by B. J. Scott
“No.” She slowly sat on the chair. If she wasn’t injured or imagining this, and it wasn’t an elaborate dream she could wake from at any minute, why didn’t the lawyers tell her someone would be staying with her? Where had he been hiding, and what was all this talk about a ceilidh for the Summer Solstice? Why was the servant dressed in attire from another time and place? Her head ached and her mind reeled with questions.
Hoping to set the servant straight and to get some answers, she rose, preparing to tell him he’d made a huge mistake, when she remembered the conversation she’d had with MacBain and Murray. The lawyers were very explicit when they told her she was not to discuss her reason for being here or the terms of her aunt’s will with anyone. They also stressed that she was not to leave the estate no matter what transpired. And that if she followed their stipulations, all would be revealed to her when the time was right. She pressed a finger to her temple and rubbed. Was this some sort of test of her ability to follow their instructions? Perhaps sending Noreen to check up on her this morning was also part of the intricate plan. But if this truly was a dream, she supposed anything could happen and had no choice but to go along with things until she awakened.
Katherine padded to the window to check out William’s claim about the weather. A balmy breeze caressed her cheek and the sun hung high in the sky. The trees were covered in fragrant blossoms and she spotted a garden overflowing with flowers, plants and a huge yard, where lush green grass spread as far as she could see. There was not a speck of snow.
“There you are, Catriona,” a deep voice rumbled.
Katherine spun around and peered up at the tall, auburn-haired man who’d entered the room and stopped only inches from where she stood.
“Da’s been looking for you and I feared you had run off to meet with Ayden MacAndrews. You know how upset he gets when the two of you spend time together,” the man said. “While I think it a fine match and that the two of you are meant to be together, da has other ideas.
Unable to answer, Katherine peered back at him in silence. An odd occurrence, since being one of the two top agents in the advertising firm meant she always had something to say.
“Cora told da you’d mentioned going to see our cousin Mairi in Inverness and might na be back for fortnight. But I see she was mistaken. If you do decide to go, let me know and I’ll arrange an escort. It’s na safe for you to venture out on your own. Especially when English soldiers could intercept you at any time, and without warning. ”
“I … umm …” She choked on the few words she managed to form, as she stared up at the giant of a man towering over her. He had to stand at least six-foot-four. He too wore clothes dating back to around the early fourteenth century — a saffron leine, trews, leather gauntlets, and boots. But unlike the servant, he had a sword strapped at his side and what appeared to be a dagger sheathed at his waist.
“Da said he wanted to see you. And if I were you, I’d na keep him waiting. It doesn’t take much to get him riled these days and I’d hate to see you punished for disobeying him.” He turned to the servant. “Do you know where she might find our father?”
“Last I saw him he was in his solar, Lord Warren.”
His identity confirmed, Katherine continued to gape at him in disbelief. A handsome, auburn-haired man, his emerald eyes were the same shape and color as hers, but that appeared to be the only similarities they shared. He and the servant had both called her Catriona, so she concluded that in addition to sharing the same name, they must look alike as well. Things were getting more confusing by the minute and she seemed to be caught squarely in the middle.
Convinced they’d made a huge mistake, she had to set him straight. She was Katherine MacDonald and not Catriona Grant. She raised her chin, prepared to speak, but hesitated when she realized what she was doing.
“Get a grip, Katherine,” she mumbled under her breath. He isn’t real. He couldn’t be Warren Grant, any more than this could be the fourteenth century, she rationalized. This is the twenty-first century and these people nothing more than the fabrication of an overactive imagination.
Regardless of her desire to shout her thoughts, then wait for the two men to disappear into a puff of smoke, she fled the room, taking the journal with her. She needed to think before she did or said anything, something that might get her locked away for being insane.
Katherine ran down the hallway and shoved open the door to her chamber. But as she was about to enter, she bumped into an older woman who was dressed in a chemise and wool skirt. “My apologies,” Katherine rasped and grabbed the woman’s elbow to steady her. “My mind was on other things and I didn’t see you.”
“Och, no harm done, lamb,” the woman, Katherine guessed to be about forty, said and continued down the hallway with a bundle of soiled bedlinen in her arms, humming a Scottish ballad.
Staring at her retreating form, Katherine was now certain she wasn’t just losing her grip on reality, it was gone. Her heart still hammering, her gaze darted to the entrance of the solar she’d just left. Would Warren follow or leave her be? Hoping the latter, she entered her chamber and closed the door.
Chapter Eight
Katherine rested her back against the oak slab and sucked in a slow gulp of air. This was far too much for her to comprehend or to believe. People could not travel back in time. It was not only physiologically impossible, but it defied all known aspects of Quantum Physics.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t deny that things in the cottage had certainly changed since she entered the solar to read the journal. She was no longer alone and the once empty structure was alive with activity. What’s more, it appeared to be filled with fourteenth century Highlanders.
When she was a freshman at university, Katherine found herself fascinated by the notion of time travel. Determined to find out if it was possible to visit the past, she read anything she could get her hands on regarding the subject. If it were real, she was determined to find a way to go back and stop her parents from getting into the car on the night they were struck and killed by a drunk driver. She’d have insisted her grandmother see the best Oncologist in the country, and well before it was too late to do anything about the cancer that snuffed out her life.
She missed her parents and grandmother so much, she’d have sold her soul to the devil if it meant she could be reunited with them. Even if it was only for a brief time. Long enough to tell them once more how much she loved them. In her opinion, one can never say it enough.
In the spring of 2010, she’d even gone as far as attending a seminar given by the world famous physicist and cosmologist, Dr. Stephen Hawking, on the prospects of building a time machine — his findings and opinions were later published in all the scientific journals.
Dr. Hawking examined Einstein’s theories of relativity, the concept of wormholes to the past in conjunction with the speed of light, and the feasibility of a fourth dimension that might lead to a means of time travel. But in the end, he concluded that while it was a wonderful dream, there would always be paradoxes, proving it was virtually impossible. Yet, somehow, she’d managed to leave her own time period and appeared to be caught between heaven and hell.
Waiting for her racing heart to slow, she squeezed her eyes shut, praying that when she opened them again, she’d find herself back in the twenty-first century in which she belonged. If granted that wish, she planned to pack her things and leave Glen Heather as fast as her legs would carry her. She’d forfeit the estate and have to find another place to hide from Ethan, but she was convinced that no piece of property was worth her sanity. Katherine mumbled another short prayer, and opened her eyes.
Had it worked?
She scrambled to the window and threw open the shutters. “Snow, let me see snow,” she repeated over and over again, but when she cast her glance outside, she saw a garden in full bloom, heard the birds singing, and watched a bright yellow butterfly flit by the window. The scene reminded her of something out of a fairy tale. One in which she was tra
pped, and playing the starring role.
“Warren told me you’d returned from your gallivanting, daughter!” The door to her chamber swung open, slamming against the wall.
Katherine whipped around, coming face-to-face with a robust man she figured was in his late forties or early fifties. He sported a muscular physique, piercing blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and strong jaw, covered with a thick grey beard. She narrowed her gaze, taking in his rugged features and suddenly recalled a picture she’d seen of her great-grandfather, Harrison Grant. Her grandmother kept it in a silver frame on her dresser, along with one of her mother. This man could be his twin.
“Well, what have you to say for yourself?” He crossed his thick arms over his broad chest and impatiently tapped his toe on the plank floor, waiting for an answer.
“I—” she started to speak then stopped. If she told him the truth, he’d think she was crazy and likely lock her up. And while she desperately wanted to wake up from this bizarre dream, she decided to wait and to go along with it for a while longer. She hugged the journal against her chest, wondering what secrets it might hold. She recalled the words she’d heard spoken just before she passed out in the chair. She was told to search for answers and to set a wrong right. Problem was, she had no idea what the hell that meant.
Logic told her to tell the truth and stand her ground, but instinct told her the opposite. Noreen mentioned that Catriona’s father blamed her for the death of his wife, so trying to reason with the man could be difficult. And no matter from what angle she looked at things, there was no rational explanation for any of this. Unless she figured out what was happening and why, or discovered a way to awaken in her own century, she could be stuck here for an undetermined length of time. So she’d have to be patient and not do anything to bring attention to herself. She also prayed the real Catriona Grant didn’t show up. And while she’d love to meet her, it would be hard to explain why there were two of them.
“I’m sorry.” She bowed her head, avoiding eye contact. “I meant no disrespect.” And while she found it odd, even difficult to be subservient to the boorish man, she did know from her research that women in the 1300s were very respectful of men, especially their fathers.
“In case you’ve forgotten, there is a feast planned for this evening,” Lord Grant said.
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“See that you bathe and are wearing your finest gown. Lord MacConnery will be joining us and I want you to make a good impression on him.”
She felt like she’d been kicked in the chest and found it hard to draw a breath. A deep sense of foreboding enveloped her as she recalled what Catriona said about him in the journal and how marriage to him would be a fate worse than death.
“Search for the answers, Katherine. The truth will free your soul and right a terrible wrong.” The words she’d heard in the solar before she’d fallen asleep played over and over in her mind again, leaving her to wonder if unraveling the truth behind Catriona’s apparent suicide was the reason she found herself here. Grand always told her that things happen for a reason, and she did want to learn all she could about her clan’s history. But time travel as a means to find the answers was way outside the realm of probability.
“Stop your woolgathering and pay attention when I am speaking to you,” Lord Grant growled. “Answer me when I give you an order.”
“I will do as you request.” She curtsied. And even though it killed her to show any form of respect to the tyrant, she thought it better to appease him rather than evoke his ire.
“I will send Cora to select something appropriate for you to wear and to assist you with fixing your hair. I will also have a tub and hot water sent to your chamber later this afternoon. In the meantime, dinna go anywhere.” With that, he turned and stomped toward the door, but glanced over his shoulder before exiting the room. “Do anything to embarrass me or to disgrace the Grant name this eve, and I willna spare the lash,” he said, and left.
Katherine flopped down on the edge of the bed, releasing the breath she was holding. Something told her that Rowland Grant was not only forceful and cruel, but also a man of his word. Given his warning, she’d have to tread lightly if she didn’t want to anger or upset him.
Katherine picked up the journal, wishing there had been more entries. The servant said he’d often seen Catriona writing in the book. And while she’d learned quite a bit about her life and those around her, there was so much left unsaid. As she pondered her predicament, the sound of shouting and metal crashing against metal caught her attention. She rose quickly and sprang to the window, stunned to see Warren engaged in sword fight with another man.
~ * ~
Ayden ducked, dropped to the ground, and rolled to the left before bringing his broadsword up in wide arc, in time to deflect Warren’s blow. Springing to his feet, he spun around to face his opponent, then retaliated with several quick offensive strikes of his own.
Warren parried the blows with ease, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. “You’ll have to do better than that if you hope to best me,” he said, then lunged forward, launching a relentless attack of his own.
The clash of swords echoed on the breeze as the two men fought fiercely, matching each other blow for blow. Evenly paired, the battle was destined to go on for hours — neither man willing to surrender until both were spent and the melee ended in a draw, or one of them lay dying. But as Ayden backed up, he stumbled over a rock and he found himself air-bound, his back hitting the ground with a jarring thud. The air forced from his lungs, he gasped and moaned aloud, his skull being the second thing to connect with the earth.
Warren hovered over Ayden, with his foot on his chest and the tip of his blade aimed at his opponent’s heart. “You’re na yourself today and seem distracted. If this had been an actual fight, I’d have cut you down after the first few minutes and run you through. But I was being kind.” He grasped Ayden’s wrist and hauled him to his feet. “You’ll na be so lucky against the English.”
Ayden sheathed his sword, then used his hand to sweep the dust from his trews and tunic. “I’ve a lot on my mind today. And had I na tripped on that damned stone, you’d be the one run through,” he countered.
“My sister, I’d wager,” Warren replied.
“What are you havering about?” Ayden snapped.
“You’re thinking about Catriona, again,” Warren said. “While you know I would love to see the two of you together and I’d be pleased to call you brother, if my da catches you mooning over her, he’ll have you forcibly removed from the estate.”
“I dinna moon and I never said that I was thinking about Catriona,” Ayden grumbled, then moved to the rain barrel, scooped out a dipper of water, took a drink, then poured the rest over his head.
“You dinna have too,” Warren said. “We’ve been friends since we were bairns and I’ve seen that love-sick hound expression on your face before. Na to mention, you kept glancing at the window of her chamber. Maybe a dunk in the loch might be more effective than that dipper of water.” Warren threw back his head and laughed. “I remember a time when you thought my sister a nuisance. Funny how things change.”
Ayden narrowed his gaze, glowering back at Warren. “She was seven and I was fifteen. I dinna know too many lads that age who enjoy having a wee shadow everywhere they go. And a lass at that.”
“I must admit, you were kind to her. And I dinna like having her trailing along any more than you, but I couldna order her to stay behind and risk breaking her heart.”
“She was a lonely wee thing and you were a good brother. And still are.” Ayden slapped Warren on the back. “She idolized you and tried to impress you every chance she got. When other lassies were playing with rag dolls and learning to sew, Catriona was learning to ride a horse and shoot a bow. And thanks to you, she learned to do both as well as any man.”
“And you were a good friend to put up with it. Had our mam not died giving birth to her and our da na so filled with anger, she might have bee
n more content and willing to act more like a lady rather than a lad.”
“Things changed and there is no doubt she is a lady now,” Ayden replied and gazed at the window of her chamber.
Warren looped his arm around Ayden’s shoulder. “Come with me to the wine cellar, and I’ll fetch us both some Uisge Beatha. You’ll na find a finer whisky in all of Scotland.” He brought a finger to his lips and quickly glanced around before he continued. “Just like when we were lads.”
Ayden shrugged free. “Maybe another time. I’d best get home. Besides, I’m sure your da will have plenty of things he needs you to do in preparation for the festival.”
“Will you be coming to the feast?”
“Your father sent an invitation to my da a sennight ago. But I am sure it was out of courtesy to my parents, and na because he cares if I am there or na.” Ayden replied.
“I’d like you to come.”
“I appreciate that, my friend.” Ayden thumped Warren on the back “I do plan to come. But only because I wish to talk to father about Catriona.”
Warren’s brow furrowed. “About what?”
“I plan to ask for her hand.”
Warren shook his head, the creases in his brow deepening. “Have you na heard the rumors? My da has invited Ewan MacConnery. He too has asked for her hand.”
“All the more reason for me to speak with him tonight,” Ayden said.
“My da has had his eye on that large pasture bordering our estate and MacConnery’s. Unless you have something to offer that will top that, I doubt your request will be considered.”
“You know I canna match MacConnery’s wealth, and he holds double the land my father does.”
Warren clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Then I’d suggest you find another lass. I fear my da willna budge on this. I’ve tried to speak to him on your behalf, but he refuses to listen.”
“I’ll na give up that easily,” Ayden snapped. “And I will do my utmost to convince him otherwise.”
