Chapter 7
Faye was up and gone before first light the next morning. As Elodie staggered out of bed, she found herself alone in the little house, with bright morning sunlight coming from around the edges of the shutters and Faye’s blanket folded neatly away.
On the scrubbed table she found a jug of something that smelled like weak ale and a wooden platter containing an apple, a wedge of cheese, and several slices of freshly baked bread. She smiled. Faye was clearly determined to ensure her patient started the day properly.
She squinted against the bright morning light as she stepped outside and found the Steading already busy. Smoke rose from chimneys, and down the lane, several men were unloading timber from a cart, shouting orders and swearing at each other.
“Elodie?”
She turned as somebody called her name. A group of people were coming towards her down the street, and she recognized them as some of the new arrivals from yesterday. One of them was Morag’s father. What was he called? Malcolm?
Malcolm bobbed his head as the group reached her. “Is there anywhere we can tether the goats? They keep trying to get into the turnips.”
Another man added, “And somebody said we should clear the ditch, but nobody knows which ditch.”
Elodie blinked. “Why are you asking me?”
They exchanged glances but didn’t move, waiting for instructions.
Elodie rubbed her forehead. “Fine. There should be room in the root cellar to store the turnips. It’s over there.” Remembering Faye’s explanation of the place, she pointed it out. “I’ll find out which ditch needs clearing, but meanwhile why don’t you go help unload that timber?”
They nodded and hurried away to follow her orders, eager to make themselves useful. Elodie watched them go. Were they safe now they’d reached the Steading? She felt responsible for the people she’d brought in yesterday.
Doing it again, Elodie? she thought. Making yourself responsible for others, whether they like it or not?
She took a deep breath. No. This wasn’t her place. These people were not her responsibility.
She strode in the other direction, heading towards the smithy.
Through the open doors, she spotted Ronan working at the forge.
The forge fire cast flickering light across his face and shoulders, making his strawberry-blond hair look like a mane of fire.
He wore a leather apron over the bare muscles of his arms and chest as he vigorously pumped a pair of bellows, feeding air into the glowing heart of the forge.
There was something oddly hypnotic about the way he worked, the way the muscles of his arms bunched and relaxed as he worked the bellows, the way the firelight cast his face into a patchwork of light and shadow. Elodie simply stood there, watching.
But then a bark shattered the silence. Bran and Skye came racing out of the smithy, and Elodie barely had time to brace herself before fifty kilograms of enthusiastic dog crashed into her, knocking her flat on her backside.
“Oomph!”
Skye began showering her with kisses. Bran attempted to climb into her lap despite being approximately the size of a small horse.
Elodie laughed. “Ah! Gerroff! You’re squashing me!”
“Bran! Skye!”
Ronan was standing in the doorway with a flicker of a smile on his lips. “Let the poor woman breathe, will ye? I think they like ye, lass. Unfortunately for ye.”
Elodie laughed. “They have quite the enthusiastic way of saying hello.”
Ronan snorted his agreement, then came over and held out his hand. Elodie clasped it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. But when she was back on her feet, he didn’t release her right away.
Then he seemed to remember himself. Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “What can I do for ye, lass?”
She forced herself to remember why she’d come. “I wanted to ask if your offer still stands.”
Ronan’s smile faded slightly. “What offer?”
“To take me back to where you found me.”
Something flickered across his face, gone almost before she could identify it. Disappointment? Surely not.
“Aye, my offer stands. I’ll take ye.”
“Right. Great. Um... When?”
Ronan glanced around. “No time like the present, eh? Let me get cleaned up and we can be on our way.”
“You mean right now?” Elodie blurted. “I mean, yes, great. Thanks.”
Ronan took off his leather apron, then dunked his head in a vat of water in one corner, throwing back his head and sending water droplets everywhere.
Then he pulled a shirt over his head before leading Elodie round to the stable where Angus was busy eating from a manger.
The big horse snorted in greeting and began prancing, eager for exercise.
“Stop that,” Ronan told the horse. “Behave yerself for Elodie, will ye?”
Elodie watched with something like amusement as Ronan saddled the horse, chattering to him all the time. The horse, for his part, seemed to love the attention and kept gently nibbling at Ronan’s clothes whenever he got the chance. When Angus was saddled, Ronan gave her an exaggerated bow.
“After ye, my lady,” he said, indicating the saddle.
Elodie looked up at the giant horse. “Um. How do I get on?”
Ronan knelt and cupped his hands together. “Here. I’ll boost ye up.”
It wasn’t dignified. As Elodie put her foot into Ronan’s cupped hands and then scrambled up into the saddle, she was very glad nobody else was there to see it.
She was also very glad she was wearing a long, billowy dress so she didn’t end up flashing her backside at Ronan or anyone else that might happen to be passing.
She settled herself in the saddle, and Ronan swung up in front of her.
As they set out, she found herself looking around for Faye, wanting to say goodbye to the healer, but she was nowhere in sight. A twinge of regret went through her at that.
They followed the road up out of the valley and onto the moorland beyond. Elodie tried very hard not to think about how broad Ronan’s shoulders were or how much she wanted to put her arms around his waist. Just to help her keep her seat of course. No other reason.
Bran and Skye trotted beside them, occasionally disappearing into the heather before reappearing moments later, noses stuck to the ground, tails wagging.
The morning was bright and clear, with a fresh breeze blowing from the south.
It seemed a world away from the storm that had brought her here, or the world she was returning to, for that matter.
Ronan glanced over his shoulder. “Ye are awfully quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s a dangerous pastime.”
She laughed. “Is that your professional opinion?”
“It is.”
“Based on what expertise?”
“Years of observation.”
“Of yourself?”
“Especially of myself.”
She laughed again. Ronan smiled, a quick grin that made his eyes sparkle. An odd warmth spread through her at the sight. He turned back to face the front, and Elodie took a steadying breath. Get a hold of yourself, woman.
“Angus really is a fine horse,” she said, just to have something to say.
Ronan patted the horse’s neck. “Aye. But dinna let him hear ye say that. He’s arrogant enough as it is.”
“Not exactly a blacksmith’s horse.”
His smile faded slightly. “No.”
“You’ve had him a long time?”
“Since he was a colt.”
There was something final in his tone, suggesting she was getting close to subjects he didn’t want to discuss, yet she couldn’t help probing. “Where did you get him from?”
“Someone who knew about horses.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’m going to give.”
She rolled her eyes. “You do realize not answering questions only makes people more curious?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“And?”
“And I’m comfortable with that.”
Elodie huffed. Ronan’s lip quirked in amusement. As they traveled through the landscape, Elodie found herself more relaxed than she’d been in an age. She felt strangely content in the company of this man, his horse, and his dogs.
But finally Ronan pulled Angus to a halt. “This is the place.” He pointed to the bottom of a squat hill. It was almost bare of vegetation, with just a stunted tree growing from the crown.
“Oh.”
Elodie didn’t recognize anything, but she wasn’t surprised by that. After all, she’d been very disorientated when she’d been here last and it had been blowing a gale. With some effort she managed to slide down from the horse, stumbled as her feet hit the ground, and righted herself.
So this was it. The place where it all began. She scanned the hillside. The rocks. The heather. The slope descending towards them. Memories flared of rain and howling wind, of slipping and sliding, then...nothing. Just a sense of strong arms around her and waking in Faye’s cottage.
But up there, if she was right, lay the gateway that would take her home. Shielding her eyes against the brightness of the sky, she squinted up at the hilltop. She spotted nothing familiar. No arch. No shimmering in the air. Nothing but a bald, empty hilltop and that stunted tree.
“Are you sure this is where you found me?”
Ronan swung down easily from the horse, landing on the ground at her side. “It is. From the footprints, it was clear ye had come from the brow of the hill.”
Yes, she remembered that. She remembered emerging onto the hilltop and seeing the Highlands stretched around her like some giant tapestry.
Ronan was watching her steadily. “What are ye looking for, lass?”
How was she supposed to answer that? Oh, nothing much. Just an archway through time. A magical portal. A doorway between centuries.
“I...” she stammered. “I...um...”
His expression softened. He whistled, and the dogs came bounding over. “Perhaps we should climb. Maybe then ye’ll find what ye are looking for.”
He pointed at the ground. Bran sniffed where he pointed. Then Skye. Moments later both dogs set off, sniffing the ground as they trotted away.
“Shall we?”