“Yes,” I lied. There was nothing all right about this. “Why did the queen take you?”
“She fancied me,” he replied. “Offered me an apple, ye ken. I said no, it angered her, she cursed me. And here we are today.”
I looked up at him. He still had his head tipped back against the tree, his eyes closed. “That sounds like the ridiculously oversimplified version.”
At that, he opened his eyes and speared me with his gaze. “Would ye be likin’ all the details, then, lass?”
I swallowed. “Um, maybe not just yet.” My gaze moved from Robert’s face to the quartz in my hand. “What makes you think I freed you?”
“Ye made contact wi’ the tree, wishin’ to rescue me. Wishes are powerful things, ye ken.” Robert leaned over and touched the quartz. “Then ye dropped your stone, and a door opened for me. I ha’ been waitin’ for ye ever since.”
“Wishes are powerful things,” I repeated. “Why do you want to leave with me? You don’t even know me.”
“I know ye freed me, and that is no small thing,” Robert replied. “I also know that as soon as Nicneven kens I’ve left me post, she will send her creatures to retrieve me.”
“Creatures?”
“Aye. And I do no’ want to be here when they arrive.”
I took a deep breath and got to my feet, Robert following suit. Once we were standing I looked into his clear blue eyes, his guileless face, and sighed. He was either telling the truth, or he was the greatest actor in the world. Or I was the world’s biggest idiot; the jury was still out on that.
“Well, let’s go.”
“Go?” he repeated hopefully.
“If you’re telling the truth—and I’m not saying that you are—I can’t just leave you here. And, if you’re not telling the truth, I’ll drop you at the nearest police station,” I added, trying to act tough in front of the armored man with the sword.
Robert inclined his head, and took both of my hands in his. “Lass, soon enough ye will ken that I only speak what’s true.” He once again brought my knuckles to his lips; this time, I let him kiss me. It was nice, having one’s hand kissed by a dark, handsome man. “Karina Siobhan Stewart, I am now your charge, and I shall follow your every command.”
“Okay. Um.” I looked him over and issued my first command. “First of all, you can’t tromp around Aberfoyle wearing chain mail. You’re going to have to take off your armor.”
Chapter Four
Karina
“What do ye mean, take off me armor?”
“I mean just that.” Robert and I had walked down Doon Hill and toward kirk’s car park, and I still hadn’t convinced myself he was lying. So much for me being the smarter sibling.
When we reached the rental I opened the boot and gestured toward the empty space. When Robert eyed it warily, I continued, “Look at what I’m wearing. People dress like me, not you. If you don’t want these…creatures finding you, you need to blend in.”
Robert frowned, then he handed me his helmet. “Aye, lass, ye have a point.”
I accepted the helmet and held out my hand. “Sword and shield, too.”
His frown deepened, but Robert relinquished his weapons and set about removing the chain mail, and then the padded leather tunic he wore beneath the mail shirt. Underneath it he was wearing a homespun brown shirt, matching pants, and brown leather boots. He looked more like a farmer than a warrior, or a reverend for that matter.
“We have to meet my brother at the pub,” I said after I’d closed the boot. “It’s just a short drive there.”
“Aye, then,” Robert said, and he hopped into the passenger seat as nonchalantly as any modern man would.
“You’re familiar with automobiles?” I asked. While history was not my main field of study, I was fairly certain that motorized transportation had not been available in seventeenth century Scotland.
“I have no’ spent all this time at Nicnevin’s court,” he replied. “She frequently used me as a messenger.”
“Who was she sending messages to?” I wondered.
“Those whose names should not be spoken in the bright light of day.” He settled into the passenger seat, his fingers digging into the arm rest. “Iron is good,” he murmured. “They canna reach me beyond the iron.”
I didn’t tell him that cars were mostly plastic and Styrofoam nowadays. At least he could take comfort in the metal engine. “Reverend—”
“Call me Robert,” he said. “I’ve not seen the inside of a kirk for so long I can hardly claim to be a man o’ the cloth.”
I ignored the bitterness in his voice; if he really was Robert Kirk, he had every right to be angry. “Do you really think they’ll come after you?”
He stared straight ahead when he replied. “Aye. I ken it well.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence, but my mind was reeling. Who was this man? Why did I buy his story, and let him into my car? How long would it take the authorities to find my body?
One thought clamored louder than the rest: What if it really is him? What if all, or even some, of the stories I’d read were true? What if magic hadn’t really died out? I shuddered; I didn’t know which fate was worse, being in a rental car with a delusional Scot, or the knowledge that the things that go bump in the night might be real.
Why did Jared have to give me that stupid rock in the first place?
We got to the pub where I’d left Chris by late afternoon. Despite Robert’s claim that he liked being surrounded by metal, he leapt out of the rental before I came to a complete stop. Once we stepped inside his shoulders lost some of their tension, as if he’d let himself breathe again.
“Nothing like a friendly pub, huh?” I asked.
“I find it amazing how some things have no changed at all across the span o’ the years,” he replied. “Lass, could a poor old man trouble ye for a hot meal?” His eyes twinkled, his mouth curling up at the corners.
“I think I can manage that. Come on, I’ll introduce you to my brother.”
Chris was right where I’d left him, along with four empty pint glasses scattered on the table before him. At least he’d eaten his lunch, along with mine. Hopefully the bread would soak up the worst of it.
“Who’s this?” Chris slurred when he spotted Robert.
“Chris, this is Robert.” I thought omitting Robert’s surname was a wise choice, especially since he was something of a local legend, and his clothes made him look like an extra from Braveheart. Good thing he’d ditched the chain mail and assorted weaponry. “Robert, this is my brother, Christopher Stewart.”
“Are you an actor?” Chris asked, taking in Robert’s clothing.
“O’ sorts,” Robert replied. “Good to meet you, man.”
They nodded to each other, and Chris gestured for Robert to take a seat. I waved to the waitress for menus.
“Find Jared’s rock?” Chris asked after Robert and I had ordered. We’d requested shepherd’s pie and broiled salmon, respectively, along with a couple pints of ale.
“Yeah,” I replied, while Robert asked, “Who is this Jared?”
Chris got a devilish gleam in his eye, but kept his mouth shut. “Jared is the person that gave me the quartz I left behind on the hill,” I explained.
“Ah.” Robert leaned back, and watched the waitress set down our pints. “That explains a few things.”
“Such as?”
“Such as how ye managed to transform a simple stone into a talisman.”
“Not you too,” Chris grumbled. Robert’s eyes swiveled toward Chris, and he elaborated, “You’re into all of that stupid woo-woo crap like Rina? Magic and fairies?”
“Only as a matter of scholarly pursuit,” Robert replied. That placated Chris, momentarily at least, and Robert turned back to me. “You loved him, eh?”
“Um.” I opened and closed my mouth like a fish, then I sipped my beer. And some more. If I was consuming a beverage, I couldn’t be expected to answer any questions, now could I? I might accident
ally inhale the beer, and that would be bad, very bad indeed.
Our food came before I managed to drink myself into a stupor, but only just. My salmon was excellent, and Robert tucked right into his shepherd’s pie.
“Mmm, ‘tis perfect,” Robert said, his eyes rolling back in his head. “For all that they’re known for their revels, their food is ashes on the tongue.” He chewed contentedly for a few moments, then he eyed my salmon. “Would ye mind if I had a wee bite o’ yours, lass?”
“Help yourself,” I murmured, pushing my plate toward him. Robert speared a generous portion of the pink fish, and took a few roasted potatoes and some asparagus for good measure. Truth be told, it was a joy to watch him take such pleasure in something as simple as eating. My brother was not as intrigued by our guest, and had wandered over to the bar. He’d been trying out his “I’m an American professor” pickup routine on the local girls, with little success. As long as Chris was out of earshot, I figured I could ask the good reverend a few questions.
“Elves, fauns and fairies,” I began. Robert raised an eyebrow—could everyone do that but me?—but he looked amused rather than offended. “What’s the difference between the three?”
“Firstly,” Robert replied, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “the wise among us do no’ say such names aloud. They can hear ye, ye ken.”
“They can hear me whenever I say their names?” My gaze darted about the pub, but I didn’t see any sprites or pixies.
“Of course not,” he laughed. I glared at him, but it was hard to stay mad at such twinkling eyes. “They hear only as far as any ear can.” Suddenly serious, he continued, “However, ye should still be careful. If one was sitting beside ye, he surely would have heard ye clear as a bell.”
I nodded, warning taken. “Are any here?”
“Truly, lass, I’ve no notion.” He glanced around the room. “If any o’ the Good People are in attendance, they ha’ hidden themselves well.” Robert took another bite of shepherd’s pie, and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “If ye don’t mind me sayin’ so, lass, you are readily acceptin’ of a notion that most would deny to their dying breath.”
“What notion?” I asked, when Robert gestured to himself. Oh, that notion. I picked up my pint, swirling the beer until it made a tiny amber whirlpool.
“It’s hard to explain,” I murmured. “I’m usually a good judge of character, and… and you just seem to be telling the truth.”
He reached across the table toward my hand, but I pulled away. Robert smiled tightly, and said, “I ne’er tell an untruth, not for any reason.”
“And, I know it’s crazy,” I continued, “more than crazy. But, just because something is new to us doesn’t make it any less real. I mean, when scientists first discovered that the earth revolved around the sun the church had them burned at the stake. That didn’t negate their findings, just kept their research out of the public eye for a time.”
Robert’s smile widened, though his brows had peaked when I’d mentioned the earth revolving around the sun. I made a mental note to double check the dates of Copernicus’s works. “Are ye comparing me to the sun, lass?” he asked.
“No, I’m not comparing you to a blazing ball of gas,” I said. Robert’s eyes went wide; we were going to have to play science catch-up at some point. “What I’m saying is that some things just need to be taken on faith.”
Just as quickly as it had fled, his smile returned. “Aye, o’ that ye are correct. In all me time, as a reverend and afterward, me faith has been what’s seen me through both good times and bad.”
I nodded, finishing off my pint and signaling for a refill. “Now that you’re free, what are you going to do?”
“Truly, lass, I haven’t the slightest clue.” He shoved a heaping forkful of potatoes in his mouth, his face pensive as he chewed. After a long draught of beer, he continued, “Scotland’s still Presbyterian, eh?”
“I think so.” That was the sort of detail Chris would be more certain of than me. “You’d want to be a reverend again?”
The waitress arrived with our refills, and Robert took another long draught while he mulled this over. “Nay,” he decided, “I only became a reverend in order to study, as me father did afore me. It was the easiest way to attend university in my day. Besides, what if today’s kirk now demanded for me to be a priest? I canna rightly do that two wives later, now can I?”
“Two wives?” Chris said as he resumed his seat sans girl from the bar. Apparently American professors weren’t so exotic around here. “Divorce?”
“Not hardly,” Robert scoffed. “I outlived them both.”
Chris kicked me under the table, his uber-subtle way of asking if Robert was a serial killer. I shook my head at him, then I turned my attention back to Robert. “That’s very sad. I’m sorry.”
He smiled wanly. “Thank ye, lass. Time dulls the pain, but it never quite leaves ye, does it?”
“It sure doesn’t.”
We finished our meal in silence, each of us thinking about the ones we wanted to be with, but couldn’t. Once our plates were empty I sent Chris to the bar to get us some whisky. I was in desperate need of something eye-wateringly alcoholic, and I had a feeling that Robert could use a stiff drink too.
“Tomorrow, we’re going to have to get you some clothes,” I said, while Chris was at the bar. “No offense, but you look like you should be in a play or something.”
That eyebrow went up again. “You’re keeping me, then?”
“Um, yeah.” Robert was my responsibility, since I’d dragged him not only out of the Minister’s Pine, but right into the twenty-first century…and that meant that I needed to hide his identity from whoever or whatever he thought was following him. Chris and I had come to Scotland to escape trouble, not find more of it, and whether Robert was con man or a fugitive fairy soldier he was definitely trouble.
I glanced at him beneath my lashes. I really hoped he wasn’t a con man.
No matter what he was, I had to help him. In these days of social media, celebrity scandals, and GPS, it’s not like a man with no documented history could just blend into modern culture. He would need paperwork, and we’d have to concoct a history, and… And, what if I was overstepping myself here?
“Do you not want to be kept?” I asked.
“Women have changed the most of all,” Robert murmured. “In my time, a lass would have blushed something fierce if she even thought o’ those words, and ye just spit them out in front o’ God and everyone.” He shook his head, then he met my eyes. “Aye, lass, I think I’d like it verra much if ye kept me.”
At that I did blush, then scowled when I caught Robert smiling. And we were going to discuss him calling me lass.
Chris chose that moment to appear with our drinks, balancing three glasses of whisky without the benefit of a tray. My brother has many faults, but one thing he would never do was spill a drop of good Scotch. Or bad Scotch, for that matter.
“Robert’s coming back to the B&B with us,” I blurted out, suddenly terrified that Chris would forbid Robert from coming with us and him being left all alone in modern Scotland, a true stranger in a strange land. To my mingled relief and indignation, Chris grinned.
“Go sis,” he said, clapping me on the back. “Getting friendly with the locals.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Lame talk coming from a Shakespearean scholar.”
“Ye are familiar with Shakespeare?” Robert asked. “I once took in a play o’ his in London. Fine work, it was.”
“Really,” Chris said. “Which play? I’m something of an expert,” he added.
“MacBeth,” Robert replied.
I dropped my head into my hands, and massaged my temples. He just had to say MacBeth.
Chapter Five
Karina
By the time the three of us left the pub, Chris had thoroughly impressed Robert with the depth and breadth of his Shakespearean knowledge, if you take impress to mean that he probably made him hate it. Ch
ris regaled us with a few sonnets, a soliloquy, and compared his life to an hour of sound and fury before collapsing onto the table in a drunken heap.
“Woman?” Robert asked, after we’d wrestled Chris into the back of the rental car.
“Woman,” I confirmed.
I slid behind the wheel as Robert claimed the passenger seat, and then I drove carefully and a bit too slowly to the bed and breakfast Chris and I were staying in. Not only had I been drinking—never a wise move before driving—it was pitch dark, I had to remember to stay on the wrong side of the road, and there was either a seventeenth-century priest wanted by the Seelie Queen or a modern day lunatic sitting in the passenger seat. I didn’t know which was worse.
Reverend, not priest. Robert had made sure that I understood the distinction between priest and reverend, and that he had outlived both—both!—of his wives. I remembered a snippet of Robert Kirk’s story, and that he had died—or, according to him, been abducted—while his second wife was pregnant. To be gone before you ever had the chance to hold your child is a true tragedy.
“Do you know any of your descendants?” I asked Robert. When he gave me a look, I elaborated, “I mean, have you kept in touch with your family over the years?”
“Yes and no,” he replied. “I am aware of where they are today, and I do my best to watch o’er them, but I keep me distance. ’Tis no’ like I can pop in for Sunday dinner and announce myself as their great grandfather many times over. That would no’ go over verra well.”
“I bet.”
Robert and I fell silent, and we didn’t speak again until we arrived at the bed and breakfast. With a sigh, I asked Robert to help me wrestle Chris out of the back seat we’d recently wrestled him into, and prop him against the side of the car. Then, to both my and Robert’s amazement, Chris managed to enter the B&B and navigate up the stairs all under his own power, with only a few bumps against the walls. He stumbled through his bedroom door and flopped over, fully clothed, onto his bed. At least he hadn’t injured himself.
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