by Baker, Katy
Jess watched wide-eyed. She ought to run but her feet wouldn’t move. Adaira stood on the far side of the combatants, watching with an expression on her face that suggested she was as shocked as Jess. Then she turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Jess cast around, searching for some way to aid her rescuer, and grabbed a stone lying by her feet. She hefted it, searching for a good shot, but the men were too close together and she had as much chance of hitting her rescuer as she did of hitting Artair.
Then her rescuer—had Adaira called him Ramsay? —landed an uppercut into Artair’s chin that sent him staggering backwards. Jess took her chance. She pulled back her arm and threw the rock as hard as she could. It struck Artair full on the temple. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed onto his back, groaning.
The newcomer turned to face her. “Thank ye, lass,” he said in a deep voice.
He knelt by Artair, grabbed him by his expensive shirt, and yanked him close. “So this is yer plan?” he growled. “Ye believe ye can take the power of time? Did ye not think I would stop ye? I will never allow ye to threaten my home!”
Artair made a strange sound and it took Jess a minute to realize that he was laughing. “Fool!” he said. “It’s too late! It’s already ours! Look!”
The man glanced towards the doorway and the color drained from his face. Following the line of his gaze, Jess saw that the darkness beneath the arch looked odd. It swirled and shimmered like the heat above a candle flame. She gaped. What the—?
“No,” he breathed. “It canna be. It canna!”
A click suddenly sounded behind them. “Release my brother, son of the MacAuley,” said a cold voice.
Jess whirled to see Adaira standing a few feet away. She’d circled around and come up behind them. She’d got hold of her brother’s gun and now she pointed it right at Jess’s rescuer.
He released Artair and stepped in front of Jess protectively. “Let the lass go,” he said to Adaira. “She has naught to do with this.”
“Does she not?” Adaira said. “Are ye sure about that? Or is she as caught up in this as we are? Why did she come here? Why did she write that paper that led us all here tonight? Ye know there are no coincidences where the Fae are concerned.”
The man took a step towards Adaira. He was so tall he towered over her but she didn’t seem afraid. “Let her go,” he said again. “I willnae allow ye to harm her.”
An amused smile curled Adaira’s perfectly painted lips. “Oh? And how will ye stop me? Even ye dinna have the power to stop a bullet.” She pursed her lips as she regarded him. “Are ye sure ye have chosen the right side, son of the MacAuley? It isnae too late to change yer mind and come back to us. Ye once thought as we did.”
“Never,” he replied. “I know better than to trust ye.”
Jess looked around, searching for an escape route but found none. If they tried to run, Adaira would shoot them. Panic tried to claw up her throat. There was no way out.
The man turned to Jess. His eyes were a vivid green color, like spring leaves.
“Trust me,” he said.
He grabbed her wrist and sprinted at the arch, yanking Jess behind him. Adaira yelled and Jess heard the crack of a gun shot. A bullet smashed into the arch and splinters of stone exploded. Something hard and circular thumped against her hand and she closed her fingers around it just as something else grabbed her ankle. She felt a sudden, sharp sensation of falling, as if the ground had disappeared beneath her feet, and everything went black.
Chapter 3
JESS GROANED AND OPENED her eyes. A cloudless blue sky stretched above her. Grass tickled her neck. She sat up abruptly, making her head spin. Pressing a hand to her temple, she gazed around her, mouth dropping open in shock. She was no longer at the archaeological site. There was no sign of trenches or earthworks or scaffolding.
Instead, she was in a quiet, sunlit meadow, a river babbling along to the right. A rowing boat sat on the riverbank. Behind her reared the tumble-down ruins of some sort of building. All that remained were a few walls and an arch where the door would have been. At the peak of the arch was another round depression shaped like the keystone.
She gaped. This can’t be, she thought. This isn’t possible. Where the hell am I?
She staggered to her feet, expecting everything to change, to wake up and find herself back in the darkness of the dig site. But she didn’t. All she could see was the quiet meadow and the landscape of the Highlands on a sunny spring day.
“Are ye well, lass? Are ye hurt?”
Jess jumped and spun around with a startled cry. She found herself looking into a man’s face—the face of her rescuer.
What the hell was happening? She staggered under a sudden wave of dizziness and crashed onto her knees. Wisps of hair came free of her braid to curtain her face and she pushed them away shakily
The man crouched. “Easy, lass. This must be a shock. Take yer time—”
“Where am I?” she demanded. “Where have you brought me?”
“There is much I need to explain—”
“Who are you?” she cried. She struggled to her feet and wobbled a few steps away from him. She could feel her pulse racing and another wave of dizziness threatened to send her reeling.
“My name is Ramsay MacAuley,” the man replied. He held his hands out to both sides as if to show he carried no weapons. “I willnae harm ye.”
She blinked stupidly at him. Ramsay MacAuley. Yes. That’s what Adaira had called him. He’d saved her. Hadn’t he?
“What is yer name, lass?”
“What?”
“Yer name.”
“Jess,” she whispered. “Jessica Maxwell. Oh God. Have you kidnapped me?”
“Nay,” he replied, his green eyes flashing. “Did I not just say I meant ye no harm?”
“Then where are we? How did we get here?”
He reached up to rub at his stubbled cheek. His expression was troubled. “Not where I expected to be,” he muttered as if to himself. “I can scarcely make sense of it.” He looked up, met her gaze. “Listen, lass. There’s something I need to tell ye—”
A sudden click sounded from the direction of the ruined building. “Well, isnae this nice, the three of us here together?”
A man stepped out from the ruins. Jess recognized the dark hair and arrogant face of Artair Campbell.
And he was pointing a gun right at her.
A JOLT OF SHOCK WENT through Ramsay. His nostrils flared and he felt his shoulders tense at the sight of his enemy. What was he doing here? How had he managed to follow them?
“Get behind me,” he hissed at Jess, eyes fixed on Artair.
“Adaira will never believe this!” Artair cried. His dark eyes sparkled with something like triumph and a grin split his face. He looked around, taking in their surroundings. “She will be so jealous I made it here instead of her! What year do ye reckon this is? How far do ye reckon we’ve come?”
“How did ye get here?” Ramsay growled.
“Hitched a ride,” Artair replied, nodding at Jess.
“Something grabbed my ankle,” Jess said suddenly. “Was that you?”
Artair laughed. “Aye. I managed to catch ye just as ye went through—along with my faithful revolver here. Did ye think I’d let ye get away? After all our hard work in finding the keystone? Thank ye again for leading us right to it by the way.”
Jess looked from Ramsay to Artair and back again. She’d gone pale.
Ramsay glared at Artair, his hands clenched into fists. “Let her go. She isnae part of this.”
“So ye keep saying but we both know that isnae true.” He breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring. “Ah! Smell that fresh air? Isnae it wonderful?”
Ramsay took a step forward. “Hardly. Ye are lost and alone without yer sister to hold yer hand. How will ye get back without her help?”
“Oh, my foolish friend!” Artair said, grinning. “Ye reckon I wasnae prepared for this? That we didnae have a plan? My
, ye are as stupid as ye seem.”
Ramsay stepped closer. He had to get the gun from Artair. He had to ensure Jess’s safety. He’d gotten her into this. He had to get her out.
“Is that right?” Ramsay said, hoping to keep him talking. “Then why dinna ye enlighten me?”
Artair’s expression twisted into a condescending sneer. It was the look of a man who thought he could take what he wanted from those weaker than him. But Ramsay had never been weak. He took another tiny step closer.
“After all this time, after all we’ve been through together, ye still dinna understand?” Artair replied. “Ye are an idiot and a coward, Ramsay MacAuley. This power could have been yers! Ye who have tasted the power of the Fae. Ye could have made yerself a god!”
“I have no wish to be a god. Ye think ye can harness the power of the Fae? Ye think they will bow to ye? Then ye are the fool. They will destroy ye for yer presumption.”
“Or mayhap they will welcome me. Mayhap they will recognize one worthy to wield their power.”
Ramsay took another step. He was only a few paces away now. “And ye call me the fool.” He shook his head. “What bargain could ye offer them for such power? They will use ye, chew ye up, and leave ye a lifeless husk.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He threw himself at Artair and managed to grab the gun just as Artair pulled the trigger. He twisted, and the shot blasted into the air with a retort loud enough to send a flock of birds bursting from the trees.
They grappled with the gun, Artair trying to force its barrel into Ramsay’s face, Ramsay trying to wrench it from his grasp. Ramsay aimed a kick into Artair’s stomach that made him stagger backwards, sending him crashing through the door of the building.
“Come on!” Ramsay yelled to Jess. He grabbed her hand and yanked her towards the river. “Into the boat!”
She scrabbled over the gunwale and crouched low in the little rowing boat whilst he put his weight behind it and shoved it into the river.
“Watch out!” she cried.
Ramsay turned to see Artair emerge from the ruins. He wiped a hand across his forehead and then raised the gun.
With all his strength Ramsay heaved the boat into the current and then scrambled over the side just as the bang of a gun shattered the air. A bullet cannoned into the side of the boat, sending wood chips flying. Jess screamed and Ramsay threw himself across her, shielding her with his body. A second shot sounded and Ramsay grunted as sudden scorching pain lanced through his side.
Then the current grabbed the boat and sent it speeding down river. He raised his head, wincing in pain, and peered behind. Artair stood at the river’s edge, glaring after them as they sped away. They rounded a bend in the river and he was lost to sight.
Ramsay put a hand to his side, and it came away wet with blood.
“You’re hurt!” Jess cried. “You’ve been shot! We have to put into shore so I can take a look.”
“Not yet,” he gasped. “Too close. Need to get further away.”
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he crawled to the plank seat and heaved himself onto it. Reaching out, he grabbed the oars and began to row. The world turned white and agony nearly made him pass out, but he finished the stroke and then made another and another. The boat picked up speed, racing along on a river swollen and swift with snow melt from the mountains.
His vision began to blur. Black dots swarmed before his eyes. He heard a tearing sound and then Jess tied something tightly around his waist. A hot spear of agony pierced him but when it subsided the pain lessened. A little.
Jess took the oars from him and he was helpless to stop her. She began to row haphazardly, obviously unused to such work. Her eyes scanned the shore continually, alert for danger. She was pale and obviously terrified. After an hour or more, when they’d gone far enough that they were out of Artair’s reach, he raised a shaking hand and pointed to the shore where a rocky strand met the water.
“There,” he croaked. “Put in there.”
She turned the boat, and it soon scraped the bottom. It tipped alarmingly as she jumped into the shallows and then dragged the boat to shore. She put her arm around his waist and helped him climb out. He managed to stagger a few steps up the bank and then his legs gave out. The ground came rushing up to meet him and he found himself staring up at the blue sky of the Highlands. His highlands.
I’m home, he thought. I’m finally home.
Then all thoughts fled.
Chapter 4
A COLD SPIKE OF FEAR stabbed through Jess’s belly as Ramsay collapsed. With a shrill cry, she knelt by his side. If he should die...
He lay on his back, eyes closed, skin gone a deathly pallor. But he was breathing. Her rudimentary tourniquet seemed to have slowed the bleeding, but he needed medical attention quickly. Biting her lip, she looked around. The boat had carried them many miles downriver and now they appeared to be in a wooded valley. All that met her eye was a patchwork of copses and green fields. There was not another soul in sight and certainly no hospital or doctor’s surgery where she could get him the help he needed.
She took out her cell phone. She would call the emergency services, get an air ambulance for Ramsay, and the police to go after Artair. But as she examined the screen, she saw the icon flashing in the corner that indicated she had no signal.
Oh, just perfect!
She wanted to scream or weep in frustration. What was she to do? What could she do? She was lost in a strange place with a wounded man who may or may not have kidnapped her and there was a gun-wielding maniac on the loose. Oh, hell. How had she gotten into this?
Panic threatened to overwhelm her. She forced herself to take a long, slow breath. What would Grandma Rosa do in this situation? She would take one step at a time. Do the thing in front of you, she would say.
And that’s this man who needs my help, Jess thought. Do the thing in front of me. One step at a time.
She peered around and spotted a structure on the river bank like a boat shed. It would give them a place to hide—if she could get Ramsay there.
He had begun mumbling under his breath and when she held a hand to his forehead, his skin felt hot to the touch. She shook his shoulder but he didn’t rouse. There was nothing for it. She’d have to drag him.
She got her hands under his armpits, braced her legs and heaved. He was heavy. Jeez, he was heavy! But inch by slow inch, she began dragging him across the grassy sward towards the hut. Her breath soon burned in her chest and her shoulders felt like they were on fire but she didn’t rest.
Finally, she reached the hut and pulled him within. Inside she found a tiny room with a packed earthen floor and a hearth in one corner sporting a neat stack of firewood. A ceramic jug and pot sat by the hearth and there were hooks in the ceiling for hanging boats. That was it.
It was rustic, the walls made from what appeared to be baked mud and the roof was made of cobweb-covered thatch. Who would build something like this? It was like something out of some medieval fairy tale. She froze.
What year is this? Artair had said to Ramsay. How far do ye reckon we’ve come?
No, don’t think about it, she told herself. Don’t think about it. Do what’s in front of you.
She laid Ramsay down on the earthen floor and rolled him onto his side. He didn’t stir as she untied the bandage she’d wound around his side which she’d made from the torn hem of her lab coat. She gently lifted his shirt—which was wet with blood—and examined the wound.
It seemed clean and there was an entry and exit wound, showing that the bullet had passed straight through, piercing the meat of the muscle just above his hip. No blood spurted and she saw no shards of bone that would indicate a shattered hip. He’d been lucky—if getting shot could be called lucky.
Even so, the wound needed cleaning, stitching and antibiotics to stave off any infection. She pulled in a deep breath and tried to still her shaking hands. There was nobody she could turn to. It was up to her.
Ramsay had a small
pouch strapped to his waist. Jess pulled it off, emptied its contents onto the ground and found it contained some old-fashioned coins, a man’s signet ring along with a piece of flint and a striking stone which she guessed must be for making fire. Next she turned out her pockets. She found a bar of chocolate, a roll of tape, a pencil and a safety pin.
Her eyes alighted on the safety pin. Could she use it to stitch his injury? She gulped. She would have to. There was nothing else.
Taking the flint and striker, she piled up some firewood in the hearth and set about starting a fire. She’d done this in girl scouts when she was little but then she’d had Miss Yates to help her out. Now it took forever and her fingers were stiff and sore by the time she got a spark to catch in the tinder and was able to blow it into life until she had a little fire going. She fetched fresh water from the river and set the pot into the fire to boil.
Taking the safety pin between her fingers, she bent it until the sharp end snapped off, leaving her with a rudimentary needle. She carefully picked some thread from the frayed hem of her lab coat and tied it carefully to the tiny loop she managed to twist into the needle’s end. When the water began to boil, she dumped the needle and thread in it to sterilize it and then took the pot out of the fire.
The careful, methodical work helped calm her. It helped her push away all thought and concentrate only on the next thing. Do what’s in front of you.
She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and watched Ramsay carefully whilst she waited for the water to cool. He lay insensate, a thin sheen of sweat across his face. Curls of sweaty hair stuck to his forehead.
Who was he? Where had he come from?
When the water had cooled enough, she knelt beside him and poured water over the wound to flush out dirt then took the needle and thread.
