Chapter Three

 

 

Kerry opened her eyes to find a highlander staring down at her. He looked a lot like the man from her childhood dreams, the man who’d come on horseback night after night to rescue her from dragons or cruel lords or from being locked away in some tower or other. Was this a dream too? Was she still asleep?

“Hello,” she managed to say, blinking away the blurring of her vision, her throat too dry to add anything to that first word. It couldn’t be a dream. Her throat hurt too much.

“I willnae marry you,” the highlander said, folding his arms as he did so.

“Sorry?” Kerry replied, coughing as she tried to sit up. Shuffling her arms up the bed, she managed to get half upright, taking a better look at the man staring back at her.

He was tall and broad, bare chested apart from a tartan baldric across his chest. He looked a lot like one of the illustrations in The Saga of Callum MacCleod. No wonder she’d thought it was a dream.

His hair was dark and close cropped though the ends were a mess, as if cut by knife rather than scissors. His eyes blazed as he stared at her. She felt as if she’d clearly done something to infuriate him though she had no idea what.

Even angry he looked good, strong cheekbones, chest muscles she could ski off, legs almost splitting the hose that struggled to confine them. He was tall and broad shouldered, filling the room so much she was surprised the walls weren’t bulging outward to accommodate him.

“You’re a fine looking lass,” he continued. “But it wouldnae be right. I cannae see you get left behind and hurt by me dying in battle. I will not have you weep like Moira for Orm. Get well and then get yourself home. I willnae marry you.”

Kerry coughed again. “That’s good to know,” she said. “If it helps, I wasn’t planning on marrying you either.”

“Dinnae mock me. I dinnae take kindly to jests.”

“I’m not mocking you. I swear, right now marriage is the last thing on my mind. Maybe buy me a drink first? Or start by asking me my name perhaps?”

He scowled at her attempt at humor, walking away without another word.

The door closed and then she was alone. She sat up further, looking around the room, trying to remember how she’d got there.

The last thing she remembered was being on the phone to her mom and then something had happened. What was it?

The room itself was like something from a movie. She felt as if she’d wandered behind the velvet rope in a National Trust property somewhere, sneaking into a bed she was most definitely not supposed to touch. It was clearly hundreds of years old and yet it wasn’t at the same time. It looked new but that wasn’t possible.

She ran her hands over it, feeling the coldness of the surface. It was made of wood and solid enough. Tartan wool blankets covered her, the same color and style of tartan the strange man had been wearing across his chest.

The walls were white plaster and covered in tapestries. Instead of light fittings there were candles attached to the wall in iron stands. A single window to her left was open but there was no glass in it and the sill was at least two feet broad, set in thick walls. Beyond the window was bright light but from her position all she could see was a pale blue sky outside.

The floor was covered in straw and smelled sweet, like being in a barn just after harvest. There was not a single modern thing in the room. Apart from her.

Where was she? How had she got there?

The door at the far end opened and a woman in a wimple walked in, the rushes shifting under the hem of her white linen dress as she crossed to the bed. She was carrying a tray in her arms. “You’re awake,” the woman said. “And I see you’ve already annoyed Callum.”

“Callum?” Kerry blinked, wondering if this was a dream. “You don’t mean Callum MacLeod, do you?” His face came into her head again, her body stirring as she thought how good he’d looked despite his anger.

“Aye, lass. Are you saying your fiancé didnae introduce himself properly before he stormed off?”

“My fiancé?”

“Aye. You really did do some damage to your head if you dinnae remember getting engaged to the laird’s son. Here, drink this.” She set the tray down on the end of the bed and passed a horn cup over.

“What’s in it?”

“Nettle tea. Good for after a fall.”

Kerry took a sip. It wasn’t as bad as she’d been expecting. “You should try adding mint sometime. Is that what happened to me?” she asked as the woman straightened the blankets. “Did I fall?”

“Aye lass. We got a couple of the blacksmith’s boys to carry you up here.”

“And where is here?”

“The tower room.”

“The tower room of…?”

“MacCleod castle of course.”

Kerry felt her head pound as she tried to take it all in. “You’re telling me I’m in the garret of the east tower of MacCleod castle and I’m betrothed to Callum MacCleod?”

“Aye, lass. I’m glad your memory is returning, is it not? You know about this place then?”

“Sort of. I read it in a book. Can you help me up?”

“I’m not sure I should. I’m under strict instructions to keep you resting for at least a week.”

“Either help me up or I’m doing it anyway.” She swung her legs out of the blankets, surprised to see they were uncovered. “Where are my clothes?”

“You were naked when you were found, lass. We wanted to wait until you woke to dress you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Was it bandits?”

“Was what bandits?” Kerry snapped, wrapping the blanket around her as she got slowly to her feet, the woman holding her arm to help.

“That stripped you and left you for dead outside the walls. We heard nothing but then you were just there. Did you fall from a horse or something?”

“Who’s we?”

“Me and Melissa. We were gathering the last of the blackberries when we found you. Not much point, they’re long past their best but they do still make good dye, I suppose. Do you really not remember any of this?”

Kerry almost stumbled as pain wracked her skull. A question had to be asked but she didn’t want to know the answer, not really. “If this is the tower and that was Callum MacCleod, what year is it?”

“It’s the year of our Lord, 1190, October the fifteenth to be exact.”

“1190?”

“Aye.”

“As in the year 1190?”

The woman nodded.

Kerry crossed to the window and looked down. Far below she could see a raised earthwork above a moat, thick brambles coating the slopes, sheep on top pulling at tufts of yellowing grass.

Lifting her head she looked out at the countryside beyond. It was a sea of greens and browns, low hills that rose past woodland to distant mountains. To the left, just visible, the ocean sparkled and shimmered like sunlight on a mackerel’s back. No roads, no cars, no houses. Just fields and mountains and the ocean beyond. 

“This isn’t a dream, is it?” she asked, turning back around to face the woman. “This is real, isn’t it?”

“As real as I am,” the woman replied, holding out a linen nightshirt. “Now come and get back into bed before you faint.”

Kerry let the woman dress her before guiding her under the blankets once more. She’d seen Back to the Future enough times to know what was happening though arriving in the past naked had more of a Terminator vibe to it.

She was in the middle ages. Stephen Hawking eat your heart out. She couldn’t tell anyone how she’d done it though if she ever got home again. She had no idea how it had happened. She couldn’t remember anything between talking to her mom on the phone and then waking up to find that highlander telling her he wouldn’t marry her.

That reminded her. Why did they think she was his fiancée? Who had they mistaken her for? And more importantly, what would happen if his actual fiancé turned up? “Do you know my name?” she asked the woman who was busy pouring more nettle tea into the horn cup.

“Aye. Of course I do.”

“Who am I?”

“You’re Nessa MacKay. Are you all right? You look awful pale all of a sudden.”

“Could you let me rest a while. I feel a little queasy.”

“Of course. I’ll go fetch some lamb’s mint. It’s good for the stomach.”

She left, closing the door behind her. Kerry sank into the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. “Relax,” she told herself out loud. “Just relax. There’s no need to panic. What would Marty McFly do? Probably try and get off with his mom, that’s not much use to me. What about the Terminator?” A thought occurred to her. “Maybe it’s more like Quantum Leap. Maybe I’m here to change something about the future. Ah, but Doc told Marty never to change the future. Which is it?”

She pulled the blanket over her head, shutting out the world above as she worked out what to do next. “One thing for sure, I can’t do much until my memory comes back. If I’m here to change things, I better wait and see what pops up. What else can I do but wait? I sure can’t get home until I work out how I got here.”

With a decision reached, she let her head emerge from the blankets again. The pain in her skull ebbed away, as if it had been waiting for her to choose to accept the reality of where she was.

“I’m in the past,” she said, smiling broadly. “I get to see what it was actually like then.” Her smile faded as she thought of her father. He would have killed to have been in her position. She felt a wave of sadness as she realized that even if she did make it home, she’d never be able to discuss it with him.

He was dead. That was something she remembered. He was a medieval history professor and he’d died of cancer four years ago. Well, four years ago and eight hundred years in the future. He hadn’t even been born yet. That thought made her head hurt again. What about her mother? She had just spoken to her before this happened. What had they been talking about?

Nothing else came back to her before the woman reappeared holding a bunch of strong smelling mint. “Nibble on this,” she said, passing it to Kerry. “One leaf at a time.”

“What’s your name?” Kerry asked. “You didn’t say before.”

“I’m Sheena. Are you hungry yet? Dinner is not for another couple of hours but I could have the kitchen prepare something cold for you if you like?”

“I would love that, thank you.”

“I’ll go tell them at once.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Do you feel strong enough?”

“I think so.”

“Then I shall fetch some proper clothing for you. I’ll be right back.”

She returned a few minutes later bearing an armful of things. “You might have to help me dress,” Kerry said, not sure what part belonged to which. “What are these things?”

“This is a kirtle,” Sheena said, dropping something a lot like the nightshirt over her head. “Do you really not know that?”

“I’ve forgotten a lot,” Kerry covered. “Would you mind telling me what this lot is?” She put her arms up for the dress to go over the kirtle.

“The girdle helps bunch it up,” Sheena said, wrapping a thin woolen belt around her waist. “The fashion at the moment is for lots of folds. Try it this way. That’s it. Now put the hose on.”

Her legs were clad in plain hose and then she was provided with loose fitting leather shoes, seams on the outside.

“What’s that?” Kerry asked as Sheena picked up the last item, a white linen box.

“Your hat or do you want the world to see your hair and think you’re available? Only young lassies looking for a man have their hair on show around here.”

Into the hat, Sheena shoved most of her hair before passing her a pair of detachable sleeves that buttoned onto the dress. They hung down low from her arms and Sheena shook her head as she looked at them.

“The latest fashion,” she said by way of explanation. “I’m not a fan, myself but then I’m out of touch about most of the newfangled stuff that comes from Europe. How does all that feel?”

“Heavy and hot,” Kerry said before apologizing. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It looks lovely.”

“You’re only hot because of the fire in here. Wait until you get out into the wind outside. One thing though, we better avoid Callum. He doesnae want you wandering the castle.”

“Why not?”

Sheena looked torn, as if trying to decide what to say. “He doesnae want to see you.”

“He said that?”

“Aye, I saw him while I was getting your dress. Said you’re not to speak to him and he’ll not speak to you. When you’re well, he wants you to go home at once.”

“And where is my home?”

“Why, back on the mainland of course. Are you sure you’re well enough to go walking? Your memory is as patchy as my sewing skills.”

“I think the fresh air will do me good.”

“You’ll not get much of that in the kitchen but I suppose we should get some food in you. You’ve been out for seven days, did you ken that?”

“Seven days? No wonder I feel weak.”

“Weak for a week.” Sheena chuckled at her own joke. “Come on then, let’s go get you something to eat.”