Chapter Two
“Abigail, are ye well?”
Abby opened her eyes, the stone floor beneath her back seeping coldness into her bones. She sat up and looked about. The memory of what had happened to her was as clear as the woman sitting before her. Smiling at her like some long lost friend.
“Who are you?” She sat up and scooted away from the girl—woman, she corrected herself—as the stranger stood and Abby was able to get a better look at her. She was tall, and well into her twenties.
“I’m Gwen MacLeod. I summoned ye.”
“What?” Abby rubbed her hand and looked about the room. The empty, lifeless building she’d walked into was now full to the brim with bottles with different colored ointments. Herbs hung from the ceiling, some freshly picked and others dried. A roaring fire burned in the grate and a pot hung over it, cooking some sort of food that smelled nicer than anything she’d tasted since landing in Scotland.
“What do you mean by ‘summoned’?”
“Please, don’t stress yourself. I promise I can send you home. Eventually, mind ye. Just let me explain.”
Abby narrowed her eyes. The woman’s Scottish dialect was strong, and yet she spoke clear enough that Abby could understand what she’d said. “Are you going to hurt me?” There was no way in hell she was hanging around here if this summoner wanted her in the pot of stew now bubbling in the grate.
“I would never hurt ye, I promise. I’m a healer, a forward-thinking woman who likes to study other spiritual beliefs. But that declaration must stay between us, if ye don’t mind. Only my family knows of my gifts, and I would like it to stay that way.”
Abby stepped toward the fire, spotting a large iron pole beside it. If only she could reach it without being obvious, she may have some way of getting out of here. Although, where she’d go was another question altogether, if she was in fact no longer in the twenty-first century.
“Very interesting, but I fail to understand why you’ve summoned me here. And where is here, exactly? What have you done?”
The woman’s cheeks flushed in what Abby assumed to be embarrassment. Well good. She should be embarrassed. Dragging people out of their lives, supposably, for who knew if this woman was speaking the truth, was unacceptable. Not to mention dangerous.
“Ye are in Scotland in the year of our Lord, 1601. At my home, Druiminn Castle. This cottage is where I tend to our people, and heal them.”
Abby took another step. “1601.” She rubbed her temple, a headache forming behind her eyes. “I can’t be in seventeenth century Scotland. Everyone died of disease or was slaughtered in battle, male or female. I’ve seen Braveheart. I’ve learned all I need to know about this time and I don’t want to stay here. You have to send me home. Now.” Abby craned her neck to look out the window, but couldn’t spot anyone to give her a sense of what was real or make-believe.
The woman stared at her a moment before laughing. “I knew ye would be perfect. I’ve been watching ye for some time, although I had to wait for ye to be in Scotland before I could bring ye back.” She clapped her hands together and thunder rumbled outside.
Abby slid her hand around the pole and held it up in front of her as she walked to the window. The view made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Where there was once a garden before the cottage, now there was nothing but a few herbs and a rugged path.
The well-defined gravel walkway she’d used to get to the cottage was gone, in fact, trampled grass was the only indication that people walked this way at all.
This isn’t good. “I demand you send me home. Now. This very instant. You’ve gone too far and I don’t know what you think I’m going to be perfect for, but I’m not having any of it. So, unless you want me to do something I might regret later, you’ll do as I ask, right now.”
Gwen’s shoulders sagged, and she held out her hands to stall her. “Please, I really don’t mean ye any harm. Just let me explain.”
“You have exactly ten seconds to explain, and then you can send me home.” Abby glared to emphasize her point. The woman seemed to get it.
“Ever since I was born I’ve had the ability to see things, not of my own time unfortunately, but places, events, well into the future. All my life I’ve known of ye, as you’ve grown, so have I, even though we were born centuries apart. I feel like I know ye verra well.”
“That’s all very nice for you, but what do you want from me? I don’t belong in this time. I’ll probably be slaughtered the moment I walk out that door by some English army who hates everything Scottish. Or some Highlander lord with a penchant for killing innocent women with axes.” Gwen laughed and Abby waved the pole.
“My brother the laird must marry and produce a child as deemed by our father’s dying wish. My brother will proclaim any day now his intention to marry. You, Abigail Cross, are perfect for him and must marry the laird as soon as ye may.”
Abby dropped the pole and then scrambled to pick it up. “What, that’s crazy! I’m not marrying some barbaric, filthy Scottish laird. There may be some hot historical romance novels out there sporting lairds with delightful packages under their kilts, but it’s fiction. Your brother probably never bathes, has bad breath, kills on a whim, and demands obedience from everyone.” Abby started to pace. The absurdity of the situation made perspiration break out everywhere. Great, now I’ll smell as well. “Do you know what century I’m from? What year? I can’t be here because you decided I would make your brother a good wife. I need to go home. Now.”
Gwen paled, and Abby was glad of it. The troublemaking witch needed to back the hell off and send her home.
“I can’t. Not right at this moment. Magic doesn’t work that way. You’ve traveled through time, Abigail. To send you back straight away could leave you stranded in some other time that isn’t your own. I’m sorry, but for the time being, you must stay.”
“What am I going to do? I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. I mean, look at me!” Abby gestured at her clothes. “I think you’ll agree what I’m wearing isn’t appropriate for the period.” The nausea was back and Abby searched for a bucket, anything she could vomit in. Not seeing anything of use, she opened the door and ran out into the claiming dusk, right into a solid mass of muscle.
She stumbled back, this was going to hurt and she’d had about enough of today, but suddenly two large hands wrapped around her arms, saving her dignity and pain.
Abby looked up and up and up some more and felt her mouth open on a sigh. Holy sweet Jesus, who is this?
He stared at her, his gaze narrowed and brow furrowed in disapproval. Abby pushed back a little, bent over, and heaved all over his boots. She distantly heard a curse, but she was beyond caring. Darkness swamped her, and with it came relief. Maybe the heathen Scottish Braveheart holding her had shoved a knife in her heart, putting her out of her misery.