides on wooden shelves under a quarter inch of dust.

  Two stumbling steps later a hulking, red-faced man came weaving around a shelf and right up to me. He was big. His nose bulbous and red. His eyes angry. He shifted close and said something loudly to the side of my face in what must have been Gaelic. I went quiet and continued to look down at the closest shelf.

  He grabbed my arm, yanked me around to face him, and spoke again loud and angry.

  I shook my head, wildly, and tried to draw from his clutch. It was tight on my wrist and clamping tighter.

  He spoke again drawing himself up, bearing down on my face, towering over me.

  His breath had that toxic-sweet alcoholic smell of a grotesque hangover, and his eyes ha
d that crazed look someone gets when they’ve had way too much to drink. I shook my head again and looked away.

  His open hand swung and clapped me on the side of my head, hard.

  I shrieked, clutching my face. The shock reverberated through my body. But I didn’t have time to think or react or swing or even scream —

  Shit got desperate so fast.

  He picked me up by my throat. I couldn’t do anything but swing flailing punches at his chest and kick his shins. He barely noticed my weak-ass pummels as he stared blearily down at my bare legs.

  Then he shoved me hard onto the stone floor. The back of my head struck the hard cold ground, and my hand reflexively went to the back of my head. Dazed, I thought, concussion, but also, I couldn’t think about the pain, the dizzy, the dark, because he dove down on me crushing me under his weight. His forearm pressed across my throat. His free hand prying open my kicking, struggling legs.

  He spoke again, a bark like an order I didn’t understand.

  I screeched out, “I’m with Magnus, Magnus Campbell!”

  He paused for a millisecond. “You art a Brit,” then continued groping violently between my legs.

  I screamed as his hand ripped my panties away from my body and fumbled up the fabric of his kilt. He shoved his knee up, parting mine, as I begged, “Magnus Campbell.” I kicked, trying to keep him away.

  “Magnus Campbell is verra auld.” He shoved my legs aside, pressing further on my throat, breathing hard in my ears, pushing himself up and closer.

  “No, stop please, the young Magnus.” I flailed weakly at the side of his arms, but breathing was difficult, and I was trying to clamp down with every internal muscle to keep him out.

  “Young Magnus is nae here anymore.” He pushed against me up hard and in and I screamed until the arm crushed my breath from my throat and—