Chapter Five
Joey
I stumble backward, feeling as if I've been smacked down by a large, angry lumberjack. I'm kind of dizzy too, but that's ridiculous. Men don't get light-headed. "Look, Rachel whoever-you-are, what you're saying is impossible. This is the year 2025."
"Are ye certain of that, Joey Finnegan?"
"Yeah, absolutely."
Rachel seems oddly delighted by this turn of events. Maybe she doesn't get out much. Insane asylums are full of nutjobs who think they're Cleopatra or Joan of Arc, so this girl might think she's Mary Queen of Scots.
"This is bullshit," I declare as if I have a frigging clue what's happening to me. "You must be pulling my leg. The year is 2025."
"Afraid not, Joey." The certainty in her voice and on her face is damn convincing. "I once met a laddie who had calculated years greater than three thousand. But that's a tale for another day. Right now, we need to get you inside and dried off before anyone else sees you."
A shout rings out from the direction of the castle. "Rachel! Where are ye, lass?"
"Och, it's my father," she hisses, grabbing my arm. "Quickly now, we must hide you. Kieran MacTaggart willnae be pleased to see what his daughter has brought home."
My head is spinning now for sure. I've never felt this bewildered before, and so I let Rachel pull along with her a cluster of bushes near the moat's edge. We crouch down just as more heavy footsteps approach.
"Rachel MacTaggart! I told ye to come inside, not go for a swim! Ye look like ye jumped into the moat."
No, it wasn't Rachel who did that.
She peeks through the branches, where we can both see her father's imposing figure as he scans the area.
"I'm here, Athairich !" she hollers, sounding remarkably steady. "I'll be along in a moment. I, um...dropped something in the water and had to fetch it out."
I shift my position minutely, and Rachel throws me a warning glance over her shoulder. I mouth, "Sorry."
"Ye'll catch your death in those wet clothes," Big Daddy grumbles. "Come inside now, lass. Whatever ye've lost can wait until tomorrow."
"Aye, I'll be there shortly," she replies, and I'd swear she's rifling her brain for a way to smuggle her new toy into the castle undetected.
As Big Daddy's footsteps retreat, Rachel turns to me. "We need to get ye inside without anyone seeing. There's a secret corridor I found a few years ago, and no one else knows about it."
"It's not a dungeon, is it?"
"No, ye dafty." She sighs and grabs my hand. "Dinnae fash. I won't hurt you."
My life in the twenty-first century wasn't exactly awesome, so I guess letting this crazy girl lock me up couldn't be as bad as what Fulvio would've done to me. Yeah, I've lost my mind.
I wave toward...wherever we're going. "Lead the way."
We creep along the edge of the moat, staying low and using the bushes for cover. As we near the corner of the castle walls, Rachel seems to spot something, though all I see is ivy climbing up the bricks. But she pulls open a small wooden door that had been masked by the vines.
"There," she says, smiling and pointing at the door. "We'll slip inside here and find ye some dry clothes."
Rachel walks behind me as we head for who knows where.
What else can I do? I follow close behind the hot medieval girl as she eases the door open, wincing when the hinges creak. The narrow passageway beyond is dark and musty. Doesn't this place have an HVAC system? No, I guess it wouldn't. If I believe this is the past. I must be dreaming, right? A beautiful, sexy girl didn't pull me out of a moat, and she definitely didn't check out my ass a minute ago.
Finally, she halts and fishes a key out of her skirts. There must be a pocket inside there, though I couldn't see enough of it to be sure. As she eases the door inward, I wonder again if she plans to lock me in her private dungeon. But instead, Rachel plucks a lantern off the wall, where I can see a hook has been installed. She lights the wick, and the golden glow spreads throughout the room.
"Mind the step," she warns, taking my hand to guide me.
"In ye go," Rachel whispers, her lilting accent making my dick twitch---not enough for her to notice, thankfully. "And mind yer head, Joey."
I duck through the low doorway, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. It's not a dungeon, thank God, but a small chamber with rough stone walls. A fire crackles in a hearth and casts dancing shadows across the room. The smell of herbs and something earthy fills my nostrils.
"Sit," she commands, pointing to a wooden stool.
I obey, watching as she bustles around the room, grabbing jars and vials from shelves I hadn't noticed before.
"So, uh, what is this place?" I ask, trying to sound casual and not like a guy who just fell through time or...something. "And what are you doing with those vials and stuff? Are you trying to brainwash me?"
"Nay," Rachel says with a faint chuckle. She pauses in her work, holding a bundle of dried plants in her hand. Her blue eyes lock onto mine, and I swear I see a spark of humor dancing within them. "This, my dear time traveler, is where we figure out just how ye managed to tumble into our century."
I chuckle nervously. "Right, because that's totally a normal thing that happens."
"Och, ye'd be surprised," Rachel quips, tossing the herbs into a mortar and beginning to grind them with a pestle. "Though I must admit, it's usually old relics or magical artifacts that find their way through time, not handsome gentlemen."
I'm no gentleman. But she doesn't need to know that. "So, you, uh, deal with this kind of thing often?"
Rachel's laugh is like music, echoing off the stone walls. "Not exactly. But my great-aunts, now they've seen their fair share of oddities. I'm simply the apprentice, trying to muddle through." She pauses her grinding and looks at me thoughtfully. "Though I must say, you're by far the most interesting thing that's stumbled into Dùndubhan in quite some time."
I shift on the stool, unsure whether to be flattered or concerned, and I mumble, "Lucky me."
Rachel resumes her work, adding liquids from various vials to her concoction, humming tunelessly all the while. The aroma intensifies, filling my nostrils with a mix of earth and spice like nothing I've experienced before. While I watch her fiddling with potions and herbs, I can't stop myself from babbling.
"No offense, Rachel, but the gunk you're whipping up smells like a pig's ass."
Her delicate laughter reminds me of tiny bells. "Dinnae fash, Joey. 'Twill smell much better once I'm finished."
"How long will that take?"
The hottest girl I've ever met casually shrugs one shoulder. "It takes as long as it takes."
Yeah, that's an incredibly helpful statement.
"Have you always been a witch?" I ask, just for something to do.
"Not quite always." She grinds the herbs with a mortar and pestle, sighing wistfully. "My work would go much faster with fewer accidents if I had the MacTaggart witches' book. Unfortunately, 'twas lost many moons ago, before anyone can remember."
I want to ask her more about that, but I don't get the chance.
"All right, Joey Finnegan," Rachel says, her accent wrapping around my name like a lover's caress, "care to tell me what brought ye to our humble castle in the first place?"
I hesitate, weighing my options. How much should I reveal? This girl---this woman---seems genuine, but I've learned the hard way not to trust the way things appear to be. Damiano Zanetti had seemed like a nice, fatherly guy. I learned too late he was a godfather, the kind who sinks his claws into you and never lets go.
While Rachel keeps doing whatever the fuck she's doing, I might as well try to get a little information out of her. "You've got a bed and chairs and other furniture, so this must be your private hideout."
"Aye, 'tis my wee sanctuary," Rachel says, slipping in behind me and securing the door. "We can speak freely here."
"Do you drug all the guys you find in the moat and hide them in your secret room?"
"Ahmno drugging you. But why aren't ye more afeard of what's happened to ye?"
I shrug one shoulder. "After all the shit I've been through, starting from the time I was a boy, I guess time travel doesn't seem so scary---or so bad."
Especially with a woman like Rachel tending to me.
"What travails have beset ye, Joey? If ye dinnae mind me asking."
"That's okay." I scratch that back of my neck, thinking back on my not-so-excellent adventures. "I ran away from my old life and flew to Scotland, hoping to escape from some evil bastards. But one of them caught up to me. In this castle, actually. The modern version of it, anyway."
"How intriguing. What happened next?"
Rachel is a very strange girl, and she might slightly insane. But I kinda like that about her.
"Well, I was standing in front of a glass case that held a medieval sword that was labeled as 'The sword of Ciaran mac in tSagairt.' That means Kieran Aulay MacTaggart. Hey, that's your last name too---MacTaggart."
Her eyes go wide. She doesn't blink, but her lips fall open.
"What's wrong, Rachel?"
She flaps her head several times. "That sword belongs to my father. Ye must have seen a similar sword in your time."
"Huh." That's all I can manage to say. Was I destined to find that sword? Nah, I don't believe in fate. Says the guy who traveled through time.
Rachel clears her throat and goes back to work.
I spin around, taking in the cluttered shelves lining the walls. Jars of mysterious substances, bundles of dried plants, and what look suspiciously like animal bones are crammed into every available space. A worn wooden table dominates the center of the room, its surface covered in open books and scattered parchments.
"Look, I appreciate the hospitality and all, but what the hell is going on?" I demand as my New York instincts kick in. "One minute I'm running from the mob, the next I'm in some medieval cosplay nightmare."
Rachel's blue eyes sparkle with amusement. "Ye think this a game, do ye? I assure ye, Joey Finnegan, 'tis all too real. I'm only an apprentice, trying to muddle through. I cannae deny that you are the most fascinating specimen I've ever encountered."
Now I'm a specimen. That's just perfect.
Rachel goes back to her work, mixing up who knows what. Probably something designed to turn me into her sex slave. Not that I'd mind being at her mercy. But I forget about that as the smell of her potion intensifies, a mix of earth and spice that makes my head swim.
Damn, she's hot. Or maybe her witch's brew is getting to me.
She eyes me sideways, her lips curling in the slightest smile. "Tell me, Joey, how do you think you came to be in the past? Magic must have brought you here, but the how and why are unknown to me."
I swallow hard, weighing my options. This girl seems genuine, but I've been burned before. Still, if I'm really stuck in the past, I need allies. So, I give her a sanitized version of the truth.
"I was...in some trouble back home. Unsavory people were after me, and I needed to lay low for a while. Scotland seemed as good a place as any to disappear." I push a hand through my hair, which is still slightly damp from my unexpected swim. "I found the castle by accident. Couldn't believe how many tourists were there checking out the artifacts."
Rachel raises an eyebrow, her hands never pausing in their work. "Dangerous people, I take it?"
"Bingo." I realize she might not understand that word, so I explain. "That means yes."
"You came from New York City," she says as if she's not sure she knows how to pronounce the name. "Now, tell me about the trouble you got yourself into."
"Let's just say I got mixed up with the wrong crowd back in New York. Thought I could handle it, but..." I trail off, not wanting to relive those memories.
"Och, ye poor laddie."
Rachel moves closer. Too close. The scent of her turns me, but the way her bodice pushes the mounds of her tits up might just turn me into a rampaging animal. She's hot, yes. But there's something else about her, something I can't quite describe, that makes me want to pull her into my arms and rip that bodice open.
Rachel stretches her hand out to me, nearly touching my shoulder before she seems to think better of it. Her blue eyes search mine. "Ye've been through the ringer, haven't ye?"
I shrug, trying to play it cool even while eying the concoction she's been working on. "It's nothing I couldn't have handled before I fell through some kind of weird whirlpool. Things are different now, way different." I peer down at her vials. "What exactly are you brewing there, anyway? Some kind of truth serum?"
Rachel laughs, and the musical sound enchanting. "Nothing so sinister, I assure ye. 'Tis a potion to help anchor ye to our time. Without it, ye might just slip right back to yer own century."
"Wait, you're serious? This isn't some elaborate prank?"
"I'm afraid not, Joey," Rachel says. "You have truly traveled through time, and now you're here in seventeenth century Scotland. Though I cannae say how or why just yet. Someone must have thrown you into this world for a reason, whether it was nefarious or not."
"What if I'm stuck here?"
She shrugs one shoulder. "I'm fair certain ye will adapt. Ye dinnae seem like the sort who would simply lie down and die."
Rachel continues to stir her concoction. "And as for being stuck, well, that remains to be seen. First, we need to stabilize your presence here."
Finally, she lifts the mortar, which is now filled with a swirling, iridescent liquid. Then she commands me to "drink this" while holding it out to me.
I squirm at the sight of the orangish liquid. "Uh, no offense, but I'm not in the habit of drinking mystery brews offered to me by strangers. Not even beautiful ones."
She gives me an exasperated look, shaking her head.
I gaze down at the mystery brew that still faintly bubbles. This must be an alternate universe, but I guess I'd better get used to it.