Gallowglass

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  Being the good sister that I am, I yanked off Chris’s sneakers and tossed a blanket over him. As I turned to leave I noticed Robert’s decidedly unmodern clothing, and raided my brother’s suitcase; it’s not like Chris was in any condition to argue. And that’s what he gets for passing out drunk on a Sunday. No, make that the last four Sundays.

  I grabbed a pair of Chris’s sweats and a couple tee shirts, his spare sneakers, and what I hoped were a clean pair of jeans. The, uh, rest would just have to wait.

  “For you to sleep in, and for tomorrow,” I explained, thrusting the wad of clothing at Robert. I turned to enter my room across the hall, realizing a moment too late that Robert was following me. Of course he’d rather room with me than my drunk brother. In fact, I’d rather he roomed with me, too; knowing Chris, come morning he wouldn’t remember who Robert was and call the cops. That would entail some mighty explaining, and I was not the storyteller in the family.

  So there we were, me and the reverend, standing in my rather small bedroom with its single bed, and trying very, very hard not to look at each other.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” I declared. I grabbed my robe, towel and travel kit, and fled to the communal bathroom at the end of the hall.

  Luckily, the bathroom was unoccupied; stalking back into the bedroom only a few seconds after stalking out of it would have been almost as awkward as stalking out in the first place. It was a quaint old bathroom, full of interesting old fixtures, such as the claw foot tub that took up most of the room, a white porcelain pedestal sink topped with a fancy oval mirror, and one of those ribcage showers that looked like it belonged in a science fiction movie, restraining aliens or the Abominable Snowman. But the water was hot, and the rose-scented soap lathered nicely, and for ten minutes I pretended that nothing weird had happened that day.

  After I’d washed, rinsed, and repeated, I wiped the steam from the mirror and took a good, long look at myself. Between me and Chris, I’d inherited more of our father’s Scottish genes. I was short like he was, and had dark brown hair and fair, freckly skin. My blue eyes were the legacy of my beautiful Scandinavian mother, though that and the ghost of her fine bone structure was about all I’d gotten from Mom. Chris, on the other hand, was the perfect masculine copy of our mother, being that he was tall, blond, and had the sort of skin that started out alabaster pale but tanned to an even golden brown. I burnt if I stood next to a microwave too long.

  What is wrong with me? The longer I stared at the wide-eyed girl in the mirror, the more my convictions about Robert faded. Was I still so hung up on Jared that I was now picking up weirdos at historical sites? Was I really that pathetic? I sighed; based on what—no, make that who— was waiting for me in my room, it seemed that I was.

  Maybe I’m not pathetic. Maybe I’m just insane.

  I shook my head, and then I combed my hair and twisted it up into a clip. No matter what the answers were to those questions, I wasn’t going to learn any of them by hiding in the bathroom. I just needed to take a deep breath, get dressed, and tackle this head-on. Not that I had any idea of how I was going to do that.

  After I’d repacked my travel kit and folded my towel, I scanned the bathroom and swore. In my haste to have a few minutes alone with my thoughts, I’d forgotten to bring my pajamas with me. Great. I was about to march into a room I was sharing with a possible crazy man I’d met only hours earlier, wearing nothing but a robe. I suppose I could have put my clothes from earlier back on, but I have a thing about dirty clothes on clean skin, probably because during the course of my fieldwork my clothes ended up filthy more often than not. Yes, I make frequent stops at Laundromats while traveling.

  I sighed again, a sure sign of my brain developing a slow leak, and gathered up my things. I really couldn’t put off returning to the bedroom for much longer, especially since the bathroom was shared by all of the guests, and the B&B was full. I packed up my shampoo and conditioner, wrapped up my dirty clothes in my still-damp towel, put on my robe, and made the short walk back to my room. After I’d mustered the nerve to push open the door, what I saw nearly made me drop everything at my feet.

  First of all, Robert had changed out of his rough, mud brown clothing, and was wearing gray sweats and a threadbare Iron Maiden tee; the thin cotton strained across his muscular shoulders, and struggled to contain his biceps. Unbeknownst to the common observer, that padded leather armor and homespun shirt had been concealing a Mr. Universe-worthy body. Which led to my second observation: who knew that reverends could be muscular? Then again, I suppose that seventeenth century life involved a bit more toil that we deal with today. Farming and such, or churning butter. I mean, a reverend probably had someone who churned his butter for him, but those biceps certainly weren’t the result of reading or preaching.

  My third observation was that Robert was sitting on the edge of the bed, reading one of my geology texts. Despite those biceps and shoulders, it was the reading part I was most interested in.

  “Ye are a scholar, lass?” Robert asked without looking up, once I’d shut the door behind me. I recalled that he had been quite an educated man in his day, well versed in sciences and languages.

  “I’m working on my doctorate in geology. It’s the study of the earth.” I dropped my things on a nearby chair, and sat beside him on the bed so I could have a look at what he was reading. “It’s why I’m here, in Scotland. I’m on a research grant.”

  “Where do ye hail from, then?”

  “America,” I replied. “It’s to the west, across the Atlantic Ocean.”

  Robert turned a few pages; the text he was reading explored how the geology of the British Isles had changed following the most recent Ice Age. “I remember the first stories I heard about America,” he murmured. “A pristine land across the sea, where all were free to worship and live as they wish. Tell me, lass, is that what it’s like?”

  “It’s how it started. We might have gotten a bit confused along the way.” I watched him flip a few more pages, stopping on a map of Great Britain. He traced the coastline with his finger; I wonder if he’d ever been to the sea. Then again, Scotland is an island. “Are you interested in geology?”

  “I’ve always wanted to learn about everything I could,” he replied. “’Tis why I became a minister in the first place, in order to continue my studies. I never thought they’d lead me where they did, ye ken.”

  I nodded; I expected that most individuals, scholars of folklore or not, didn’t think they’d someday end up as a prisoner, and a prisoner of fairies at that. “I’m sorry,” I began, but Robert waved it away.

  “Truly, lass, my predicament ‘tis not any o’ your doing,” Robert murmured. “Why did ye come here, to Scotland? Surely there are plenty o’ stones and such for ye to study in your America.”

  “There are,” I allowed. “My thesis was originally based on ley lines. Do you know what those are?”

  “Aye,” he replied. “The Good People occasionally use them as roads.” He frowned. “What do ye mean, originally based on?”

  Finally, someone who agreed that ley lines still exist in more than just the geometric sense. “Well, I first posited that the stone underneath all ley lines is similar,” I began. “You know, since so many spiritual monuments are situated on ley lines. I ended up expanding my theory to include all spiritual places, in an attempt to determine if the bedrock beneath similarly spiritual locations is of like composition. I’d planned on doing the research in the university library at home, but I was offered a grant to come here and do some of the work in person. So, here we are.”

  Robert rubbed his chin. “Your theory has merit,” he announced, after a moment’s contemplation.

  I blinked; I was so used to people shooting my ideas down, I hardly remembered what it was like to have someone agree with me. “It does?”

  “O’ course it does,” Robert stated. “The natural world is what gave rise to magic, no’ the other way ‘round. It stands to reason that if magic can be attracted
to an oak grove, or a mossy glen, then why no’ to a certain sort of stone?”

  I grinned; after these past few weeks with Chris, it was nice to talk with someone who thought of magic as more than a fairy tales for children. “Want to see something cool?”

  Dark brows furrowed. “Cool? As in cool weather?”

  “Um, no. Cool as in interesting.” Robert may have traveled in the modern world, but he was a bit behind on slang. I took the text from him, and flipped to the section on the Silurian period, which had been a scant four hundred and forty three million years ago. “Since you were at university, we’ve learned quite a lot about the earth and natural processes. For instance, the earth’s surface is covered in land masses called plates that rub up against each other. Sometimes, they bump into each other and cause earthquakes.”

  Robert looked skeptical, but nodded. “Go on.”

  “Well, these land masses weren’t always in the same positions as they are now. For instance, Scotland used to belong to a continent called Laurentia, and England was part of a different continent called Avalonia. You know what continents are, right?”

  Robert shot me a withering glare. “I am a learned man, ye ken,” he stated.

  “Right. Sorry.” I flashed him an apologetic smile, and continued. “Anyway, Scotland was part of Laurentia, and England was attached to Avalonia. There was an entire ocean in between them.” I flipped to a modern map of the UK, and indicated the Iapetus Suture, which ran from Solway Firth right on to Lindisfarne, never straying more than a few miles from the political border that separated Scotland and England.

  “See this line? It’s where Laurentia and Avalonia fused into each other.” Robert’s brow furrowed, and he leaned closer to the page, lips moving as he read a few lines of text.

  “What ye are tellin’ me, lass,” Robert began as he scrutinized the map, “is that we Scots have no’ always been saddled with our neighbors to the south, orderin’ us about in our own homes?”

  “That’s right,” I affirmed. “For most of geologic history, England was hundreds or thousands of miles away.” I thought for a moment. “Maybe that’s why Scotland and England have never seen eye to eye. They really are from different worlds.”

  Robert snorted. “That, I do believe.”

  I laughed, and Robert glanced up, a wry smile twisting his lips. We grinned at each other for a moment, just two scholars sharing in a discovery, when his gaze dropped to where my robe gaped open beneath my neck. I bunched the sides together, my face and neck flaming to what I’m sure was an impressive shade of red; another side effect of my fair skin was that I could never hide a blush.

  “I. Um. Sorry,” I said as I reached toward my suitcase. “I’ll grab something and go get dressed.”

  “Lass.” Robert’s hand was on my elbow, stilling me. “Worry not, I’ve a mind to visit this bath room o’ yours. I shall allow ye plenty o’ time.”

  I nodded, unable to look at him or even move until I heard the door click shut. I threw on my pajamas and leapt into bed, pulling the blankets up over my head. The last thing I remembered was listening to the blood pounding in my ears.

  Chapter Six

  Karina

  It was rather awkward waking up with a strange man sleeping on my floor, since the stranger in question was wearing my brother’s clothes, and that he claimed to be a man who by all accounts had been found dead on a hill over three hundred years ago.

  Worst of all, I kind of believed him.

  Before I could dwell on my situation any further, I got out of bed, grabbed some clothes, and headed down the hall toward the bathroom. I went about my morning routine slowly, at first hoping that Robert would be gone when I returned so I could put this whole incident behind me. But if he did sneak out that would mean he was everything Chris had warned me about, nothing but a freeloader looking for a hot meal and a night’s lodging from a dumb tourist. I’d done some foolish things in my time, but this would really take the cake.

  Still, I didn’t want to rush back. If Robert was still there, that would open up a whole host of other concerns; namely, is he really some kind of a con artist? A modern day Bluebeard, with a closet full of his dead wives’ bodies? And if he’s neither of those things…

  Could he really be a man from the seventeenth century? Or was he just another Jared?

  I gathered my long hair into a pony tail, and left the bathroom. I wasn’t going to stick my head in the sand any longer, and live in my fantasies. Karina in Scotland was New Karina, and she wasn’t about to let a man push her around.

  Full to bursting with my newfound resolve, I stalked back into my room. I found Robert, awake and dressed in jeans, a blue tee shirt, and the leather boots he’d been wearing yesterday; I looked around and saw Chris’s spare sneakers on the floor next to the door. Either they hadn’t fit, or Robert was squeamish about wearing shoes that someone else’s feet had been in. Robert was standing next to the side table, staring at the electric teakettle.

  “The kettle has a tail o’ sorts?” he said as he fingered the cord. I smiled; if this guy was acting, he was on track for an Oscar.

  “It’s a cord.” I dropped my things on the bedside table, and approached the counter. While the room didn’t boast an actual kitchenette, it had come with an electric kettle, teapot, mugs, and a small refrigerator that I’d stocked with milk, butter, jam, bread, olives, and other basics. After the proprietress had spied my box of teabags, she’d appeared in the doorway with a tin of proper loose tea, muttering on about foolish young Americans the entire time. “You stick the pronged end into the outlet,” I explained, indicating said receptacle, “and it heats the water.”

  Robert’s eyes widened. “Where is the fire?”

  “It’s, ah, internal,” I replied. His eyes got even wider when I plugged in the cord and the little red light flicked on. While Robert acquainted himself with modern technology, I packed up my clothes and books. It was our last day in this bed and breakfast, which was too bad. It was the nicest place we’d stayed in during our trip, except for a hotel in London that Chris had insisted on which ended up costing him an arm and a leg. I was going to miss the quaint little B&B, chipped china, lace curtains, and all.

  The kettle whistled just as I finished stashing my research notes in my daypack. I thought I heard Robert jump at the high-pitched squeal, but I didn’t turn around in time to see it. However, I did make note of his awestruck face as I poured the steaming water into the teapot.

  “Would you like some bread?” I offered. He nodded, and I emptied out the fridge onto the small wooden table. While the proprietress was a gracious lady, and an excellent cook, I did not think she would take kindly to me bringing an extra man down to breakfast. A quick bite in our room would just have to do. While I spread butter across the thick slices, Chris stumbled into my room.

  “Hey,” Chris grumbled. He raised that mutant eyebrow of his at Robert’s presence, but didn’t comment. “You know what I really miss about the US? Coffee. Fricken’ coffee.” Chris grabbed my mug of tea and poured in so much milk it spilled over the sides. I grabbed a towel and mopped up Chris’s mess. Once that was done, I filled the remaining mug for myself. “Olivia and I would always stop at the café on our way to Carson. She would get a latte, but I always stuck to straight Joe.” Chris sipped his way too milky tea. “Sunday mornings were best. We’d stay in bed with a pot of coffee and the paper.”

  “Olivia was your wife?” Robert asked.

  “Almost wife,” I said, sliding into the chair beside Chris. “She sucked all the talent out of his brain and left him high and dry.” Chris glared at me, but he was too hung over to argue. And it was the truth.

  “Sounds like a leannan sìth,” mused Robert. “They’re known for ruinin’ a man, stealin’ his thoughts and dreams, and leavin’ him as nothing more than a husk o’ his former self.”

  “Great. More woo-woo crap,” Chris mumbled. Before Robert could point out that he was living proof of the ‘woo-woo crap’, Chris asked
, “Where are we off to today? Candy shop run by leprechauns?”

  “Leprechauns are cobblers, not candy makers. Everyone knows that.” I rifled through my daypack, and checked the itinerary. “Inchmahome Priory,” I proclaimed. “It’s on an island in Lake Menteith.”

  “Oh, so there will be mermaids,” Chris sneered.

  “Nay, lad, mermaids prefer brackish water,” Robert said. “However, we may witness a nymph or two.”

  “By nymph, I assume you are referring to an immature dragonfly,” Chris stated.

  Robert smiled broadly. “O’ course. What else could I be meanin’?”

  Chris looked at Robert for a long moment, then turned to me. “Is he coming with us?” he whispered.

  “He can hear you,” I said. “And, yes. He is.” With that, I downed the rest of my tea, and started packing our leftover breakfast in the travel cooler. “We still have some bread. Maybe we can stop at the market, and get some tuna, or turkey and cheese. After that, we can go pick up some clothes for Robert. There’s a sporting goods store in town; I think it’s called Hamilton’s. They should have what we need.”

  “Hang on.” Chris stood, eyeing Robert in his borrowed clothes. “Who is this guy?” I opened my mouth, but Chris kept going, “He shows up out of the blue, you buy him dinner, he sleeps with you—”

  “We did not—”

  “And now you’re going to buy him clothes?” Chris glared at Robert, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Just how stupid do you think we are?”

  Robert didn’t flinch; based on where he’d been for the past few centuries, I imagined that he’d seen a lot scarier things than an indignant literature professor with a hangover. “Truly, I meant no imposition. And, if it’s funds ye be wantin’, I can pay me own way.”

  “You can?” I blurted out. Robert nodded, then he rummaged through the tote bag that held the clothes he’d been wearing yesterday; I was forever picking up interesting bits of rocks and such, so packing extra totes had been a must. It would probably cost me a thousand dollars to ship all of my finds back to the States.