Chapter 6

6

“ C ome, lad, take my hand.”

Douglas opened his eyes at hearing the voice. His vision was clear; he felt no pain or weakness. The man, Pol, stood over him, reaching out a large hand to him. Warily and without any other choice, he took hold of it and was pulled briskly to his feet He waited for the pain or dizziness but neither happened.

“Here ye’ll need these,” Pol said as he handed Douglas a length of plaid and a wide leather belt. Trying to be as nonchalant as possible about his own nudity in front of this stranger, Douglas took the plaid and wrapped it old-style around his waist, securing it with the belt. He looked around the room to find his own clothes but his belongings were nowhere to be seen.

“Come, I’ll show ye the well where ye can wash and then Moira and I want to speak to ye outside.”

The giant left, leading the way, and Douglas followed, stooping down under the short doorway, through the main room of the house and out in the yard. As Douglas stepped into the early morning sunlight, he knew something was altered. The sun’s light was somehow brighter and the smells of forest and plants and everything were clear in the air around him. Fresh and strong and intense. He turned left and right, scanning the area for anything familiar but nothing was. Apparently this Moira’s house was in a separate location from the rest of the village. Other than a large garden, the well and a low stone wall around the perimeter, he saw no other buildings close by.

“Here is the pail and some soap. Ye can relieve yerself over there,” Pol pointed at the dense forest next to the stone fence. “Moira and I will be waiting.”

As he watched, Pol turned around and walked back toward the cottage where Moira waited near the door. Dipping his head to her, he kissed her on the lips. Douglas turned away and focused his attention on cleaning himself up. His head and hair was the worst by far, his hair was filthier than he’d ever allowed it to be. He lowered the pail into the well, pulled up a bucketful of water and leaning over, he poured it over his head. The coldness of the water immediately sent shivers racing through his body, shocking him even more awake than he thought he was. Since he wasn’t offered hot water, he’d assume there was none. Highland hospitality was well-known and if his hosts had it, had anything, they would offer it. So this must be one of the few remaining undeveloped areas in Scotland if they didn’t have indoor plumbing with hot water.

Scooping out some of the soft soap in the stone bowl, he rubbed it into his scalp, loosening the grime and God only knew what else with his actions. It was then that his fingers encountered the raised ridge along the back of his head. He probed again, finding the three-inch-long path of evenly placed stitches and not remembering how they were placed there.

He rinsed his head and repeated the cleaning two more times to rid himself of the dirt encrusted in his hair. Each time his fingers found the raised area, increasing his puzzlement over the how and when of them. Somehow he knew that the answers lay with Moira and Pol and their mysterious daughter. He wondered what her name was... neither of her parents had mentioned it.

Well, the longer he took here, the longer it would take to get the answers he wanted. He loosened the belt and the plaid, freed from its holder, swirled to the ground. Refusing to look over to see if they were watching him, Douglas stepped closer to the well and continued with the soap, washing until his body was clean. Filling and pouring another bucket of water, he was done with his ablutions. Seeing no other towel, he did as he’d done on his many times with the medieval reenactors—he dried himself off with one end of the long piece of tartan before wrapping it back around his waist, the damp section thrown over his shoulder to dry.

They met him halfway and guided him away from the cottage to a place at the far end of the gardens. He waited, assessing the situation in his analytical way. He would be patient until they spoke first. And they did.

“Ye get that trait from yer da,” Moira began. “His well-ordered life taught him to wait and watch afore speaking. Ye get yer spirit and yer zest for life from yer mam.”

“So you knew my parents?”

“Aye, they visited this village about a score of years ago. ’Twas my duty to help them at that time and ’tis my duty to help their son.”

“Twenty years ago? But Mairi said I was conceived in the past, so how can that be? At least be consistent if you’re trying to convince me of the impossible.”

Moira took a step closer to him. “Who is this Mairi you speak of? Ye thought I was her when you awoke yesterday.”

Douglas looked at her, still amazed at some of the resemblance between the Mairi he knew and this woman. The eyes were chillingly the same but nothing else matched, really.

“Mairi is one of my distant MacKendimen relatives. She lives in Dunnedin and I’ve known her for as long as I’ve lived. I must have been confused when I woke up—you do sound alike but you don’t look alike. Well, your eyes are the same.”

“She lives in Dunnedin, ye say? Well, no’ in this time, she doesna.” Moira looked at Pol and then continued, “Och, lad, ye mean in yer time she lives in the village? So the clan and village still prosper then?”

What could he be thinking of? Standing here discussing time travel as though it were possible? And these people looked so very serious about it! He needed to find out a few more bits of information and then he needed to check out the area himself. He would get to the bottom of this.

“Do ye live in Dunnedin as well as this Mairi? Do yer parents fare well?” Pol asked.

“I live in the United States,” he paused as they exchanged a puzzled glance between them. He’d play along for now. “ Across the water to the west, it will begin as a territory to England and Spain. I visit Dunnedin each year for the clan festival.”

“And that’s what brought ye here?” Moira looked at her husband again and he nodded. “Yer parents were at a clan festival when they traveled here as well.”

“Look, I’ve heard the stories, about the way my parents met. I don’t believe any of them. They sound like something my mom made up to entertain her students and her children.”

“Children? She had more than one bairn, then?” Moira questioned.

“Yes. My parents had three children—myself, and my younger sister and brother.”

“Well, praise be, lad. Did ye hear that, Pol? They have other bairns.” A wide smile graced the woman’s face and she patted him on the shoulder. “’Tis good to hear.”

Douglas ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. This was becoming more and more strange. He was getting nowhere fast. Maybe it would be better if he just left and explored on his own. These people didn’t seem to be holding him prisoner, he could leave if he wanted to. He glanced to the edge of the gardens and saw a well-worn path that had to lead somewhere.

“Nay, lad, give us but a few moments afore ye leave. We hiv much to explain to ye.” That was the second time she’d seemed to read his mind. Just like Mairi.... “Here now, sit a spell and hear us out.”

Moira and Pol sat on the short wall and waited for him. He was too tied up in knots to sit now so he paced back and forth. He only stopped when met with Moira’s laughter.

“Ye see, Pol, he is his faither’s son after all.” At his mystified look, she went on, “I hiv seen yer faither pace a bit when he’s puzzled.” Douglas sat next to them on the wall; he didn’t want to think about the source of her knowledge right now.

“First, we must thank ye for saving our Caitlin from harm,” Pol started. “Our daughter was never in danger in those forests afore the MacArthurs started their raids. I should hiv gone wi’ her that night.”

“Caitlin.” He tried out the name. “Caitlin is her name?” At their nod, he let the name sink into his mind. He now had a name for this mystery woman who had haunted his dreams for years. Caitlin, of the glowing green eyes and flowing black hair... black as coal, which she’s obviously inherited from her father. Her very big father. He cleared his throat.

“I didn’t know her name.”

“But, ye hiv seen her afore?” Moira leaned closer to hear his answer.

“In my dreams....” Shrugging, he watched to see their reactions—that made him shrug again.

“Aye, lad, and she haes seen ye afore as well. Dinna worry, we ken the power and truth in the dreams sent to us.” Pol nodded his head in agreement with his wife’s statement.

“How did I get here?” That was the real question he wanted answered. “How?”

“Well, lad, one of the MacKendimens carried ye here from the forest, after the MacArthur’s man hit ye on yer head. Pol, was it Gordy or Iain?”

“’Twas Iain,” Pol answered.

“No, I mean how did I get to this time from my own?” However ludicrous this situation seemed, he would not let it deteriorate into an Abbott and Costello routine. He stood back up and faced them both. “Explain it to me.”

“’Tis the archway, of course. It brought ye back to us wi’ its power. Or should I say that the Fates used the arch to bring ye back.”

“The archway? Are you talking about the stone arch out in the fields near Dunnedin?” This made no sense to him at all. The arch contained some power?

“In this time, the archway still exists within a section of the keep wall. But I too hiv seen in the wisdom the arch as ye describe it.”

“Okay, even if I believe you about the arch, and I don’t, tell me why? Why would I be yanked out of my own time and brought here?”

Moira stood, walked to him and took his hand in hers. Stroking it lightly, she gazed at him. Her eyes became brighter, clearer, glowing....

“Mayhap the journey is to find out why? The Fates obviously hiv their own plan for ye.” Moira’s voice became lower and lower as her fingers glided over his skin, raising goose bumps with each stroke. “But, are ye willing to listen when they speak, follow where they lead, learn the lesson they teach?”

He was completely entranced by her voice, he could feel the power of her words as she spoke. He couldn’t tear his gaze from hers, they glowed even brighter as she continued.

“Ye and Caitlin are linked, in yer dreams and in life, just as ye saved her life, she haes saved yer own.”

“Saved my life? How?” Douglas pulled his hand from her grasp.

“When they brought ye from the forest, ye haid a head wound, a bad one. The rock haid cut long and deep to the bone, laying ye to ground,”

“So Caitlin is the one who gave me these stitches? Nice work,” Douglas asked as his fingers found the raised row on his scalp again.

“Nay,” Moira shook her head at him, “those are my work. Caitlin healed ye from the fever and called ye back to the world of the living when ye drifted away from us.”

“What do you mean, ‘she healed me’?” Douglas asked.

“Just as I said, lad, she healed ye.” Moira looked at him squarely, challenging him in some way that he didn’t quite understand.

“Look, I’m a doctor, I see patients every day. I know about medicines and surgery and how to treat injuries and diseases. So, how did she heal me?” He crossed his arms and waited for an answer.

He was tired of being dragged around and not having any idea of what was happening to him. He didn’t for a minute believe this incredible story of traveling to the past. This had the looks of an elaborate prank. After all, hadn’t Mairi promised as much when they’d last talked? What did she call it? Oh, yes, a reckoning. So this must be part of what she and others had planned! Were his parents involved?

His parents? No, they couldn’t have a part in this. But they’d been warning him to change his life, too. Hounding him about too much work and about his lack of time for anything but work. No. They wouldn’t have planned anything that would have had him injured—that would be too dangerous.

“Douglas, I ken that yer no’ ready to listen but our Caitlin has a special gift.” Moira lowered her voice and took a step toward him. “She can heal with her touch.”

Douglas looked at the older woman and man before him and was struck with their complete belief in Moira’s words and their sincerity. But, did she say the girl healed with her touch? Ha! He only believed in those treatment modalities he could verify through use and research. Psychic healing?

“She heals with her touch? And, you’re saying she used this magic touch on me?” He heard the sarcasm and couldn’t stop it. Enough was enough.

Moira shivered and exchanged a worried look with Pol. This was not going at all the way it should. Douglas was much more cynical than she expected for the son of Alex and Maggie, and for a healer in his own right. It was apparent to her that Alex’s Scottish blood may have passed down, but his mother’s Celtic spirit had not.

“We dinna call it magic, Douglas—we call it a gift.”

“Well, you’re asking me to believe in magic, aren’t you? Traveling through time, an arch with magical powers, and now a girl who heals by touching?”

Moira caught his glance as he threw out his disdainful comments. For a brief moment, she read a bit of fear and confusion in his MacKendimen blue eyes. Ah, so he hid his fear behind the sarcasm. Well, then he was not a complete loss.

“I am telling ye that Caitlin can lay her hands on an injury or a sick person and make them well again. ’Tis as simple as that.”

His laugh, loud and raucous, filled the garden. This was not going well at all. He had to believe, he had to or—

As quick as it had begun, the laughter stopped and Douglas was frozen before her. She turned to see what he saw.