Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
C atherine stood there completely unsure of herself. The woods, once silent witnesses, now grew louder as if echoing the turmoil of her thoughts, as every creature seemed to make its presence known and what she would have to deal with if she stayed the night in the woods. That was a thought that made her shiver with goosebumps.
"Lass, I cannae leave you out here on your own. Tis not in my conscious," he declared, his tone bearing the weight of responsibility and honor.
With a breath, she reached out and took his offered hand. She felt the shock of connection move through her with his touch, but she quickly dismissed it as he lifted her up and settled her behind him on the horse.
With practiced ease, Eamon took the reins of his horse. "Hold on, lass, less you fall off."
Catherine's arms found their place around his waist, her touch tentative because they were in such an intimate position. Her senses drank in the solid strength that lay beneath the fabric of his tunic. His abs, firm and unyielding, seemed to tremble beneath her touch. Was he perhaps effected by her as much as she was by him?
As the horse's hooves carried them through the woods, Catherine's inner reflections danced like shadows against the canvas of her mind. The world around her unfolded in a montage of trees and mist, the absence of modern civilization left her bewildered and a bit scared. Worry crept into her thoughts, a seed of doubt that sprouted amidst the uncertainty.
As they journeyed onward, a cluster of humble farm huts materialized on the horizon, structures that seemed to belong to a different epoch, a time untouched by the advances of modernity. These quaint abodes, with their thatched roofs and wooden beams, stood as silent sentinels of a world that Catherine had only read about in history books.
Her eyes traced the contours of the huts, noting the absence of modern technology, the absence of the trappings she had grown accustomed to. In this moment, the past felt tangible, an unspoken truth that lingered in the air like a whispered secret. How had this place not advanced along with the modern world? How was it possible to remain so untouched by the world?
"Eamon, do you know how I ended up here on Islay?" she asked.
Eamon's voice, thick with the lilt of the Highlands, echoed through the mist. "Nay, lass, we dinnae ken how you came tae be here. 'Tis a puzzle, it is."
Catherine's brow furrowed as she struggled to understand his words. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that? Your accent is quite strong."
Eamon chuckled, a sound that carried the warmth of the Scottish countryside. "Ah, dinnae fash yerself, lass. I'll slow down a bit for you. We're as baffled by your arrival as you are, you understand?"
Catherine nodded, her ears adjusting to the cadence of his speech. "I'm gonna be honest, I don't quite know how I ended up here either. I was in Edinburgh at the university and then I woke up in that grassy field."
"Ah, a mystery, then," Eamon mused, his eyes twinkling with humor. "Ye've a bonnie accent, I must say I quite enjoy it.."
Catherine offered a wry smile. "I suppose my mid-western American accent is a bit out of place in the Highlands, but there are a bunch of American students at the University, so we aren’t all that unusual."
"Aye, I am sure you’re wrong about that, lass," Eamon said with a hearty laugh. "You’ve traveled far, so welcome to our lands, lass."
Amidst the rhythm of hoofbeats and the hush of the fog, Catherine's curiosity got the better of her. She had to know why they were dressed so authentically. "I have to ask, why are you dressed in traditional Scottish attire? Are you part of some group or something?"
Eamon looked over his shoulder at her, his brow lifted showing his surprise at her question. "I dinnae know what you mean, lass, how else are we to dress?" he replied. He sounded curious as to why she would ask such an odd question. "We wear the family colors of Clan Donald.”
Catherine's lips parted in response, and then quickly closed for a moment. "Clan Donald?" she echoed. He’d mentioned them before and that they were going to Fort Donald. Her mind churned with thoughts, memories of her studies intertwining with the reality unfolding before her eyes. The pieces of the puzzle began to align, though the picture they painted remained unreal. Catherine ruminated that she had heard of the clan name in her studies, but perhaps these men were the modern descendants of the clan but liked to uphold tradition by wearing the garb?
Catherine clung to Eamon's form as the horse carried them through the woods. "Do you really not know how I ended up in the woods alone. You said I was like the others?" She knew she was repeating herself, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t wrap her head about how she’d gotten here.
Eamon sighed. Then he finally said, "I cannae say for sure, lass, but it seems you’ve been brought here, the same as the others, by the willful nature of Dub Sith.”
"Dub Sith?" Catherine's brow furrowed. The unfamiliar name hung in the air like a riddle waiting to be unraveled. She glanced to those they traveled with, and each seemed to have a knowing smile on their face. There was something about the smiles that sent a shiver through her. What weren’t they telling her?
"I dinnae know if it will make sense to you, lass," Eamon admitted, his words carrying a touch of bemusement. “Not without more proof than I have to share at the moment.”
"Try me," Catherine responded, her voice laced with annoyance.
Eamon glanced over his shoulder, his eyes held hers, the depth of his gaze a silent testament to what he wanted to share. "Very well. The legend of Dub Sith," he began, "goes back hundreds of years. He is one of the Fae. An ancient being who has blessed Clan Donald in a particular way over the centuries. You see, he has delivered women to us from the future times several times before."
Catherine’s lips parted in an audible gasp. The shock of what he’d said made no sense to her. It wouldn’t make sense in anything but a fairytale. "What are you talking about? Fae? Future times? Why are you telling me children’s stories?"
Fae, she knew, were creatures of mythology, the stuff of fairytales. Yet, his casual mention of them left a dissonance that unsettled her understanding of what was going on now. Was he merely trying to placate her until they reached wherever they were going? He had to be because what he was saying made no sense. But then… why would he say something like future times?
“I speak truth, lass, and I know it tis a wonder and sounds outlandish, but I pray you will keep calm and not panic, as I am sure you are want to do,” Eamon replied.
Catherine didn’t know what to make of that statement. She wanted to know what he meant. "Future times?" she repeated, trying not to let her inner turmoil boil over.
"Aye," Eamon's voice remained steady. “You and the others are from a time far into the future from here. At least I imagine from your clothing you are from a similar time as they."
Catherine's incredulity flared, her brow arching as her thoughts raced to make sense of his declaration. Her hands tightened around him. "Are you trying to tell me that I’ve traveled back in time?" Her tone was full of skepticism because that was impossible. Nobody could travel backward, or forward for that matter, in time.
"Aye," Eamon's reply was unwavering, as though he absolutely believed what he was saying. "Tis the truth of it, lass."
Catherine's laughter spilled forth, a boisterous sound that echoed through the woods like a chorus of disbelief. He had to be joking. He was entertaining her instead of being serious. There was no way he was serious. Right? "You’re pulling a prank on me. That’s fine," she retorted, her tone both amused and adamant. "Just get me to a phone."
Eamon glanced back over his shoulder, but there was no mirth in the gaze, only sorrow and uncertainty. “You will see, I speak the truth," he began, "It’s less of a surprise now than it was when the first showed up, but unfortunately, I haven't talked much with the other time travelers."
The landscape stretched outward in a breathtaking expanse of undulating hills and sweeping horizons, the heather-covered moors a tapestry of purples and greens that seemed to blend with the shifting sky. The air held a crispness that spoke of the wildness of the Highlands, carrying with it the heady scent of earth and freedom. Catherine gasped as she viewed the expanse. It was beautiful and confusing to her because once again there was nothing modern within sight. Could what he was saying be true? Surely not.
As the horses slowed to a halt, Eamon dismounted and helped Catherine down as well. Eamon and his men led the horses to a stream that meandered through the moors. The soothing melody of the brook was a welcome sound to Catherine’s ears. She looked around, hoping to see something, anything that was modern, but there was nothing but nature. She turned her frustrated gaze to Eamon.
"I still can't believe this," she said. "Traveling back in time? That's something out of science fiction, not reality."
Eamon's eyes met hers, a hint of amusement dancing in their depths. “You doubt what you see before you, lass?" he challenged.
Catherine's frustration bubbled to the surface, her voice edged with exasperation. "I'm a historian, for crying out loud. I deal with facts, evidence, not fairytales."
Eamon's lips curled into a wry smile, his gaze never leaving hers. "Ah, but sometimes the lines between fact and legend blur, and the truth you seek lies in the spaces betwixt."
Catherine's eyes flared with determination, a spark that rivaled the intensity of the moor's beauty. "I've studied history my entire life, and nowhere in any record I have read about are there people traveling back in time. It's preposterous!"
Eamon's gaze held a mixture of patience and a touch of mischief, a glint of challenge that danced within his eyes. "History, lass, is written by those who lived it. What if the tales have been hidden, buried in tomes long lost?"
Catherine shook her head, her frustration evident in the sharpness of her tone. "Hidden? Buried? Lost? That's just a convenient excuse for embracing fantasy over reality."
Eamon's lips curved into a knowing smile; his demeanor unwavering amidst their verbal duel. “You have a stubborn spirit, I'll give you that. But perhaps it's time to expand your notion of reality."
Catherine's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her voice carrying the weight of her determination. "I can't just accept something so fantastical without evidence. It goes against everything I stand for. I'm a scholar."
Eamon's gaze softened, a touch of understanding entering his expression. "I dinnae expect you to believe it all at once, lass. The truth will reveal itself to you in time."
"And what if I can't accept this truth? What then?"
Eamon's eyes held a warmth. "You'll find your way, lass. The moors have a way of bringing clarity to even the most tangled of paths."
Catherine's gaze flitted over the sweeping landscape. The beauty of the Highlands was undeniable even in the moonlight, which was brightly shining and making the stars twinkle brighter than she’d ever seen in her life. Yet, in this moment, her heart was a battleground, where reason and intuition clashed like waves against the rugged shore, and she wanted to take it out on someone and that someone was Eamon.
Catherine's brow furrowed, as she found a boulder to sit on and pout.
Eamon pulled a leather bag from his belt, opened it and put it to his mouth, taking a drink. He then held it out for her. “Would you like some water?” he offered.
Catherine took the leather pouch and gulped it down, not realizing how thirsty she was. "Thank you," she said as she handed it back.
"Stretch your legs, lass. We will be back on horseback for a wee bit longer," he said.
Catherine’s annoyance simmered beneath the surface, as she attempted to make sense of what was going on. As she stood up and paced the area by the stream, she searched for something, anything modern, but there was nothing. Not even an airplane passing overhead. Her gaze was drawn to the night sky again. It was full of stars, so many and so bright that it made her pause. It looked different than she remembered.
As they returned to the horses, Catherine's thoughts remained a whirlwind of disbelief and mistrust. She didn’t know what or who to trust. Was Eamon telling the truth or was he some sort of play actor trying to gaslight her? She felt uneasy as she watched the sky. She didn’t know if she could believe him, even with the natural world around them hinting that he was speaking truth.
She gripped him tighter as he urged his horse to go faster, as the other men trailed behind them. Catherine leaned into his back and said, "I'm sorry. I don’t know if you’re lying to me, or if you actually believe what you’ve been saying to me, but I’m a logical, skeptical person and I can’t just believe you. I need proof.”
Eamon's response was a soft chuckle. “You dinnae have to believe it all at once, lass. The truth has its own way of revealing itself."
Catherine growled in her throat in frustration. "You keep saying that and it's driving me crazy. You keep saying it’s the truth, but it contradicts everything I’ve ever known and if you’re right, I don’t know if I can handle that.”
Eamon reined in his horse, and directed the men to keep going. He turned slightly, as much as he could upon the horse to look at her. “You’ll find your way, Catherine. This place has a way of showing you?—”
"Stop, Eamon. Can you just not right now? Please?"
“Very well, lass, but mark my words, you will come to see I speak the truth.” He smiled. “Now, let us catch up to the others. The sun will be rising soon.”
Catherine glanced at the sky again and realized it was getting lighter toward the east. She had no idea what time it actually was anymore. The whole night had passed in a blur of a handful of hours, or so it seemed to her. They rode on, catching up to the other men, where Eamon maneuvered through them and into the front of the group once again. “Anything to report?” he asked of those around them.
“Nay, nothing significant. All is well with the lass?” one of the men to their left said.
“Aye,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder at her.
Within the next hour, the sun broke over the horizon and the sky lightened significantly. She could see hills in the distance, and at the bottom of one of the larger hills stood what looked to be a grouping of buildings. Old buildings made of stone with thatch roofs. At the top of the large hill, there looked to be another massive building.
“Is that where we are going?” Catherine pointed toward the group of buildings. “Will someone there have a phone I can use?”
Eamon chuckled. “We will pass by those homes, but we are not stopping. We are headed up the hill. You can see the fort fairly clearly from here now.”
“The fort?”
"Aye. Fort Donald, lass," Eamon offered. “Tis our home. The home of Clan Donald.”
Catherine’s heart began to beat erratically in her chest as she took in the sight. Fort Donald was huge and almost regal looking as it sat majestically upon the hill overlooking the small village at the bottom of the slope. Even from here she could make out the timber and stone towers that stood sentinel at the corners of the fort’s gate. She couldn’t see all of it yet, only the top half of the inner building, but the fact that it stood at all had her head reeling.
“Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Catherine murmured as her eyes drank in their fill of the scenery.
“What was that, lass?” Eamon questioned.
But Catherine couldn’t reply. Her voice was stuck in her throat as she realized there might be some truth to what Eamon had been telling her. The question was, how on Earth was this even possible?