by Bess McBride
“Come, Ann,” Dylan said more firmly. I heard encouragement from the others as they escorted us across the bridge. Dylan helped me into his Rover and pulled a blanket out from the back to cover my legs.
“I’m taking her to hospital,” he said to the others. “Someone call the police and tell them she’s been found.”
Nods, waves, more calls of encouragement later, and Dylan pulled out of the car park to begin the rough ride across the countryside.
“Ann, please tell me where you’ve been. What happened to you? Are you injured?”
I shook my head.
“Which? Not injured? Or you won’t say where you’ve been?”
“I haven’t been injured, Dylan,” I said in a weary voice. “And I can’t tell you where I’ve been.”
“Whyever not? You just disappeared! We were worried sick. And then you wind up on the beach below several days later in a dress?” He leaned a little closer, as if to inspect the material. “A handwoven shift? Where on earth did you get that?”
“I can’t tell you, Dylan.”
“All right then, I’ll stop badgering you, but the police will want to know.”
“I can’t tell them either.”
“Ann! Be a dear and stop being so mysterious.”
I tried to focus then, to drag myself from the sixteenth century to the present. I lifted my head and turned to look at Dylan, noting as if for the first time the golden color of his curly blond hair and beard.
I knew that he lived in Glasgow, far from the Outer Hebrides, but he bore a faint resemblance to John, given his Nordic blond locks.
“Dylan, do you have relatives up here in the Outer Hebrides?” I asked in a bemused tone.
“Me?” he sputtered. “You’re asking me about my genealogy? Now? At this moment?”
“Not a good time?” I gave him a lopsided half smile and turned to look out the window at the windswept landscape. The sea looked faraway. I couldn’t even see Dun Eistean any longer.
“I cannot help but think you are trying to distract me. Can you at least tell me why you can’t tell me what happened to you? At first we thought you had left voluntarily, just walked off the dig, yet no one knew who had given you a ride back to the MacIvers’. Then we checked with the old couple. They said you hadn’t come home.
“That’s when we called the police, fearing you’d been kidnapped or some other mishap had befallen you. We searched the island, the cliffs, and wondered if you’d somehow gone down the old path between the island and the mainland and been swept out to sea.”
I listened with half an ear.
“Ann, we were truly worried about you!”
I heard him as if from far away.
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Then you’re prepared to tell me what happened? If it’s a secret, I promise I will keep it in confidence.”
I turned to look at him again.
“Then don’t take me to the hospital. I’m well. I don’t need to go.”
Dylan pulled the Rover over on the dirt road and rotated in his seat to face me.
“You don’t look unwell—I will give you that. But I’m worried about your mental state. You don’t appear to be the same person I met a week ago.”
“I don’t think I am,” I said with a catch in my voice.
“I think you need to be examined,” he said.
“You mean, to see if I’m crazy?” I shook my head. “I’m not crazy, but you will think I’m crazy if I tell you what happened to me.”
“No, Ann, I promise you I won’t. Tell me.”
I opened my mouth to tell him, desperate to share my story, to tell someone about my grief, my loss, about John. If anyone could help me get back to John, it would be Dylan.
I looked into his concerned blue eyes and saw John’s eyes. I gave myself a shake. No, not John’s eyes. Maybe I did need to go to the hospital...if they had a psychiatrist on staff.
I shut my mouth and shook my head.
“No, I’d better not.” I took a deep breath, trying to figure out what to do next. I had to get back to Dun Eistean.
“Listen—I’m sorry I distracted you all from the dig. I think you should take me back to the MacIvers’ so I can change clothes and get back to work at the site.”
Dylan blinked. “Get back to work?” Now he shook his head. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, Ann, but you won’t be coming back to the Dun Eistean project, not this year anyway.”
“What?” I gasped. “Why?”
“The university has shut down the project, at least for this year. When they heard one of our students had disappeared without a trace, they closed it. All the students and faculty are leaving tomorrow.”
“Oh, no! I’m so sorry, Dylan! I’m so very sorry!”
“It’s not your fault. I didn’t realize they would take such drastic measures. It isn’t like students haven’t quit before, but the university was concerned for our safety in the event you had come to some harm, and insurance always becomes an issue, so I am told.”
“But I’m back now, safe and sound. Can’t they change their minds?”
“No, not this year. It’s too late. I’m off to a dig in Guatemala tomorrow. Most of the students will accompany us over there. I would invite you along, but I don’t think the university will approve without an explanation as to your disappearance.”
“I don’t want to go to Guatemala,” I moaned. “I have to stay here.”
“Why here, Ann? If I recall, your studies are Colonial America. Why do you think you have to stay here, studying medieval Scotland?” He raised a sandy eyebrow.
I turned and looked out toward the sea again.
“Everything I love is here,” I said feebly.
“Pardon?” Dylan said, his voice abnormally high.
I sighed heavily and looked at him again. Two bright-red spots flamed on his cheeks.
“Oh, my dear Ann! If I have given you the wrong impression, I beg your pardon! I hardly know you. What an awkward moment!”
“What?” I asked, rubbing my forehead. “What are you talking about?”
“No?” he rasped. “Oh! Perhaps I misunderstood. You said everything you love is here. Did you mean me?” He shook his head, apparently overcome by the same confusion as me.
I wanted to laugh, but I hurt too much.
“Dylan! No!” I choked out. “No! Not you!”
“Och!” he said, and then he tilted his head. “Well, you don’t have to deny it quite so vehemently!”
I still couldn’t laugh at the injured expression on his face, though it was comical.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry about all the trouble I’ve caused.” It seemed as if I said the word over and over again.
Dylan nodded, still appearing slightly affronted, and he turned to start the engine again.
“Where am I taking you then? Shall I take you to the MacIvers’? The police really will want to speak to you.”
“Yes, please. I’ll call the police from there and tell them I’m okay.”
Dylan turned the Rover around and headed the other way. I caught him looking at me once or twice, but he said no more, and for that I was grateful. My plan was to change clothes and walk the three miles back to Dun Eistean to see what I could see, to do what I could to get back to John.
“Let me give you my card, Ann. I don’t think I’ll have mobile service in Guatemala, but you can reach me by e-mail. I leave in the morning, but if you need anything at all, please contact me by e-mail.”
He reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. In doing so, everything spilled out, and he cursed and pulled the Rover over again. I reached down to help him pick up various cards, a driver’s license, bits and pieces of paper. The name on his driver’s license caught my eye.
“Dylan Alexander Morrison MacElroy,” I read. “Morrison? Are you a Morrison?”
Dylan, stuffing things back into his wallet, looked up and grinned. �
��Of course, didn’t I tell you?” He handed me a dog-eared business card. “Ah! That’s right. You asked if I had relatives in the area. I’m sure I do, but I haven’t looked them up yet. I do believe my ancestors came from this area though—at least, my mother once told me they did. That’s one reason I’ve always been fascinated with Dun Eistean.” He laughed. “I can’t believe I didn’t mention it.”
He put the Rover into gear, and we moved on. Stunned, I could only stare at him. In fact, he looked a lot like John. I noted out of the corner of my eye that we crossed over the dirt road leading back to Dun Eistean, and I put a restraining hand on his arm.
“Stop! Let me go back to the island now, please!”
Dylan stopped again and turned to stare at me.
“Ann! What has possessed you? You cannot possibly want to return to the island without at least a dry change of clothes. You have no shoes, and of course, you aren’t going to tell me where those got off to, are you?”
I glanced behind my seat and eyed a pair of Wellington boots on the floor.
“I’ll wear the boots.”
He followed my gaze.
“My wellies?”
I nodded.
Dylan reached behind him and grabbed some material that appeared to be clothing. He pulled the garments into his lap, leaned forward and peered into my face.
“Ann Borodell, I will trade you. You may borrow my wellies, dry jeans and jumper if you will tell me what where you have been and what you got up to. I always carry extra clothing in my Rover. They may be too large for you, but if you truly think you must return to the island at once, then you will tell me what befell you, or I will deposit you at the MacIvers’, and you can walk back to the island.”
I looked at Dylan and took a deep breath.
Chapter Seventeen
“I’ve been in the sixteenth century.”
Predictably, Dylan blinked as if he didn’t understand.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve been in the sixteenth century,” I said. “I traveled through time. You’re a scientist, Dylan. You know strange things happen!” Relief flooded through me at being able to say it out loud.
Dylan blinked several more times and leaned back, staring at me.
“I’m not crazy!” I said. “You don’t have to back away like I’m crazy.”
“I didn’t say you were mental.”
“Well, you’re staring at me like I am.”
“You have to admit, Ann, that is a farfetched tale!” He turned to gaze at the empty road ahead for a moment before returning his gaze to me. “You want me to believe that you traveled back in time to the sixteenth century, to medieval Scotland?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Can you prove it? Did you bring back any evidence?”
“Uh, no. I didn’t expect to travel back so suddenly.” I looked down at my hands, void of a dagger.
“Wait!” I pulled the blanket from my lap. “My shift! Even you recognized that it’s handwoven!”
I held up my arm and tugged at the fabric of my sleeve. Dylan leaned over to look at it.
“The textile isn’t machine made, that is certain, but it looks fairly new, if somewhat soiled.”
“Because it is new, Dylan! I was in the sixteenth century, remember?”
Dylan leaned back in his seat and shook his head as if to clear his mind. He ran a hand along his beard and studied me with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity, a true scientist.
“I find the idea of time travel hard to believe, Ann. I really do. Let me gather my thoughts.”
I waited while he absorbed the information. When he finally spoke, he let out a torrent of questions.
“How did it happen, or do you know? How long were you gone in sixteenth-century time? Where did you go? What happened? What did it feel like to travel through time? Can anyone do it?”
I laughed then, even through my grief—a brief chuckle.
“Thank goodness!” I breathed. “I needed you to believe me.” I collected my own chaotic thoughts. “How did it happen? I was digging around the base of the keep—it’s much taller than we realized, by the way—and I found a dagger, tarnished with age but still quite beautiful. I picked it up—I know I should have called you first and at least taken photos, measurements—but when I picked it up, I grew dizzy and fainted.
“Or at least I thought I fainted. Yes, I fainted. Then I woke up, and a tall, handsome man was bent over me, asking me if I was all right.”
“A tall, handsome man?” Dylan interrupted with a quizzical look.
“Oh, yes, Dylan, handsome, handsome, handsome. Like no one you or I have ever seen. His name is John Morrison, and he is...or was...the laird of a group of Morrisons. I’m still not sure how that works.”
“John Morrison? The clans had many lairds, many chieftains,” Dylan said softly. “Go on.”
“Anyway, he found me, and somehow or another, it was made clear to me that I was in the sixteenth century. I suspected the dagger was the catalyst for throwing me back in time—” Grief welled up in me at the thought that I had lost the dagger, and my words came out in a sob. I stopped to catch my breath.
“Ann?” Dylan asked. He reached into his sweatshirt pocket and handed me a packet of tissues. I pulled several out and wiped at the tears streaming down my face. I hadn’t realized I was crying.
“I’m sorry. It’s hard. Anyway, I knew the dagger was the catalyst for throwing me back in time, but John took it from me. You see, it belonged to him.”
I couldn’t help it then. I broke down into sobs and buried my face in my empty hands. I felt an arm slide around my shoulders, and Dylan murmured words of comfort.
“There now, there now.”
Minutes passed as I mourned the almost certain knowledge that I would never see John again. My heart ached. My stomach ached. My lungs ached. Everything hurt, even my soul. I gasped for air as I tried to slow my crying.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, my face still buried in my hands. “I loved him.”
“John Morrison?” Dylan asked in a quiet voice.
I nodded. “With all my heart.”
“Why did you come back then?”
“It wasn’t my choice,” I said, looking up blurrily. “While John and I went back and forth about the dagger the entire time I was there—me begging for it, trying to steal it, him hiding it, refusing to let me have it, then him trying to get me to take it so I would leave, and me refusing to take it—”
“Hang on, Ann!” Dylan said, withdrawing his arm. “I’m confused. I think you must be skimming over some details!”
I paused for breath.
“Yes, I’m sorry. I am.”
“Do quit apologizing. Take your time. I do wish I had some tea in the Rover, but I’ve left my thermos at the site. You could do with a cup.”
I nodded.
“Yes, I probably could.”
“I want to hear more. I am dying to hear more, but I think we need to set you right. When did you last eat?”
I tried to think back. I shook my head.
“I really don’t know.”
Dylan looked around the countryside.
“I wish we were closer to town and could stop into a pub. I have some sandwiches on site as well. Unless you wish to return to the MacIvers’ to change, and you have said you do not, I think I had better take you back to Dun Eistean.”
My heart skipped a beat, then two.
“Yes, please. I’ll change right now.”
“Change in the Rover. I’ll step out and get some air. There are clean dry socks inside the wellies.”
Dylan climbed out of the vehicle, and I grabbed his jeans and pulled them up under the shift. I looked over my shoulder to see that he had wandered away from the Rover and appeared to be looking out to sea. I pulled the shift over my head and slipped into a heavyweight gray sweater. I folded up the shift with care and set it aside. Reaching into the rubber boots, I pulled out a pair of thick dark socks, thrust my
feet into them and then stepped into the boots. I climbed out of the Rover to zip up the jeans and straighten my clothing.
“Okay!” I called out.
Dylan turned around, smiled and came around the front end of the vehicle.
“You look a sight,” he said. And he was right. The jeans were far too long and baggy, both at the hips and bunched up as they were at the top of the Wellingtons. The boots were far too big, but in the absence of shoes, they were all I had. The sweater dropped down to my thighs, and I had to fold the sleeves back several times. But everything was dry, and I was heading back to Dun Eistean.
“I know,” I said with a crooked smile, “but I’m warm and dry. Can we go?”
“Aye,” he said. “We’re off then. I’m not sure what everyone will say when I bring you straight back, but we’ll have to deal with that then.”
I had no answers for him. I only knew that I had to get back to the island.
We got back on the road and arrived at the car park within ten minutes. As we drove, I looked out onto the windswept landscape, wondering where the burial ground had been. In any number of mounding hills, I imagined. I would probably never know.
We parked, and I stepped down from the Rover. Dylan led the way back across the footbridge, with me trudging along in my oversized rubber boots. I remembered how frightened I had been of heights when I first arrived. Now, I paused to look down into the ravine, at present filled with a surging tide. I couldn’t see the path. Perhaps it was submerged, or perhaps it had been worn away over the centuries.
No sooner did we set foot onto the island than one of the students caught sight of us and turned to call for the others. I recognized Dylan’s colleagues as they approached from various directions.
“Did you return from the hospital already? I would not have thought to see Miss Borodell back so soon,” one man said.
Some of the students, now crowding around, to my dismay, echoed the same things.
“No need for concern. Ann is feeling fine,” Dylan said. “We should give her some space though. We’ve just returned for a spot of tea and sandwiches.” He grabbed my arm and led me across the tabletop and around the back of the keep. I gasped as I remembered that the area set aside for refreshments and rest was in fact very near the site where I had sat with both Andrew and John, gazing out to sea.
