Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

A melia woke abruptly, disoriented and at a complete loss as to where she was. That wasn’t unusual for her — she’d done enough traveling during her career that waking up to an unfamiliar ceiling was probably more familiar than waking up to her own. But this felt immediately different, for reasons that came creeping back to her as she sat blearily up in bed to dash the sleep from her eyes. Some part of her, she realized dully, had hoped that all of this had been some ridiculous dream. But this wasn’t the room she’d been in at Weatherby Manor, back when it was a hotel… and when a soft knock on the door came again, she wasn’t surprised to see a maidservant in medieval garb come bustling into the room with a small tray in hand. There was a strong curiosity in the girl’s eyes when she looked at Amelia, and she wondered belatedly if word had spread about the strange new arrival. As weird as Amelia was finding all this, she imagined it would be even stranger for the locals. She knew she’d have snuck more than a few sidelong glances at someone if she knew they’d arrived from hundreds of years in the future…

The tray held a breakfast of warm oatmeal and milk, and Amelia was surprised by how hungry she was as the smell reached her nose. Then again, she hadn’t eaten since the previous morning’s breakfast — and maybe time travel took a certain amount of energy. She was just finishing the last of the bowl when another soft knock came at the door. She hastened over to answer it herself, and found Sir Baldric waiting in the doorway for her. He’d changed his clothes since the night before, though he was still wearing all black, and she realized belatedly that she still had his cloak around her shoulders. She handed it back to him quickly, and he smiled his thanks before clearing his throat softly.

“The delegation from the Keep has arrived, if you’re ready to meet with them, Miss Cosgrove.”

“You can call me Amelia, you know,” she said.

“Amelia, then.” A brief flash of a smile. “Are you ready?”

She considered the question for a moment. She wasn’t really ready for any of this nonsense, if she was truly honest, but what good would that do to say aloud? So instead, she hoisted her best smile onto her face and nodded.

Sir Baldric led her down the corridor, and she followed obediently, though she let her gaze wander a little more curiously than she had the night before. This part of the manor was familiar — it had been hotel rooms, back when she’d first arrived, which meant that they were about to come out in the restaurant.

Of course, the room was no longer a restaurant. Instead, it was a formal dining room, and she felt her eyes widening as she remembered the plaque that had explained the restaurant’s origins. The sketches had been almost exactly right — irrationally, she found herself wishing she could get a message back to the historians who’d done such painstaking work, telling them how close they’d been. It was almost enough to distract her from the people sitting at the great dining table, clearly waiting for her arrival. Two broad-shouldered men in matching tartan were the first to catch her eye — they reminded her a little of the guardsmen she’d met the night before, and she guessed that they played a similar role at the Keep.

But sitting beside them was a woman, and it was her that held Amelia’s attention. She was a pretty woman with blue eyes and sleek, straight black hair, and her features were set off rather well by the dark gray dress she was wearing. As she rose to her feet, there was such familiarity and recognition in her warm smile that Amelia was almost convinced they’d met before — but that was impossible, wasn’t it? At least, it was if the time travel theory was to be believed… and overnight, Amelia had more or less given up on the fading hope of all of this being some kind of prank.

When the woman spoke, she got another shock. “You must be Amelia,” she said in an unmistakable North American accent. “My name’s Delilah — this is Kieran, and this is Brian. We’re all of Clan MacClaran.”

The men had risen to their feet, and they both nodded politely at their introductions — but it was clear to Amelia that Delilah was running the show, here. “Nice to meet you,” she said faintly, feeling ridiculous. Was there really any point in niceties right now? “You’re American, aren’t you?”

“Guilty,” Delilah said, that amused smile widening a little. “I was born in the States, and traveled here around the early twenty-first century — just like you, I’m guessing. I arrived here a few years ago.”

The question seemed obvious, but Delilah was clearly waiting for her to ask it. “How did you get here?”

“The same way as you, I’d imagine,” the woman said simply, spreading her hands. “Magic.”

Amelia fought the urge to laugh — it felt rude, in the face of this woman’s warmth. Besides, nothing else here made the faintest bit of sense — who was she to decide which explanations were ridiculous? “Magic,” she repeated. “That’s all, huh?”

Delilah laughed, and Amelia was glad she’d controlled her kneejerk doubt.

“I know how ridiculous it must sound, but there’s really no better way of saying it,” she said, shaking her head. “I can explain in more depth, but — well, how overwhelmed are you feeling, on a scale of one to ten?”

“About a fifteen, but I’d still like to know what’s going on.”

Delilah smiled. “A woman after my own heart. Would you like to sit down?” She nodded at the seat opposite her. “Weatherby’s kindly given us the room for as long as we might need it, so we can talk for a while without being disturbed. Have you eaten? Do you need anything?”

Amelia shook her head. “They brought me breakfast.”

“That’s good. The trip takes it out of you in a strange way. Quite a few of us got horribly ill when we arrived — different germs, I suppose — so keeping yourself well-fed is a very good idea. Though you look like you’d know something about that,” she added, tilting her head. “Are you an athlete?”

Amelia blinked. This was the absolute last place she’d been expecting to be recognized. “How did you know?”

“Magic,” Delilah repeated promptly, and Amelia found herself laughing before she could help herself. “Just a hunch. Your posture. What is your sport?”

“I’m a fighter, mixed martial arts.” Amelia answered, proudly.

“Aye,” the man who’d been introduced as Brian broke in, looking at her curiously. “You do look as though you might be a warrior, Miss, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“I’m a professional fighter, not a warrior,” she said, feeling a little silly to be talking about her career in this strange little room. “Nothing with a sword or anything, unfortunately,” she added, nodding at the sword hilt she could see at Brian’s belt.

“Fascinating,” Delilah said thoughtfully. “There aren’t many athletes among us.”

“What do you do? Or — what did you do?”

“I was a folklorist,” Delilah said with a grin. “With a special interest in the paranormal.”

“That must’ve made it easier, ending up here.”

“You’d think so, but… no, I struggled a lot.” Her expression was suddenly solemn. “It’s not an easy adjustment to make. None of us were exactly planning on ending up here — I’m afraid the journey is inevitably an involuntary one and a one way trip. Unless you’re about to tell me different,” she added, lifting an eyebrow.

Amelia smiled as she shook her head. “I just went for a walk in the woods, and suddenly …” She gestured around the room. “Suddenly my hotel was replaced with a real life English manor in the middle of Scotland, and here we are.”

Delilah nodded. “I’m glad you made it through safely. Some of the stories you’ll hear are a little more — well, dramatic. But all’s well that ends well, isn’t it?”

Amelia bit her lip, not wanting to be rude but feeling a certain impatience. “I guess my main question is — why? How’s a close second, but… I mean, magic. Fair enough, we’ll accept that for the time being, but… why me? There were dozens of other people staying at the manor. Was I just the unlucky one who was walking in the woods at the wrong time?”

Delilah shook her head. “Definitely not. This is the tricky part, I suppose — or at least, the part that’s the hardest to believe. You have Scottish ancestry, don’t you?”

Amelia blinked. “On my grandmother’s side, yeah. How do you know?”

“Because we all do,” Delilah said simply. “Each one of us is the direct descendant of a woman who was born and raised in this century. My own ancestor was named Morag — she was a powerful herbalist and healer, and — not coincidentally — a witch.”

Delilah paused for a moment, her eyes on Amelia’s face as if waiting for some objection to this, but Amelia only shrugged. If she was going to believe in time travel, why not add witches to the mix?

“She was deeply in love with a MacClaran man, but their union was forbidden by the Laird, and she was banished. In an attempt to pressure the Laird into reversing his decision, Morag laid a curse on the MacClaran men, saying that any woman they loved would be lost tragically young. She intended to reverse it as soon as the Laird saw sense — but unfortunately, she was killed before the matter could be completely resolved.”

Amelia found herself leaning forward, curiously taken in by the story. It had something to do with the soft, understated way Delilah was telling it — and with the look of vivid sadness in her bright blue eyes.

“With her dying breath, Morag attempted to lift the curse, not wanting to let such tragic magic outlive her. But she didn’t have the strength to break it, only to alter it, adding to the spell that the MacClaran men’s loves would return to them. And so — they do.”

Amelia blinked, nonplussed by this. “What do you mean? They come back from the dead?”

Was she going to have to add necromancy to the growing list of fairytales she was being asked to believe in?