RESCUED BY THE HIGHLANDER Page 4

  But she had other things to think about for now. How she’d gotten to the bottom of the lake could wait. For now, she needed to get to shore. She kept swimming in the direction she’d picked, feeling the effort of swimming beginning to warm her body — but she knew she couldn’t keep it up forever, and she wasn’t sure her body heat was going to be enough to keep her alive. Waves kept slapping at her face and she was gasping for breath, shivering furiously. But the choppy surface did tell her one thing, as did the water that was splashing into her mouth. It wasn’t salty. Fresh water. So, she was in a lake, not the ocean. That was reassuring, somehow. There were plenty of huge lakes, of course — but at least she knew she wasn’t in the ocean. The ocean was a whole separate kettle of fish. In the ocean, currents could bear you out to sea faster than even an Olympic swimmer could make up for. In a lake, the shore was more likely to be within reach.

  Speaking of the shore… Anna narrowed her eyes, squinting through the choppy waves that were splashing against her face. Was she hallucinating, or was that a point of light in the distance? She blinked a few times, not trusting her eyes — but sure enough, distant but definitely visible, was a little point of warm orange light. It was throwing a tiny bit of light out across the surface of the waves, but it was enough for her to get a frame of reference for the lake — and she felt despair sink into her chest. It was so far away — and she could feel her body starting to go into shock. She didn’t have much time. Longer than a civilian, of course. A lot of her training had been about overcoming these kinds of barriers, pushing through on the other side of where most people would have given up.

  But if there was a lantern ahead of her, that meant there was a chance that there could be people, too. It was clearly late at night, by the look of the pitch-dark sky, but any chance of being heard was a chance she wanted to take. Clearing her throat, she yelled for help — then coughed and spluttered as water slopped into her mouth. Panic started to rise, and she fought it down with all the discipline of her training, gathered herself again to shout at the top of her voice.

  “Hello! Help! Man overboard!”

  That wasn’t quite right, she knew, as she kept swimming doggedly toward the light. She’d never actually been on board. But it was the first thing she’d thought of. And it would do. She kept shouting as she swam, feeling her voice getting hoarse as she screamed, until she felt herself running out of air and knew she needed to conserve her breath for swimming. Still — she risked one more shout, on impulse, and to her delight she heard a voice echo back across the water in answer. Definitely not an echo — this voice was low and masculine, a booming voice that carried much more easily than hers had.

  “Hold on!” she heard, and just for a moment she felt completely lost. The voice was speaking English, but something about it reminded her so strongly of the glowing figures in her dream … what could that be? She yelled again, gratefully making as much sound as she could to help her rescuer find her. And within seconds, she could hear the gentle sloshing of another shape in the water, and a huge shape blocked the little lantern from her view. She raised one arm in the water, waving it furiously, laughing giddily at the prospect of rescue.

  Because here it came — a tiny wooden boat, moving swiftly through the dark water. And at the bow of it, staring over the water, there stood a huge man. Was the moonlight playing tricks on her? Anna squinted, her legs paddling furiously beneath her to keep her afloat. If she hadn’t known better, she would almost swear he was wearing armor.

  Chapter 6

  There was no time to waste. Anna was treading water as hard as she could, but she could feel dark spots appearing in her vision, feel her mind begin to circle and spin dangerously as the shock threatened to take over her body. Spending so much time in such freezing water, exerting herself in an effort to get rescued — it was beginning to take its toll, and she knew she only had seconds before she passed out completely. Still she hung on, waving furiously for the boat, praying desperately that they’d spot her before she slipped under the icy water — and she gasped in relief when the man at the helm seemed to spot her. He was fiddling with something on his clothing, but she could hardly see, her vision beginning to blur and spin as unconsciousness came to claim her… still, some dogged part of her clung on, refusing to relinquish life when rescue was so close at hand.

  Then there was a huge splash — and another body in the water with her, jostling her about as her rescuer wrapped huge arms around her slight frame. And not a moment too soon. Anna felt her whole body sag alarmingly, her head dropping to one side as she almost lost consciousness. The next few minutes were a blur — rough wet wood, waves splashing at her face, and finally, her body being hauled forcefully out of the water and shoved over the edge of the boat. She hit the deck hard, freezing air wrapping around her body instantly, and she coughed and spluttered, crawling to her hands and knees as she fought for consciousness. Coughing up lake water, she half-turned to see her rescuer clambering over the edge of the boat — reached out with one hand to help him climb back in.

  It was only a little vessel, barely bigger than a canoe or a dinghy, and it rocked and swayed alarmingly as it grew used to the weight of two people. For a moment, Anna was afraid it was going to capsize again, tipping them both back into that freezing water — but thankfully it settled back into the water, the gentle motion of the waves restoring peace and balance to the little craft.

  “Thank God you were here,” Anna gasped, her voice hoarse from shouting. “Another couple of minutes and I’d have drowned.”

  “Aye, a good thing indeed,” the man replied, moving forward to look at her more closely. There was a little lantern on the bow of the ship, a funny, old-fashioned thing seemingly fueled by gas or kerosene or something with an open flame in it, protected from rain and wind by glass. It cast just enough light to show her the man’s face as he settled down in the front of the boat. He was soaking wet like her, of course, but the light still illuminated a handsome face. He couldn’t be much older than her, though his deep, booming voice had set her in mind of a man in his forties at least. Clear gray eyes, and the hair that was dripping water down the side of his neck must have been blond when it was dry.

  “Donal Grant,” he told her, still breathing hard from their turn in the lake — but he extended a hand to her across the middle of the little boat. Anna took it in hers and shook it, trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

  “Anna Clarke. Thanks for pulling me out of there,” she said, gesturing down at the inky surface of the water. As she looked, she realized with a frown that the water was moving beneath them — the boat had turned as they’d climbed back in and seemed to be heading off. She could see the little point of light she’d been swimming toward beginning to disappear off behind them, slightly to the port side of the little craft. She turned around, searching for whatever motor was propelling it — and found none. It must have been beneath the craft, she reasoned, though it was strange that she couldn’t hear or see it.

  Donal was looking at her hard, his gray eyes slightly narrowed, and she looked back at him, tilting her head to the side. She must have looked quite a sight — dripping wet, her short dark hair plastered to her face, her teeth chattering furiously. And she was wearing her pajamas, of course — a pair of gray track pants and a white T-shirt. Not exactly swimwear. How was she going to explain what she’d been doing out there to this man, when she didn’t even know herself how she’d gotten out there? Hopefully they’d get to shore soon. She’d need to seek medical attention for the shock and the hypothermia, that was for sure — she could check in with them about the memory loss, too. In the meantime, she owed this man some attempt at an explanation.

  “You won’t believe this — I’ve got no idea how I got out there,” she started, with a helpless gesture of her hands. “Memory loss, I think. No injuries to my head—” she’d been checking with her hands since they got into the boat “—so I’m not sure what’s going on. If I could borrow your phone and call
an ambulance, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Ambulance,” he repeated thoughtfully, as though he’d never heard the word before. “That’s a new one. What does it mean?”

  “What does it…?” She looked at him, finally placing the accent. “D’you call them something different in Scotland?” Or was he Irish? It was so difficult for her to tell those accents apart. Ignorant American, she supposed… but there’d been an Irish guy in her company on her second tour. Donal sounded a little like him, but not quite enough that she’d pin him as Irish. Besides, Donal was the most Scottish name she could think of. “You know. The big vans with medical equipment they send in medical emergencies.”

  “Nothing like that in our world, I’m afraid.” He chuckled. “The town doctor has a bag he carries, that’s about it.”

  Our world? What the hell did he mean by that? She narrowed her eyes, her gratitude for the rescue beginning to flag in the face of her confusion. “Well, I’m going to need to go to a hospital. And probably talk to the police, too.”

  “Listen, let’s have a chat with Maggie. She’ll clear things up.”

  The way he spoke that rather unmagical name seemed to suggest that this woman was in charge around here. Well, fine. Clearly, she’d managed to be dumped in a lake surrounded by strange, deliberately obtuse — but very handsome — Scottish men, wearing… she narrowed her eyes, looking a little more closely at what he was wearing. From the water, she’d thought she was crazy for thinking he was wearing armor. But as she watched, he was buckling something back onto his body, and her eyes widened as she realized her eyes hadn’t failed her. He was wearing a set of extremely realistic armor. Like, proper realistic. This wasn’t some Halloween costume — this was stuff her SCA buddies would be whistling at and interrogating him about. A leather vest braced with metal sat over his shoulders and upper chest, and chainmail fell down to cover his abdomen. And beneath that — wow. He was actually wearing a kilt. A blue tartan patterned kilt, over a pair of solid-looking boots that he’d clearly neglected to kick off before jumping into the water with her. She felt a pang of guilt looking down at them — they looked like leather. Hopefully the lake water wouldn’t do too much damage to them. Not as much as saltwater would, at any rate.

  He caught her looking and raised an eyebrow at her, and she grinned apologetically. “Sorry. I just — why’re you wearing armor, out of interest?”

  He looked at her blankly. “What d’ye mean, why?”

  “Is it a costume? I go to the local chapter of the SCA like, twice a week, I think it’s cool, I just —” She broke off, feeling a shiver rip through her body. Her teeth were chattering almost too hard to talk as the little boat sped through the water, and his look of slightly affronted confusion gave way to concern. At their feet was a huge pile of what looked like dark cloth — he gathered it up and tossed it to her. It was thick, heavy dark cloth, lined with what looked suspiciously like real fur.

  “Keep warm,” he said softly, tucking the cloth around her shoulders. It was slightly damp, but she realized, gratefully, that that wasn’t stopping it from keeping her warm. Even keeping the wind off her was a big improvement, and by the time the little boat came to rest by a jetty, she was almost feeling warm. She was still soaking wet, shaken and dizzy with shock and adrenaline coursing through her from her near-death experience, of course, but the cloak — whatever it was made of — was certainly helping.

  Donal hopped nimbly out of the boat, surprising her — he was light on his feet for such a large man. He offered her his hand and helped her out, moving a little more cautiously than he had to avoid tipping the boat over. If she never touched the waters of this particular lake again in her life, it would be too soon, as far as she was concerned. When she straightened up, she looked up at Donal, trying to get a sense of his height. Everyone was taller than her — but this guy was pretty big even as men went. He looked down at her with amusement crinkling his gray eyes, and she pointed at him warningly.

  “Make a short joke, I dare you.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, looking innocently toward the dark sky above them, and to her surprise she found herself grinning a little. He was a strange man, this Donal Grant, but something about him made her like him. It helped that he was easy on the eyes, of course, she thought to herself, giving him a sidelong glance as they walked along the crooked wooden jetty that jutted out into the water. Handsome, well-built men who rescued her from certain death got a free pass on short jokes, that was the rule.

  She looked around, trying to figure out where on earth she was. The memory loss seemed to be transient, which was a relief — she hadn’t lost any more patches of time since the gap between going to sleep in her bed and waking up at the bottom of a lake. A huge lake, too, she thought, glancing back out over it as they neared the end of the jetty. She didn’t know of any lakes like that around where she lived. Whatever had happened to her, it must have involved a pretty significant trip. Had someone kidnapped her from her bed, dragged her to their car and driven off into the day with her in the backseat? They must have done something to her… drugged her somehow, maybe clamped chloroform over her mouth. Could that explain the memory loss?

  “Where are we?” she asked Donal, looking around. There was just so much — wilderness. The jetty led them to a little path that wound its way up the side of a hill, covered in bushes and trees. She could see a little light glowing toward the top of the hill — another lantern like the one on the boat, a tiny flame lighting their way toward it. What was wrong with just turning their lights on? Was it Earth Hour around here or something? She hoped the little cabin they were headed for at least had heating. She was freezing cold despite the cloak.

  “Maggie’ll fill you in on everything,” the man at her side said patiently.

  She frowned. Would it really be so hard to just fill her in on where she was? Maybe this man was a little bit simple. Perhaps Maggie was his caregiver, some kindly old woman who’d taken in this simple man and let him indulge his fondness for medieval costuming. Well, hopefully she could help Anna. A change of dry, warm clothes would be very much appreciated… and hopefully she could lend her a phone, too, get her to hospital. She didn’t trust the way her body was shaking, the dizzy feeling in her head. At the very least, she’d like to check herself into hospital overnight for observation. She wouldn’t be surprised if she got a nasty head cold by the time all this was over.

  She didn’t have to wait long to meet Maggie. As they climbed to the cabin on the hill, she realized that a clump of shadows in the corner of the porch that she’d assumed was just some old furniture was actually a woman, sitting comfortably in a rocking chair. A kindly-looking old woman, small and plump, with a gnarled and weathered old face that nonetheless shone with a kindness that made Anna instinctively want to trust her.

  “Hello, Anna Clarke,” the woman chortled. “Welcome to Loch Ness.”

  Chapter 7

  Anna stared at Maggie in the flickering light of the lantern that stood on her porch. Then, with timing that would have been comic if it hadn’t been so genuinely motivated, she spun around to look out over the black, icy waters of the lake she’d just been hauled out of. Donal, beside her, shifted in his spot a little, clearly fighting a smile.

  “I know you’ve come a long way,” Maggie said softly, her voice chiming with the same (rather gorgeous) Scottish accent as Donal’s. “It’s bound tae take some gettin’ used to.”

  “Loch Ness,” Anna said flatly, spinning back around. With a cloak clutched around her shoulders and her body shaking with cold, she hardly felt like her usual self, but she still did her best to channel some of her training and put on the most assertive mask she could. “Alright. I’ve been pretty patient. I’d appreciate it if both of you would stop jerking me around and tell me what’s actually happening.”

  But Maggie just smiled at her, her dark eyes crinkled up. She was very calm for a mad woman, Anna reflected irritably, looking over her shoulder again at the lake. Sh
e wished she had her phone on her — or something vaguely technological, at least. They hadn’t seen so much as a paved road since Donal had yanked her out of the water, and it was beginning to wear on her nerves. Technology was reassuring. Even the boat’s motor had been hidden beneath it. (Had there even been a motor at all? she found some mad section of her brain asking.)

  “No, seriously,” she tried again, trying to break through the calm, placid facade that Maggie was projecting. The woman was clad in a strange set of clothing — she was wearing some kind of ancient old dress, with a great long cardigan over the top. Knitted, clearly, out of whatever wool was lying around — there had to be at least a dozen different shades and styles of wool, and the overall effect was rather disturbing. In the flickering light of the lantern, the cardigan almost seemed to move and shift under the light, as though it were alive — or as though little creatures were moving about underneath it. Anna shuddered at that idea. No thanks. She was a tough woman, but she hated bugs. Even the suggestion of bugs. “Where am I? I was in Washington when I went to bed, and I’m missing a chunk of my memory, so I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop playing around with me.”

  “She’s rather disoriented, isn’t she?” Maggie murmured, her dark eyes flicking up to Donal. The man was just standing there like a statue, clearly waiting for this conversation to be over, as though he didn’t have a role in it.