Scotland 1305

Kyle awakened with a pounding headache, nausea twisting his gut. He moaned and draped his forearm over his eyes, shading them from the sun’s blinding rays. Either what Beatha claimed was true and he’d traveled back in time, or he’d tied one on, imagined it all in a drunken stupor, and had the worst hangover of his life. However, if the latter was true, he wouldn’t be lying on his back in the middle of a clearing surrounded by forest.

As his vision cleared and his memory returned, he sat up and surveyed the area. Everything looked the same as it did before Beatha uttered the strange incantation and he crumpled to the ground and passed out. Yet a little voice inside his head told him there was something very different about this place. What’s more, Beatha was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is that old woman,” he grumbled as he rose to a wobbly stance. Having no idea how long he’d been out, Kyle checked his wrist, but in place of his Rolex was a leather gauntlet. He then patted his pants where his wallet and cell phone should be, but they were gone too, along with his pockets. Upon realizing that in addition to his missing belongings, his cable knit sweater and cargo pants had been replaced by what appeared to be medieval garb, he scratched his head.

“You dinna need those things here,” Beatha said as she emerged from the forest, leading a large black destrier.

“I suppose you’re a mind-reader too.” Kyle smoothed his hands down the front of a saffron tunic, covered in a chainmail vest. With the leather boots, additional chainmail coif, and a sword strapped to his hip, he was sure he must look like an extra in the movie Braveheart. “I don’t understand any of this,” he muttered and scrubbed his fingers across his beard-stubbled chin. “Where am I?”

“You’re still in Northern Scotland, but instead of 2017, you are in the year 1305,” Beatha said proudly. “It appears we arrived in the correct century.”

Kyle moved toward Beatha. “I’m relieved to hear that I’m where I’m supposed to be, but there is a lot more I need to know. Like how do I find Gwen?”

Beatha raised her hand. “I will answer all your questions in good time.”

“They say there’s no time like the present.” Kyle glanced down at his medieval attire. “Dare I ask what happened to my clothes and my other belongings?”

 Beatha smiled. “You canna verra well wear your modern clothes in medieval times and expect to go unnoticed. Show your modern gadgets to anyone and you’ll surely be burned as a witch.” She closed her eyes and visibly shuddered, then passed him the reins. “You can ride, can you na?”

“Yes. I was the captain of my university polo team.” Kyle stared at the horse and then at Beatha. “He’s a magnificent animal, but where on earth did you get him?”

“You needed a mount and now you have one.” Beatha answered simply. “It matters na how I acquired him.”

“Then he is not yours, I take it. Don’t you think his owner might be a bit miffed to find him missing?”

“Miffed?” Her bow creased and a puzzled expression crossed her face.

“Upset. Angry,” Kyle said. “I don’t fancy getting arrested for being a horse thief when his owner reports he’s been taken.” He offered the reins back to her, but Beatha waved him off and took a step back.

“His owner willna be looking for him, nor will he report him stolen.” Beatha lowered her gaze. “I’m afraid he met with an unfortunate end.”

“What do you mean?” Kyle was very tired of being confused. He just wanted straight answers, to find Gwen, and return to the twenty-first century.

“It appears he stumbled into a camp of thieves, and after they stole his coin and bludgeoned him to death, they threw his body into a ravine, but na before the horse ran off.”

“I feel bad for the guy, but what does his getting mugged by thieves have to do with me or why I am here?”

“The man who died was Caol MacKay. He was on his way to his uncle’s castle, but sadly, dinna make it. However, his misfortune can work to your advantage. I found the horse grazing in a meadow, not far from where his owner met his end.”

 “Caol MacKay?” Taken aback by what she’d just said, Kyle remembered how on occasion his grandmother called him Caol. When he asked why, she told him it was the Gaelic version of Kyle. Upon remembering that, he shot an inquisitive look in Beatha’s direction. “I suppose it’s no coincidence that his name is the same as mine?”

Beatha grinned. “I did tell you that in addition to helping Gweneth there were things you would learn about your own ancestry while on this quest?” She moved aside and motioned for him to mount. “Best you climb on. You’ve tarried here long enough, and there is much to do if you find Gweneth in time.”

He widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “Scotland is a large country. Exactly where am I riding to? I have no idea where Gwen is or what sort of danger she is in. As far as that goes, I’m still not sure what she is even doing in this century to begin with. Until you explain further, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Verra well, I will tell you what you need to know.” Beatha exhaled a heavy breath, then peered up at him. “But I am old and these ancient bones are weary, do you mind if I rest a wee bit?” She hobbled over to a fallen tree and sat before Kyle could answer. “Sit beside me,” she said.

“No thanks, I’d rather stand.”

“Suit yourself.” She stroked her chin as if deep in thought, then glanced up at him. “I suppose I should start with Gweneth. She is na who you think she is.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Gweneth was raised in the twentieth century, but she wasna born during that time. She is from the past.”

“You said that before, but maybe you’re mistaken and have the wrong woman. My Gwen was born in Winchester, Virginia on Oct 31, 1993. Her parents are Wanda and Ross Lindsay, two of the most prominent people in town. She—”

“Your Gwen, as you call her, was born beneath the full moon on October 31, 1281. Her parents are Lilith and Ronald MacQuin,” Beatha interjected before Kyle could say any more. “After giving birth to her in a hut na far from here, her mother gave her to me and bid me protect her, to see she was raised somewhere safe, and by loving parents.”

“Why on earth would a woman give her child to a witch, knowing she would never see her again?”

“To save her bairn’s life,” she answered simply. “Her father demanded his wife give him a son, but she had a feeling the babe was a lass and went to a seer. She was told her suspicions were true and that the lass would be mistreated by her father until she was old enough to marry, then forced to wed a horrible man who would beat her and eventually kill her in a fit of rage.”

Kyle let out a low whistle, then scrubbed his chin. “And her mother believed that and decided it was better to give her up than see the prophecy come true?”

Beatha bobbed her head and smiled. “Exactly. I arranged for Gweneth to be sent forward in time and raised by carefully selected parents who were unable to conceive a child of their own. Fearing her husband’s wrath, Lady Lilith—her birth mother—could not go home empty-handed, so I also arranged for a changeling to take Gweneth’s place. This too was foretold to Lady Lilith by the seer. Upon the chieftain’s death, Damen will replace his father as laird, unless Gweneth gets in his way.”

The minute the old woman flashed him her toothless grin, Kyle had a suspicion there was a lot she still hadn’t told him. Now, he had to decide if what she had said was true, or if it was all part of her wild imagination. Among the tales of lore and superstitions he’d heard as a child, the fae and their offspring were a topic often spoken about in whispers.

“Slow down and take it back a bit. Aren’t changelings supposed to be evil fairy babies who wreak havoc and misfortune on a family when exchanged for their mortal child?” Everything he’d been told by Beatha was farfetched and hard to believe, but so was the fact that he was standing in the middle of a field in Northern Scotland, wearing the attire of a medieval warrior and about to mount a destrier to who knew where.

“Aye, they are reputed to be evil, but Lady Lilith had no choice.” Beatha shrugged. “It was accept the changeling and pray he’d grow up to be a kind and decent man, or know her daughter would live a similar life to her own. The thought of her being mistreated by her father, then sold in marriage to a man who would brutalize, then kill her was something she couldna bear. It was a risk she was willing to take.”

Beatha spoke with such conviction, it was hard not to accept her story as true. “If Gwen was sent to the future for her protection, never to see her real parents again, why has she returned now?”

“Had she na been sent to the future, she would have been twenty-four summers when she died at the hand of her husband, but her destiny changed when she left this time period and Damen took her place. It was as if she never existed. Now she is back, things will be as they were destined to be, almost as if she had she never left.”

Kyle scratched his head. “I’m really confused. How can she just show up in 1305 and have no one wonder where she’s been all these years? I have always heard if you tamper with the past, it affects the future.”

“In this case, she is putting things back the way they were meant to be. The outcome affects only Gwen and those close to her,” Beatha explained, then hung her head and wrung her hands. “She wasna supposed to return. The only way she could do so was by stepping into the same fairy ring from which she was sent forward, on Samhain Eve. I thought the chances of that happening were gone when I sent her so far away. But I appear to have failed.”

“Hopefully, it’s not too late to make it right,” Kyle said. “But first we have to find her. Tell me where she is and what I must do.” There was no point in admitting he was still skeptical about what she was saying, but at this point, he saw no option but to take her word. Without her help, there was no hope of finding Gwen or returning to his own century.

He wished his grandmother was still alive to tell the tale to when it was all over. The fact their grandparents were born and raised in Highlands was a bond he and Gwen shared. He’d always planned to visit Scotland someday and explore his ancestral roots, but not like this.  

“It willna be easy, but I have faith your love will find a way to triumph,” Beatha said. “Gweneth was headed to MacQuin Castle when last I saw her, but there is no telling what has transpired since her arrival. The only way to know is for you to go there. Time is of the essence, so you must make haste,” Beatha said. “But you may need others to help you with the task of securing her freedom.”

It was bad enough that he had to locate Gwen and figure out a way to get her back safely, but he had no idea where he’d find anyone to help him. “Since I don’t know a soul here, I haven’t got a clue who to ask.”

“Start your search for her where it all began and go from there. But be warned, it is na a good idea to let anyone know your true identity or that you are from the future. Doing so will likely get you thrown in the pit or tried as a witch.”

“That could be a lot easier said than done,” Kyle said.

“Use your wits, lad. You are dressed like a Highlander from this period and must act the part. I have a strong feeling that willna be a problem, given the unfortunate demise of Caol MacKay. The family is expecting him to arrive any day, which is now impossible, given his fate. You however can take his place and elicit the help of your clan to rescue Gweneth.”

“Are you sure I can pull it off? I don’t know much about Highland life in medieval times and my Gaelic is rudimentary at best. If not for my grandparents teaching me some, I wouldn’t understand a word of it.”

“I’ve no doubt you will do just fine. If you hadn’t noticed we have been conversing in Gaelic since you arrived in the fourteenth century. Your words are Gaelic, but you hear them in English.”

“That’s impossible.”

Beatha raised a brow and grinned. “Is it? You must learn to trust me. You can pass for Caol MacKay and no one will know, unless you tell them otherwise.” Beatha again rose and moved in the direction of the destrier that stood at the edge of the clearing, nibbling on shoots of grass. “Ride north and you will come to MacKay Castle. Enter as if you are expected and belong there. You may have to dodge a few questions and make up some answers, but you will do fine,” she reassured him. “You will then need to befriend several of the clan warriors and ask your uncle’s permission to go to MacQuin Castle on urgent business. Once there, you will find out what has happened to Gweneth since her arrival.”

“Will you be there, at either MacKay or MacQuin Castle to tell me what to do next?” Kyle asked, but got no reply. He turned full circle, searching for Beatha, but she was gone. Frustrated and still unsure he could pull this off, he climbed atop the horse and picked up the reins. “Well, big fella, looks like it’s you and me.” He cast an eye over his surroundings and once he had his bearings, dug his heels into the horse’s sides and the beast took off running.

He hadn’t been atop a horse in a while, yet he felt very much at home in the saddle. “Four years on the University polo team has to account for something,” he chuckled. Gwen’s parents owned a horse ranch in the Shenandoah Valley, but in the year they’d dated, they hadn’t gone for a ride. That was something he planned to rectify when they got back to the twenty-first century. He hoped.

Uncertain how far he had to go to reach MacKay Castle, Kyle pushed the horse to its limits. Time was of the essence if he hoped to rescue Gwen, so he raced north over what seemed like miles of rough rocky terrain, heather dotted meadow, and at times up steep inclines. Finally in the distance he spotted what looked like a castle looming on the horizon. He slowed his mount to a walk, giving the animal a chance to breathe, while trying to figure out the odds of it being the MacKay stronghold. But he soon had his answer when two burly warriors on horseback came out of a copse of trees, charging toward him at break-neck speed with swords drawn.

Kyle reined in his horse and swallowed hard against the lump of fear blocking his ability to breathe. He was by no means a coward, but these two barbarians were the largest, most threatening looking men he’d ever seen, and he was no fool. Dressed in their chainmail and medieval attire, their long hair flying wildly in the wind, they raced forward, stopping only a few feet away from him.

“State your business,” the one with red hair growled, then slid from the saddle and lumbered toward Kyle’s horse, with a claymore in hand.

Kyle eyed the man and fingered the hilt of the sword that hung at his side. He’d done some fencing in his day, was actually quite good, but something told him this opponent would not be following the FIE rules of no contact. He gulped as he took in the size and length of the claymore. The thing must have weighed a ton, yet the man wielded it like it was a feather. The weapon was a far cry from the foils he’d used in competition and looked twice as deadly. Rather than confront the man, Kyle slowly raised his hands in the air as a show of non-combatence. “Hold on, man, I pose you no threat.”

The warrior didn’t respond and trudged closer, then, much to Kyle’s surprise, came to an abrupt halt and lowered his blade as a broad grin crossed his face.

“Caol. Is that you cousin? It has been so long since I saw you. If na for the MacKay crest engraved on your saddle, I might na have recognize you.” 

Kyle coughed to clear his throat. “I am Caol MacKay.”

Without warning the mountain of a man hauled Kyle from the saddle in one swift move and slammed him against his chest, hugging so tight, Kyle thought he might crush his lungs. He wriggled to get free of the man’s hold, but to no avail, so he decided it best to wait it out and prayed the man would release him before he blacked out from lack of oxygen.

Finally, the warrior released his hold and took a step back. “You have changed since you were a lad.” When Kyle didn’t answer, the man’s brow furrowed. “I’m your cousin Blair, do you na recognize me either?”

Pangs of guilt tugged at Kyle’s gut. He knew he should tell Blair MacKay what happened to his cousin, that he was not who he thought he was, but Beatha told him he needed to befriend the members of clan if he wanted them to help in the rescue.

Blair frowned. “What’s the matter, cousin? Has the cat got your tongue?”

 Kyle sucked in a deep breath of air, then answered. “Of course I remember you, but you’ve also changed.” Since he’d never met the man, he really wasn’t lying.

Blair slung his arm across Kyle’s shoulders, then spun him around to face the other man—who was now approaching on horseback at a much slower pace. “It’s Caol, brother. Come say hello.” He then addressed Kyle again. “If you think I’ve changed, wait until you see Rory. He’s no longer the thin, freckle-faced lad he was when we visited your da’s stronghold when we were lads.

Kyle’s eyes widened as the man dismounted and lumbered towards them. He had to stand at least six-foot-five and must have carried close to three hundred pounds of solid muscle. There was nothing scrawny about this man. As he stood beside his brother, the two men towered over Kyle. At six-one, he’d considered himself tall, but now felt dwarfed.

Rory stuck out his hand. “Welcome, cousin. We expected you a few days ago and thought mayhap you’d run into trouble.”

Kyle extended his hand, but was surprised when Rory grasped his wrist instead, gave it a shake, then pulled him into a tight embrace.

Fortunately for Kyle, Rory wasn’t as amorous as his brother, and released him before he felt faint. “It’s great to see you both again. And you are right, Blair, it has been a long time.”

“You never said what kept you,” Rory said, then paused to study Kyle as he waited for an answer.

Sweat beaded on Kyle’s brow and palms as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He had to come up with an answer, but found himself at a loss for words. He got a reprieve when Blair once again snaked his large arm around his shoulders.

“If I were to wager a guess, I’d say he was probably waylaid by a comely lass. Look at the man.” He pinched Kyle’s face between his thumb and forefinger, then turned his chin so he faced Rory. “Have you ever seen a prettier lad? I’ll bet he fights the lassies off with a stick and doesna go to bed alone most nights. I’d even lay odds he doesna have to pay them to lift their skirts.” He released his hold, then slapped Kyle on the back so hard, he almost knocked him off his feet. “Am I right?”

“I’ve been known to bed a willing wench or two,” Kyle said, while doing his best to sound confident.

“Nothing like a warm, wanton woman beneath the plaid,” Blair said laughing.

Rory’s brow furrowed. “He must take after his mam, because he’s certainly doesna look like a MacKay, and still hasna explained what kept him,” Rory remarked, then dragged his fingers through his dishevel locks. “And what happened to your hair cousin?”

 Kyle hadn’t thought about his short cropped hair appearing out of place. “Lice.” It was the first thing that came to mind. 

“Dinna badger the man with questions, Rory. He’s here now, so best we get back to the castle and let da know he’s arrived. Mount up.” Blair threw his leg over his horse’s back and dragged himself aboard. He stared down at Kyle. “What are you waiting for? Climb on and lets be away.” He waited for his brother and Kyle to mount up, before giving the command, “Let’s ride.”

Relieved that he’d managed to fool the two brothers into thinking he was Caol MacKay, Kyle wondered if their father be as easy to convince. As soon as they entered the bailey of the MacKay stronghold and saw Laird MacKay on the steps of the keep, his doubts increased.

The tall burly man with flaming red hair stood with his thick arms crossed over his broad chest. No introduction was necessary as Kyle knew who it was the minute he saw the imposing man.

“Who is this?” MacKay demanded as he descended the steps.”