The King. If her heart had been speeding before, now it tripped along in a staccato rhythm that nearly made her dizzy. She reached for Angus’s hand and held onto it. Nessa didn’t know it, but from that moment on, her life had become firmly grounded on a one-way track; one she had no hope of escaping. Even though she would one day travel back to 21st century Inverness, she would never really leave this place, or the man she was about to cross paths with against odds so great she would one day know that Fate must have had a hand in it.
The King was tall. This was the first thing Nessa noticed about him. Many of the men were, but somehow he stood straighter, prouder than the rest. He was dressed in a simple sleeveless tunic and loose-fitting pants, but the fabric couldn’t hide his powerful build or the graceful, very masculine, lines of his body. He had a bronzed, sun-kissed complexion, and tattoos on his face: a sweeping, curved line with three dots underneath, one on each high, chiseled cheekbone. More tattoos graced his arms, intricate designs with lines and spirals. His dark brown, nearly black hair was long, reaching past his shoulders, and tied back at his nape with a piece of leather. There was a wide band of gold just above each well-muscled bicep, and a gold amulet hung from his neck. He was a physically beautiful man, but as he drew to a halt in front of her, hand resting lightly on the handle of a sword at his waist, she felt the full, undeniable, energy of his presence. A strange fluttering began in her stomach and she had to remind herself to breathe.
Dark, piercing eyes met hers, and the air seemed to grow electric with the force and vitality that surrounded him. He emanated strength and dominance with an intensity that she’d never felt before, and she knew instantly that his men would follow him anywhere, into any battle, even to their own deaths. And women would likely kill one another for just one night in his bed. A true alpha male if ever there was one. The men in her time were downright domesticated in comparison. Who was this King? The possibilities scrolled through her mind, but until she knew when they were… She almost bit her lip, but instead set her mouth and jutted her chin forward, determined to look much braver than she felt.
The King made a quick appraisal of Angus, who was looking around with an almost giddy smile—but thankfully not speaking—then, accurately assessing the situation, ignored him and turned his gaze to Nessa. She locked eyes with him for only a second before she had to look away. He was making her feel strange, like the butterflies had escaped her stomach and taken flight within her whole body. She swallowed hard and forced her eyes to meet his again. She didn’t want to show weakness, not when she had to be strong enough for Angus too.
“You aren’t a goddess,” the King said with a slight curve of his lips, as if he hadn’t actually expected her to be. His voice was deep and a little bit husky, vibrating in her chest. So the women had thought she was a goddess who had come out of the well. His imperious gaze raked over her body from head to toe, and she was suddenly painfully aware of what she must look like. She was sopping wet with her hair plastered to her head, wearing her everyday clothes: jeans and a t-shirt. A wet t-shirt. Looking down, she could see that her white bra was completely visible under the fabric clinging to her skin. The water had been cold, and her nipples were now standing pertly at attention.
Not that she felt exposed, exactly. Some of the other women were wearing much less, baring their waist or thighs. But no one here would have ever seen modern clothing, and she couldn’t imagine what they must think or how they might react.
She swallowed the lump in her throat just above the clamoring butterflies. “No…no.” That one word—spoken in Pictish for the first time to truly native ears—felt awkward on her tongue, as if she was only just learning to speak. Much later she would come to understand the very circular nature of time and human connection, and words would seem among the most trivial of things.
“I’m not a goddess. Just a…w…woman. And this is my uncle, Angus.” She pointed her thumb at Angus, not taking her eyes from the King. Damned if she was going to be the only one to take responsibility for being here and preventing the Goddess of the Underworld from getting her fresh lamb heads. Angus could take his share of the blame. Did they actually put the heads in the water, or just leave them by the side?
Angus piped up again, as if her acknowledging him was all the reason he needed to speak. “Look Nessa, those are our people; our ancestors. They’re the reason our family has held on to the knowledge of the Keepers for centuries. Years and years. So many years!”
Angus was pointing at the crowd, speaking to her in English as if they weren’t even there. As if an ancient King that could easily have them made into sacrifices wasn’t standing right there in front of them.
She gritted her teeth. She’d always prided herself on her boundless patience with her eccentric and often unpredictable uncle, but then she’d never actually been in a life or death situation with him before.
“But we’re the last two, and we’re here”, she reminded him through her still gritted teeth. “There isn’t going to be anyone in the future keeping anything now.”
Except of course Gram, but she was fading, and wouldn’t be with them for very much longer. Nessa swallowed the overwhelming sadness that came with that thought. She had to get back to Gram very soon. She couldn’t let her die alone…
“Which is why you were supposed to stay behind”, Angus told her matter-of-factly. “No help for it now, though.”
Nessa gave him an incredulous look.
“I didn’t know your…machine thing…was actually going to work!”
“Of course it…”
“You will speak only in my tongue!” the King commanded, loudly, and Nessa jumped. He was watching them through narrowed eyes, angry that he couldn’t understand their words. Those damn butterflies rose briefly to her throat before dropping back to her stomach with a sickening swoop. That voice did strange things to her. Or maybe fear for her life did strange things to her. Either way, she felt like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.
“They say you climbed up from the hallowed well”, he nodded towards the women with the baskets. “Who are you, and where have you come from? What business do you have here?”
Nessa did bite her lip this time, and looked down at her wet sandals. Think! What would be a reasonable explanation? There would be no explaining this situation without lies, and she hated lies. They always came back to make trouble later on. That was why she always tried her best to stick to the truth and nothing but the truth. She was a horrible liar, and this was probably life or death.
“We did come up out of the well”, she hedged. “But I’m not a goddess, nor do I know any goddesses personally. I’m Nessa Brodie, and like I said, this is Angus, my uncle. I’m from…she hesitated…panicked. She couldn’t be from anywhere nearby, or they might try to take her back there, where of course no one would recognize her.
“I’m from Fife.” Aye, Fife. That was a good way south. She squeezed Angus’s hand as hard as she could, hoping he would understand and not contradict her.
“Ow!” He pulled his hand away, shaking it and looking at her with irritation. “Watch what you’re doing!”
The King’s eyes flicked to Angus, and again he seemed to dismiss him as any kind of threat. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to have believed her lie, either. She could see it in his eyes. Eyes she couldn’t seem to look at for too long without feeling a little hot and restless. After all, she was looking at someone from another time…another world. This was a man not bound by the tight rules and niceties of her modern civilization. He was absolutely primal by her standards, and she wasn’t sure what he might do. She needed more information, and she needed it as soon as possible. She cleared her throat nervously.
“May I…may I ask your name?”
“My name? You claim not to know who I am?” He crossed his arms, making the muscles there bulge and the black ink ripple.
“I’m sorry…I’m a bit lost…”
He glared at her, and for a long moment she though
t he wasn’t going to answer.
“I am Bridei mac Bili, King of Fortriu, and you had better have a very good reason for hiding in my well. I have no mercy for spies or traitors.”
Her eyes suddenly opened wider. Oh. Ohhhh…No way! No way was she standing before that King! The way he said his name brought it to life as never before, with a slight roll of the ‘r’ and a barely spoken ‘b’. Bri-dye mac Bee-lye.
Nessa felt a strange excitement run through her. She knew him! Well, she didn’t know him, just of him. And he looked very little like the rough sketches in the books and scrolls. This was the man who single-handedly reunited the Pictish front against the Anglo-Saxons and freed his people from oppression and tyranny. And this was the man (her family legend claimed) had given her ancestors the scrolls to keep. For a moment she was awe-struck. And dumb-struck too. This King had made up a good part of the stories and fantasies of her childhood. And, ahhm…some of her more adult fantasies as a woman. What could she say? She was drawn to hot-blooded alphas, and the stories about Bridei had always intrigued her. She could still see the book in her mind’s eye, the one she’d gone back to again and again…
She opened the old wooden trunk and lifted out the book on the top. The original scrolls had long since crumbled to dust, but generations before her had faithfully copied and re-copied the words they held. The book on top was her favorite, the story of King Bridei III and his bold campaign to reunite the lands of his grandfather under one rule and free his people once and for all.
It irritated her to no end that King Bridei had single-handedly saved his people from domination by the Anglo-Saxons, and yet barely anyone even remembered his name. Except for her, of course. He had led his Pictish army against the Saxons in the battle of Nechtansmere, and it had been a literal massacre, ending with the death of King Ecgfrith, and the death or enslavement of all the remaining Northumbrian Anglo-Saxons in Pictland. If Bridei hadn’t won, the Scotland of present day would almost certainly not exist, and instead all of Britain would be English. Yet people were all over William Wallace and Robert the Bruce as the be-all-end-all legendary heroes of Scotland. What about the man who had made Scotland possible? She had always felt that he should have gotten more recognition.
“Sometimes, when the night is just right, people have seen ghostly warriors on Dunnichen Hill, dressed in Pictish clothing, carrying torches, searching in the darkness for their dead.” Her grandmother had told her the story a hundred times or more, and she’d gone there, to Dunnichen Hill, more than once, trying to see the vision for herself. Sadly, she never had.
Beside her, Angus let out a sudden wail, bringing her wandering mind hurtling back to the present.
“No! No no no! We’re too early by more than three hundred years! We have to go back Nessa, and try again. How could I have been this far off? The directions were exact mathematical equations! Exactly what the voices said, I wrote it down very carefully.” He took her arm and tried to pull her towards the entrance to the well. Oh, now he wanted to go home!
Bridei stopped them short by grabbing Angus’s shirt and yanking him back, bringing Nessa tumbling with him.
“You are not free to leave.”
Angus gasped and looked around uneasily, apparently actually worried for the first time since they’d so unceremoniously arrived in what she now knew was seventh century Pictland. She glared at him. Great, now he gets it!
Bridei abruptly let go of Angus, who slumped to his knees, looking up at the King with his mouth gaping open. Nessa’s first instinct was to comfort and protect her uncle, but Bridei had turned his full attention to her, stepping closer and holding her still with a menacing look. He was close enough that she had to look up at him, since he was so much taller. Her heart beat faster with his nearness, and she felt slightly dizzy. She wanted to run away, but she also inexplicably wanted to lean closer, as if he held a dark power that drew her. She could smell the sun-warm musk of his skin.
“I ask you again, how did you come to be in the well, within the walls of this fortress?” He demanded, more than asked, his lips curling slightly. Not a smile, but a cold determination to get what he wanted. Her answer. The truth.
But she still didn’t have an answer, at least not one she could tell him. What could she possibly say? Gee, I don’t know. Magic? Quantum physics? A wrinkle in time? Are wormholes real?
“I honestly don’t know”, she told him, because she honestly didn’t. “The last thing I remember I was on top of a hill.” A breeze had picked up, coming in from the sea, and she began to shiver in her wet clothes, and with the undeniably potent combination of delayed shock, ignored terror and damp cold, her teeth began to chatter. “I think…I think we fell through, somehow.”
“You fell through a hill?” He crossed his arms over his chest again. Those muscles bulged once more. She wanted to touch them to see if they were as solid as they looked. Great, now she must be delirious too. She wished he wasn’t standing so close. She couldn’t think.
How had they gotten here? She knew now that she should have paid more attention to her uncle’s ramblings, but she had been so busy with the farm, and taking care of Gram, then—more recently—visiting her in the nursing home every chance she got. As it was, she’d barely had any time to spend with Nathan. As long as Angus kept himself busy and out of trouble, she’d let him do whatever he liked.
But she hadn’t believed for a second that travel through time was possible, and she’d told him so. Nicely, of course…
“Of course it’s possible”, Angus had said patiently. “You just haven’t kept up with the latest in quantum physics. Time is more of a kind of fabric in another dimension. It’s not a straight line. Time passing in a forward motion is just an illusion created by the mind. Things that we think happened in the past are really still happening…sometime else. Which is how I’m going to stop it.”
“Stop what?” she had asked.
“The year 839. That’s when the Vikings wiped out the last of the Pict royal family. Then that blasted King of the Gaels of Dál Riata took over.”
“Kenneth MacAlpine?”
“Exactly! And our people were conquered. They all but disappeared!”
“So you want to go back in time and, what? Stop the Vikings? All by yourself? Wouldn’t that be a tad bit dangerous?” She had been humoring him, as if he were a child with an overactive imagination.
“I have a plan.”
And he had had a plan, just a badly flawed one. One could never blithely barge into another time and expect the shit to not hit the fan, even with the best laid plan ever. She had to believe that he really knew how to get them home again, just as soon as they could slip away. But for now, staying alive was her top priority. Good thing she was of the hearty country-lass persuasion and not some shrinking city violet. She figured she could survive here just as easily as she did in the Highlands of the 21st century. And having led an unusual life and come from an unusual family gave her a definite advantage. Aye, it shocked her that she had apparently travelled through time, but not nearly as much as it might have.
“Petra!” the King called out, his gaze staying locked on Nessa, although he thankfully stepped away a few paces. She felt as if she could breathe again. He was still studying her with those dark eyes, and for a moment she swore he could see right into her soul. A chill ran up her spine, just before a sturdy woman of perhaps fifty stepped forward from the crowd. Petra, she presumed.
The King placed a finger under the woman’s chin and tilted her face up to meet his as he spoke to her. His tone, though, was gentle, his gaze warm; respectful even.
“Our guests need dry clothing. And perhaps a meal. Fife is a great distance, and I’m certain they must be hungry.”
His eyes locked on Nessa’s once again, hard and unyielding. Every bit of his body language told her that he was in control. That she was at his mercy. That he could do anything he wanted with her.
“Once they are comfortable, separate them. I want to question t
hem individually.”
Individually? Oh no…not good. Angus would have them both on the chopping block in no time flat. Who knew what he might say? You couldn’t just march into another time and announce you were from the future. That was how people got burned at the stake, or locked up in a dungeon. Maybe once in a great while they might get lucky and be revered as a deity, but what were the odds? Had anyone even travelled back in time before? Were they the first?
“No! Please, can we stay together? My uncle needs me to stay with him at all times. He’s…well, he’s…”
“Simple minded”, the King supplied smoothly. “Or at least pretending to be.” He began walking towards the broch, and she and Angus were forced to fall in behind him by the curious crush of people on all sides. As they neared the cluster of buildings, he stopped, and Nessa jumped as a cool, soft hand closed around her wrist. Petra.
“Come with me now, child”, the woman said. Her voice was gentle. Kind. Her inquisitive eyes were shining in her softly age-worn but still pretty face. Behind Petra, Bridei nodded to a man, who took hold of Angus.
“You must excuse the lack of my usual hospitality”, he said. “As you must know, we are in the midst of a war, and must proceed with vigilance when strangers arrive. I am a man of caution, above all else, when it comes to protecting my people.”
“Guilty until proven innocent”, she mumbled.
He smiled at her, though it wasn’t a friendly smile. Like everything else about him, that smile was purely dominant. “Exactly.”
Bridei turned and walked away. A few strands of his long hair had escaped their binding and were blowing in the sea breeze and she narrowed her eyes as a strong feeling of familiarity, almost like déjà vu washed over her. It was as if she’d been here before, watching him walk away just as she was now…
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