by Pam Binder
Una came through the door from the courtyard, carrying pails of steaming milk. She seemed to ignore the mess as she set the buckets on the table. “I see that you have made another batch of shortbread for your brother.”
Elaenor smiled. “He said it was ‘fit for the gods.’ ”
Una turned and winked at Amber. “
“Us sure I am the lad said as much and more.”
Amber watched as Una brought order back to the kitchen. She was surprised that everyone had accepted her as though she were a distant relative who’d come for a visit. They’d welcomed her, offered their protection, been kind to her, and brought her into their confidence. She wanted to believe there were people like this in the world. Certainly Aunt Dora would have done the same if a stranger had washed up on her doorstep. But what would happen if they found out she was from the future?
She remembered reading about the Salem witch trials in school. Beginning with accusations against ten young women, nineteen had been hanged and one pressed to death before the governor stopped the hysteria. An outbreak of disease, or the death of a child, would result in a town looking for a witch to blame.
Amber shuddered. She’d dropped into a past with as many superstitions as those that had plagued Salem a century later. If she didn’t want to suffer the fate of those young women, she’d have to be careful. Keeping busy would help.
Books lined one wall in the well-lit chamber where Lachlan sat hunched over a parchment map. Subedei was indeed on the march, and had left a path of destruction in his wake. He must be stopped. A knock pulled him from his thoughts.
“Enter.”
Una stalked into the room. Wisps of hair escaped from under her cap. She held a wooden spoon in one hand and a slate board in the other. “You must do something about Lady Amber.”
All had been well when they had shared a meal in the Great Hall this morning. She had mentioned that too liberal an amount of salt was used in the preparation of the meal, but that was all.
“What is it that should be done?”
Una was clearly unsettled. “Come and see for yourself.”
The woman turned and left the room as abruptly as she had entered. He pushed away from the table and resigned himself to what was to come.
Una rarely lost her temper, except when the boundaries of her territory were threatened. He followed her down the corridor that led to the Great Hall. All was quiet as he entered the chamber. Too quiet. Una had not stopped, but kept her hurried pace.
Once in Una’s domain, Lachlan paused. There was an odd feel to the cookroom.
Una tapped her foot on the ground and folded her arms across her chest. “A few hours ago, Lady Amber paid me a visit. She said that she could help make my work easier. I agreed out of respect for you.”
Lachlan cringed. He knew that tone; it did not bode well. “Continue.”
“She has moved all the platters, utensils, foodstuffs, crates, pots, wood, herbs, flour…”
“Stop. For what purpose has she rearranged these items?”
Una poked him with her spoon. “She said if I started at the shelf by the door with all the items that began with an ‘A,’ and worked my way to the pantry on the far wall, ending with all the items that began with a ‘Z/ I would know where to find things.” Una sighed impatiently. “I knew the location of my supplies before Lady Amber arrived. Since this woman has organized my cookroom, I cannot find a thing. Until you have this matter settled, and I have my cookroom back the way I want, bread will not be baked from these ovens, fish, venison, and fowl will not be dressed for the fire pit…”
Lachlan interrupted her, holding up his hand. “I understand. You have made your point. I shall see to it.”
The expression around Una’s eyes softened. “Be gentle with the lass. She is away from her family and only seeks to fill the empty space left in her heart.”
He scratched his beard. Women. He would never understand them. A moment ago Una was breathing fire hot as any dragon’s. But in the blink of an eye, she had softened toward Amber. He shook his head. At times, like these, he believed that men had only the power women allowed them to have.
“Amber, there is something we must discuss.” Lachlan had spent the better part of the day searching for her and had found her in the solar with what might be every book in the castle. She sat perched on a chair as if ready for flight. He hesitated and waved his hand over the uneven stacks of books. “Is there a reason for this?” He had not meant his question to sound so abrupt, but she smelled of that damned jasmine.
She folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t see how anyone can find things when they’re scattered all over the castle. So I decided to put all the books in one room. The only thing I haven’t yet determined is whether to sort them on the shelves by author, or by title. Do you have a suggestion?”
He did. But he was sure that burning the lot of them was not an option she would favor.
“The task you have set for yourself is vast.”
“I’m good at organizing. And I’m bored to death. Should I help Una in the kitchen? I can make desserts, but that ends my cooking talents. Sew? Hemming a dress would probably take me all day. And I haven’t the faintest idea how to milk a cow, pluck chickens, herd sheep…”
“Enough. You need not concern yourself with any of this. Lady Amber, you are my betrothed.” He wished he could take back the words. She began to tap her foot. It appeared the number of females in the castle whom he had offended was growing. Amber’s frown deepened. Now he knew why Angus had remained a bachelor.
“What is it that would interest you?” The silence grew so heavy that he could almost feel it when she spoke.
“I want to teach.”
The words hung in the air. Schoolmasters were men. The question of from where she came loomed like a dark shadow between them. And then he remembered his journeys to Italy. It was not unusual for there to be women tutors in that country. Wherever Amber came from perhaps it was the same.
Lachlan heard his brother running down the hall, chased by a string of wolfhounds. The lad had too much time on his hands since Bartholomew’s dismissal. He paused. A brilliant idea formed. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I have decided you shall teach Gavin his letters.”
Her eyes grew wider. “But I only teach… well, maybe it would work.” She seemed to be talking to herself more than to him. “All right, but I’ll have to put these books away first. And if I’m going to teach your brother, we will need a schoolroom. This place would be perfect. A lot of light, shelves for materials and easy access to the outside. Gavin will love it.”
Lachlan was not so sure. The lad hated doing his lessons. “There is one condition.” He wondered how he had been talked into being a mediator between two women. It appeared doomed from the beginning.
Her expression grew serious. “And what would that be?”
He softened his voice. “You must cease interfering in Una’s cookroom and you must allow her to put everything back the way it was before you decided to ‘help.’ Una takes pride in her duties at keeping the castle running smoothly.”
“And when I invaded the cookroom she felt I was taking over.” Amber took a deep breath. “That was stupid of me. Would it help if I offered to put things back the way they were?”
“Perhaps.”
“You really dislike seeing people upset.” Amber reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. You’re a good man, Lachlan MacAlpin. Even if your beard is a little scratchy.”
She whisked away from him and began straightening the solar. He felt his beard. Scratchy?
As the door to the solar closed. Amber felt the walls closing in. “Teach?” She slammed a leather bound book on the shelf. “I already have a teaching job. Ifs in Seattle, in the twentieth century, in a building with hot and cold running water, real bathrooms and electricity.”
She’d said the words out loud. It didn’t matter. No one was around to hear her and it felt goo
d to vent her frustration. She paused. This was crazy. She had to get back to the life that awaited her in her own time.
A shadow passed over the bookshelves. It wasn’t from the sun. The angle was wrong. Lachlan? Possible. For a large man, he had the remarkable ability to enter a room without being heard. Panic held her frozen to the floor. How could she explain the things she’d said? Amber tightened her hold on the remaining book in her hand, as though it were a life raft, and turned slowly. She was not alone.
In the center of the room stood a frail woman who looked to be in her late eighties or nineties. Her features were delicate and her snow-white hair hung in gentle waves past her waist. The gown she wore was embroidered with Celtic symbols and the style resembled those worn in Greece thousands of years ago. The figure of the woman remained so still, and the clothes so outdated, Amber thought she might be looking at a ghost. She let out the breath she’d been holding and made a mental note to be scared later. At least a ghost didn’t talk and therefore, couldn’t repeat what she’d said.
“I am called Diedra, mother to Lachlan MacAlpin.”
Amber nodded and decided to hope the woman’s hearing wasn’t as clear and strong as her voice. In any event, she was now face to face with her potential mother-in-law. She felt nervous, and that was silly as she was betrothed in name only.
Diedra motioned for Amber to follow her through the door into a small enclosed garden outside. Amber complied. She hoped Lachlan’s mother believed the story that Amber was from Italy. If not, she would have to think of another plausible explanation. She didn’t want anyone becoming suspicious. The known world to the people in the sixteenth century was not that extensive. Amber could pick a country that hadn’t been discovered as yet, and naturally an exotic country would have equally exotic words. It could work. The voice of reason told her she would have had a better chance if Diedra was a ghost.
Amber shielded her eyes from the sun and followed Diedra to the far corner of the garden. Explaining how electricity worked might be easier than talking to a potential mother-in-law. Lachlan’s details of their betrothal had been sketchy, to say the least. The story he was telling was that they’d met in Italy and fallen in love at first sight. Amber had told him she didn’t believe in such a thing and he’d said her comment was beside the point. That had ended the discussion.
Lachlan’s mother slowed down. She stopped beside a lattice-work fence enclosing a single grave. Amber shivered as die original idea resurfaced, that she was dealing with a ghost.
Diedra pointed to the pink marble headstone. Ivy clung to the smooth sides and wound in lacy softness around the large marker. Amber moved closer in order to read the name printed in block letters: FORD. That was an odd name for this century. But then, she’d never given much thought to where names originated. Maybe the ancestors of the man who’d invented the Model T Ford had been from Scotland.
“You are deep in thought. Does the name ‘Ford’ hold meaning to you?”
Amber straightened and shook her head. She didn’t trust her voice. Her aunt always said Amber would never make a good poker player. If her expression didn’t give away the cards she held, the inflection in her voice did.
Diedra shook her head slowly and her shoulders slumped forward. The woman seemed to grow older and more frail. “You are afraid. You shouldn’t be, you can’t be. It shall not work if you are.” She held her hand out to Amber and opened her palm.
Amber swayed against the fence. Keys. Were they hers? She focused. No, her car was a Volkswagen. And cradled in the woman’s hand was a set to a twentieth-century Ford automobile. The make of the car was stamped on the metal. Someone had time traveled before her. And died.
The sun streamed in through the window and warmed the small alcove where Amber sat beside Gavin. It was the mildest fall she’d ever remembered, but she wasn’t going to complain. It put everyone in a good mood and people talked more when things were going well. A week had passed since she’d seen the grave. At first Amber had feared that whomever had traveled through time had been killed, but that hadn’t been the case. Una had answered many questions and Elaenor had filled in the rest.
A few years ago the man had been found washed up on the shore clutching the keys Amber had seen in Diedra’s hand. The inhabitants of the castle had assumed he’d fallen in and drowned. It was very possible. The waters of Loch Ness were reportedly thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. Too cold to survive long without a dry suit. The man must have traveled back in time in much the same way she had, but he hadn’t been as lucky. No one had been there to pull him out. All her hope of returning had faded with that knowledge. She had survived Loch Ness once, there was no way of knowing if she would be able to do it a second time. And she wasn’t even sure if jumping in the water would transport her back. She rubbed her temples. There were still too many unanswered questions.
As each day sped by, she settled more into a routine and she could feel a sort of resignation seep through her. Her parents had taught her that one of the reasons mankind survived was because of his adaptability. She’d never needed that skill more than now.
She watched Gavin read aloud from one of the stories in The Canterbury Tales. It was the “Squire’s Tale.” When she was a little girl, her aunt had read these stories aloud to her each night before she went to bed. At first she’d agreed to teach Gavin because she couldn’t think of anything better to do. Teaching an eight year old, who had a dislike for school in the first place, did not sound appealing. She was a high school teacher. However, it hadn’t been so bad. In fact, of late, she had begun to rethink her decision to quit classroom teaching to become a principal. Maybe it was seeing Lachlan talking to his men or showing Gavin how to hold a bow that had influenced her. He used his time as if each moment counted. Her life in Seattle, was such a blur of activity she barely stopped long enough to notice the seasons. Maybe when she returned home… Amber shook her head. She needed to concentrate on the present.
She rubbed her shoulder. Every morning, right before she awoke, in the fleeting moments between dreams and awareness, she thought she had returned to the twentieth century. But it never happened. And learning about the man called Ford had made the possibility of her returning to her own time seem remote. So she filled her days with teaching. When Gavin was unavailable she continued to search the castle for answers to her many questions. Although she had found none, she was becoming well acquainted with Urquhart.
Gavin nudged her. “The knight in the ‘Squire’s Tale’ gave King Cambuskan four gifts. I would choose the sword which could slay any beast, known or unknown. It would cut through even the hardest rock. Which gift would you favor?”
Amber smiled and tousled the curls on the boy’s head. She knew he’d like this story. It was always fun pretending what you would do with the magical gifts. She leaned back in her chair.
“Let’s see. One of the gifts was a brass horse which could fly faster than the wind. Another was a mirror that could inform the owner of the thoughts of both friends and enemies.” She smiled. “On second thought, I do not want to know what people are thinking, so I’ll rule that one out. I know. What do you think about the ring?”
Gavin tilted his head and looked down at MacDougal who slept at his feet. “This magical ring would give me the power to understand any language, even MacDougal’s?”
Amber nodded.
“Then that’s what I shall have.”
She smiled. Gavin had protested that he hated to read. She suspected his tutor had made him study from books that were both too advanced for the eight year old, as well as ones that would have bored the more industrious student. When she discovered he could read, but was just convinced he couldn’t learn, she tried a simple method she used with her high school students. The trick was to find a book that would follow their interests. Before they realized it, they would be involved in the story. Usually after reading the book their confidence in their ability to finish a project gave them encouragement to tackle other things. Gavin h
ad made a connection with the hero in the story and was concerned about what would happen next. It was a good sign.
“You have not asked me what gift it is I would choose.”
She looked up with surprise. Lachlan was leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest; watching her. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She should be used to it by now, he was always appearing out of the blue when she least expected it. Not that she minded, in fact, she was beginning to look forward to his visits.
He pushed away from the wall and walked toward her. “The mirror. That is what I would choose. Not to use it to see into the thoughts of a person, but to foretell the future.”
Gavin nodded. “I know the reason. It is so that you can predict when Subedei will attack.”
“Aye, lad. That would be very useful information. But I do not need a magic mirror to foretell Angus’ humor if you are absent from the training field.”
Gavin closed his book, scraped his chair on the wood floor and stood. “Angus was to help me with my crossbow. I hope he will not change his mind.”
He handed The Canterbury Tales to Amber and whispered something to Lachlan before running down the hallway.
Lachlan raised an eyebrow as Gavin turned a comer and disappeared. This was not the first time he heard that Amber had made a difference in someone’s life. Elaenor had mentioned it, and now his brother. He sat down in the vacant chair and stretched out his legs.
She hugged the book closer to her. “What did he say to you?”
He wondered how Amber would react to what Gavin had said. “My brother wants to keep you.”
“Like a pet?”
“Nay, lass, but the question still lies heavy. What am I to do with you?”
“Do with me?” Her voice was laced with a sour note. “You’re talking about me as if I were a book on the wrong shelf.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and decided he had better not tell her that her comparison had hit the mark. He swallowed. “I expressed myself poorly.”
