Chapter 5

5

T hrough the darkness that voice came again, urging him to follow. He tried, he really did, but his legs would not carry him far enough or fast enough. The pain in his head grew and intensified until he could only moan. He couldn’t fight much more.

Then she was there, just as before, but this time she called him by name. Douglas, she said in a whispery soft voice that floated through him, around him. Despite the hushed tones, he heard the power in it, calling to him, commanding him to follow.

He moved his head toward the sound and the pain roared again, the weakness invading his limbs and head. Then he opened his eyes and she was there.

Walking through the flames, she called to him again. Come to me, Douglas. Come to me now. Then she was near enough to touch, and her glowing green eyes looked into him. Her gaze never left his as she reached up to touch his face.

Her hands were cool, blessedly cool, and he felt the heat draining from his body. He shivered in relief, the absence of the pain suddenly making him dizzy and light-headed.

She kept her hands in place and steadied him a bit longer.

Then she backed away and disappeared from his view. But her voice beckoned from the darkness...

Come with me now, Douglas.

Douglas fought to open his eyes. And even when he did he couldn’t see anything. He turned his head to look around and waited for that crushing pain to return. But, it didn’t. Peering into the darkness of wherever he was, Douglas saw nothing.

Then, slowly, images began to raise themselves before him. He could make out a small fireplace against one wall and a doorway in another. He inhaled and the full earthy odor of peat burning in the nearby fireplace entered his lungs. He stifled a cough that threatened, still afraid of aggravating the pain in his head; the pain that had apparently disappeared.

Shifting his body and trying unsuccessfully to sit up, the rough sheet and scratchy straw mattress rubbed his naked back. Naked? Where the hell were his clothes? And where the hell was he? He slumped back and tried to remember what had happened to him.

Douglas ran his hand through his hair. He remembered trying to find Mairi all day and finally catching up with her at sunset at the archway in the fields. Then, Mairi had disappeared and the screams started.

The screams! And the terror that called to him in that young girl’s voice. He remembered the sounds of it.

Then he’d followed the cry through the arch and into the forest and found her. It was her—the woman who’d appeared in his dreams for years now. He couldn’t believe it—the green-eyed and black-haired dream woman, and in the clutches of three of the toughest-looking men he’d ever seen.

Wait a minute, this was crazy. How did he get from an open field with nothing but the old stone archway to a dense forest and weapon-wielding warriors? He shook his head and tried to sit up again but the weakness in his body betrayed him.

Searching through his memories, he saw the scene unfold: him charging through the trees, drawing his daggers and throwing one at the closest man near the girl. Then knocking another one down with a kick. And then approaching the leader who’d been enjoying the girl’s terror, the pain he’d given and the blood he’d drawn with the thin slicing action of his dirk against her milky-white neck.

The leader tried to leave, dragging the girl with him, and that’s when he saw her face. She’d fainted at the sight of him, her slight weight pulling and giving him the opening he needed to hit the mark. But one of the others must have regained consciousness and hit him from behind.

Douglas rubbed his head to find the injury but could find none—no area of tenderness or swelling. That was damned odd since the blow that knocked him out would’ve left a lump the size of an egg, and it would take well over a week to shrink.

He heard someone approaching through the doorway and waited to see if he knew them. Maybe he’d been left in the woods and someone had brought him... here?... and gone for help?

“Ah, lad, I thought I heard ye stirring in here.”

The woman’s voice came to him through the darkness but it sounded familiar. He’d harbored a small hope that it would be the woman from the dreams, but it wasn’t. This voice was older, and familiar. Without more light in the room, he couldn’t see her face. He struggled to rise but couldn’t do that, either.

“Here now, lad. Yer still weak from the blow to yer head. Drink this, ’twill help ye regain yer strength.”

A hand behind his head lifted him up and a cool metal cup touched his lips. He hesitated to drink—God only knew what was in this cup. The woman felt his pause and tilted the cup more, forcing the liquid against his lips and into his mouth. In a reflexive action, he swallowed and grimaced at the bitter taste.

“No better than yer mam, lad. She fought my brews, too.”

“Mairi, is that you?” The identity of the woman finally became clear—it was old Mairi! She must have seen the fight and had someone help him here to her cottage. But what was she giving him and why? He was the doctor, he should be the one in charge of dispensing medication, not the old woman who claimed to have been a clan healer in her younger days! “What in the hell did you just give me?”

“Nay, lad, no’ Mairi but Moira. Moira ’tis my name.” She stood up and moved toward the door.

“Wait. I know your voice. Mairi, why are you trying to confuse me? What was in that cup?”

Suddenly a torch thrust through the doorway revealed the layout of the small room to him. He could see the fireplace—well, a crude hearth built into the wall was a better description. He lay on a mattress of straw in one corner of the room with a low table and bench next to it. His rough bed lay directly on the dirt floor of the cottage. Wait, this couldn’t be Mairi’s home—hers was about the same size but had all the comforts of a modern home, including a real floor.

Then he caught sight of the man holding the torch. Douglas knew that both he and his father Alex were tall and in good physical condition, but this man put them both to shame with his height and powerful body. He had to be over six and a half feet tall with the muscles of a bodybuilder. He ducked to enter the room and came to stand next to the woman.

The light from the torch gave lie to his words—this was not Mairi. This was a much younger woman with long, brown hair that she wore pulled back into a loose braid. Her eyes were like Mairi’s but this couldn’t be the same person. Maybe this was Mairi’s daughter?

Then he realized his foolishness; these two were dressed in clothes from a different time. The man had a very worn plaid held by a belt around his waist, knee-high boots and nothing else. The woman wore a long skirt and blouse and a kind of jacket over it—what did they call it in the reenactment? Oh, a bodice with sleeves. This did not make any sense at all. Obviously the blow to his head had scrambled his thoughts.

“What did you say your name was?” He looked at one, then the other.

“I am Moira and this is my husband Pol.” She spoke very slowly, as though to a small child.

“Where am I? How did I get here?” He felt very much out of control and he didn’t like it. In his years of training and practice, he’d prided himself on his ability to stay cool under the pressure of any situation. And, doing a residency in one of Chicago’s larger urban hospitals, he had seen it all. At least he’d thought so until now.

“Ye were injured trying to help our daughter in the forest. Those damned MacArthur villains were on our lands again. She’d be dead now if ’tweren’t for ye.” The woman Moira dabbed at her eyes with her apron corner.

“Something’s not right here,” Douglas began, “what do you mean by our land? Where am I?” He rubbed his temples and shut his eyes. “None of this makes sense to me.”

“Only a bit makes sense to me, lad. Ye are Maggie’s son, are ye no’?”

“Yes, I’m Douglas MacKendimen, Alex and Maggie’s son. You know my parents?” As he looked on, they looked at each other and a multitude of unspoken messages passed between them. Finally after a few moments, Moira faced him and spoke.

“Aye, lad, we ken yer parents. They visited here many years ago.”

“And where is here?” Douglas was glad to be getting somewhere in trying to find out what had happened to him and where he was.

“Ye are in the village of Dunnedin, seat of Robert, chieftain to the MacKendimen clan. And ye are here on the days just past the equinox of autumn in the year of our Lord one thousand, three hundred and seventy.”

His thoughts froze, his mind refused to process the information she’d just given him. Dunnedin? Robert wasn’t the laird of the MacKendimens; that tide had fallen to Uncle Calum’s son William, his own first cousin on his father’s side. And the date, the equinox of autumn? That was the day he arrived in Scotland—September twenty-first, two-thousand, and...

She’d said something drastically different... it sounded like... 1370? Couldn’t be, of course, that would be in the—

“Aye, ’tis in the past, your past and our present, Douglas. ’Tis hard to believe, but if ye give yerself a bit of time, ye’ll understand it as yer parents did all those years ago.”

“Couldn’t be... it isn’t possible.” Douglas’s mind rebelled at the thought that his parents’ stories had been true, that they had traveled back through time to his ancestors’ land and clan. Absolutely impossible, no question about it. He must be dealing with some very irrational people here.

Suddenly, his head began to swim, his thoughts began to swirl around in his mind and he could feel the overpowering dizziness take over. A moan escaped, though he tried to control it. It would not do to let these people think he wasn’t in control of his faculties.

“Dinna fight it, lad, ’tis the brew I made for ye. ’Twill help the fever and the weakness and help ye to rest well.”

“Oh, dear God, you’ve drugged me?”

“Ye will wake up feeling refreshed and ready to roar at the world, Douglas. Let it help ye now.”

He really couldn’t do anything else but let it take effect. His head and limbs felt so heavy, it was difficult to keep his eyes open to watch this Moira and Pol. If he closed his eyes for a moment, he could fight it better. Just for a moment....