by Baker, Katy
Will ye have the courage to walk a dark, dangerous road if it leads to light on the other side?
“Are ye ready, lass?”
Jess jumped as Ramsay came up behind her. The sunlight caught the hazel glints in his otherwise green eyes and he was so tall she had to crane her neck back to look up at him.
She swallowed. Cleared her throat. Patted the keystone in her pocket. “I’m ready. We’ve a long walk ahead of us if the journey yesterday is anything to go by.”
“We willnae be walking,” he replied. “We’re going by boat.”
She glanced at the rowing boat pulled up on the strand then back at Ramsay. Anyone who didn’t know he was injured would never guess that he’d been shot yesterday but Jess could see a certain tightness around his eyes that betrayed his pain. She pressed her lips into a flat line.
“You can’t be serious. You can’t row with your injury. You’ll open the wound again.”
“Do ye have a better idea? This is rough country. There are few paths and we’d have to cut through forests and across open moorland. If we made it back to the arch by nightfall tomorrow, we’d be lucky—and we have no provisions for such a journey. As it is, with the river running so swiftly it will take us three times as long to return upstream as it did to get here—and that doesnae include stopping to rest. But we could be there by sundown today.”
Jess opened her mouth and closed it again. She wanted to go home so badly and the thought of having to spend another night in this time made fear flutter in her belly. But equally, she couldn’t allow Ramsay to make his injury worse.
“Fine,” she said. “A compromise then. We’ll take turns at the oars. I want your word that the moment—the very instant—you feel that wound start to open or your pain gets worse, you’ll tell me and I’ll take my turn at the oars while you rest. Deal?”
He held up his hands in surrender, amusement written across his face. “Aye. I wouldnae dare argue, my lady.”
“Good. Let’s go then.”
Together they managed to push the boat out into the water and climb aboard. Ramsay settled himself on the bench and took up the oars, grimacing only slightly as he rowed.
Jess watched Ramsay closely as they traveled, passing through woods crowded close to the bank where kingfishers flitted in and out of the water like brightly colored darts. He seemed pale but made no comment and his strokes were strong. Who was he? There was far more to his story, she was sure of it. Why had he been at the dig site? And how had he become involved with the Fae?
“Seems like you know what you’re doing with those oars,” she observed.
“I grew up on the coast. I spent half my childhood in one boat or another. Dun Ringill sits at the mouth of a river. There were always ships coming and going.” He smiled. “What about ye, lass?”
“Me? No, never been a fan of boats.”
He laughed softly. “I meant where did ye grow up? Ye dinna sound like ye are from the Highlands.”
“No, I’m from the US,” Jess answered. “My grandmother was Scottish although she moved to the US many years before I was born. She was very proud of her homeland and used to tell me stories about this place.” She shook her head. “Jeez, if she could see me now.” Her hand reached up to grasp the silver locket hanging around her neck.
“It sounds as if ye are close.”
“We were. She brought me up after my mother died.”
“Were? She’s gone? So what family do ye have?”
“I don’t.” Eager to change the subject she added, “My turn! Move over.”
Ramsay moved aside to let her take the oars. Bracing her feet against the bottom, she pulled her first stroke. It was hard work and her back and arms were soon screaming but she gritted her teeth and refused to let her strain show on her face. But she was glad when Ramsay took them back a while later.
She settled herself on the bench opposite him and watched the landscape slide past. The river banks had risen to sheer cliffs on either side with trees growing right up to the edge. She couldn’t see any paths through them. Yes, this was wild country indeed.
At midday they pulled onto a sandbar and stopped to rest and Jess badgered Ramsay into lifting his shirt so she could check his bandage. A few drops of blood had seeped through the material. She didn’t like the look of that.
“Maybe I should take the bandage off and take a closer look,” she said.
“Dinna fash, lass,” Ramsay replied, tugging his plaid back down. “I’ve had far worse in my time.”
Jess frowned. Stubborn man! He could be bleeding to death and he’d still say it was nothing! Were all men in this time so pig-headed?
Ramsay moved away from her and gathered some firewood. He stacked it into a cone shape and quickly had a fire going.
Jess unpacked the eggs from the boat—those left over from breakfast which Ramsay had carefully wrapped in grass to keep them from cracking. Whilst Jess placed a flat stone into the fire and began frying them, Ramsay picked his way carefully down to the water and waded in up to his shins.
He returned carrying a double handful of edible greens and these, along with the fried eggs, made a half-decent lunch. In fact, Jess thought, as she tucked in, this was exactly the kind of thing she would pay a fortune for in some swanky restaurant.
Ramsay seemed at home. He’d worked with ease and confidence to find them food, suggesting that he knew this place intimately, knew what it took to survive here.
Unlike me, she thought. Without a superstore or a takeaway, I’m lost.
They finished their lunch and carried on their way. Ramsay said not a word but his eyes scanned the bank continually, alert for danger. Towards mid-afternoon they began to see the first signs of life. Ramsay pointed to the hillside.
“Look.”
A flock of sheep were dotted high on the hills, being herded by a man and a dog. The man rose to his feet and watched them drift by. Several miles further on, the forest began to retreat from the river’s edge to be replaced by tilled fields bordered by stone walls.
Ramsay gazed around, eyes roving over the landscape. He seemed wary. “It’s time to go ashore. We’re close. The arch lies maybe two miles upriver. Artair may still be there, waiting for us and may have laid an ambush along the river. We must approach cautiously, across country.”
Jess licked her lips. She hadn’t thought of that. With no way to get home would Artair be guarding the arch, waiting for their return? Oh, hell. Would they have to fight to get through?
The boat scraped the bottom. Ramsay climbed out, dropped into the water and dragged the craft further up the strand, grunting at the effort. Then he held out his hand to help her ashore. Lost in thoughts of Artair and guns, she grabbed for the gunwale and missed. The boat rocked alarmingly and Jess yelped, tripped, and tumbled over the side. She had a second to register the cold water rushing up to meet her before strong arms caught her at the last possible moment and lifted her effortlessly onto the sand.
She found herself looking up at Ramsay. His hands rested on her hips and her own hands had come to lie on his broad chest.
“Careful, lass,” he said. “I wouldnae recommend a dunking in this water. It comes straight from the mountain and is somewhat chilly.”
For a moment she couldn’t speak. She stared at him, her breath quickening. “Right,” she replied. “I lost my footing, that’s all.”
He held her gaze a moment longer and something flared in his eyes. Jess wasn’t sure what it was, but it sent a flush of heat through her body. Then he cleared his throat and stepped back.
“This way.”
He walked off and Jess followed him away from the bank, into a landscape of fields and copses. It was a fine day and at any other time, Jess would have found herself enjoying the trek but she barely noticed it for the confused thoughts running through her head. Her skin tingled where Ramsay’s hands had rested on her hips and her thoughts kept returning to that expression on his face.
Ramsay suddenly held up a hand.
Jess halted. He pointed to where a path snaked through the trees, joining the one they traveled.
“Last time I was here this area wasnae settled. I’d hoped to avoid notice. We must tread carefully.”
Together they moved onto the road, walking in silence, scanning the landscape for any threat. Jess saw nothing, only birds flitting through the trees, but Ramsay seemed to grow more and more tense. He moved silently, his footsteps making no sound, and his hand kept clenching at his side as though to grasp a weapon that wasn’t there.
The trees peeled back to reveal a wide clearing. Several houses filled the space, timber-built, thatch-roofed cabins with smoke trailing from the chimneys.
Ramsay stopped so abruptly that Jess almost walked into the back of him. A group of people emerged from the houses, spilling across the road to block their path. They carried rudimentary weapons: a hoe, a spade, a sickle, and were all older men with weathered faces and the look of hard work about them. They did not seem friendly.
“Good day, friends!” Ramsay cried. “What news? The last I heard, this road was safe for travelers! Why do ye block our path?”
The men shared glances and then one stepped forward warily. He was a large man with a sagging paunch pulling his homespun tunic tight over his belly.
“The path is safe for any who dinna wish us ill!” he shouted. “Who are ye and what do ye want?” His words were tight and Jess sensed fear underneath his hostility.
“My name is Ramsay MacAuley. We mean ye no harm. We’re just traveling through.”
The man hesitated, unsure, but a second man cried, “Dinna listen to him, Jaimie! That’s what the other one said and look what happened!”
Jess frowned. Other one?
The leader, Jaimie, lifted his chin. “Turn around and leave this place! Ye willnae find us easy pickings!”
“We are no bandits,” Ramsay growled. “And I would thank ye not to suggest such. I’ve told ye my name. My father is Laird Logan MacAuley. I give ye my word that we mean ye no harm.”
“Laird MacAuley?” Jamie said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I met him once at the summer fair on Skye. An honorable man I thought. Yet ye are a long way from home, lad, and I wonder what brings ye to these parts?”
He glanced at Jess. “My wife and I are traveling to visit her relatives in the north.”
Jess glanced at him sharply. What had he just called her? His wife?
The villager’s eyes snapped to Jess. They narrowed as they took in her strange attire. It couldn’t be everyday they came upon a woman wearing sneakers and a lab coat.
“Ye have kin in the north?” asked Jaimie suspiciously. “Where exactly would that be.”
“Cromarty,” Ramsay replied.
Jaimie slowly nodded. “Aye. I know it. And what family is yer wife out of?”
The man was testing them, Jess realized. He didn’t trust them and certainly didn’t believe Ramsay’s story. What had happened to make them so suspicious?
“Blackstock. Her father is Robert Blackstock,” Ramsay lied smoothly.
Jamie lowered his hoe. “The Blackstocks are a good, respectable clan. My apologies for our suspicion. We’ve had...trouble recently.”
Ramsay frowned. “What kind of trouble?”
Jaimie raised a finger and pointed. Jess spotted a mound of freshly dug earth under a nearby tree. A cross made from lashed branches had been affixed atop it.
It was a grave.
Ramsay paled. “What happened?”
“A man came yesterday,” Jamie said. “A man the like of which I’ve never seen before. He wore strange clothing.” His eyes flicked to Jess and away again. “And he wore jewels like a noble but he didnae act like any noble. He demanded we feed and clothe him and give him our only horse. When we refused, he got nasty.” Jaimie passed a shaky hand over his balding head as he relived the memory. “He pulled out a weapon. It was small enough to sit in his hand but it coughed like a cannon and spat out tiny cannon balls that can rip through a man’s flesh! He killed young Johannes. Killed him clean dead as though he were naught but a beast!”
Jess’s heart began to pound. A man dressed strangely who held a ‘cannon’ in his hand? That could only be one man. Artair had come this way.
“Did this man give a name?” Ramsay asked in a quiet, dangerous voice.
“Nay,” Jamie replied. “But do ye know the worst thing? He asked if any lads from our village wanted to join him. Promised he’d make them rich. And three of our lads went with him! Can ye believe it? He killed one of their own but they were so swayed by a stranger’s promise of power and riches that they left us and joined him! Oh, my Da will be turning in his grave to see such a thing!”
“Those lads were naught but trouble-makers anyway,” another of the men growled. “We’re well rid of them.”
Ramsay glanced at Jess. She knew what he was thinking. What the hell was Artair up to?
“Who is the laird in these parts?” Ramsay asked.
“We answer to the MacGregor.”
“Then ye must go to the MacGregor and report all that ye’ve seen. Tell him everything that happened. Ask for his protection.”
An old man snorted. “Ye think he will give it? He doesnae care one whit for the likes of us! Benneit MacGregor is little more than a vagabond himself!”
“Benneit MacGregor?” Ramsay asked, surprised. “Malcolm MacGregor’s bastard son?”
“Aye,” the old man replied. He hawked and spat. “Old Laird MacGregor died last summer. Fell from his horse and cracked his head, so the story goes—if ye believe that.”
Ramsay’s gaze became unfocussed, turning inward. “Benneit MacGregor,” he muttered under his breath. Finally, he looked up. “What year is this?”
The villagers stared at him as if he’d gone daft.
“What year is this?” Ramsay roared.
The villagers jumped. “1572,” Jamie replied. “Lord above, lad. Where have ye been to have lost track of the passing seasons?”
“A long way away,” Ramsay murmured. “A very long way.” He nodded to Jaimie. “Good day to ye.”
He strode off, pushing through the ring of villagers who parted to let him go. Jess scrambled to catch up. They marched through the village in silence and it was only when they’d reached the hills on the far side and the village lay out of sight in a fold of the land, that Jess grabbed his arm.
“Wait a minute!”
Ramsay swung around, his expression tight. “What?”
“What was that back there?” she demanded. “Why did you tell them I’m your wife?” It was not the question she’d meant to ask, but it popped out before she could stop it.
“What would ye have me tell them?” he snapped. “This isnae the twenty-first century. What reason would a man and woman have to be traveling together if they weren’t kin or married? Would ye rather they thought ye were my whore?”
She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. She had no answer to that. Instead, she asked “You think it was Artair who killed that villager?”
“Who else could it have been? Curse him. Already he’s wreaking his evil. But it means he’s left the arch. That means ye will be safe to go home.”
His green eyes found hers. Countless emotions swirled in them, too many for Jess to name. She thought she saw anger but something else as well. Doubt?
He turned and walked off. Jess stared after him, questions and worries clouding her own thoughts, then hurried to catch up.
They climbed the hill and made their way down the next. As they got closer, she began to recognize landmarks from their mad flight yesterday: a fallen oak tree lying in the water, a tumble of rocks along the river bank.
She fingered the keystone as they walked. Soon she would be home and could put the crazy last few days behind her. She could forget Artair and Adaira Campbell.
She could forget Ramsay MacAuley.
She ought to feel relieved, but she didn’t.
Thank ye again for leading us right to it. Arta
ir’s words echoed in her head.
Ramsay signaled a halt and they hunkered down behind a tree. A wooded hill spread out below them and Jess could see the river glinting between the trees.
“The arch is below us,” Ramsay said. “Keep yer eyes peeled. Come, let’s get ye home.”
He made to walk off but Jess grabbed his arm. “And you?”
“Me? What do ye mean?”
“What will you do?”
“I will go after Artair. I must stop him, whatever the cost.”
He walked off, leaving Jess staring after. Whatever the cost.
She shivered at the thought of Ramsay facing Artair alone. Artair had guns. What did Ramsay think he could do against such weapons?
They emerged from the trees onto the grassy patch of ground at the river’s edge and suddenly, there it was. The arch. It appeared to be nothing more than a ruin, a remnant of times past. Who could have guessed it held so much power?
Ramsay glanced from side to side. “Quickly, lass. Bring the keystone and come with me.”
He loped across the clearing to the arch. Jess took a deep breath, pulled the keystone out of her pocket, and jogged after him. She stopped in front of the arch, staring at the curve of stones. In the space beneath the arch there was no shimmering heat-haze, no swirling darkness. All she saw was the gloomy, weed-strewn interior of the building.
“Replace the keystone,” Ramsay instructed, nodding to the notch in the arch. “It willnae work without it.”
Jess stared down at the keystone. This thing had started this whole business, set in motion a chain of events that led to her being ripped from her time, to being shot at, to being thrown together with Ramsay MacAuley, to her standing here right now, in this moment. Was it coincidence? A series of random events that had put her on this path?
What had led her to write that paper? What had drawn her to analyze a random piece of stone?
Irene had talked about paths and destinies and things she didn’t understand. But Jess was the one who’d written that paper. She was the one who’d alerted Artair and Adaira Campbell to the keystone’s existence.
This was all her fault. And her responsibility to put it right.
