by Ashe Barker
“I know. We both know. Not much more now.” He nods at his companion, and my bum explodes in agony again. I’m whimpering, gasping for air, but managing somehow to bear this. I hang on through two more searing strokes before my eyelids drop again.
“Charlie, look at me. Now.” Will’s tone is sharp, demanding. He tugs on my hair, hard. I try, I really do try, but I can’t force my eyes to open this time. I shake my head, drifting in some sort of pain-filled haze.
“Wait. She needs a moment.”
Will releases my hair and steps away. He’s back a moment later, pressing the neck of a leather pouch against my lips. “Drink. It’s fresh water, from the burn down there.”
The cool liquid is refreshing, and welcome against my parched mouth. I sip a few drops, then run my tongue over my lips.
“More?”
I manage a nod, and the leather pouch is against my mouth. This time I suck, and despite the cold now seeping inexorably into my bones I’m greedy for the cool comfort offered by the fresh water. I swallow several mouthfuls before relinquishing the vessel.
“Five more strokes. We’ll make these quick, okay? Then we’ll get you warm again.”
“Thank you,” I croak.
I’m almost beyond caring, though not quite, as the final strokes blister my now blazing arse. I’ve never known pain like it, but I’m managing some weird out-of-body thing as I somehow distance myself from what’s happening to me. I count the strokes, jerking with each one that lands, but my screams have subsided to a resigned groaning as the pain radiates and seeps into me, through me. My bottom is the centre of it, but in truth everywhere hurts. I’m perversely glad of the cold, or more specifically its anaesthetising effect, because without that I know this would be infinitely worse if that were possible.
At last, the thirteenth stroke is delivered. My bum is sizzling, I’m shaking uncontrollably, but mercifully Robbie stops. He tosses the switch aside with a muffled curse and stoops to release my hands.
I have no strength to push myself upright, but I don’t need to. One of them—Will, I think—seizes me and hauls me up into his arms. The blanket that had protected me from the roughness of the tree branch is flung on the ground, and I’m lowered onto it. I lie there, on my side, groaning.
It’s over. It was awful, unbearable almost. But it’s done now, and I’m alive. Just.
“I’ll take care of her. Get a fire started. We’ll stay here until she’s ready to move on.” Robbie’s voice, crisp, matter-of-fact. Who would imagine he’s just thrashed me almost senseless?
I offer no protest as I’m hauled bodily onto his lap, and swathed in the rough warmth of that thick plaid he promised me. Even my toes are tucked up, cosy in the woollen cocoon. His arms are around me, and I’m pressed close against his hard, powerful chest. I should be fighting, turning away. I should hate this man, this vile, sadistic bully who has manhandled me, tied me up, forced me to strip, then beaten me. But I don’t. Far from it. Instead I allow him to lift me, still cuddled up against his chest, and carry me to the low shelter beneath the oak. Will is already inside, kneeling beside a small pile of twigs, which he is attacking with a flint.
Robbie squats inside the hut and I turn toward his warmth, his solid, comforting safe presence. I curl my fingers in his sheepskin tunic, gripping him as though he was my anchor in a churning sea of confusion and hurt. The crackle of fire igniting the twigs, followed by the welcome wash of heat against my back, tells me that Will has succeeded in producing flames. I’ll be warm soon, and I’m at ease with my lot right at this moment. Or I will be.
“How did you know? That I’m not a boy?”
Robbie chuckles. I can feel the rumble, deep in his chest. “Sweetheart, you’re a bonny girl, but a damned peculiar boy if I’m honest. There was something off about you, right from the start. The way you walk, the way you wouldn’t take your hood off. You were hiding something. At first we just assumed it was because you were a thief, not wanting to be recognised.”
“I see.” Not true. I don’t see at all. “But I told you I wasn’t a thief.”
Will chips in from his position on the other side of the hut, his hands stretched out toward his fire. “You did, but we didn’t have any cause to believe you. Not at first. When I came over to bring you food last night, and got a good look at you at last, your face seemed more delicate than I might have expected. There was something about the set of your jaw, your eyes perhaps. Something feminine.”
Robbie shifts a little and dips his head to nuzzle my hair. "I knew for certain when I hit you. You remember, when you stabbed Will in the chest, and I thought you’d injured him? I landed you one and sent you flying. You curled up in a ball, cowering away from me. A woman would do that—never a man, nor a lad. I should tell you, wee Charlie, I sincerely regret doing that. I would never have lifted my hand to you if I'd realised you were a wench."
I snort; his contrition rings somewhat hollow given my recent experience over the tree branch. Inarticulate it may be, but he takes my meaning.
“That’s different. No man should hit a woman in anger, and never with his fist. I could have really hurt you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I’m glad. But I do sincerely apologise to you, and you have my word nothing like that will happen again.”
“You say you won’t hit me, but you’d spank me? Or, or use a stick, like just now?”
“Aye, if need be. Discipline is another matter altogether. You have to obey us, and we’ll have no lies between us either. So yes. If the occasion calls for it you will feel the lick of a switch against your arse again. Or a belt. Or maybe just a hand against your bare bottom. Now that’s an appealing notion.”
Will leans over to toss a couple more sticks onto the fire, his smile as warm as the merry little blaze. “We talked, last night, Robbie and I. We were both of a mind that there was something amiss, and I became certain when I slept alongside you. I’ve never yet slept with a woman in my arms and not known it. Even under those peculiar garments of yours, your womanly curves were there, plain under my hands.”
“You were feeling me up? While I was asleep?”
“Not exactly. I prefer a woman to be warm and willing. But I couldn’t help but notice…”
Robbie takes up the conversation. “This morning, when you were riding astride my lap, I reckoned it was time to set matters straight before you dug yourself in even deeper. I’m glad. We’ll all get along fine now.”
I pause, my rebuttal on my lips. But he does have a point, I suppose. This easy interaction between us could not have happened if I was still trying to masquerade as a boy. And despite their direct approach to handling the matter, my worst fears have not been realised and I now know they won’t be. I’m safe here. And I owe them an apology too.
“I’m sorry, truly I am. About the lies. And, everything.”
“We know that, little one. It’s done now, we’re finished. No grudges held, I hope?”
“A grudge? I don’t understand. I thought you were punishing me.”
“We were. We did. But now we need to know it’s behind us. And I need to know that we’re fine together, you and me.”
“I, yes. I suppose…”
“And Will?”
“Yes, him too. But…”
“But?”
“Who are you? You both seem so odd to me, and the pair of you live by some code I don’t start to understand. What are you doing here, on Helvellyn, dressed like something from Braveheart?”
“Braveheart? You say some strange things, and you’re no small puzzle yourself, wee Charlie.” This from Will who has settled on the other side of the shed and now regards us across the flames. “I brought your clothes in here for you. You don’t have the demeanour of a high-born lady, yet your apparel is finely made and the fabrics expensive. Those dyes would have to be imported, and these fastenings are like nothing I’ve seen before.”
“Fastenings? You mean the zip on my jacket?”
�
�Is that what you’d call it? And this fabric that grows when I pull it, then shrinks back. Where is this from?” He has my trousers in his hands and is stretching the elastic in the waistband. “Why are you wearing men’s breeches anyway? Why are you dressed as a boy, and why would you be up here, alone? You don’t seem like a spy, Charlie, and if you’re a thief you’re piss poor at it. In any case, who are we to judge? But there’s something not right about you, about all of this.”
He’ll get no argument from me, but I’m not the one behaving like some Neanderthal throwback.
“I told you, my name is Charlie. Charlie Kelly. I’m a paramedic, from Manchester. Right now I’m on a hiking holiday, or I was until I was kidnapped, tied up, battered…”
“I thought we’d forgiven each other, and we were friends now.” Robbie’s tone is amused rather than accusatory, but he has a point, I suppose.
“We are. But I am what I said I am. I have no idea why you might have mistaken me for a thief, and to imagine I might be spying is just ridiculous. What’s that about anyway? Spying on who? Why?”
“From your accent I’d say you’d be English, so you’d most likely be spying on the Scottish queen. That would make sense. Mary has her enemies, she’s surrounded by intrigue.”
“Mary? What Mary?”
“Mary, queen of the Scots. Cousin to Elizabeth of England.”
“Cousin to… who?” I clutch the plaid to my naked body, sliding from the warmth of Robbie’s lap to peer across the smoke at both men. I look from one to the other, searching for something, anything that might make sense.
“Elizabeth Tudor. Your monarch, if you are from near Chester, as you say.” Robbie’s head is tilted, his expression puzzled. He frowns at me. “Are you all right, lass? You look very pale.”
“Who are you?” I whisper my question, dreading the answer.
“I am Robert MacBride, brother to the MacBride, laird of Kinrothy. Our lands are north of Edinburgh. This is my cousin, William Sinclair of the clan Sinclair. He hails from the Highlands, but was fostered with my family as a lad and we remained friends since. We are charged with carrying a message to Elizabeth from Mary, and to return to Stirling with the English queen’s response. That is where we’re now bound; the court has shifted from Holyrood to Stirling castle, where her majesty plans to remain until her baby is born.”
I’m dreaming. Delirious. There can be no other explanation. “You’ve been to see… Queen Elizabeth the first? In London?”
“In Chester. I think I told you that yesterday. The first, you say? There are other Queen Besses then?”
“Yes. No. Oh, Christ, this can’t be true. You’re having some sort of sick joke with me.”
“Why would we do that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand anything about this, about you. I, I want to get dressed. Now. Please.”
Will passes me my clothes and I grab them from him. Belatedly I realise they might take issue with my manners, and I know full well what that could mean. Even so, I stand and manage to ignore my nakedness as I drop the plaids to the earth floor of the hut. I pull my underwear back on, wincing as my pants scrape across my tender buttocks. My knickers are followed by my base layers, then my trousers and fleece. I pick up my jacket and thrust my hands in the sleeves as I head for the door.
“I need some fresh air.” Not a lie exactly. The smoke from the fire is escaping through a hole in the roof, but still the accumulation within the confined space is starting to choke me. I burst from the open doorway and gulp in sweet mountain air. I start off up the hillside, not running away exactly, that would be futile. I just need to put some space between myself and—whatever is happening here. I sprint for several hundred yards until, breathless, I drop panting to my knees.
A couple of minutes pass before the two men’s voices reach me. I turn to see them strolling up the hill, leading their horses. The plaids and blanket are safely stowed again. They are clearly ready to continue our journey. I stand and face them.
The small hut and oak tree are sharply defined against the hillside below me, and I am struck by the familiarity of the sight. Déja vu? Possibly? Definitely. I have seen this before, this scene. Not the deluded Scotsmen, obviously, but the rest. The animal shelter, the tree, the shape of the hills on the other side of the valley.
I saw it, just yesterday. But then it was… different. The same, but not the same. The hut was in ruins, the tree much bigger, and dead. But it is the same. It is the same place.
I look across the valley, screwing up my eyes as I attempt to pick out the familiar road cutting through the Kirkstone Pass, or even the inn itself. I can see a small building in more or less the correct location for the pub, but no sign of the road, nothing but undisturbed heather. I lower my gaze to the dip between the two hills where I can pick out the farmstead, the same buildings I looked at just a day ago, or some of them. The large corrugated iron barn is no longer there, and the buildings I see now are just low, single-story structures.
And where are the wind turbines? The graceful, majestic sweep of their blades should be clearly visible on the skyline. They are not there, nothing. I scan the landscape, desperate now, my brain racing, searching for some familiar landmark to prove I’m not mad. It’s as though I’m playing some weird game of spot the difference, looking at the same picture but with details changed. The walls, the drystone ribbons that should be crisscrossing the moors are gone. There are no sheep, no cars on the now non-existent road.
Horrified, confused, scared of something I can’t even start to fathom, I run back down the hill toward the two men. They may be part of all this, but they do at least seem solid, and believable.
Will opens his arms and I rush into the comfort he offers without thinking. He hugs me to him, managing to wince only slightly as I wrap my arms around his injured torso.
“Lass, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” He sounds concerned, but that is nothing compared to the horror I am experiencing.
“Where are they? The turbines? What did you do?” I tilt my head back to glare at Will, as though one of them might just wave a hand and everything could be restored, all go back to how it should be.
“Turbines? What are they?” Robbie frowns at me, that now familiar look of bafflement on his handsome face.
“They’re huge, over a hundred feet high. They should be over there.” I point to the opposite hills, and both men turn to follow my gesture.
“Charlie, we’ve been travelling this route for years, and have never seen any—what do you call them? Turbines? A hundred feet, you say? We would have noticed, lass.”
“But they were there. They were. I saw them. Yesterday.”
Will hands his reins to Robbie and steps forward. I start to back away, but he’s quicker. I’m grabbed, pulled against his chest. “Calm down, you’re all right. We’ll talk, we can sort this out.”
“How? How can you sort this out? What’s happening to me?” I gesture back down the hill. “Last time I saw that tree it was ancient, dead. And the hut was derelict, the roof missing. It was old. Much, much older than it is now.”
“Now? When is now, lass? In your opinion?” Robbie’s tone is serious, and something in his voice causes me to cease my babbling and look into his eyes. He holds my gaze. “Charlie?”
“Two thousand and fourteen. April.”
“Aye, well, it is April, I grant you that. The fourteenth day. But the year is fifteen sixty-six.”
“No. It can’t be. That’s not possible.”
“It is, lass. Fifteen sixty-six I mean. As for what’s possible, well, only the good Lord really knows the answer to that.”
“But, that’s over four hundred years ago. People don’t just slip into some other time, lose four centuries, just like that.”
Will chuckles. “No, not as a rule. But it might help explain some things. Like your strange clothes, for a start.”
“Sod my clothes. What about my home? My job? I need to get back. I can’t stay here.”
“Okay. So how did you get here? Maybe you can return to wherever, whenever you came from, the same way.”
“I don’t know. I’ve no idea how it happened, what I did.”
“That’s awkward.” Will smiles at me, an attempt to reassure I daresay, but it fails utterly.
“This is crazy, just totally mad. There has to be a logical explanation. There must be.” I gaze across the landscape again, familiar yet so unknown. Even now I scan the wild landscape in desperation, seeking to spot some clue, some piece of evidence that will prove the twenty-first century still surrounds me, and that this nightmare is ending.
Nothing. No comforting phone mast or electricity pylons, no jet engine trails across the sky, no stray Coca-Cola cans abandoned by careless hikers. Just me, two bemused Scots, and a world that I no longer recognise.
“Lass, we need to be moving on. You can ride with me. We’ll talk, try to make sense of all this, and agree what to do about you. Come…” Robbie holds out his hand to me, and for want of a better option I take it.
Chapter Four
“Are you warmed up now, lass?” Robbie leans down to murmur in my ear.
“Yes, thank you. Those plaids of yours are very effective.” I pull the blue and green fabric up to my chin.
“Not mine, those are Sinclair colours.”
I turn to Will, cantering alongside us. “Thank you for lending them to me.”
“You’re welcome, lass. And I’m sorry I scared you back there, it was crass of me to speak to you so.”
He has no need to elaborate, and I make no pretence of not understanding. He’s referring to his offer to deal with the matter of my arousal. “I was feeling vulnerable, and yes, that was so not what I wanted to hear.” I pause, wondering if I should make my next remark. I toss caution to the winds. “Not then.”
“Lass?” Robbie starts behind me, his gloved fingers twisting the reins to slow the horse.
“Are we to gather you’ve discovered a liking for a decent paddling after all?” Will is typically direct, but his candour is not unwelcome this time. I can be quite bold when I’m upright and fully dressed. And when I have some choice in the matter.
