Chapter Four
“Nothing is terrible except fear itself.”
~Francis Bacon
Granny M
The moment Marion laid eyes on Angel’s new friend a tingle wound down her spine. This man had haunted her dreams for the past few weeks. Since early childhood, Marion frequently experienced episodes her mother referred to as the second sight. She’d learned never to dismiss incidents that others might simply consider a coincidence.
Brian carried that otherworldly aura, and she’d never been wrong about that, though she’d only encountered it two other times. The first occurrence happened at the age of five or six. With a child’s simplistic view, she’d found nothing unusual about a knight dressed in full medieval armor suddenly appearing and then a few days later disappearing from her garden. The second time occurred when she’d found her own dear, late husband washed up on a muddy riverbank when she’d gone fishing one early morning at the age of seventeen. But those incidents were stories from another time.
The man standing before her now brought a different story. His purpose here would somehow prove significant in her sweet Angel’s life. And she had no doubt that he needed her guidance.
“Come, lad, you’ll be attracting flies if’n you stand there much longer bleeding on the sidewalk.”
He tipped his body in a partial bow, “Yes, m’lady. I’m at yer service and thank ye kindly for yer welcome.”
He spoke with a thick rolling brogue that harkened to times long ago, and Marion needed no further confirmation of her suspicions. Angel reappeared at the door, “Where’s dad and mom?”
“You just missed them, dear. Your da had an early morning meeting with the clinic advisors, and your mum is up to Mrs. McConnell’s house. Her daughter called about thirty minutes ago to say she’d had a bad night. You ken how your mother frets over her friend’s declining health.”
Now that she’d had a moment to observe both of her charges, Marion noticed leafy debris and streaks of dirt on Angel’s cloths and a few scratches on her arms. And Brian sported numerous nasty injuries on his head, arms, and legs. These were not normal injuries, but what one might expect when someone had survived a terrible brawl. Or, based on the weapons strapped to his person, they occurred during another type of hand-to-hand combat. She wouldn’t dismiss any possibility and would learn the truth of his circumstances soon enough.
“Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up, Angel, while I take Brian to the back bedroom so he can shower and wash off the dirt and blood from those injuries? Then we’ll set to mending and bandaging him.”
“I’ll leave him in your trusty hands, Granny M Just don’t get any bawdy ideas, hear me.” Brian’s face, even under streaks of dirt, turned deep red. Angel laughed hysterically at her joke at Brian’s expense. He grumbled something in response. Angel cocked her head in question. It seemed neither of them had understood his words.
* * *
Angus tried to assess every interior detail he could as they passed through the house. Smooth wooden floors gleamed with burnished shades of brown, red, and gold from sunlight pouring through numerous windows. Thick, colorful carpets adorned the floors, and an array of comfortable, plush-looking furniture occupied rooms they passed. Granny M led him down a long hallway where family portraits covered the walls. The portraits presented precise renderings of their subjects and showed no evidence of brushstrokes. He could not determine how the artist had created images so precise and expertly rendered such that the subjects seemed about to step off the canvas. Beautifully framed and covered in smooth glass, the portraitures presented a glimpse into the family upon whom he’d intruded. Other artwork adorned walls in the rooms they passed, which clearly showed evidence of normal paint and brush strokes. Music drifted on the air, but he saw no musicians and the sounds were unlike any minstrel he’d ever heard.
Distracted, he failed to notice that Granny M had reached the end of the hall and opened a door until he almost walked into her. “Pardon, m’lady, ye have a loovely home.” In truth, he’d never seen anything quite like it before.
She waved for him to precede her into the room. “Och, no m’lady,” he tipped a bow, “beauty a’fore brawn.”
“You’re a cheeky one, young man. Follow me then.” As she swished into the room, her floor-length, burgundy-colored skirt gently swayed around her ankles, and the long sleeves on her rose silk blouse rustled as she moved. Angus’ highly attuned senses swamped him in a sea of unfamiliar sounds, sights, and scents.
The room they entered had a large bed positioned against the back wall with bed stands of a rich blond wood on either side. Multiple shades of plush blue pillows and matching thick quilt covered the bed. Strange objects resembling some sort of lantern sat on the stands. A wooden chair with a woven caned back and thick seat cushion rested on long curved strips of wood instead of standard feet.
Light spilled across the floor and furnishings from tall windows that graced one side of the bed. On closer inspection, he noted the windows were actually doors made of wood frame with a glass center. All the glass appeared smooth and clear enough to step through them to the outside. They were nearly undetectable except for their reflections. The room had walls the shade of a twilight sky, with shiny white wooden trim framing everything. A solid, closed wooden door bisected one wall, and next to it, another door stood slightly ajar.
“I think you’ll find the room comfortable enough, lad. In a moment, I'll show you how to use the facilities. You need to shower and clean off that dirt and dried blood so we can address those wounds, but first, let me ask you a few questions.”
Still wondering if his mind had slipped, Angus stiffened his spine and turned his full focus on the woman before him.
“I can see you are unsettled and confused, lad. You are holding up valiantly, but I’m certain those injuries and your clothing are not something one encounters often in this time. And those weapons strapped to your person must be removed. As far as I ken, you may wear a sheathed blade on your belt, but it may bring you more trouble than you’d care to deal with until you know the lay of the land.”
Her appraisal of his dishevelment disconcerted Angus further. What did she mean about time, and not carrying his blades? No self-respecting Scot went about without his weapons. Then again, this place bore no resemblance to his beloved Scotland.
“It’s a good thing our Angel discovered you before you got yourself into a heap of trouble. So, let’s be direct and specific. Do you ken where you are and how you arrived here?”
Angus stared at the woman while a lump the size of a boulder lodged in his throat and tightened his chest preventing him from answering for several seconds. “Your granddaughter tells me this place is called San Francisco.”
“What is the last thing you can recall before she found you?”
He took several moments to consider the wisdom of providing too much detail. On the other hand, so far, these people had done nothing to suggest evil intent.
“We were engaged in battle with my clan’s enemies. I fought beside my...my father. My father...he, he died in that battle, I was holding him when he took his last breath.” The pressure in his chest increased, and he shook his head to hold back the pinch of tears behind his eyes.
“When the enemy approached again, I re-entered the battle. Two men cornered me. One of them struck my head and knocked me over the edge of the hill. I remember sliding down a steep embankment and striking a rock. I awoke in this strange land with monstrous birds the size of crofts in the sky, and horseless carriages that roar like beasts and belch retched stench in the air. I thought for certain I’d landed in hell until my ang—until Lady Angel offered me assistance.” He hadn’t meant to say that last part, but since he’d first laid eyes on the lass, he could not think of her as anything but his angel. And he still hadn't dismissed the thought that he'd landed in hell.
“I see.” A long silence ensued, as Granny M seemed to stare right through him. She motioned toward the chair, “Please sit, the next few questions may find you light-headed.”
“Harrumph,” Angus scoffed at her suggestion. “I’m fine m’lady, I’d rather not soil your fine fabrics with this dirt and blood.”
Dark, piercing green eyes held his gaze. “As you wish. Where and when did this particular battle occur? Tell me the exact date.”
He cocked his head, her question throwing him off-kilter. Why did she require such specific information? He saw no reason to dissemble. “We were engaged in a skirmish with reivers on the far northwestern boarder of our land, some miles northwest of Loch Lomond. It was the 2nd of September in the year of our Lord one thousand, six hundred and seventy-five.”
Granny M placed a gentle hand on his crossed forearms. “You, my lad, have traveled in time. You’ve arrived in San Francisco, a city in the New World, a place barely known in your time. The current year is 1975.
Angus shook his head. Surely, he’d misheard the woman. “Would ye please repeat yerself, m’lady, I dinnae understand ye.”
“No, lad, I don’t believe you misunderstood me. The date is September 3rd, in the year of our Lord, one thousand, nine hundred, and seventy-five…1975.”
Angus swallowed harshly and couldn’t stop the slight sway of his body; a loud buzzing rang through his ears. Sweat drenched the back of his shirt. He leaned his hand and body against the wooden doorframe, certain he might indeed faint. “Ye jest with me. What ye suggest is no’ possible.”
“It’s no jest. I’ll explain more after we’ve attended your injuries. You look as white as a sheet, are you sure you won’t sit for a moment.” Her voice rolled softly in the room. Her face remained calm. No evidence of prevarication marred her expression.
What madness did she speak? He kept shaking his head as he backed away. The walls closed in around him, his breath rasped in his throat, a roar crushed against his skull.
Run! Run, now!
Angus spun on his heels and flew from the room. He banged against furniture as he dashed down the hall, once outside, he tore open the gate and ran as fast as he could.
Awareness of his injuries faded to a dull burn throughout his body. All sights, sounds, and color swirled into a nightmarish jumble in his brain. He ran into other people who pushed and jostled him into the street. Every momentary halt to assess his surroundings confirmed his earlier suspicions that this place, for all its splendor, surely was one of the seven circles of hell. Screams and horns blasted all around him and thrummed like fists against his brain. One of the horseless carriages bumped his hip and knocked him to the ground. He rolled and jumped to his feet. More horseless carriages screeched to a halt, fists flailed out of windows and doors. Curses and shouts assailed him. He thought he heard someone call his name. It didn’t matter. Escape. He must escape. He started running again, despite muscles cramped into hard knots and lungs that felt as though they would explode from his chest. Still, he kept running.
He turned a corner and spotted a large cluster of treetops straight ahead in the distance. Every muscle and bone strained and rebelled against the torment of his speed, but he pushed on. Finally, he reached the shelter of trees with familiar dirt under his feet. He ran off the trail and into an area of thick brush and dense tree cover. When his foot caught on an exposed root, he tumbled forward and slid to a stop panting and gasping for breath.
“Lord, deliver me from this hell.” His words shredded the air he struggled to force into his lungs. He dug his nails into the dirt, then pulled his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to stop the roar in his head, and curled into a ball under the brush.