Chapter Four
Rachel A Few Moments Ago
I stroll along the banks of Dùndubhan's moat, crossing over the drawbridge on my way back to the castle. Pausing halfway there, I turn to gaze down at the murky depths. My father would be shocked to find out what sorts of tales I dream up in mind to pass the time. A lass like me should never venture out on her own, that's what most folk believe. Even my mother, a woman from the future, believes I must be coddled like a bairn. I love them for them for caring so much about me, but I do sometimes feel a wee bit...stifled.
I've often dreamed of a mysterious stranger who would sweep me away to thrilling places and whisk me away on breathtaking adventures. A lad who would make my pulse quicken and give me a warm slickness between my thighs. A lad with a wicked streak.
Ah, but 'twill never happen. Mayhap if I squeeze my eyes shut and wish with all my might...
I stride onto the far bank and lean against a large, ancient stone that lies beside the drawbridge. The water below ripples, and for a moment, I swear I see a face gazing back at me. Not my own, mind you, but that of a man with dark hair, whisky-brown eyes, and a strange-looking beard that covers only a small area around his mouth. But when I blink, the image is gone.
" An Diabhal fhéin! " I whisper, staring into the murky depths. My heart races as I try to make sense of the vision. Who was that man, and why did he appear to me? Mayhap I shouldn't have invoked the devil when cursing my rotten fortune, but I cannae help it.
Wind whips my hair around my face, and I pull my cloak tighter. The air feels charged, as if the very fabric of time is stretching thin. I've heard tales of such occurrences from my great-aunts, though I've never experienced anything like that myself. Glancing back at the castle, I debate whether to share my vision with anyone. Would anyone believe me? Even among witches, this manner of sightings is rare and often dismissed as fanciful imaginings.
Och, of course my family would believe me.
I take a deep breath, preparing myself for what I'm about to do. With a quick glance 'round to ensure I'm alone, I kneel at the water's edge. My fingers tremble as I trace ancient symbols in the damp earth, whispering incantations passed down through generations of MacTaggart witches.
"Show me," I say, my voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of the moat. "Show me the truth behind the vision."
The water begins to swirl, slowly at first, then faster. Colors dance across its surface---flashes of silver, streaks of gold, and bursts of vibrant blue. My heart pounds as I lean closer, straining to make sense of the chaotic images. Suddenly, the swirling water stills, and the man's face reappears, clearer this time. His gaze, filled with a mix of confusion and annoyance, seems to lock onto mine. I gasp, nearly losing my balance as I tilt even closer.
"Who are you?" I wonder aloud.
As if in response, the vision expands. I see the man stumbling through a dark alley, desperate to escape from...something. He glances over his shoulder, fear etched across his face as an angry brute gives chase.
My breath catches in my throat. This isn't merely a vision of the past or present. Somehow, I'm seeing a glimpse of the future.
The scene shifts again. Now the man stands before Dùndubhan, ambling into the castle where other men and women wander about. The vision wavers, and I struggle to maintain my focus.
"Rachel!" My father's booming voice shatters my concentration. The water of the moat instantly stills, the mysterious man's face vanishing like mist in the morning sun. I scramble to my feet, hastily brushing dirt from my skirts. I have ne'er been blessed with dà-shealladh like Great-Aunt Lachina, so I cannae understand what came over me.
"Coming, Athairich !" I shout, my voice a touch too high-pitched to be natural.
As I turn toward the castle, I see my father's imposing figure striding through the open gates and onto the drawbridge. His brow is furrowed, golden eyes narrowed with concern and a hint of suspicion.
"What mischief are ye up to now, lass?" he asks while sweeping his gaze over the moat and the disturbed earth at my feet.
I force a smile, hoping it doesn't appear as nervous as I feel. "No mischief, Father. I wished for a wee bit of fresh air, that's all."
He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Aye, and your mother is a selkie. By God's bones, Rachel. I know that look in your eye. What have ye seen?"
I hesitate, torn between my desire to confide in him and the fear that I might have imagined the incident. I think I'll wait a wee while to find out if the vision returns. It might be nothing at all. But I cannae deny that man's face intrigued me and stirred something within me that felt warm, liquid, and delicious.
Father sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. "Ah, lass, why cannae ye be satisfied with the life you have? Ye constantly seek adventure, and I worry your desire for that will lead you astray."
My father turns toward the gates and begins walking, only to halt after a few paces. He glances back at me, his brows furrowed. "Are ye coming, lass?"
"Not yet. I'd like to sit on the riverbank for a spell, if that's acceptable."
"As you wish, mo nighean ."
He smiles and heads back inside the castle walls.
As I settle in on the riverbank with my feet dangling, I close my eyes to hear all the sounds of nature. Birds twittering. The moat splashing faintly. The warmth of the sun on my face feels lovely, and I begin to hum an old song as I picture the face of that strangely alluring man from my vision.
Every hair on my body stiffens in anticipation, and I glance 'round, watching for...something.
I swear I hear a faint echo of my own humming, as if it's bouncing back from some unseen barrier. My eyes fly open, as I inspect the area. The moat's surface has gone eerily still, like glass, reflecting the cloudy sky above.
A ripple appears in the center of the water, spreading outward in concentric circles. My breath catches in my throat as I lean forward, half-expecting to see the mysterious man's face again. Instead, the ripples grow more intense, churning the water into a frothy whirlpool. A blast of wind whips around me, tugging at my skirts and hair. The air crackles with an energy I've never felt before---raw and wild, like lightning barely contained. My heart races as I scramble to my feet, torn between fleeing and staying to witness whatever is about to happen.
The whirlpool grows larger, its churning waters now spanning the width of the moat, while a violent tempest emerges in the sky, writhing like a wild serpent, dipping down toward the earth. But it doesn't touch down, merely hovering several feet above my head. A low, rumbling sound emanates from its depths, vibrating through the ground beneath my feet. I take an involuntary step back, my eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination.
Abruptly, the tempest aloft evaporates.
I return my focus to the whirlpool. But as I watch, it dissipates within a moment or two at most, and silence reigns once more.
How very strange.
I'm about to turn away, until a throaty caterwauling erupts overhead, drawing my attention to the blue sky---and the beast that's plummeting downward. " Iasg is feòil !"
My curse, "fish and flesh," hardly seems appropriate, though. That is clearly a man plunging toward the earth, not a giant fish. And he will surely die. Swiftly, I issue a magical incantation---praying the man will survive.
I freeze, paralyzed by the sight of the falling man. His arms flail wildly as he dives toward the moat, his dark hair whipping about his face. In the split second before he hits the water, our eyes meet. His are whisky brown. Just like in my vision.
He crashes into the moat with a tremendous splash, sending water arcing high into the air, and vanishes beneath the waves. Without thinking, I hitch up my skirts and wade in after him in the shallows. The icy water shocks me, but I charge forward, searching desperately for any sign of the stranger.
"Halò?" I call out, my voice trembling. "Can ye hear me? Are ye injured?"
For a heart-stopping moment, there's nothing but silence. Then, a few yards away, the surface of the water breaks. The man has sprung up out of the water, gasping and sputtering. He thrashes about, clearly disoriented, seeming on the verge of going under again.
"Hold on!" I shout, plunging deeper into the frigid water. "I'm coming to fetch you!"
The man's wild eyes lock onto mine as I swim toward him. His lips move, but I can't make out the words over the splashing. As I draw closer, I see panic etched across his face.
"Take my hand!" I shout, stretching my arm out.
He hesitates for only a moment before grasping my hand tightly. His grip is strong, his desperation obvious. I pull him toward me, wrapping my arm about his chest to keep his head above water.
"I've got you," I assure him. "Relax and allow me to guide us back to shore."
The stranger nods weakly, his body shivering violently against mine as I slowly swim us back to shore. By the time we reach the bank, my arms and legs are burning from exertion, but I manage to haul us both onto solid ground. We collapse onto the muddy shore, gasping for air.
"Are ye unharmed?" I ask between breaths, glancing at the mysterious man.
He's lying on his back, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut. His strange clothes---unlike any I've ever seen---are soaked through and clinging to his body.
As I watch, he slowly opens his eyes and turns his head to meet my gaze. "How am I not dead? I fell from way up high, got thrown around like a ragdoll, and sank deep into the water. I should be a red smear on the grass."
"But ye aren't, and I'm grateful for that." My magics must have saved him, but I cannae tell him that yet. He might panic, or worse, try to murder me. Witchcraft is performed in secret. Witchfinders have been known to haunt the Highlands in search of witches to burn.
"Where am I?" he croaks, his accent unfamiliar to my ears, though it reminds me somewhat of my mother's manner of speech.
"You're at Dùndubhan Castle," I reply, pushing myself up to a sitting position. "In the Highlands of Scotland."
He pushes up on his elbows to study his new surroundings. "Where did all the tourists go?"
Tourists? I know what the word means, but I dinnae think it's wise to let this man see that I know. I learned it from my mother, who was a tourist in the twenty-first century, until she was pulled into the past.
The man's brow furrows in confusion as he takes in my words and appearance. He sits up fully, wincing slightly, and runs a hand through his dripping hair.
The man blinks repeatedly, seeming even more bewildered than before. "Tourists are...um, people visiting from far away?"
He waves his hand vaguely in the air.
"Oh!" I behave as if I have no idea what a tourist is, even though I do understand. "Well, Dùndubhan is not that sort of place. 'Tis our family seat."
"Family..." His voice trails off as he attempts to process my words. Wincing, he raises a shaking hand to his head. "Damn, what happened to me?"
I shrug. "Something very strange. 'Tis all I know."
He wipes a hand over his face and sighs. "What's your name?"
I stare at him with my brows wrinkled. Should I tell him who I am? Nay, I should not. Or mayhap I should. His presence has made me terribly confused which might explain what I say next. "I am Rachel MacTaggart. And you are..."
"Joey Finnegan."
An Irish lad? No, he doesn't seem at all like an Irishman aside from his surname. His accent is quite unusual---to me, at least.
"I don't understand," Joey says, his voice hoarse. "I was just...Fulvio grabbed me and then...crazy shit happened." He trails off, shaking his head as if to clear his mind. "This can't be real. Am I dreaming?"
I reach out hesitantly, placing a hand on his arm.
He flinches at the contact but doesn't pull away.
"I assure ye, this is quite real, Joey," I tell him. "Though I cannae explain how ye came to be here. A tempest pulled you down from the sky, then you fell into a whirlpool."
Guilt settles in my heart as I wonder if I should explain who and what I am. But my parents would lock me away in the tower bedroom if confessed everything to a stranger.
Joey aims his golden eyes at me once more, and I'm struck by the intensity of his gaze. I sense fear there, yes, but also a sharp intelligence that makes me wonder who this man is.
Joey stares at me for a long moment before he speaks again. "A tempest? A whirlpool? That's impossible." He shakes his head, sending droplets of water flying. "Look, I appreciate you fishing me out of that moat, but this has to be some kind of elaborate prank. Where are the cameras?"
I tilt my head, not understanding his strange words. "Cameras? I know not what ye speak of. There's only you and I here on this bank, Joey Finnegan."
He scrambles to his feet, swaying slightly as he takes in his surroundings. I rise too and watch as his eyes widen and he notices the looming stone walls of Dùndubhan Castle, the ancient drawbridge, the wooden gates, and the dense forest beyond.
"No," he mutters, shaking his head. "No, no, no. This isn't right. Where's the parking lot? The gift shop? The moat is where the driveway was, but..." He scratches his head. "I must be dreaming."
"I know not of these things you speak of. There is only the castle, the forest, and the village beyond."
Joey knifes his hands through his hair, his eyes wild. The poor laddie seems incapable of comprehending the situation.
"What year is it?" he demands suddenly, grabbing my shoulders.
I recoil slightly at his touch, surprised by the intimate contact, but hold my ground. "The year of Our Lord 1621."
His jaw drops.