Trees the glorious red and orange of
autumn.
“May… Of course it is,” she muttered. Of course it would be May. Why wouldn't it be May in this backward universe she'd landed in?
“Ho!” A man shouted at them from a distance, and MacColla froze at her back. “Alasdair MacColla,” he shouted again, “as I live and breathe!”
They looked up to see someone standing on the hill above them, to the right and just slightly behind.
A kilted someone, with a sword at his waist and a smile on
his face.
Oh good. Haley wavered in the saddle. There's the last straw right there. She was distantly aware of MacColla's hand steadying her waist.
“I hope we're not too late for the hammer throw,” she murmured, now feeling completely unmoored. Is everyone going to look like they're geared up for the Highland Games? She fought to stay upright despite the blood she felt draining from her head.
MacColla either didn't hear her remark or didn't
acknowledge it. His focus was on the man, now hurtling down the hill toward them, his feet galloping at a lumbering run. The dull clatter of scree echoed through the valley as the man set a small tumble of rocks sliding down with him. MacColla exploded into a sharp bark of laughter, kicking his heels to spin the pony around to face him.
“John Scrymgeour,” MacColla informed his suddenly alert sister. It was just a quick aside, but the information appeared to put her at ease.
“I was told you'd been sighted in Argyll,” John panted when he reached them. Thin brown hair framed a full, goodhumored face. “Taking your leisure on Campbell lands? And a few other things besides, I'd wager.” The man gave a questioning glance in Haley's direction.
Was this guy in on the whole kidnapping thing? If so, he seemed remarkably nonchalant about it all. Might he be able to help her? Should she beg him for help?
The man's smile faded. “I have tidings from the king.”
King?
His tone was somber, and Haley felt MacColla grow wary behind her. Their pony sensed it too, and she pranced a few nervous steps to the side.
“Indeed? And so serious you are, Scrymgeour.”
The man gave a single, earnest nod. Without his smile, his features appeared doughy, though no less pleasant.
“Perhaps your news would be best heard over a mug of ale. I find myself suddenly thirsty” MacColla added warily. “Ride with Jean, and we'll find ourselves by your hearth the sooner.”
The girl's abrupt movement called Haley's attention to her. Two angry spots suffused Jean's cheeks, a blush that looked particularly crimson in contrast to the white-knuckled grip she had on her reins.
“Please endure just one final rise, and you'll find the valley opening up wide before us, bearing my modest Fincharn in its palm.” John strode to Jean's side, giving her a gentlemanly half bow before mounting behind her. “The loch is lovely this time of year. The spring sunlight dances upon its surface like fire.” He spoke for Jean's ears, adding. “My castle lies just on the eastern shore of Loch Awe.”
It was all white noise to Haley, though.
Loch Awe. Great. A king and a loch .
They made good progress from there, as the hills slowly smoothed into a thick carpet of knotty green grass. The loch appeared, and nausea twinged sharp in Haley's gut. She knew there weren't any such bodies of water in the Massachusetts she'd se en. It was huge, stretching along a fold in the gently curving valley, and glittering as promised.
A gray building emerged in the distance, a spectral thing in the hazy light that materialized as they approached. Her queasiness became insistent, clutching at the front of her belly. Haley breathed through her mouth now as if that could curb the roiling and flipping in her stomach.
She must've faltered, or made some sound, because she felt both of MacColla's hands steadying her.
John's castle
autumn.
“May… Of course it is,” she muttered. Of course it would be May. Why wouldn't it be May in this backward universe she'd landed in?
“Ho!” A man shouted at them from a distance, and MacColla froze at her back. “Alasdair MacColla,” he shouted again, “as I live and breathe!”
They looked up to see someone standing on the hill above them, to the right and just slightly behind.
A kilted someone, with a sword at his waist and a smile on
his face.
Oh good. Haley wavered in the saddle. There's the last straw right there. She was distantly aware of MacColla's hand steadying her waist.
“I hope we're not too late for the hammer throw,” she murmured, now feeling completely unmoored. Is everyone going to look like they're geared up for the Highland Games? She fought to stay upright despite the blood she felt draining from her head.
MacColla either didn't hear her remark or didn't
acknowledge it. His focus was on the man, now hurtling down the hill toward them, his feet galloping at a lumbering run. The dull clatter of scree echoed through the valley as the man set a small tumble of rocks sliding down with him. MacColla exploded into a sharp bark of laughter, kicking his heels to spin the pony around to face him.
“John Scrymgeour,” MacColla informed his suddenly alert sister. It was just a quick aside, but the information appeared to put her at ease.
“I was told you'd been sighted in Argyll,” John panted when he reached them. Thin brown hair framed a full, goodhumored face. “Taking your leisure on Campbell lands? And a few other things besides, I'd wager.” The man gave a questioning glance in Haley's direction.
Was this guy in on the whole kidnapping thing? If so, he seemed remarkably nonchalant about it all. Might he be able to help her? Should she beg him for help?
The man's smile faded. “I have tidings from the king.”
King?
His tone was somber, and Haley felt MacColla grow wary behind her. Their pony sensed it too, and she pranced a few nervous steps to the side.
“Indeed? And so serious you are, Scrymgeour.”
The man gave a single, earnest nod. Without his smile, his features appeared doughy, though no less pleasant.
“Perhaps your news would be best heard over a mug of ale. I find myself suddenly thirsty” MacColla added warily. “Ride with Jean, and we'll find ourselves by your hearth the sooner.”
The girl's abrupt movement called Haley's attention to her. Two angry spots suffused Jean's cheeks, a blush that looked particularly crimson in contrast to the white-knuckled grip she had on her reins.
“Please endure just one final rise, and you'll find the valley opening up wide before us, bearing my modest Fincharn in its palm.” John strode to Jean's side, giving her a gentlemanly half bow before mounting behind her. “The loch is lovely this time of year. The spring sunlight dances upon its surface like fire.” He spoke for Jean's ears, adding. “My castle lies just on the eastern shore of Loch Awe.”
It was all white noise to Haley, though.
Loch Awe. Great. A king and a loch .
They made good progress from there, as the hills slowly smoothed into a thick carpet of knotty green grass. The loch appeared, and nausea twinged sharp in Haley's gut. She knew there weren't any such bodies of water in the Massachusetts she'd se en. It was huge, stretching along a fold in the gently curving valley, and glittering as promised.
A gray building emerged in the distance, a spectral thing in the hazy light that materialized as they approached. Her queasiness became insistent, clutching at the front of her belly. Haley breathed through her mouth now as if that could curb the roiling and flipping in her stomach.
She must've faltered, or made some sound, because she felt both of MacColla's hands steadying her.
John's castle
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