RESCUED BY THE HIGHLANDER Page 6

  “And Nessie,” Maggie contributed sagely. She’d been nodding agreement along with every word Anna had said. “I advised her to be on the look-out, too.”

  “Right. The Loch Ness Monster. She helped me to the surface. That makes sense.” Yeah, this was either a dream, or a prank that these two had over-committed to. Had the scraped arm been a part of the plan, she wondered? “So, I guess my question is… why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why time-travel me all the way back here, and halfway across the world to boot? Why me, specifically? I’m a soldier and a self-defense instructor. Did the faeries see my ad or something, decide that their sixteenth-century buddies needed a few tips? Because I’m happy to help, but you know, I can’t say a phone call wouldn’t have been a better introduction.” She got sarcastic when she was frustrated — she could hear it slipping out now, her tendency to lay into people when she had no other option, but she couldn’t do much about it.

  Maggie seemed to understand. She didn’t snap back at Anna — didn’t even seem to respond to her snarking. Instead, she deftly wrapped Donal’s arm in bandages, having thoroughly smeared it with whatever strange herbal poultice she’d concocted. The man was sighing happily, flexing his arm back and forth to test the bandage. “Thanks, Maggie,” he said with real warmth, and Anna couldn’t help but smile at the simplicity of his gratitude. “You’re a miracle worker.”

  “Oh, aye. And you’ll be needin’ a change of clothes,” she added, not looking at Anna as she bustled over to an overflowing chest of drawers that was stationed by the fireplace, for some reason. “These’ll fit. Promise.”

  She flung a couple of items at Anna, who caught them out of habit, frowning down at them. A pair of what looked like sturdy riding pants, made of some kind of soft leather, and a soft, rough cotton blouse.

  “Keep that cloak on, mind. The night’s chilly.”

  “What about Donal?”

  “He’s a big tough man, he’ll be fine.” Maggie leered over her shoulder as she rummaged through the drawer a little more, hauling out a woolen jumper that she added to the little pile in Anna’s lap. “But if you’re worried about him catchin’ a chill, maybe you ought to share.”

  “Maggie,” Donal hissed under his breath.

  Anna couldn’t help but smirk a little to herself. She didn’t blame Maggie for teasing the man — it was hilarious how quickly he folded under that kind of pressure. Just like a lot of the soldiers she’d met — absolutely ice-cold under the pressure of gunfire, melted like ice lollies at a bit of gentle ribbing about girls they liked.

  Anna shrugged off her T-shirt and pajama bottoms, which had still only half-dried even in the impressive heat of the little fire, then pulled the clothes Maggie had thrown her on over her bra and underpants. She was distracted by a great crashing of crockery and looked up, startled, to see Maggie rocking back and forth in a chair, cackling wildly at Donal. He had rocketed to his feet and turned his back on Anna so quickly that he’d upset a whole precarious stack of mugs, all of which were now rolling willy-nilly around on the stone floor of the cottage. Anna couldn’t help but snort laughter.

  “Sorry,” she admitted, grinning. “Six years in the military. We got pretty casual about stripping off. Old habits die hard, and all that.”

  “Oh, you’ve got a lot to learn about modern women, Donal,” Maggie was goading him, jabbing at him with one end of the pestle she’d used to make his poultice. He was picking up the mugs he’d upset, and Anna could see the back of his neck had blushed bright red. She finished dressing and grinned.

  “I’m decent, Donal, feel free to turn around.”

  “If you’re sure,” he grumbled, shooting her a dark look over his shoulder. His handsome face was still flushed bright red. Anna obediently spun, demonstrating the rather shapeless — but well-fitting and definitely warm — change of clothing Maggie had given her. Quietly, she wouldn’t have minded Donal catching more than a glimpse of her in her underthings. She had a tight, wiry body that she was more than a little bit proud of — mostly for what it could do, of course, but she knew it was also the kind of frame that most women would kill to have. Sleek and streamlined, with just enough padding in the right places to remind anyone looking at her that she was all woman. Donal had done plenty of showing off his own assets — those huge, muscular arms of his, easily pictured wielding a sword or building a castle… she grinned a little to herself. The sixteenth century aesthetic suited him. Maybe that was why he played whatever weird game this was.

  “Anyway, I won’t keep you,” Maggie said innocently, and all of a sudden, they were being ushered toward the door.

  Anna blinked in alarm, turning back toward the fire. “My socks —”

  “Come back for them in a few days, aye? I’ll get ‘em clean and dry for ye. Besides, I want to know how you get on, settlin’ in at the Sept and all.”

  “I’m not staying for —”

  “Goodnight, Maggie,” Donal said cheerfully, waving to the woman as she gently but firmly began to close her cottage door on them.

  “Wait,” Anna protested. “I don’t even have any shoes!”

  “Don’t be silly,” Maggie’s voice came through the half-opened door. “The ones on the porch are just your size.”

  Then the door slammed shut, hard, leaving them both standing on the porch in the freezing cold air of, apparently, sixteenth century Scotland.

  Chapter 9

  “Why would these boots be my size?” Anna grumbled, tapping hopefully on the door as though Maggie might change her mind. Donal was standing on the steps, clearly impatient to leave, and he gestured toward the boots Maggie had set out as though Anna was the one being unreasonable by refusing to leave with him immediately. “I just got here — how could she know what size —”

  “Maggie has a way of knowing these things,” Donal explained, as though that wasn’t absolutely ridiculous. “Call it intuition. Or maybe the Sidhe told her, I don’t know.”

  “The what?” Anna gave up tapping on the door. She could hear Maggie inside, singing extremely loudly in a language she didn’t recognize — though to her alarm, it sounded eerily like whatever strange tongue the creatures in her dream had spoken. That wasn’t a coincidence she liked. Especially since Maggie had guessed, so accurately, the content of that dream. How on earth had she done that? That wasn’t a bad trick, now she thought about it. Unless she’d somehow contrived to plant the dream in Anna’s head herself… but surely not. There was no way to do that that wasn’t — magic. And magic wasn’t real. Neither were faeries, or teleportation, or goddamn time travel. Irritated with herself for buying into the woman’s spooky little performance, Anna turned away and grabbed the boots in one smooth motion, heading over to drop herself angrily onto the steps leading up to the little porch.

  “The Sidhe. You know. The Fair Folk.”

  “Oh, the faeries, right,” Anna scoffed, yanking the boots onto her feet. To her shock, they fit perfectly. “What the hell? Nobody has feet my size.” It was true — her feet were even smaller than the rest of her, if that were even possible. To avoid shopping in children’s stores, Anna often got boots made to order. It was a little more expensive, true, but at least it meant she didn’t have to deal with the indignity of being fitted next to twelve-year-olds. It had gotten her picked on a little in the military, too, but there had been plenty of other reasons to pick on her there. Gender and height were an inexhaustible source of material for her less-than-kind colleagues — they hardly even remembered that her feet were so small, they were so busy picking on her for being female and just under five foot in height.

  The boots were really, really comfortable, she had to admit. Reluctantly, she got to her feet with the laces tied, taking a few experimental steps. They sat on her feet the way her army boots had, as though they’d been molded to her feet by hours of running and training and standing in the freezing rain… but that was impossible. She’d only just put them on. How could there be boots here that fit
ted her so well? What kind of freakish coincidence was that?

  “Like I said — Maggie has her ways,” Donal explained, his eyebrow quirked in amusement. “I don’t know what else to tell you. She knew you were coming from the Fair Folk, like she said. So, she made arrangements, I guess.”

  “I mean, I’m grateful that I’m not barefoot, but — “

  “I understand,” Donal said gently, extending his hand to her. She took it and let him help her up, charmed a little by the friendly look in his eyes. “Honestly, I do. You’ve suffered a great shock, and it’s incredibly disorienting, being propelled through time and space like that —”

  “Ugh, not this again. Time travel isn’t real. Stop trying to mess with me.”

  “Alright. We don’t need to talk about it. I can tell you’re a little addled from the trip, so I’ll let Maeve explain it all to you later, when you’re feeling better.”

  She narrowed her eyes at that. He’d been doing so well with his charming accent and his handsome face — and then he had to go ahead and be a condescending man about the whole situation. How disappointing. She was familiar with that tone — she’d gotten it from commanding officer after commanding officer, dismissing her suggestions and ideas in battle because of her gender, suggesting that her ‘women’s intuition’ wasn’t the best way to make decisions — never mind that they’d made rash judgments on the basis of ‘hunches’ from any of the men. How was that any different than her intuition, she’d demanded? They never had an answer. The answer was that they trusted men where they didn’t trust women, and that was just the way it was. She’d had to work ten times as hard to earn half the trust of the men in her battalion.

  But she’d done it. She’d done it and then some, rising in the ranks and in the esteem of her commanding officers, again and again. And she hadn’t done it by lashing out or getting angry — that would’ve just confirmed their suspicions about her being emotional and dramatic. Never mind that men were emotional and dramatic all the time, of course — there was a different, and much harsher, set of expectations on her as a result of her gender. But she’d controlled herself. She’d bided her time. And she’d proven, over and over again, that she was ten times the soldier they thought she was.

  And if this weird renaissance fair wannabe thought that he was going to make her feel stupid where every single one of her commanding officers had failed, he had another think coming. So, she straightened her back, smiled sweetly up at him, and stepped off the step, heading back down the path toward the lake.

  “Wait,” Donal called from behind her, hurrying after her. “The castle’s this way —”

  “Oh, I know. You mentioned. But I’m not going anywhere with you until you give me a straight answer.”

  “Anna, wait!” He grabbed her by the arm, sounding exasperated.

  Her temper frayed, then, just a little bit. This was a move she taught a lot, and maybe it was all the repetitions she’d been doing lately in her training sessions, but it was just the most natural thing in the world to spin, seize him by the arm, and effortlessly twist it up behind his back. He yelped, dropping to his knees in an instinctive gesture that stopped her from breaking his arm. Anna grinned. Textbook.

  “Rule one, don’t touch me uninvited, alright?” she warned him.

  He was swearing. At least, she thought he was swearing — he’d flipped into another language the minute she’d jerked his arm behind his back, a fluid, rather lovely language that sounded deeply profane. There’d been a few guys in her company who’d spoken Spanish fluently, and listening to them swear had been beautiful. This was similar — but she didn’t like the idea that he was calling her nasty names that she had no way of understanding.

  “Alright?” she repeated, increasing the pressure on his arm.

  He yelped. “Alright! Alright! Ouch,” he muttered, climbing to his feet after she’d released his arm.

  “Be grateful I didn’t grab your injured one,” she warned him. “Now. Tell me where we are.”

  “Loch Ness,” he said, grinding his teeth. “I’m Donal Blake, Laird of Urquhart Castle. I understand that you’re not from around here, that you’re confused, but I am telling you the truth. You recognized my armor. Look at my sword.” He thrust a weapon into her hand, and she stared down at it, her eyes narrowed.

  “It’s dark. I can’t see it properly.”

  “Then come to the castle, you nightmare of a woman! How am I to prove something you’re unwilling to even consider? I’ve seen things I hadn’t believed possible, too, but I wasn’t so bloody stubborn about it!”

  She handed the sword back, the corner of her mouth twitching. She didn’t mind this side of him. He lowered his arms, looking chagrined.

  “I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “We’ve only just met, and that was very rude —”

  “No, I liked it.” She chuckled. “Laird, is it? Not Lord?”

  “Aye, Laird. Lord’s what the English say.”

  “Oh, and we don’t like the English here?”

  He gave her a disbelieving look, and she laughed again.

  “Fair enough, Laird Donal. Should I curtsey?”

  “Aye, no need to make fun,” he grumbled. “Just come with me to the castle and try to keep an open mind, yeah?”

  “Fine,” she sighed. Honestly, she was glad he hadn’t called her bluff. She didn’t much fancy trudging away across the wilderness. Wherever they were, it was freezing cold, and she couldn’t see a light in sight. A castle sounded much better. Ridiculous, of course, but better. And though her pragmatic side knew that this man was mad, her romantic side — the side of her that loved swords, the side of her that spent every Saturday night discussing history and folklore with other nerds — was absolutely thrilled by the idea of travelling back in time to medieval Scotland.

  And so, she fell into step with Laird Donal, of Castle Urquhart (was that a historical castle, she wondered? Exactly how detailed was this silly cover story of his?) This was the weirdest night of her life. But if she was going to be trekking around in the wilderness with a strange man, she was glad he was such a handsome one.

  Chapter 10

  “So, what’s your clan?” he asked, a few minutes later. They had climbed a steep bluff and were trekking along the coast of the lake, the black water lapping at the rock some twenty feet below them. Anna kept a wide berth of the edge of the cliff. She’d already taken one rather unpleasant dip in that water — she didn’t fancy falling off a cliff and taking another swim. Even if there is a Loch Ness Monster at the ready to save me, she thought with a snort. Really, if they’d wanted her to believe all this time travel nonsense, they could have done better than dumping the Loch Ness Monster on her straightaway. How was she supposed to respond to that, except with ridicule?

  At least she was warm now. The blouse and jumper Maggie had given her were just the right kind of fabric to keep out the wind and the cold — and with Donal’s cloak tucked around her shoulders, she was as warm as toast. The steep climb up the bluff had helped, too. Really got the blood pumping. As did the company, actually, she thought to herself with a smile, glancing up at Donal now and then as they climbed. He’d reclaimed his sword from her and sheathed it in his belt. Something about a handsome man with a sword was just … well, it was good. It was definitely good, that was all there was to it.

  “My clan?”

  “Well, you’re a Changeling, right?”

  “A what?”

  “A Changeling. Taken away by the faerie folk.”

  “Don’t start that stupid stuff again, okay?” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m Anna Clarke. I’m a veteran, I teach self-defense, I train recruits part-time.”

  “Alright, alright,” the man said, lifting his hands up as though she’d been yelling at him. “Keep your secrets. But you’ll grow to understand the people at Castle Urquhart — we know a lot more about the Fair Folk than the average person.”

  “And a whole lot more than I do,” she grumbled, picking up her pace a li
ttle bit. Why was everyone carrying on about faeries? There was a guy who came to her Saturday night meetings who was absolutely obsessed with folklore. Anything faerie-related, he was into it. Not just cute little creatures who had enchanting tea parties down the bottom of your garden, either. He liked the darker stories — tales about creatures who stole children away and sent them back strange and different, strange, alien creatures who didn’t understand the ways of humans but tried their hardest to interfere regardless. They were spooky, the stories he told, and for Anna, who was more interested in the military history side of everything, he was a bit of an unsettling guy to be around. So, it figured that she’d landed herself right in the middle of a community of people just like him. Why did it have to be me that got kidnapped and dumped in a lake, she wondered irritably. That guy would’ve loved it here. He’d probably still be in the water, splashing around with the Loch Ness Monster. She had to give them points for creativity — she’d never have thought of that mythical creature being a faerie.

  But the Loch Ness Monster isn’t real, she thought to herself, an uncharacteristic crack of doubt appearing in her shell. So, if it wasn’t… what had lifted her to the surface? She was trying to talk herself into believing that it hadn’t been a creature at all — that the pressure beneath her could be explained by a freak current of the water, or something — but the more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t deny that there had been some kind of great body beneath her in the water. A hallucination spat out by her oxygen-starved brain? No — she hadn’t been that badly in need of air yet. Getting there, certainly, but she’d had her wits about her. Everything had been crystal clear. But she hadn’t seen anything.

  Still, the doubt was gnawing at her. So was the concern about the ridiculous claim Maggie and Donal had made about time travel. Sixteenth century, her eye. It wasn’t possible. It definitely wasn’t possible. But that was the funny thing about sentences like ‘it’s not possible’ — the more you repeated them to yourself, the weaker they were. She needed to hear them from the people around her. And so far in this weird evening, Anna was the only person on the side of rational thinking. Of course, she hadn’t time travelled to the sixteenth century. It was just — coincidental, that she hadn’t seen any electric light, or any signs of landmarks that would place her in the twenty-first century where she belonged. That Maggie had lived in an extremely accurate medieval cottage… that Donal, walking along beside her, was wearing spot-on sixteenth-century armor and (from what she’d been able to make out of his sword) carrying a historically accurate weapon. She had to admit to herself — when he’d given her the sword, there had been enough moonlight to give it a decent inspection. But she’d given it back, afraid of what she might find there, using the lack of light as an excuse.