Chapter 15
As Callan strolled through the heart of Salem, Daisy’s hand tucked in the crook of his arm, he couldn’t help but notice the bustling streets filled with people enjoying the pleasant day.
The sun turned the cobblestones silver as they passed by the numerous shops boasting witch-themed wares, piquing his curiosity.
“Are there so many witches in this time?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.
Daisy explained that it was different now, with witchcraft being more about tourism, nature, and self-improvement, and that no one was hanging witches anymore.
Callan pointed to a group of women dressed in black, his tone a mix of curiosity and disbelief.
“Ye ken they burned witches here, aye? I heard those women talking.”
Daisy shook her head, gently correcting him. “No, they didn’t burn them. They hanged most of them. Common misconception.”
As he looked at the buildings, he thought of his homeland, and the priest that did not care for women.
“They burnt them in Scotland.” The scent of incense drifting from the shops tickled his nose, causing him to sneeze.
Frankie trotted alongside them, stopping to sniff the other dogs and everything else along the way.
The sun blinding, Daisy pulled on a pair of sunglasses, explaining that most of those women were just misunderstood, much like in his time, women who knew a bit too much about herbs or dared to speak their minds.
As they paused before a shop called “The Witch’s Brew,” its windows adorned with vibrant swirls and mystic symbols, Daisy turned to him.
“Shall we see if there’s a real witch inside?”
It wasna wise to jest about witches, no matter what century they were in.
As they stepped into the shop, the coolness enveloped them, a pleasant reprieve from the summer heat outside.
The shelves were filled with all kinds of objects, similar to those he’d seen when he first arrived in Boston, and the air was thick with the musky scent of old books and dried herbs.
A woman with striking black hair greeted them with a knowing smile.
“Welcome. I’m Morgana. How may the spirits aid you today?” she asked.
Callan lowered his voice and inquired, “Can ye tell me what ye know of time travel?”
Morgana’s laughter rang out, clear as the chimes by the door, as she explained that time travel was still strictly in the realm of fantasy, even in Salem. She offered to give them a reading, but Callan politely declined, thanking her as he and Daisy stepped out of the shop and into the light.
The day turned hotter as they visited a museum, enjoying the cold air inside, taking a tour with a knowledgeable guide.
That afternoon, they left Salem behind, headed for the Berkshires, where Daisy promised to take him on a hike, which would also help to tire out Frankie.
“Let’s make camp for the night and we’ll go on a hike in the morning.”
It was midday when they turned into the campsite, a place where they paid money to spend the night.
Stepping out of the van and letting Frankie out, Callan stretched his legs, taking in the surrounding land. The sight of a fire pit caught his eye, and he nodded to himself, recognizing something familiar, something he knew well.
“I will make the fire,” he announced, a hint of pride in his voice.
Distracted, Daisy nodded. “I’ll show you how to use the cooktop in the van next time.” She let Frankie off the leash to explore while she went in their little home to see what they had for dinner.
Callan collected twigs and branches. His movements practiced and efficient as he placed them in the stone fire pit.
As the fire came to life, its warm glow illuminating the campsite, he felt himself relax.
Building a fire, sleeping out under the stars, these things were familiar, no matter the century.
While she was inside, Callan went to the back of the van, pulling out the folding chairs from the small storage area.
One was red, the other blue, and each chair had a pocket and a place to put their drink so it would not fall over on the ground.
He set up the comfortable camp chairs in front of the fire.
“How can I aid ye?” he asked, sticking his head inside the open door.
Before they left town, she had ordered a fine mesh curtain to hang in the open door so the bugs would not get in, but they would have a breeze. ’Twas a marvel to ask for something he wanted from the tablet, and it was delivered to their door that day or the next.
“How about salmon and baked potatoes for dinner?”
She handed him a cold bottle of ale and the jar of pickles he favored.
“Aye. I like the potatoes with lots of butter and the sour cream.”
“Good. Why don’t you wash the potatoes, drizzle some oil on them, sprinkle a bit of salt all over the skin, and wrap them in foil. You know, that shiny stuff? Then put them in the fire to cook.”
Callan had learned to cook simple foods when he was a lad to aid his mum.
Whilst traveling with Daisy, they quickly found they could not both be at the tiny kitchen counter at the same time.
There wasna enough space without them bumping into each other.
So, he put the potatoes in the fire and fed the dog while she gathered plates and whatever else they needed to sit outside and eat.
Once dinner was ready, they sat across from each other, a small folding flowered table between them. The delicious smells making his stomach growl. Back from exploring, Frankie ate his dog food bits, along with the salmon skin, and then curled up near Daisy as they ate.
The fire was reflected in her eyes as she took a sip of ale.
“Tell me about your life … before.”
Callan looked into the flames, the dancing light casting shadows on his face as he began the tale.
“After my mother died when I was thirteen, I was alone,” he began, his voice low.
“I learned to fend for myself, to make my own way. The highlands are unforgiving, and ye need to be strong to survive.”
He took a breath.
“I was but a wee lad of six when the clan banished my mother and I for her sin of loving an Englishman. Her name was Joan, and she was beautiful, though always sad, waiting for a man who would never return.”
Risking a glance at Daisy, he found her face open. No trace of scorn or disgust as he told his tale.
“My half-brother, William, who is, well was, Lord Blackford, said his father was a good man. That he believed my mother’s letter never arrived.”
Callan ran a hand through his hair.
“He said his father wanted sons, ’twas why he strayed from William’s mother. He thought if he had known about me, he would have come for my mother and I.”
Daisy reached out, taking his hand in hers. “I think he would have. I’m sorry you never met him, but I’m glad your brother accepted you.”
Callan squeezed her hand, grateful for her presence. In this moment, with the fire warming them and the stars winking across the sky, peace washed over him. The past would always be a part of him, but with Daisy, mayhap he was ready to start anew.
As they settled in for the night, Daisy and Frankie inside, and him outside under the stars, Callan lay awake, listening to the sounds of the night. The rustling of leaves, the distant call of an owl, and her voice from inside the camper, talking to the dog, brought him comfort.
Daisy was sitting at the tiny table in the van, hair damp from her outdoor shower.
At first she thought they’d just use the cold water from the sink, but she was so glad they’d purchased a bucket with a hose.
Then she heated water in the kettle, poured it in the bucket, and if she was fast, it was just enough for a nice hot shower.
Last night, relaxing in front of the fire, she’d painted her nails blue and white, deciding she’d wear one of her favorite white tees and a pair of blue and white polka dot shorts.
There was plenty to choose from in the Berkshires, and while she’d been hiking once several years ago, the trip hadn’t gone well.
While Callan took a shower, and no, she was not going there, though what a sight it must be, she poured herself another cup of coffee and fired up the cooktop in the kitchen to make omelets for breakfast.
“I know, you want bacon. Everyone loves bacon,” she said to Frankie as he practically sat on her bare feet, shamelessly giving her sad puppy eyes.
She cracked the eggs on the side of the bowl, careful not to get any eggshell in the bowl, whisked them, added a generous handful of cheese and a dash of pepper. A bit of red, green, and orange peppers, along with a few mushrooms, would make for a hearty breakfast.
In the process of flipping the bacon over in the skillet, careful not to splatter the grease, her mouth dropped open as Callan pushed aside the mesh curtain and stepped inside the van, filling the space.
His hair was wet and slicked back, his skin glistened with a few remaining water droplets, the scent of freshly cut grass and citrus mingled with the breakfast smells.
A towel hung low across his hips, an amused smile played on his lips as he caught her staring.
When he winked at her, she narrowed her eyes.
“You’re dripping on the floor. I wouldn’t want you to slip and break a leg,” she said sweetly.
“Ye look like you’ve seen a ghost, lass,” he teased. “Or is it the sight of my fine self that has you all aflutter?”
Daisy rolled her eyes, though her cheeks burned.
“Keep dreaming, Highlander. I was just thinking about how you might need a second shower after you try my omelet.” Then she took a large spoonful of candied jalapenos and added them to the bowl, along with the shredded cheese.
He pulled the curtain across the space, dividing the front of the van where she was cooking from the back so he could dress without her drooling. Though he was only a few feet away, she was close enough to hear him, making her feel all shivery inside.
When he pushed the curtain back, securing it, she looked him up and down as he stood there, one perfect brow arched.
The jeans looked like they’d been made for him, the black tee stretched across broad shoulders.
“Ye like what ye see, lass? Whilst I am happy to stand here as long as ye wish, I think the bacon is burning.”
The guy had the nerve to smirk as she quickly removed the bacon from the pan. It was crispy but thankfully not burnt, much to Frankie’s disappointment.
Before she could say something snarky, he was standing close enough she felt his breath on her bare neck. As she slid the omelets onto the plates along with the bacon, he grabbed the silverware, napkins, and their coffee.
“Enjoy.” She joined him at the small table, their knees bumping as they sat across from each other.
Callan took a hearty bite. “It’s delicious,” he said before his face changed and he fanned his mouth. When he jumped up to grab a bottle of water from the cooler they’d brought to keep extra water and other beverages in, she laughed out loud.
“A bit hot?”
“Saints. What did ye put in here, fire?”
“Cowboy candy.” At his blank look, she elaborated. “Candied jalapeno peppers. They’re even better in chili or on top of hot dogs.”
When they finished eating, Callan cleaned up. Happy to let him keep things neat and tidy, she let Frankie out once more before they got back on the road. Who would have thought a man who claimed to be from the 14th century would be such a neat freak?
By the time they’d packed up, several of the other campers had already left.
The keys jingled in the breeze as she held out her hand, hoping she wouldn’t regret the offer she was about to make. If he really was from the past, driving should be hard for him, because what modern guy nowadays didn’t drive?
The truth was, Daisy kept looking for small ways to test him, to see if he was telling the truth or if he really was suffering from amnesia or something else.
“Ready to try driving?” The look of nervous excitement on his face had her relaxing just a bit.
“Aye, it canna be so different from riding a horse, can it?”
“We’ll see.” She rolled her eyes. “Thank goodness I have good insurance.”
The empty lot for the metal carriages beckoned as she maneuvered the van into the very center of the wide open expanse of concrete.
The scent of dew on the grass at the edge of the concrete filled his nose as he relished the feel of the sun on his skin.
With a deep breath, he accepted the keys, climbing into the driving seat.
“What do I do after I start the beast?” His voice was uncertain, his focus intense as he turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life, a gentle purr that seemed friendly enough.
“Put it in drive.” She pointed to the lever. “And gently step on the gas, the pedal on the right.”
The van jerked forward abruptly, making him swear. “Bloody hell, it’s like trying to ride a stubborn mule.”
“I’m glad I thought to put our coffee in cups with lids.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “Try again. You’ll get the hang of it.”
But he did not. He mixed up the pedals, the van jerking forward awkwardly. Daisy’s laughter rang out, making him smile as Frankie yelped, secure in his harness.
After a few more attempts, which included a close encounter with a bush and a slightly crooked parking job, Callan surrendered the driver’s seat back to Daisy.
“Mayhap I am better suited to horses,” he admitted, pride bruised.
When she touched his arm, their eyes met.
“You did really well for your first time.”
He nodded. “I will try again tomorrow so I may share the driving with ye, lass.”