Song of a Highlander (Arch Through Time, #11)

by Baker, Katy

  She hesitated. The puncture wounds were not large. They would only take a few stitches. It would be over in minutes.

  Just do it.

  Gritting her teeth, she dug the needle into Ramsay’s flesh and pulled the thread through. She grimaced, surprised at how easily the needle punctured flesh. Ramsay did not react. She did it again two, three, four, five times, pulling the stitches tight. Her fingers were soon sticky with blood but she didn’t allow herself to flinch. When the wound was closed, she tore a new bandage from her hem, wound it around his waist and tied it off.

  At last, it was done. She plunged shaking hands into the bowl and scrubbed feverishly, turning the water red. Finally, she allowed herself to slump against the wall. She felt utterly exhausted, rung out like a dishcloth twisted too many times. She squeezed her eyes closed and allowed herself the luxury of resting for a few heartbeats, allowing her pulse to steady and the shaking of her hands to abate. Only then did she open her eyes.

  Through the doorway of the little hut she could see the Highlands rolling out, bright and fresh with spring. Spring! How was it possible? It had been winter only moments ago.

  There it was again, that panic that threatened to swallow her if she thought about everything that had happened. Instead, she forced her attention to her patient.

  Ramsay still lay insensate but his color looked a little better. She mopped the sweat from his brow and then managed to trickle some clean water into his mouth. He swallowed reflexively but didn’t wake. She laid a hand against his forehead and was relieved to find that his skin had cooled and no longer burned with fever.

  She leaned back against the wall and her eyelids started to droop. She drifted into uneasy dreams full of strange chanting, swirling tattoos, and Irene MacAskill’s voice telling her over and over again to find who she really was.

  A sound startled her out of sleep. She lurched upright, heart hammering.

  “Easy, lass,” said Ramsay, holding out a hand. “All is well.”

  She blinked. Ramsay had levered himself into a sitting position and now leaned awkwardly against the wall opposite her, his face haggard but with some color in his cheeks.

  “You’re awake!” Jess exclaimed, pushing her hair back from her face with a shaky hand. “Thank goodness. I didn’t know if you’d wake at all. That bullet...”

  “Hasnae done any lasting damage,” Ramsay replied. “Thanks to ye.” He twisted to examine the bandage, wincing a little in pain.

  “Don’t touch it!” Jess scolded. “And don’t move too much. You’ll burst your stitches.”

  Was that a ghost of a smile curling the corner of his lips? “Aye, my lady. As ye command.”

  He shifted into a more comfortable position, stretching his long legs out.

  She watched him silently. He sat in shadow so she couldn’t see his features, only his eyes which glinted in the gloom.

  “Are we safe?” she asked finally.

  “Aye,” he replied. “He willnae find us here.”

  “Good. When you’re rested, we’ll head downriver. I can’t get a cell signal but if we follow the river we’re bound to come across a village. Then we can get you to hospital and call the police. If we tell them everything: how Artair kidnapped us and brought us here, how he shot you, how they threatened me back at the arch, they’ll throw the book at him. He won’t get away with this. They’ll have dogs and a helicopter and...” She trailed off as she realized he was regarding her strangely. “What? What is it?”

  “There willnae be any of that, lass. We canna go to the police.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because there isnae any police to go to. Not in this time.”

  What year is this? How far do ye reckon we’ve come?

  Her gazed flicked to the doorway and the spring evening outside. A spring evening when it should be winter. Then she glanced at the inside of the hut, like something from a medieval story. Then finally at Ramsay whose clothing was at least several hundred years out of date.

  Everything began slotting into place...

  No. No. No.

  “Who are you?” Jess asked. “Where are we?”

  “As I’ve said, my name is Ramsay MacAuley. My father is Laird Logan MacAuley and my family make their home at Dun Ringill.” He glanced at the landscape through the open door. “And as to where we are? That isnae the question ye should be asking. Ye should be asking when we are.”

  Jess shook her head. This was all too much. “I should have listened to Irene. She tried to warn me.”

  Ramsay glanced up sharply. “Irene? Irene MacAskill? Ye know her?”

  Jess was taken aback by the sharpness of his tone. “I met her by the arch this afternoon. She told me I was in danger and she was right. A few hours later I got shot at!”

  Ramsay leaned forward, his gaze intense. “What did she say to ye?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Oh, it matters, lass. Tell me!”

  Jess pressed a hand to her forehead. Her temples were beginning to throb. “Some crap about ‘the balance’ and ‘dark powers’ and finding out who I really am. Why do ye care? What has she got to do with this?”

  “She has everything to do with this,” he replied. “Because she was the one that brought us here.”

  Jess stared at him. He was as crazy as the Campbells. “How could she bring us anywhere? She’s just an old woman.”

  “Nay, lass,” he said softly. “She isnae. She is one of the Fae.”

  The Fae. She’d heard them mentioned already today. The Campbells had talked about them too. They’d claimed the keystone contained Fae magic. Which was ridiculous of course. Jess didn’t believe a word of it. So why did a tingle of fear slide all the way down her spine?

  “Ye must listen to me,” Ramsay said. “This is very important. We are no longer in yer time, in the twenty-first century. We’ve traveled back in time, to my time. To the sixteenth century.”

  Jess laughed shrilly. “Silly me! Why didn’t I think of that? Of course we’ve traveled back in time! It’s obvious isn’t it?”

  Oh God. She was starting to feel light-headed. She thought she might pass out in a minute.

  Ramsay said nothing, only watched her steadily. A blackbird suddenly alighted on the doorstep and watched them with one shiny eye. Its beak was full of worms to feed its chicks. Chicks! How could that be? This was still the Highlands, but it wasn’t the bleak, wind-swept Highlands of late winter. This was the sunny, green-leafed Highlands of spring. Somehow she’d lost at least two months.

  Or hundreds of years.

  She dragged in a breath. “Some physicists theorize that time travel is possible,” she said, desperately trying to rationalize all this craziness. “It depends on which view of space-time you support. One theory says that the future doesn’t exist until a decision is made but another view of space-time says everything already exists—both the future and the past—and they’re already ‘out there’ somewhere like another point in space you could travel to. If we could build a machine that could somehow breach that space-time...” She trailed off and wiped a hand across her face. “Say I believe you. Say we really have traveled into the past. We would need a time machine.”

  “No machine,” he replied. “The arch we passed through wasnae a doorway at all. It was a portal through time made possible by Fae magic.”

  He leaned forward. “I’m sorry ye were dragged into this, lass. It isnae yer fight.”

  “But it’s yours you mean?” she replied, raising her eyebrows. “Who are those people? And how do you know them?”

  His expression turned stony and his emerald eyes glinted with something like anger. “Bad people. They want the power of time for themselves. They must never be allowed to have it.”

  Jess shook her head. “I don’t understand any of this. Today was a normal day and then Irene MacAskill turned up and everything went haywire. I wish I’d never got out of bed this morning!” She met his gaze. “How are you involved in all of this?
How come you know so much about time travel and the Fae?”

  He watched her steadily, as if deciding how much to tell her. Then he sighed. “It started a long time ago, long before I was born. My family have always had a... complicated... relationship with the Fae. I was sent from my own time in the sixteenth century to live in yers—the twenty-first. I have lived there for three years. Until tonight.”

  “Until tonight,” Jess echoed. She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. She was a scientist. She believed in reason and logic, in evidence and facts. Now this man was asking her to accept magic and time travel and fairy creatures that were immortal.

  “So ye know who I am,” Ramsay continued. “Now I must ask ye the same. Why were ye there tonight?”

  “Because they stole my keystone!” she snapped. “What was I supposed to do? Just let them take it?”

  “The keystone,” he breathed. “That’s what they were after.” He pounded his fist into the dirt. “Curse it all! And they’ve got exactly what they wanted! Adaira has the keystone and with it she can reopen the arch and cause untold damage across time.”

  “Actually, she hasn’t,” she said. She reached into the pocket of her lab coat, drew out a circular piece of stone and held it on her palm. “She doesn’t have the keystone at all. We do.”

  Ramsay’s eyes widened. “How did ye get that?”

  “I grabbed it as we went through. Didn’t I say I wasn’t about to let them steal it?”

  He looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. Then he barked a laugh. “I reckon Artair and Adaira may have underestimated ye, Jessica Maxwell.”

  A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. She liked the sound of his laugh.

  “This changes everything,” Ramsay said. “It means we still have a chance.”

  “A chance? For what?”

  His eyes found hers. “To send ye home. We’ll rest here tonight then at first light tomorrow return to the arch and send ye back to yer time.”

  Jess closed her eyes, relief washing through her like clear water. Home. Soon she would be back where everything made sense and this nightmare would be over. She just had to get through one night in this strange place. She could do that, couldn’t she?

  The sun was falling towards the horizon and dusk was thickening. It would soon be dark. The thought of spending a night stranded in this place made a shiver of unease slide right down her spine. What kind of dangers would lurk in the night? Wolves? Bandits?

  “Be at ease, lass,” Ramsay said as if reading her thoughts. “I willnae let any harm come to ye.”

  For some reason she couldn’t explain she beleived him. “Then we’d better have some supper hadn’t we?” She unwrapped the chocolate bar, snapped it, and handed one half to him.

  He raised an eyebrow as he took his piece and sniffed it. “Ah, chocolate. There are many wonders in the twenty-first century but I reckon chocolate is the best of them.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me on that score. Although I reckon pizza comes a close second.”

  He laughed. It was so clear and joyous that the sound lifted her heart. She tucked into the chocolate, savoring every last morsel. There wasn’t much, and it was gone far too quickly. Ramsay shuffled awkwardly over to the fire and began feeding sticks into it until he had a merry fire blazing in the little hearth.

  “Spring nights in the Highlands can be chilly,” he said by way of explanation. “Sleep, lass. Get some rest.”

  Jess found her eyes slipping closed. She was so tired. She lay down on her side, rested her head on her hands, and closed her eyes. In moments she fell asleep.

  RAMSAY WATCHED THE lass from across the fire. She looked peaceful—which was more than could be said for himself. He’d done his best to put on a facade of calmness in front of her. He’d done his best to appear confident, in control, in order to allay her fears. But the truth was, inside he felt a storm of emotions so strong he could barely think straight.

  What had he done? What events had he set in motion?

  Jess should not be here. Artair Campbell should not be here. Lord help him, he should not be here. He’d given up on this life many years ago. He’d accepted the half-life he’d been offered in the twenty-first century and made a bargain with the Fae to that end. Now he’d broken that bargain, and he had no idea what the repercussions of that would be.

  He regarded Jess. Who was she? What part did she have to play in all of this? Why had Irene MacAskill spoken to her? Somehow she’d known about the keystone. She had defended it against the Campbells which had led to her being drawn into the past with him. He shook his head. It made him uneasy. There were no coincidences where the Fae were concerned.

  It doesnae matter, he thought. Tomorrow we’ll return to the arch and she can go home before anything else happens.

  Before she discovers the truth, said a voice in his head. Before she discovers what kind of man ye really are.

  His lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. Nay, he told himself. I’m not that man anymore. I’m trying to atone for my mistakes.

  Yet no matter how much he told himself differently, he knew it was a lie. He’d castigated the Campbells, but he was no different.

  I will put things right. Starting with seeing Jessica Maxwell safely home. After that?

  After that he had no idea. He shifted his weight to find a more comfortable position and stared into the flames as night darkened around him.

  Chapter 5

  JESSICA WOKE SLOWLY. Her limbs felt heavy, her thoughts muzzy. She blinked and found herself staring up at a thatched ceiling criss-crossed with cobwebs. In the corner a large spider sat in a web. She scrambled up. Everything was as she’d left it last night: the tiny hut, the view of the Highlands through the open door. Oh no. It hadn’t been a dream after all.

  A fire crackled merrily in the hearth and a delicious smell was wafting through the tiny hut. Jess’s stomach growled in response. Ramsay MacAuley crouched over the fire, poking it with a stick. He’d placed a large flat stone on the embers and on this several eggs were frying. So. He hadn’t been a dream either.

  He glanced at her, the morning sunlight glinting off his copper hair. “Good morning, lass.”

  Jess pushed the tangle of her own hair from her face. “Um...hi.”

  “Hungry?”

  Hungry? Was he kidding? She reckoned she could eat an entire triple-jumbo burger with all the trimmings and still leave room for dessert. Half a chocolate bar in twenty-four hours just didn’t cut it.

  “I didn’t expect to wake to a cooked breakfast,” she said, hugging her knees. “Perhaps I’m not the only one who’s been underestimated.”

  A smile quirked his lips. “I’ve been raiding nests since I was a lad. These are goose eggs.”

  “I suppose it would be pushing my luck to hope for bacon and fried bread to go with it?”

  “Sorry. I’m fresh out of those.” He used a forked stick to lift three eggs off the stone and place them on a large flat leaf. He handed this to Jess along with a sharp stick to use as a fork.

  Jess took the leaf-plate with a nod of thanks and began eating ravenously. The eggs were perfectly cooked, hot and delicious, and gone all too soon. She washed them down with a few gulps of water from the bowl and gazed at the empty leaf-plate, wishing for more. A good night’s sleep and a meal had done wonders and for the first time since this whole episode started, she felt a little more like herself. Today she was going home!

  Ramsay ate his meal in silence, staring into the fire. He seemed preoccupied, his gaze clouded and distant.

  “How is your wound?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’d better check it.”

  He set his leaf aside. “There isnae any need.”

  “You were shot yesterday!” she replied. “And this morning you’ve been clambering around collecting goose eggs—a stupid thing to do when you’ve got a side full of stitches! Let me check it.”

  He sighed. “If ye insist
.”

  He held still as Jess lifted his plaid and gently unwound the bandage. He said not a word as she gently probed the stitches, although he grunted once in pain. The skin around the stitches seemed healthy enough and there was no blood or pus leaking through.

  She could feel Ramsay’s penetrating gaze on her. She was suddenly all too aware of his body so close. He had golden skin as though he spent a lot of time working in the sun and that skin was pulled tight over a landscape of contoured muscle. Her mouth suddenly felt a little dry. She retied the bandage, pulled down his plaid, and quickly retreated to her side of the fire.

  “It looks okay but I’m no doctor. You should see one—or whatever passes for one in this time—as soon as possible.”

  He was watching her steadily. How had she not noticed how striking he was? With those high cheekbones, flashing eyes and copper hair, he was the kind of man women would notice walking down the street.

  “My thanks, lass.”

  She nodded and climbed to her feet. “I’m going to have a wash.”

  She walked out into a glorious Highland morning. She guessed it to be an hour or two after dawn and the air still held a crisp freshness that scoured her lungs clean. To the east the hills were bathed in pink and yellow and the river glinted silver in the morning light. She just stared, taking it all in.

  She walked down to the water’s edge and crouched on the river bank. Cupping water in her hands, she gave herself a quick wash, holding her breath at the water’s coldness, and then untied her braid and raked her hands through her hair to pull out the worst of the tangles.

  She caught sight of herself in the water’s surface and paused. Hair spilling over her shoulders, a grimy white lab coat covering her up to the neck, she looked a mess and utterly out of place.

  I don’t belong here, she thought. This isn’t my place. My time. The sooner I get home, the better.

  And yet...and yet... Something nagged at her, some strange sense of déjà vu that she couldn’t quite place.