Follow Me

Chapter One

Harper Forbes punched in the entry code on the quaint cottage’s front door. Unaccustomed to the damp cold, she was anxious to get inside. Turning back to see the view and the shimmering lochs, she finally appreciated why her best friend Skye wanted to come here. And the castle! Eilean Donen above the dark waters was breathtaking.

It had been a long trip but worry over her friend’s disappearance fueled Harper through the journey. Now she was in a foreign country, alone, knowing no one. She refused to let that intimidate her. There were so many questions and Harper needed answers.

The risk was that everything Harper had ever believed about reality might be wrong and she was still debating the merits of actually being here in the first place. Time travel? Seriously? It was a ridiculous concept, but then what had happened to her friend? They were so close, more like sisters, so Harper knew Skye wouldn’t just vanish.

It had been weeks since she had received the packages from Skye containing her passport, driver’s license, clothes, cash, and even her phone. Skye also sent a cryptic message about the cloak working, and a goodbye. None of it made any sense unless she subscribed to a ludicrous notion about travelling through time. It was more logical that something had happened to her, but then why would she mail those boxes. In fact, some had actually been mailed by the landlord here. After hearing no more for weeks, Harper was too pragmatic to let it go without an explanation.

When she had called the owner of the cottage, the woman Harper spoke to agreed it was strange Skye had her mail the two packages after she left. Harper was told Skye had left very specific instructions. The woman seemed nervous, as if Harper was looking to blame her for something done wrong, but Harper reassured the woman she just wanted some answers as to what had happened to her friend.

Initial concern had built to an urgency and hence her trip here to Dornie and the castle. Now that she had made the trip here, she had no intention of leaving without a viable reason for Skye’s disappearance. But the idea of time travel was not in Harper’s lexicon. The unknown twirled around in her mind like the wheel in a hamster’s cage.

In addition to the worry, Harper missed Skye and found it hard to shake the sadness after she left Memphis. Learning many years ago that action tended to lift the grey smoke of depression, Harper had decided to get on a plane. Her logical side reminded her it might be useless. There were some things she simply couldn’t control or discover. Then again, what could a small getaway hurt even if she couldn’t find Skye?

Harper had received those packages and it convinced her that Skye had either completely lost herself in fantasy or—and was this even conceivable—had actually traveled back in time. But if Skye had arranged to have her things sent to Harper, where was she now? And how was she managing without identification or money? In 1562? Again—seriously?

Harper set down her luggage and took a moment to appreciate the bungalow. Spacious and cozy at the same time, the accommodations here were welcoming. Plaid shades on the windows were raised to frame the magnificent view of the rolling hills and she was certain that come spring, the fields would boast vivid emerald-green. Of course, she’d be home by then. Unbidden, a chill ran up her spine, but Harper shook it off.

Eilean Donan Castle gleamed in the distance, the ancient walls painted with the golds of the late morning sunshine and reflected in the water surrounding it. It was like looking at a dream within a dream. Yes, that summed it up. A few sparse trees sheltered the stones, which made the edifice even more imposing and unassailable. It was as if it declared “if you are foe, you will not reach us”. Exciting and foreboding and promising.

This all started when Skye had found a portrait of a Scotsman painted in the 1500s and she had apparently fallen in love with the man, or at least his image. A little research and it was clear the background of the picture was here, with a backdrop of the castle. Declaring the man her soul mate and determined to find him, Skye had bought a time travel cloak on Ebay, of all places. She could hear Skye now: “their purchases come with a guarantee”. Ridiculous! But Skye was not to be talked out of it and had come here, to Eilean Donan castle. And soon after, after sending Harper packages with her belongings and identification, she vanished. That was nearly two months ago. Now it was approaching the winter holidays and that was definitely not Harper’s favorite time of the year. If she was being honest, she was looking for an excuse to think about something—anything—else other than “deck the halls”. She and Skye had always made sure to spend this time of year together, even when Harper was briefly married, because neither of them had family to speak of, or any warm memories to look back on. So, Skye wouldn’t just disappear, especially at Christmastime.

Harper was beyond worried about her friend, the fear and the loneliness, a sharp stick pressing against her heart.

Even with her crazy imagination, Skye was the best friend Harper had ever had. Her fantasies and fairy tales were always stretching the bounds of reality, while Harper was earthbound and practical. Skye’s idea of catapulting through time was absurd. But when you eliminated the impossible… was it truly impossible?

Harper picked up her bag and carried it into the bedroom. She’d unpack later. She wanted to wash her face after the long journey.

Harper took a long look in the bathroom mirror above the sink. “Who are you?” she asked the reflection. “Chasing after Skye because she said she could time travel? You know better than that!” Harper sighed. “But where is she?” There was no quelling the constant worry.

A woman’s cry carried from the bedroom. Harper immediately startled at the sound of panic in the woman’s howl. Rushing out into the next room, she was stunned to see a young woman she didn’t recognize dressed in medieval clothes and wrapped in a filthy old cloak. The woman’s dark hair floated around her in a mass of tangles and the expression on her face was a combination of confusion and distress. Gauging her to be in her early twenties, the woman nevertheless had the look of one who had seen much of life. Her gown was impressively authentic, and her stance defiant, her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed.

How did this woman get in here? Who was she? Or maybe—maybe—it was all meant to make visitors feel as if they had gone back in time. Part of the atmosphere? Still… it was odd.

Harper might have been annoyed by the intrusion, until her gaze was drawn again to the cloak the woman wore. Harper recognized that cloak. Skye had shown it to her before she left for Scotland. There was no mistaking it had to be the same one. Now more questions buzzed through Harper’s mind: how was it this other woman was wearing it? Who was she? Did she mug Skye and steal it? But who would bother robbing anyone for an old rag of a garment? Or was it that jet lag caused hallucinations?

Harper was pretty sure the woman was real and not a figment of her imagination, but how did she just appear here? Harper was certain she locked the front door when she arrived. And did she have any information about what had happened to Skye? Before she could ask anything, the other woman momentarily flashed her gaze at Harper before angling her head and scanning the room.

“Where?” the woman demanded, irritation twisting her features. “What happened?” Her gaze direct and her lips puckered, she glared at Harper as if Harper was responsible. “Did ye bewitch me?” The rancor in her tone was unmistakable.

“What I’m thinking—not possible,” Harper said aloud more to herself than to her intruder. “There has to be a logical explanation.”

The stranger took several steps away from Harper, but she was too busy looking everywhere at once to answer.

More curious than intimidated, Harper took a step forward. “Who are you? And how did you get in here?”

“This isnae the castle. How did I get here? Indeed. How did ye do it?” Her brows came together, forming a crease between her dark eyes—eyes that reflected a lack of empathy. Her tone softened. “Ye must be verra rich to live in this place.”

“I don’t live here,” Harper responded instinctively. “I’m looking for my friend Skye.”

“Skye?” The woman fairly shrieked. “Skye?” she repeated. “That howfin galla.” Even Harper, who spoke little Gaelic, guessed that a galla was a bitch by the venom in the other woman’s tone.

“So you know her! Where is she?” Finally, some answers!

“No doubt bewitching the laird—who is mine!” Her reptilian smile made goosebumps rise on Harper’s skin. “Make no mistake. I will end her.” This last was said on a breathy whisper seething with malice. The woman continued to smile without humor, her eyes also reminding Harper of a snake. “If ye are friends of the lady Skye”—she spit the name as if it tasted like lemons—”and if she is yer caraid, ye are no caraid of mine,” she said. “So do tell—who are ye?” the woman demanded, her voice again more a screech.

Harper raised her eyebrows and, determining to stand her ground, stared at the other woman. “I might ask the same of you.”

“Davina. Of Clan Mackenzie.” This was said with a lifted chin and a thick Scottish brogue.

This was too fantastic to be anything but a hallucination, but that didn’t make sense, either. Harper decided that maybe she should just play along. “It is possible I have a problem with her as well. Where is she?”

“And who be ye?” the one named Davina of Clan MacKenzie repeated, annoyance clear in her tone.

“I am Harper of—Clan Forbes. I suppose you expect me to welcome you to the twenty-first century.” It just seemed the right thing to say, which was silly.

“The what?” Her puzzlement actually appeared genuine.

“I believe that cloak you are wearing is responsible.” But really, was it? “It belongs to Skye. Where did you get it?”

Davina gaped down at the cloak as if only now realizing she wore it, then quickly dropped the garment to the floor, kicking it away as if it might bite her. She made her way around the room, out into the living area, and to the front door. Glancing back at Harper over her shoulder, she flung the door wide and stepped outside.

Fascinated, Harper followed, wondering how long this charade would continue.

Davina looked across the loch at the castle and frowned as if dumbfounded. “A bridge? Nay. It wasnae there but a moment ago.” Turning to Harper, it was clear she wanted an explanation. “Ye are a witch. I will see you burned.”

Shrugging, Harper had trouble taking all this seriously. But she was getting tired of the game this woman was playing. “As I said before, welcome to the twenty-first century. Where did you get the cloak?”

Shaking her head, Davina backed away from Harper, seemingly bewildered, when an airplane passed overhead. Her mouth fell open, and she let out a shriek as she stared skyward. Shuddering in sudden panic, Davina turned and took off at a run across the meadow that separated the cottage from the loch and the castle bridge. The two-lane highway loomed just ahead, but Davina failed to notice the oncoming car, so clearly intent on looking at the castle.

Instinct kicked in and Harper took off after her. “Stop! Look out!” But it was too late. There was a screech of brakes and a terrible slamming sound as the vehicle struck Davina, flipping her into the air. Gravity pulled her back to crash into the pavement with a sickening crunch.

Harper ran to her as the driver threw himself out of his car and raced over to them. “I didn’t see her. She came out of nowhere.” His complexion was blanched with fear, his eyes wide with both guilt and terror. “I didn’t see her.”

“Call 911. Or 999. Or whatever the emergency number is,” Harper ordered the man. Her heart was painfully pushing against her ribs and her breath came hard and fast. Not a usual believer in prayer, she nevertheless found herself asking God not to let this woman die. Convinced this woman was an important part of her search for Skye, Harper knew if she succumbed, Harper would never have the answers she so desperately sought.

***

After giving her statement to the police and watching as the ambulance pulled away, sirens blaring, Harper stumbled back to the cottage as if in a daze. The ambulance driver had told her they were taking the woman to Broadford Hospital and hinted that the chances of her survival were not good. He’d said more, but Harper had been too much in a state of shock to remember. She did recall telling the EMT’s the woman’s name.

The cottage door was still gaping open, and Harper drifted inside. She sank down on the couch and concentrated on getting her focus back. Fervently wishing she could talk to Skye about what had just happened, Harper broke down and sobbed. That poor woman. No matter who she was, she didn’t deserve such a fate. And the man who had hit her. Harper cried for him as well. How terrible to be the driver. Taking deep breaths, she finally calmed and tried to be logical. What should she do now?

In her line of vision, crumpled on the floor, the old, tattered cloak mocked her. Rising from her seat, she walked over to it, and held it up, then carefully brought it back to the arm of the sofa and sat beside it, leaving enough distance so she didn’t have to touch it.

“Is it true?” she asked the cape, then felt silly talking to a grimy bit of fabric. That old garment couldn’t possibly have the power to transport someone through time any more than it could answer her question. But how could she explain the woman Davina appearing in the cottage in clothes that clearly seemed from another age? And with Skye’s cloak wrapped around her.

A thought occurred. Maybe there was a Renaissance faire nearby and the woman had simply walked in here by mistake. But didn’t the door to the cottage lock automatically? Harper stood and walked back over to the entry and stepped outside. A rush of icy air lifted her hair and Harper shivered, but she refused to view that as any kind of omen. No matter what, she intended to hang on to facts. Data. Logic.

The lock audibly clicked into place when the door closed. Re-entering the code, she stepped back into the living room. Undoubtedly, the woman couldn’t have just wandered in here.

And add to that Harper saw her expression when she spotted the airplane. The woman was terrified and completely baffled. Unless she was an Oscar-caliber actress, Davina was truly discombobulated. So much so, she had nearly been killed. And before that, she had been surprised by the bridge, which had not been constructed until the twentieth century. Without being well-versed in Scottish history, how would she know that? Of course, she might if she actually lived in the area. But the thought of the owners putting on a show for visitors by having actors appear in their rooms—no, that wasn’t logical at all.

Desperate for some concrete explanation, Harper inhaled and stroked the cloak. “If you could talk, what could you tell me?”

Folding the garment, Harper took it back into the bedroom and laid it on the bed and stared at it. Holes poked through the worn material, and it smelled of age and wear and being stored in an airless space. Harper denied its potential potency and decided the only answers were to be had at the local hospital. That is, if the woman was still alive and able to talk. There had to be a simple explanation, right?

At the carved oak writing desk in the corner, Harper sorted through some brochures until she found one for a taxi service. She needed to go to the hospital and ask the woman—Davina—her name was Davina—some pertinent questions. Harper at least felt as if she owed it to her—and to herself—to check on her.

The driver pulled up a few minutes later. He was young and very Scottish, a sweet young man in his early twenties with bright red hair and blue eyes. Harper slipped into the back seat and gave him instructions to take her to Broadford Hospital. He was a chatty fellow, which was fine by her. Harper let him do the talking. He told her he was driving to pay his way through college and one day hoped to visit America. As they pulled up to the hospital, he looked at her through the rearview mirror. “I’m glad to say ye do nae look ill. Are ye?”

“What?” The question took her by surprise and she laughed.”No. Just visiting—a friend.”

“Aye. Good. Well then if after ye would wish to sightsee, I can make meself available. Just so ye know.”

“Thanks. I don’t know what my plans are, but I will keep in mind that I can call on you.” A thought struck. “Is there a Renaissance faire going on around here?”

The man chuckled. “Nay. That only happens in the summer at the castle, to entertain the tourists.”

“So no one would be walking around in a costume now?”

“Nay. Why do ye ask?”

“Oh, it’s just that I met a woman earlier and she was dressed in an outfit from the medieval time.”

“That would be odd. There isnae even a play going on. Soon we will celebrate the holidays, but nae yet.”

“And would it be part of the—entertainment—to have someone enter the cottage in medieval dress? To offer atmosphere?”

The boy seemed scandalized. “Nay. That would be rude.”

Indeed.

He parked in front, then turned in his seat. “Do ye wish me to wait?”

Harper thought about it for a moment, then decided it might be easier than having to call for another ride. “That would be great. I shouldn’t be too long.”

***

Being a hospital administrator back in the States, Harper was familiar with the setting. The hospital was strikingly similar to her own. Her time at work was spent in the running of a business that provided the same services, but it felt strange to have a personal interest. No one she actually knew had ever been admitted to her hospital.

Making her way to reception, she stopped at the information area and stepped up to the older man behind the desk. Sitting up straighter, he smiled at her. “Can I help ye?”

“An ambulance just brought in a woman from Dornie who’d been hit by a car.”

“Name?” the receptionist inquired.

“Davina MacKenzie.”

“Are ye related to her?”

“No, but I was there when it happened, and I just wanted to see how she was doing.”

“If yer not family, I’m afraid we can’t give out any information.”

It was not a surprise they couldn’t tell her anything. Harper knew this, but she had to try. After all, this was not a normal situation. “Can I at least see her? Please,” Harper pleaded.

“I can tell ye she hasnae been assigned a room yet, so she’s probably still here in emergency. Ye really can’t see her there. But if ye want to check back later…”

“I understand.” She was turning away when the man’s voice stopped her.

“Well, since she was hit by a car, the police might want to ask you some questions. If ye tell me where they can reach ye, I’ll have them be in touch if need be.” The man sympathetically shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry, but it’s the best I can do.”

The police had already questioned her at the scene, but she thought she might not have been very coherent at the time, so she didn’t disagree. Leaving her information, Harper walked back to the car waiting for her and climbed in. She had no choice but to hope for someone to be in touch or come back here later. The frustration chewed at her.

They pulled up to her door and the boy jumped out to open the back passenger side for her.

“I think I need to stay put for a while, but I might need you later today or tomorrow,” she said to the driver.

“Aye. Just ask for Cameron and I’ll be at yer service.”

But can you drive me to the 1500s? And he would say “sure thing, lady”. Or not.

Harper had no sooner sat down on the couch when her cell phone rang. The police would like to come by in two hours to ask her some more questions. With time to wait, she decided she might was well grab some lunch in the meantime at that restaurant down the road. She was starving!

Clachan Pub was the picture of what she had imagined a Scottish pub should be: cozy and warm, with dark wood walls and floor, and a bar that dominated the back wall with bottles of all kinds glittering in the sparse light. It smelled of ale, baking bread, frying meat, and comfort.

A cheery hostess led her to a table in the back and when Harper thanked her, the woman smiled as if she had just realized something.

“Another American girl?” It wasn’t really a question.

“Oh, did my friend, Skye, come here?” Knowing that Skye stayed at the cottage, it made sense.

“Are ye talking about that other American girl traveling alone? Auburn hair? Pretty little thing? Women usually come in pairs or groups, so I remembered her.”

Harper nodded.

“It was some weeks ago or maybe a month or two, but aye, she was only here the one time. Were ye looking for her?”

“As a matter of fact, I was. She seems to have—disappeared.” Harper wondered if she should have said that, but it was too late now. She didn’t want things to get blown out of proportion if there was a logical explanation for Skye’s behavior. “Well, not so dramatic. I am just not sure where she is at the moment.”

The hostess nodded sympathetically. “Oh, I am sorry to hear that. Ye must be a good friend to come seeking her.”

“Did she happen to mention where she intended to go after visiting here?” Hope springs eternal.

“Nay. She just seemed to be soaking it all in. And that’s the kind of visitor we appreciate.”

“She was only here the one time you said?”

“Aye. I suppose she was anxious to see more of the country.”

“Yes,” Harper agreed, disappointed that the woman had only seen Skye once. There was still a chance Davina would wake up and Harper could get answers from the poor woman in the hospital. “Oh and… have you seen anyone walking about in medieval costumes?”

“Nay this time of year. Only in the summer at the castle. Not even a play is going on.”

Her words reinforced those of Cameron. Still, it was possible Davina of Clan MacKenzie had decided to play dress-up for fun, wasn’t it?

“Well, what can I get ye?” the hostess asked.

Harper smiled at the woman’s sweet face, her cheeks pink, and her smile broad.

“Something very Scottish.”

***

Her hunger appeased, Harper returned to her lodging and had just settled in when someone knocked on the door. Two police officers, a man and a woman, introduced themselves as Constable Addison and Sergeant Dennie. Harper ushered them to the couch and perched on a chair across from them, hoping the news about Davina’s condition was good.

“How is she? Davina.” Harper asked.

“Is she a friend of yers?” Constable Addison asked.

“No. I don’t know her. I was outside, and she walked up to me. She told me her name and we had barely exchanged pleasantries when she took off running.” It was a little white lie, but mostly true.

“Did ye say something to send her off like that?” Sergeant Dennie pressed.

“No. I think there was something to do with the airplane flying overhead.” Harper knew this sounded bizarre, but if she told them what she really suspected (did she?) they would lock her up in the insane asylum. “I mean, maybe she had some trauma associated with air travel or something.”

“I’m sorry. Are ye saying ye think she was afraid of airplanes?” Addison asked, gazing at Harper as if she had just grown another head.

“I don’t understand it myself. I had just stepped outside, thinking about where I should eat lunch, and she approached me. As I said before, she introduced herself, looked up at the sky, saw an airplane, and took off running.” Harper shrugged for emphasis.

“Odd.” This from Dennie.

“Quite,” Addison agreed.

“I thought so, too. How is she?” Harper asked again.

Dennie shot a look at Addison. “In a coma. TBI. May never wake up,” he said, nodding as if he hoped that was not going to be the case.

“TBI?” Harper asked.

“Traumatic brain injury. Likely hit her head when she hit the ground.” Dennie frowned.

“She did. When the car struck her, she was thrown into the air and landed pretty hard.” Harper shivered at the memory and her throat burned. Swallowing hard to quell the nausea, she inhaled.

“Ye have no idea what set her off? Other than an airplane, that is.” The skepticism oozed from his tone.

“I can tell you it wasn’t the driver’s fault. She ran directly in front of his car, and he had no chance to stop.”

“Do ye know the man? The driver?” Addison asked.

“No. But as I told you, I saw it all play out. The accident, I mean.”

“Tell us again what you saw,” Addison asked her.

Harper heaved a sigh. “As I told you, we were just talking, she looked up, a plane was flying overhead, and she took off running as if hell had her.”

“Hmmm. I suppose it is possible she was rural and was nae used to planes,” Dennie said, with a tone that suggested that would be very unusual. “Do ye ken anything else aboot her? Anything that might have accounted for her reaction?”

Harper shook her head. “Did I mention she was also dressed in a costume from the Renaissance?”

“The nurses told us that, as well as the officers who were on scene, but it is odd,” said Dennie. “People don’t dress up for the tourists this time of year. Unless…”

“Drugs,” they both said in unison and nodded.

“That would explain it,” said Addison. “Or one of those games like ‘Dungeons and Dragons’ they play.”

“I really have told you all I know. I am sorry she is so badly hurt, though.”

“Aye,” the two responded, again together. Clearly they had been partners a long time.

“Did she have any identification? A phone?” Harper asked. “Did you notify her family?”

“That’s what was so odd. Everyone has a phone these days,” Dennie answered. “And her clothes. Garters? Who wears those?”

“Ye would notice those,” Addison chided and Dennie had the good grace to drop his gaze. “Well, I guess we’ll be having no more answers until she wakes up. If she does, that is.”

Standing, they headed to the door. “Are you planning to be aboot for a bit?” Dennie asked.

“I’m not sure. I should be here for a few days, though. I came to find a friend of mine who visited here some weeks ago.”

Both detectives stopped cold. “Missing is she?” Dennie asked, eyebrows raised.

“Not exactly.” Harper hoped she hadn’t said that too fast. But the last thing she needed was for the police to start asking questions she couldn’t answer. What could she say? That she thought Skye was right here but in the 1500s? Right! “She came here on vacation and I’m just trying to meet up with her.” True enough, sort of.

“Can ye manage to stay here for at least another day? In case we have more questions?” Addison asked.

“That won’t be a problem. Come by anytime. Or call me in case I’m out sightseeing or something.”

“Will do,” Dennie said.

Harper held the door open for the two officers as they slowly walked out. A chill breeze whooshed in, and the damp cold seemed to penetrate Harper’s bones. Leaning back against the door as she closed it, Harper’s thoughts swirled.

The woman, Davina, who had appeared so suddenly in her bedroom was in a coma, so there would be no answers forthcoming from her, at least not for a while. But the very fact that she had appeared in clothes from another era and wrapped in the cloak that Skye had sworn would take her back in time—what was Harper to think?

Logic demanded data. What if Harper followed what Skye told her she planned to do before she left Memphis? Harper could buy some clothes that wouldn’t look completely out of place in a medieval setting and do some real research about life in sixteenth century Scotland. Then she could wrap herself in the cloak—the cloak?

Harper raced into the bedroom. The forlorn garment lay where she had left it earlier and Harper lifted it, this time with more reverence. Admonishing herself for giving in to the fanciful turning of her thoughts, Harper took a deep breath. “Is it possible?” she asked herself, not for the first time. “Only one way to find out. But not quite yet. I’m not sure I even want to know.”