Snowflakes in Summer (Time Tumble Series Book 1)

by Elizabeth Preston

  Silis, the peasant, turned away from me and faced Bern. He was wearing a look of utter bewilderment. It was Bern’s turn to answer. “She doesn’t know how to be a prisoner that be for certes. Just manage what ye can, Silis.”

  Our peasant nodded.

  “One more thing,” I said, watching him bolt for the door. “I’ll need you to cut the bindings on Bern’s wrists, before you leave. I cannot do much with his hands tied.”

  Silis hesitated. He must have noticed the weeping sea of red on Bern’s shirt. Sensing Silis’s reluctance, Bern moved toward him and raised his arms. Silis relented and cut the bindings. Bern rubbed his wrists and sighed with relief. “Thank ye, Silis, my man.”

  I waited till the peasant’s footsteps receded before whispering. “He left the door open. Let’s get out of here.” I crept toward the door.

  “We could,” Bern responded, his voice rumbled out, sounding deep and growly, halting me in my steps. “But how far would we get with empty bellies and a gaping wound in my shoulder? I’ll fare better here than on the run. But ye leave if ye must, lassie.”

  “Okay, I will.” I nodded and took a few more steps. “I’m going to make my way back to Doral Castle now. Just one question first though,” I said, stalling, because it didn’t feel right leaving Bern behind. “Do you know who’s living in Doral at the moment?”

  He wiped the back of his hand over his bristled jaw. “’Tis another of your odd questions. If ye really were a Scot, then you’d know the answer to that one.”

  “I’ve told you already, Bern. I am a Scot. But I’ve been away from Scotland for a long time and I don’t know who is living in Doral Castle at this very moment.”

  “I see,” he said, clearly not believing a word. “Same clan as always. They’re not a friendly lot, as ye’ll know already, you being a Scot and all. I’d no’ be creeping into their leer if I were ye. Especially no’ right now, with the recent attacks, and all. The Northmen are hated around these parts. Everyone’s been wronged by them, one way or the other, and now we’re all out for vengeance.”

  “So you’re saying that it was the Northmen who attacked Doral Castle?”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think ye weren’t even from my half of the world. I don’t know how far away your country is, lass, but it must be very far indeed. I’d like to know how ye got here.”

  “That doesn’t matter right now.”

  “Mayhap not. Anyway, ’tis no secret. It was the Northmen who invaded Doral Castle and the Northmen who also burned Silis’s village, and it was also the Norse I fought in battle yester noon. These are the very same Norse folk that once invaded Shetland and the Orkneys and now claim our isles of Innse Gall for themselves. They’ve taken Caithness too and are creeping downward. ’Tis not surprising they have their eyes on Doral Castle. It’s nicely positioned for their longboats. If they take Doral, they’ll take the harbor.”

  “Right, of course, I remember now.” I did remember too. In 1263, the Vikings were almost at the end of their barbarous reign. If this really was 1263, then Scotland would not have long to wait till she got all of her mainland back, the Hebrides back, and the last of her isles would follow too, in a few hundred years’ time.

  “Lass, if you’ve a mind to escape, you’d better scurry along before Silis returns.”

  I hesitated. It didn’t feel right running off, leaving Bern injured, especially when I knew how to fix him. Probably best if I stick around long enough to bathe his wounds, and maybe even sew him together, and then I could think about breaking into Doral castle and finding that bench seat and my ticket home.

  Silis was back soon enough with an old pot. “This be vinegar,” he said.

  I sniffed. “It is. That’s good, Silis. Now, did you manage to find a needle and some sort of thread or twine so that I can sew Bern together? If you plan on selling him to the highest bidder, best sell him in one piece. No one wants to buy damaged goods.”

  Silis’s gaze darkened and I saw that I’d offended him. “I’ll be trading Bern back to his own clan, to no one else, mind. I’m not an outlaw or a wrongdoer, as you suggest.”

  Silis had the strangest principles. I nodded as if what he said was reasonable. “I still need a needle and twine.”

  Bern was watching me, smiling as usual.

  “What?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “We’ll have to clean the needle before we use it; I can imagine how filthy it must be. We’ll need to get a fire started so we can sterilize the needle.” I moved toward the small hearth at the top end of the room. Peat bricks were stacked on its edge. “Any chance that you’re carrying a flint stone?”

  He reached for the pouch dangling from his belt. “One flint stone, milady. But let me do it.” In no time he had a small fire glowing with the peat feeding the flames. I watched the peat burn, fascinated. I knew that dried peat was used as a fuel in medieval times, and beyond, but have never seen it happen. The peat produced a blue-gray smoke and a generous amount of heat.

  By time Silis returned, the fire was well underway and Bern and I were sitting companionably close, warming ourselves. Silis handed me his find: a long, thin needle which was a shard of iron, pointed at one end with an eyelet hole for threading at the other. He’d found twine, too. I held it up to the flames wondering if it was a tiny strip of dried sheep’s gut. I didn’t ask though, because I needed to concentrate on the job ahead, get it done before I lost my nerve. I’d talked myself up, sounding all-knowing and capable, but inside my fears were multiplying. I soaked the twine in a little of the vinegar.

  “I’ll warm us pottage,” Silis offered, leaving the stitching to me, keen to run. Bern was his prisoner so perhaps it was really his job to do the stitching. Who knew how they thought in 1263. No wonder he dashed away quickly. Running appealed to me, too.

  “I wish I had whiskey. You, Bern, could do with a decent swig to dull the pain.”

  “Ooh, no’ necessary, lass. I’ve been stitched many times afore. I’ll barely feel it.”

  “I hope you’re right. Maybe I’m the one who needs the stiff drink.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Surely you’ve done this afore too, ye being the first . . . something or other.”

  I looked down. “Actually, no. But don’t worry, I know the theory of it. That is, I know what needs to be done.” If only I felt as confident as I sounded.

  “Right, well, help me out o’ my shirt and we’ll begin.” Just then Silis returned carrying two wooden bowls filled with watery pottage. He placed them down on the ground and ran off once more.

  “Let’s eat first,” I said, stalling, moving toward the food. I carried both bowls over and placed them by the fire. “I can smell sorrel, and turnip I think.” Silis had put oats in the mix, too.

  Bern agreed. “Looks mighty fine to me. I don’t much care what it is.”

  I took a tentative sip. It was a type of vegetable soup but with a slightly bitter-apple taste. Silis had left mugs of drink by the door, too. “Is this ale?” I said, moving over, sniffing. “Is this what you drink every day?”

  “What else could it be? Are ye thinking it is water? ’Tis good of Silis to give us ale, true enough. The ale won’t make our bellies ache like the water might.”

  I sipped and was surprised at how sweet the ale tasted. “If he’d given us water, we could have boiled it over the fire and made it safe to drink that way.”

  “Is that so?” he asked, surprised. “How is it that ye know so much about some things and absolutely naught about others?”

  I drained my mug. The drink was only lightly alcoholic, not strong enough to give me the courage I needed. Bern was savoring his pottage, not looking even slightly nervous. It surprised me how trusting he was. He was about to let me poke a needle into him and have a go at sewing him back together, knowing that this was my first time stitching skin. Bern ha
d a very relaxed attitude to living and dying. Was this the way of things in this century? Death was an everyday occurrence. At any hour a person could die, and because they lived with that very real possibility, they didn’t fear death as much. It was commonplace and inevitable. The heat from the fire warmed us. I discarded my fur cloak, then brushed grass and other bits from my heavy skin tunic. When I looked back at Bern, I saw that his eyes were focused on the pull of the material across my bust. Just knowing that he noticed me, in that way, made me spike inside, a jolt of heat warming my flesh.

  This was a new feeling for me. I usually struggled to find anyone attractive, to feel an attraction. Bern was a warrior from another time, and that in itself was an insane notion. I’d have to have rocks in my head to look at him and see possibilities. For all I knew he had a wife and children in some castle somewhere. I was a modern, twenty-first-century woman who would be heading home in the next few hours. But all the same, I couldn’t help noticing his lips. Luscious and lovely. Then again, why not lust after him a little? Nothing about this situation was real anyway. Just being here was too ridiculous. How was it possible that I was warming myself beside a medieval peat fire, sitting next to one of the most appealing men I’d ever laid eyes on? Yet, here I was doing just that. Did the strangeness of my situation mean I could relax the rules and do whatever I pleased?

  He stared back, really stared. When I met his gaze, he didn’t shy away or try to pretend that he wasn’t summing me up, too. The men from my own time were either too cool or too shy to be that blatant, that honest. Abruptly, Bern jumped to his feet. My attention fell to his blanket plaid, and, yes, it appeared that he found me just as attractive as I found him. He didn’t try to hide that either.

  “Well, milady, time we got this stitching done.”

  Chapter 4

  Bern

  I tore my shirt off and tossed it to the ground. For all of Caitlin’s big words, she was shying away from using the needle. It was one thing to have the knowledge, and quite another to use it. The wee girl was well meaning and she appeared to have the theory of stitching flesh but her stomach balked at the task. She fretted too much about my pain. I’d best help her through this.

  I watched Caitlin fish the needle from the flames and when it cooled, she threaded the twine through the wee hole. She looked up at me then with those beautiful cow eyes of hers, and, once again, I read fear.

  “We’d better flush your wound with vinegar first,” she said, dabbing vinegar onto her cloth. “This might sting, I’m afraid.”

  I reached for her leg and placed my palm against her lovely firm thigh. “Tell ye what, when it starts to sting, I’ll squeeze, shall I?”

  She nodded, clearly having no inkling that I was jesting. ’Twas the way a small child carried on, needing to scream or punish someone for the pain they felt. I’d make a poor excuse for a laird if I was afraid o’ a needle’s jab.

  “Off ye go, lass. Apply your vinegar then join the two sides of the skin together just like they’re meant t’ be.”

  She bit her lip. “I’m wondering how far down I go into the skin?”

  “Through all the layers. We want it to heal good and proper.”

  She took a deep breath. “Here goes then,” she said, angling her needle.

  I concentrated on her face. She pushed the needle in and of course I felt the bite but not too badly. There was much I could focus on to help me forget the sting. The lass was a painting of riches, her face a feast for the senses. Firstly, I lost myself in her eyes, so large and earnest, her lashes sweeping and thick. I moved on to her cheekbones, proud and flushed from the burden of her task. And lastly, I settled on her lips. I could linger there for hours without tiring. She had the sweetest habit of biting onto her lower lip whenever she was worried, and sometimes the tip of her tongue poked out as she focused on her task. But the best distraction of all? Her breasts. They pressed firmly against my arm as she leaned in to push and pull the needle.

  “Phew. Done. You were so brave,” she gushed then touched me on the cheek, her fingers lingering. The sweetness of her touch made my skin tingle. When she pulled her hand away I snatched on to her fingers, cupping them, bringing them to my chest.

  “I need to thank ye properly, lass.” My voice was husky, because I found the girl attractive. But instead o’ me being the one to thank her, Caitlin leaned over and kissed my forehead.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, clearly relieved and happy with the job she’d done. I nodded but refused to let her fingers go. ’Twas a strange feeling I harbored inside: free and floaty, lightheaded and happy, like a drunk man. She was a mighty fine-looking woman, no doubt there, but her touch was special.

  Caitlin helped me back into my shirt. Once clothed again, I slung my good arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. We settled down by the fire, watching the flames. “Just keeping my healer close by,” I explained, and we both smiled knowing I was doing much more than that. Even when I shut my eyes, her fetching face was still there, behind my eyelids.

  I awoke with a start, feeling the chill in the late eve air because the fire had died in the hearth. I looked around expecting to find the lassie near me, but no, she was gone. I jumped up and rammed my good shoulder against the door. Silis had the water barrel wedged back into position, trying to bar my way. Caitlin could no’ have escaped that way. Turning, I noticed the hole in the far wall. The mud and stick walls were no match for her determination. That hole was bigger now than before, much, much bigger. Heaven’s breath! I’d slept while she’d chipped away at the wood and daub, enlarging the hole, making it big enough to crawl through. I knew where she was headed of course. I’d tried to warn her about Doral Castle and the Campbell clan but to no avail. The lass did no’ seem to understand the danger of being around vengeful men.

  I charged for the door, shoving it harder this time, knocking the barrel over and spilling the water. Another shove and the barrel was clean out o’ my way. I thundered forward like a demented bear, making as much noise as a storming sky. Of course Silis heard and came running.

  “Quick man,” I yelled at him, “Caitlin’s gone. Where’s my sword? I need it, now!”

  Silis stayed quiet.

  I towered over him, staring down at his wizened, cowering head, making my intentions known. For pity’s sake, there was no point in challenging me. I was about two heads taller and twice the thickness of the wee man, not to mention the life time of warring experience I’d had. I would not hurt Silis, if I could help it, but I meant to get my sword back and then get the girl. She was an interesting one; I wasn’t about to let the Campbell men have her.

  “I won’t ask ye again. Don’t force me to steal all the weapons ye have stashed in that wee hut of yours because if ye don’t bring my sword back right now, I’m taking the lot.”

  Silis saw the urgency in my eyes. “This way,” he mumbled, leading me to another hut.

  I pushed past him. My sword was there, buried beneath the rubble. “I thank ye, Silis, for all your hospitality, but, as ye can see, I’m stronger now. I’m going after Caitlin.”

  He stood, head hung, dejected, like a man who’d failed at his job.

  “Don’t feel badly, Silis, ye were never going to be able to trade me, not to anyone. I was either going to die or get better. Those were the only two outcomes. And if I got better, you’d never be able to hold me long enough to trade me back to my clan.” As impatient as I felt to be gone, I lingered long enough to pat Silis on the back. “When I can, I’ll send food your way. And next time ye capture someone, Silis, if ye ever find a creature as good as Caitlin again, if there really is another woman as fresh and sweet and untouched by war and hardship as her, then do not put that delightful creature in the same hut as a red-blooded Scot. Ye fired me up and made me want to heal. Ye should have waited till ye had the trade in place.”

  I turned,
remembering my horse. “Ye captured a few horses too, did ye not?”

  “But, Bern, I must trade them for food and seed. I have so little left. We need new thatch.”

  “I’ll nay steal from ye, but I will borrow. I’ll send ye payment once I’m back in Tor Castle.” With that, I strode toward the rickety carrel made of saplings and grasses bound with thin grass twine. I chose the largest of the stallions and threw myself onto its back.

  The hour was still thickly coated in night, the air frosty and chill. Despite the lack of daylight, I was able to follow the path she’d taken. Caitlin had done nothing to hide her tracks. I galloped after her. Soon enough I felt the rush of relief. There she was, her darting figure running in the moonlight for all to see. She’d yet to cross the little road that led up to Doral Castle. Caitlin heard me approach, turned and waved her hand, shooing me away. Did she think that was all it would take to stop me following her? She turned away and continued her creep onward toward the narrow stone path that led to the Campbell’s Castle.

  I bolted forward, snatched her clothing and dragged her wriggling body, pulling it up onto the horse.

  “Stop it Bern. What are you doing?” she hissed. “You’ll burst your stitches. I’m not coming with you. I need to get back home. I don’t belong here, in your place, in your Scotland. I have a life in my own time, a life I’ve spent years training for. I have this career, just waiting. . . .”

  “Hush ye chatter. I’ve no idea what you’re saying, anyway.”

  “Let me go,” she squealed, trying to wriggle her way off the horse again. I pulled her tight, hugging her into my body, my good arm pinning her against my chest. “You’re not going anywhere, least of all inside Doral and into the clutches of the Campbell men.”