She bent forward. I guessed what she was about to do: aiming to bite my hand. “Behave or I’ll make ye walk behind the horse.”
She growled. “You’re kidnapping me? How could you, after what I did for you? You’d still be back there, bleeding to death if it wasn’t for me.”
“Aye, and I’m repaying the debt. I’m saving ye from a fate ye can barely imagine. The Campbell’s hate the Northmen, and that goes for Northwomen, too.”
She blustered and fussed, releasing a stream of words that meant little to me. “What’s wrong with ye, girl? Don’t the folks where you’re from have common sense? Even a Northwoman cannot take on a castle brimming with angry Scots. And when those Scots happen to be Highlanders, warriors who hunger for revenge against the Norse. . . .”
“I have no intention of taking on anyone. I simply need to get inside the castle so that I can get home again. Don’t you see?”
“Nay, lass, I do not see. But there’ll be plenty o’ time to explain it all t’ me. Once we’re safely on my land, ye can explain yourself at leisure. I’m eager to hear ye story. More than eager, if truth be told. The not knowing is getting under my skin. I’d like to know all there is to know about ye, and I mean to hear the truth, mind.”
She groaned, venting her frustration. “We’re going the wrong way. Please, Bern, we must turn around.”
“Nay.”
Then she went limp in my arms and it was clear she was about to try something different, a new trick. “Please let me go, so that I can get home. Please?”
“Nay.”
Her mood flipped again, and she went back to angry. “I should never have stitched you up. You’d still be with Silis, bleeding out like a pig if I hadn’t come along.”
“Mayhap, and right now you’d be being raped by the warriors in Doral, Highlanders who have lost their families and friends. And that would be the least of ye concerns. Ye would not be on your way home, lassie, I promise ye that. The warriors would have their fun.”
She settled a little, beginning to heed my words. “Why did you come after me, anyway? Were you angry? You’re annoyed because I managed to escape while you slept. You hate the idea of a helpless female getting the better of the situation. You’re the hefty Highlander and you feel that it is, or was, your job to free us. That’s it, isn’t it? I’ve wounded your pride. I’m sorry. If I showed you up Bern, then I’m truly sorry. I know just how delicate male pride can be. But the truth is, Bern, I’m not the sort of girl who needs rescuing. So quit it!”
“Is that so?” I refrained from telling her that she was mistaken, and that I had just done it anyway—rescued her. Wherever she was from, whatever strange country that was, there was one thing clear to me: the women in her homeland were not meek and mild. But the men, well, by all accounts they were a touchy, feeble lot. I should go to her country. I’d like some of these feisty, clever women to join my clan, to make strong-willed Mackenzie babies. Once I was back in Tor Castle and had put things to rights again, I might just go visit Caitlin’s land and bring back a whole wagon filled with women just like her.
Mackenzie lands were naught more than a few hours fast ride away. My home might not be the grandest in all of the Highlands, but the land around Tor Castle was rich and bountiful. My oat fields were vast, my barley ripe with promise, but none of my crops compared to my Highland cattle—the envy of every other laird.
My clan must be fretting over my disappearance, believing me dead. Fortunately, not enough time has passed so they won’t, yet, have appointed a new leader. They will wait a wee bit longer. I hope to find most of my warriors alive and not too damaged. By the grace of God, I pray that my clan is faring well in my absence.
As we neared the castle, my heart quickened. All looked well: the heather flowered, the hills rolled beneath the peaks, and the crystal loch cut a pretty sway across the green. My animals were grazing, and the stalks of barley bobbed bountifully in the sun.
Caitlin was behind me still, clinging on. Anyone would think that the girl had never ridden afore. I’d have liked to point out the lusciousness of my lands and the girth of my castle, so that I could wallow in her admiration. But this particular lassie did not respond to anything as she should, or as any other Scottish maiden would. All Caitlin cared about was breaking into Doral Castle.
Odd. I’ve never met a maiden afore with such strange yearnings. Usually they wished to wed me, and would try endless tricks to entice me into their beds. This girl was different. If I’d lied to Caitlin, told her that I was indeed the King of Scotland, I doubted she’d care. My kingship would not impress her or make a scrap of difference to the way she behaved.
Chapter 5
Caitlin
I opened my sleepy eyes and tried not to feel the ache in my lower back and bottom and thighs. I guess that’s what comes from sitting on a horse for hours on end. My legs were somehow numb and achy all at once and felt as if they’d never close properly again. One of my arms had pins and needles, too. I’ve had it around Bern’s middle, clutching him with grim determination.
Finally Bern’s horse slowed so I guessed that meant we were finally in his homeland. I’ve never been inside a real working castle before, a castle that is something other than a tourist attraction, so this would be fascinating. Scary too, of course. All of this was frightening and so hard to accept but it’s not like I had a choice. My goal was to stay alive and find my way home.
It felt like we’d traveled an awfully long way to get here, so of course that would mean a long return journey home. I couldn’t steal a horse and ride back to Doral myself. I’d get lost, and I’d be lucky if I lasted a mile before falling off. I’d have to persuade someone to take me back. Bern. It would have to be him. I didn’t know anyone else. I liked Bern already even though I barely knew him, and I believed he liked me back, not sure why. Anyway, that was a good start. I needed to build on our relationship, encourage him to trust me, help him see that taking me home was the right thing to do. Befriending the leader was the only plan I had right then.
I gazed ahead at Bern’s castle: the giant stone structure looming ahead. It was similar in style to the original Doral, which meant that it had stone fortresses designed to protect and shout out at the enemy. That style of castle was called concentric because it had outer and inner curtain walls and was built for defense rather than comfort. If I needed more proof that I was in the past, then there it was, skulking ahead like a slumbering, cantankerous giant.
Already, his clan had spotted us and knew that their laird returned. There were scatterings of people running everywhere. I watched a group of young women jump about in the field, throwing up their arms and waving in glee at the sight of their leader. Bern waved back and cried out, “I’m well. ’Tis grand to be home.”
Another crowd gathered near the drawbridge, also waving and shouting. As we moved closer, I heard them chanting his name. “Laird Bern, Laird Bern. . . .”
He waved, loving their rousing welcome. We mounted the bridge then clopped toward the iron gate. Castle folk were huddled just inside the gate too, cheering and stamping their feet. Bern was well liked, that much was obvious.
A woman ran up to us and handed him a small posy of flowers, and then she blew kisses. Clearly, the young women of the castle held him in particularly high regard. Bern’s homecoming reminded me of the day our athletes returned after competing in the Olympic Games. The celebration was infectious then, and this was too, in the same way.
I felt myself smiling back at the crowds, and soon enough, waving although I knew that none of their cheers were directed at me. Why was I so caught up in the moment? With every step, I was being taking further from my home, further from the only way of life I felt confident living, and yet, I was also drawn to the simple joy these people were feeling.
Our horse sauntered past the first curtain wall. Some younger High
landers, men mainly, were there standing in the stony, barren bailey, raising their fisted hands in welcome. The men were rugged too, just like Bern, built to withstand snowstorms. As we passed, the men raised their swords to the sky. Although they shouted and stomped at the sight of their laird, cheering on his victorious return, it was obvious that their recent battle with the Vikings has cost them plenty. These hardy warriors were bloodied and bandaged, and I noticed a few missing limbs, too. Bern straightened his back and raised himself in the saddle so that he appeared taller. He spied an older woman in the crowd and called out to her.
“Martha, we will feast in the hall tonight.”
The folk merged together, swelling with cheer and delight. I laughed too, quite unable to hold onto my fear and sadness. I’d been sucked into a new time, an impossible idea in itself, and then kidnapped. I should be smoldering with anger one minute and a quivering, anxious mess the next. I wasn’t though. There was something about Bern and his people that was uplifting. They might not be solving my problem—helping me find my way home-but they were making me feel better.
Bern led his horse up another ramp till we were behind the inner curtain wall. As the horse slowed to walking pace, his kin crowded around, petted his horse, and congratulated him with slaps on the back. The happiness they felt shone in their faces. I caught furtive stares my way, too. Who was I? We came to a complete stop outside the castle tower. Bern jumped down, then pulled me off the horse’s back. I could barely stand, and Bern seemed to realize it too, because he placed an arm over my shoulder to steady me.
“Martha, this is Caitlin.”
I heard subdued murmuring in response; she was far from enthusiastic. He ignored the lukewarm reception I got and continued speaking in his cheery, optimistic way.
“I’ve never known any woman who wishes t’ wash as much as she does. Caitlin has grumbled about her need for soap and water since our long ride home began. Please see to it that she has warm water and some o’ your best tallow and ashes soap. Send me the same. I’ll be needing the healer, too.”
Martha’s face lost its brightness. “Are ye hurt, Laird?”
“Not badly, Martha. Caitlin here, did a fine job of stitching me up.” Martha looked at me then, and gave me a nod of thanks. It was a small gesture and I sensed that was as much gratitude as she was able to offer a stranger, a Viking stranger.
“You’re a Northwoman then?” she asked, and I could see that the word was toxic to her and troubled her throat. Her confusion showed on her face. How could Laird bring a dreaded Viking into the heart of Tor Castle?
“No, I am not from the North, Martha. I know I’m wearing Vik . . . a Northwoman’s clothing but I’m definitely not one of them.”
Her eyes flared like a horse’s nostrils. Now, she was more startled by the sound of my speech and the words I chose rather than by my style of dress. My modern way of speaking shocked everyone. Compared to them, I sounded like I was from the far edge of the earth, where the water ran over the side and the dragons used their claws to cling on and stop themselves from falling into the flames. Of course, the truth was even more frightening.
“Martha,” Bern interrupted. “Is Roland or Ewan back from the battle yet? Mayhap they’re still headed homeward.” I heard what he was trying to hide—his fear that they were dead.
Martha lowered her head. “Ewan only, Laird.”
Bern released his breath. They did not need words. Roland, whoever he was, had fallen in the recent battle with the Northmen and if he was not home yet, then he’d not be returning at all. Bern had a widowed wife to face.
“Martha, please find Caitlin something more appropriate to wear. Something Scottish, mayhap a . . .”
I waved my hand about, shook my head and tried to decline his offer, even before he’d finished his sentence. I might need my Viking outfit. Who knew what it took to get me here, and who knew what I’d need to get home again. My hunch was that the costumes hanging in that tiny cupboard in twenty-first-century Doral Castle had a lot to do with where I was today. If I hadn’t put the Viking costume on, I might still be sleeping on that bench seat, in my own time. I guessed that I needed my Viking dress, needed to be wearing it in order to find my way home.
“Aye, Caitlin, you’re to change immediately. I can no’ have you prancing around my castle in the skins and furs o’ a savage.” Then he moved closer and whispered, “’Tis what my enemy wears, ye ken?”
I could see the sense in what he said. The last thing grieving families needed was to be confronted by a smiling Viking in their midst. “Okay, I understand, I’ll wear your Scottish dress, but I’m going to insist that I keep the Norse dress and cloak. These are mine. I found them. No one but I must be allowed to touch them. Do you agree?”
I could see that Bern was surprised by my attitude. He was wondering if he’d misjudged me, and that maybe I really was from Norway or another of those Viking countries. Why else was I being so protective of the leathers and fur? My gaze drifted toward Martha. Her expression was one of hostility rather than surprise. Martha’s fists flew to her hips. “Ye must not speak to Laird that way. ’Tis most disrespectful of ye. Did your folks no’ teach ye anything?”
Bern waved her indignation aside. “Her ways are different to ours, Martha. Caitlin will learn. We will need to be patient with her till she does.”
Martha’s face contorted. “Her different ways are not to my liking.”
Bern was barely listening. He had already moved off, heading for his men. “See to her bath water please and find Caitlin somewhere safe to sleep. In my keep, Martha, not in the stables.”
I followed behind Martha, itching to pull a snide face, but at the same time, understanding her point of view. Sometimes I just wanted to feel slighted and angry. It was annoying that I often saw the other side of the argument, too. Martha led me into the keep and around a corner until we were standing outside a spare bedchamber on one of the lower floors. Promising to send someone soon, she slammed the door behind me and growled, “Stay put.”
Fine. Tor Castle was huge, unknown, and, as far as I was concerned, brimming with suspicious hostiles. I’d happily stay put. I wandered around my new room checking everything out. I guessed it was midafternoon.
Outside, the sun was still high in the sky but none of its shine made its way into my chamber. With the door closed solid, my room was gray-black, dark enough to hide large, heavy objects. I could smell though, and knew that sheep’s tallow candles were around and had been recently lit. The stink of old mutton clung to everything—and just as well, too. If the rankness of rendered sheep’s fat hadn’t been all-consuming, then the foul stench from the rushes on the floor would have made staying in my room most unpleasant.
As I crept forward in the dark, I could feel the bone-dry grasses underfoot. When Martha returned with water, I’d ask her to light the candles, then I’d be able to see what I was treading on. I inched toward the poster poles on the bed, guessing that there would be an old grass-filled mattress on the frame. Then I remembered that folk in medieval times hung their clothing on some sort of stick or rack to keep them away from the rats.
Did that mean that rats were in this room with me? I’d have jumped on the bed if I hadn’t remembered another medieval fact I’d read: the people often slept with their dogs in their beds. Obviously flea collars and tick chews weren’t around so their animals would have been crawling with all forms of lice and other nasties. The reason medieval folk kept dogs in their beds was to save themselves from being bitten. Fleas are drawn to a dogs like a moth is to a light. Maybe I wouldn’t sit on the bed, after all. There was nothing wrong with standing up. I decided to stand very still and wait for Martha to return. Perhaps I’d be nicer to her from now on. I could certainly do with a friend in this castle, one that knew how to do things like light fires and get rid of rats.
It wasn’t Martha w
ho knocked at my bedroom door. Instead, two young castle servant girls rushed in, their smiles warm and helpful. I was overjoyed to see them. I was hardly alone, stranded on a desert island, but somehow it felt like that. The girls carried wooden pails of slopping water and drying cloths over their shoulders.
“Hello. I’m Caitlin. I’m not from here so I’m likely to ask lots of silly questions.” I expected them to respond with something warm and reassuring but instead they simply rushed around me, as if wary and unsure.
“Would you mind lighting the candles? It’s awfully dark in here.” I was still standing in the middle of the room feeling as lost as an abandoned child in a shadowy forest.
Still ignoring me, one of the girls knelt by the cold fire grate. It was so dark, I hadn’t even noticed the fireplace until that moment. Fortunately the servant girl knew how to start a fire without matches and soon had the hearth glowing.
I could see a little now. The light and comforting sound of the flames gave me confidence. “Do you suppose there are rats in this room?”
One of them turned to stare. “Do you want me to fetch one of the wolfhounds? Are ye afeared of the wee creatures?”
“Thank you.” I padded toward the bed and poked the covers. I could feel the grass mattress under my touch. “Do you suppose there are fleas in this bed?” I desperately wanted to lie down, but didn’t fancy getting fleas in my clothing, or in my hair. It was still too dark to see properly, and that was good in a way, because it meant I wouldn’t have to watch her eyes roll. I’m sure I sounded like the most timid Viking, ever.
“Not too many fleas,” she responded. “We keep fleabane and other herbs in the mattresses. Our chilly Highland weather stops them breeding, too. This chamber is no’ used often. If ye like, I can organize for one of the dogs to sleep with you?”
Snowflakes in Summer (Time Tumble Series Book 1) Page 5
