Chapter Three
Jet lag hit with the force of a hurricane. Not only was the time difference affecting her, but so much had happened on her first day, Harper was exhausted. Taking a quick shower, she fell into bed and was sound asleep before she knew it.
Her dreams took her to Eilean Donan castle hundreds of years in the past. She was standing in a huge hall all alone. Curiosity pushed her forward, noting the portrait on the wall of the man who Skye had called her soul mate. Staring at it, she sensed someone with her and turned, thrilled to see Skye. Harper reached out to her friend who disappeared in a wisp of smoke, leaving Harper to grasp empty air.
“Soon,” Skye’s voice whispered from the dream shadows. “Just believe.”
Daylight streamed into the room and washed across the bed, prying Harper’s eyes open. Sitting up quickly, the dream had spooked her, but she noted she was still in the cozy cottage, and it was cold. She had forgotten to adjust the thermostat before bed last night and the temperature in the room had dropped considerably.
Harper found the switch on the bedroom wall and stood below a vent as lovely warm air washed over her. She realized she was starving, having skipped dinner last night. It was already ten, so she dressed quickly and hurried across to the castle bridge, making her way to the Eilean Donan coffee shop.
As advertised in the brochure in the cottage, the coffee was delicious and it was hard to choose among the pastries, but she decided on a scone with clotted cream. It was so good, she opted for another. After breakfast, she wandered over to the tourist center and bought a ticket for a tour of the castle the following morning. Not quite ready to attempt wrapping herself in the cloak, Harper thought it a good idea to check out the castle itself. A little more time before her cloak experiment would allow her to find answers that made sense and she could drop this whole time travel nonsense. Then again, it was a good idea to see where she might be going if it turned out to actually be possible. What was that quote? “When you have eliminated all which is impossible then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”.
Her appetite sated and the tour booked, Harper went back into Dornie and strode among the shops. It was obvious the tourists here loved the history that surrounded them. Authentic tartans abounded in kilts, wraps, and even pillows, along with some period costumes. If she intended to travel back in time, she would need proper attire. It wouldn’t hurt to get in the spirit, would it?
Finding an outfit that would not stand out in the sixteenth century was not the challenge Harper had expected. Tartans had not been specific to the clans until the eighteenth century, so she needn’t worry about choosing the wrong one. Knowing she might need some explanation as to her origins, if this turned out to be more than just a fantasy, she decided to go with something plain. She found a dark gray long woolen skirt and a heavy linen cream-colored shirt, with a long sleeved over-vest that tied across the chest. A leather belt completed the ensemble. The saleswoman assured her this would be the fashion in any medieval time. Harper thought to ask if the woman had been back in time in order to make these assurances, but decided against a comment that would, no doubt, seem snarky.
Adding woolen leggings with garters and a warm velvet, wool-lined cloak would help protect her from the bone-chilling cold. She also bought a large leather purse with a fold over closure that looked like it might have been made by hand. She initially had chosen a leather bag with an inside pocket that zipped closed. Did they even have zippers in the sixteenth century? A quick Google search on her phone said no, so she chose another bag with a small inside pocket instead.
The niggling fear that she was crazy was dismissed with the thought this was going to simply be for fun, like pretending with Skye when they were children. Only Harper hadn’t ever really gotten the hang of pretending. She was too practical for that kind of nonsense. And yet, here she was, playing dress-up.
Satisfied she had what she needed for her costume, she stopped again at the Clachan Pub for dinner. The same hostess greeted her like an old friend, which was lovely. The food was very different than she was accustomed to, but it was delicious. Never a fan of beer, she found that the local ale was a very hearty and pleasant drink, and the atmosphere definitely put her in the proper frame of mind.
It was unnerving to try suspending her disbelief, but if there was any other explanation, she couldn’t imagine what it would be. Imagine. That was the key word. Could she really stretch her mental muscles so far as to incorporate fantasy? Well, she decided she had to try. It was, as she had thought of it earlier, an experiment. Once it failed, which she was certain it would, she could look for other answers.
Returning to the cottage, she stared at her luggage. What was she going to do with the suitcase, though? Leave it? It wasn’t as if she brought anything irreplaceable and if she left a note, maybe the landlord would store it for her. Or there was Cameron. She bet he’d be willing to take her to some sort of storage facility. If she was going to play make believe, she needed to go the whole way. It reminded her of that movie Somewhere in Time. To enable the hero to travel back to meet his love, all the pieces had to make sense. And just like any self-respecting trial, she needed to control as many elements as possible. So, storing her belongings would support the idea this was actually going to work.
“Are you listening to yourself?” she asked out loud. “You actually sound as if you believe all this.” But the image of Davina appearing out of nowhere and so clearly confused was a vision she couldn’t shake. And the woman seemed to know Skye. Hated her, even. Which led Harper to believe Skye had found the man in the portrait, a man Davina wanted for her own.
Harper’s thoughts drifted back to the practical. There was her own license, cash, passport, and phone and Skye’s as well, which she had brought with her. She could tuck them into the pocket of the small bag she had bought. Then she would just have to be very careful about not letting the bag out of her sight, but that might not be possible. Or maybe she could just store everything in a locker for a few days, except the cloak of course.
But what else to take? Clean underwear? No, women didn’t even wear panties back then. Or bras. All her toiletries were in plastic and how could she explain that? She’d have to do away with these modern day necessities. Deciding she should just use the satchel to tuck away the cloak when she arrived where she was going, Harper walked over to the couch and sat back down, trying to fathom all the necessary answers she might need. And a backstory.
Skye had said she needed a believable backstory, since one could not simply appear at a castle out of the blue without raising suspicions. Harper strained to recall Skye’s invented history.
Skye had told Harper she was going to say she had been born in Scotland but had moved to France. Skye spoke passable French, enough to get by. And Harper was actually fluent in the language. She had always hoped her parents would allow her to go with them on one of their many jaunts, and being able to speak in other tongues could prove an incentive to them. It had never worked, but now the skill might actually be useful.
Harper could say she was Skye’s childhood friend who had been living in France and had been searching for her since she left. True enough. And Harper’s excuse for traveling alone? She could say she was escorted to the castle and felt safe enough to dismiss her companions.
If Skye was there, at Eilean Donan, she would back up Harper’s story and welcome her. If not? But where else could Skye possibly be? Lost in space? Caught between worlds?
“Stop it! One test at a time!” Harper admonished herself. It was tough enough to swallow the idea of time travel. She had to believe that if Skye had indeed managed somehow, she would have ended up where she intended. Logical.
Pleased she had created enough of an excuse for her presence at the castle, if she really did go through time, Harper needed yet another excuse for her short hair? So what would be Harper’s reason as to why she had cut off her hair? She knew the real answer. When Skye left, Harper wanted a change. So she waltzed into a hairdresser and told them to chop it all off. Well, chin length. She really liked it—sort of—since it was so unlike her to make a quick decision about such things. Now she absolutely regretted it. She was faced with how to explain it in a time when women prided themselves on their long, luxurious locks, like Skye’s.
A nunnery. That was the answer. She had been sent to a nunnery but left there to find her friend before she took her vows. Of course, they would have asked her to cut her hair.
Clothes obtained, story in place, and decision made, what else was there? What had she forgotten? Well, except her sanity?
***
Spending the next morning at Eilean Donan was an immersion in history. Armed with another of those fabulous scones to nibble, Harper had opted to take the full tour and the guide was incredibly informative. Built as an island, it sits where Loch Duich, Long Loch, and Loch Alsh meet. The tour guide spoke of the violent history of the place and how it was reduced to ruins, then rebuilt again and again, sometimes larger, sometimes smaller. It had been named for a Gaelic priest, Saint Donnán of Eigg who lived around 580 AD and was martyred trying to bring Christianity to the Pictish people of northwestern Scotland. Since the castle had been here since the thirteenth century, just walking around was impressive.
Apparently there were two ghosts that walked the halls. “Carlos” was a Spanish soldier garrisoned at the castle as they supported the resident Jacobite soldiers, and his footsteps can often be heard by the staff. He is joined by “Lady Mary” who seemed to confine herself to the bedrooms. No one is certain who the lady was or how she had died. And there were so many other stories from the past.
There was also the tale of the laird whose wife seemingly appeared out of nowhere. She was the love of his life, and wherever she went, magic happened. Like “Lady Mary”, no one seemed to have known her origins, but she gave him two fine sons and a daughter.
Harper gasped at that and several of her fellow tourists turned and raised eyebrows at her. “That last story,” Harper piped up. “The laird and his wife. When was that?”
“Oh, somewhere during the sixteenth century I believe. In fact, that is supposed to be the woman, painted by a C. MacKenzie.” He pointed to a painting in a slightly recessed alcove.
Harper stepped closer and blinked, then gasped again, this time so loud the others in the group gaped at her. It was clearly the same artist as Skye’s painting. Harper’s heart pounded so hard she was afraid the people staring at her could hear it.
Skye? Could it be? The woman was a ringer for Harper’s friend, only she was dressed in a gown that was straight out of a Renaissance faire. Harper had to press her lips together to keep from laughing at loud. It was unbelievable.
“No one is certain what happened to the picture of the laird, her husband,” the guide continued. “It was lost many years ago.”
Harper knew the answer. It was still in Memphis, Tennessee.
So far, there had been too many coincidences to ignore. There was almost enough data to wrap herself in the cloak and try it out. Still, Harper held to her skepticism. She wanted to try speaking to Davina once more, just to reinforce… what? An impossible, even ridiculous belief?
Harper returned to the cottage and laid out the period clothing she had bought. After staring at it for minutes, hours maybe, she knew the real question was—what did she have to lose by trying the cloak? The humility of failure. But who would know? And one possibility would be finally eliminated and she could move on in her search for her friend.
She realized she was hungry again. She went back to the pub and fortified herself with a huge plate of fish and chips for lunch, foregoing the ale for a glass of whiskey. If she wasn’t careful, she would have to have her new clothes altered. But, when in Rome… And the brisk air and bone-cold temperatures burned lots of calories, right?
Once back inside the bungalow, she tried to calm her thoughts, but her blood was pumping fast and the fear threatened to envelop her. She was faced with taking action or opting for inaction. What if it was real? What if she was actually transported back more than four hundred years? What would she do there? Did she wish to convince Skye to return to the present with her? Harper mulled that over for a while and decided she would never want to deny her best friend happiness. Or a soul mate if she had actually met the man in the portrait. And the tour guide had said she married him and gave him three children. So, it appeared she stayed on. Or—there was that nugget of logic again—the woman in the portrait in the castle was just one of Skye’s relatives and the resemblance plausible. But that didn’t make sense, did it?
If the cloak actually worked, all Harper had to do was reassure herself that Skye was there and safe and happy and then she could return to the present. She reminded herself she would still have the cloak so she could always come back. In theory, anyway.
Fantasy was hard. How did Skye manage to immerse herself in it? Well, Harper was about to find out. One more trip to the hospital to see if any answers were forthcoming and then… ready or not…
***
1562
Skye and Ian were sitting by the fireplace when Daimh strode into the great hall.
“Laird, my lady,” he greeted them.
“Is all well?” Ian inquired.
“Aye. ’Tis quiet again tonight. Hoping that does nae bode the calm before the storm.”
“The holidays approach,” Ian responded. “Mayhap the clans hae decided to honor our Lord and have peace.”
The clans were always at odds, ready to avenge a wrong or take over lands occupied by another. Or for reasons long forgotten, but still inspiring conflict. Coming together at Corrichie had so many clans laying down their arms against one another to fight a common enemy. But the peace between them was always uneasy and never lasted.
Skye sat back in the chair and sighed.
“My love?” Ian inquired.
“I was just thinking of my friend. I miss her and I wish she could share in my happiness.” Stroking her belly, she sighed again.
Daimh nodded knowingly. “Yer gift to the laird—when will it be delivered?” he asked.
Her mouth opened with surprise. “How did ye know?”
“Anytime one of the women rubs her belly like that, a child is soon to follow.” Smiling once more, he clasped his hands together. “No wonder the laird has been so happy lately.” He winked at Ian.
Although Daimh’s greatest fear, one he never shared to any but Ian, was that if he were to marry, he might father a child just like the one his mother bore and be dealt with yet another curse of the faeries. Ian always tried to reassure him, but Daimh could not quell the worry.
“Aye, the summer shall see yet another MacKenzie,” Ian said, swelling with pride.
“I am so happy for ye.” And Daimh meant it. His friend’s good fortune only deepened his longing for a wife and family of his own. Ah, but wasn’t this the time of year when miracles happened, and one ne’er knew what was in store. Mayhap he, too, might find some luck.
This year, just as the last two, Christmastide celebrations had to be kept secret. After 1560, the reformed Church of Scotland abandoned all Catholic beliefs and rituals in favor of a simpler, “purer” form of worship and a stricter way of life. There was no room in Presbyterian worship for “popish” ceremonies and festivals such as Yule, now commonly known as Christmas and thought to be pagan. Since the Protestant Reformation, the celebration of Catholic Mass was punishable by penalties, including even death.
But all the restrictions imposed could not change a man’s heart and Daimh hoped that the sanctions wouldn’t lessen the possibilities for wonders. And there was still Hogmanay, which was a yet politically untouched celebration so far as it only welcomed in the new year. Why he suddenly felt so hopeful was a mystery, but one he intended to hang onto as long as possible, or until it came to fruition.
“Where is yer friend?” Ian asked Skye. “Mayhap she could come for a visit. She would be most welcome here.”
“I fear the distance is far too great and I cannot hold out any hope of that possibility.”
“Tell us about her,” Ian encouraged. Daimh leaned in closer, anxious to hear of another lass. Someone new was always exciting, especially when he was well acquainted with the lasses who lived here.
“She’s verra comely. Fair hair and blue eyes. And verra smart. And kind.” At the description, a wave of pleasure filled Daimh’s chest, surprising him. Was her friend’s visit a possibility?
“Well, if ye can manage to send her a message and get her to visit, I think I would like to meet her. And I would wager Daimh would as well.”
“If only that were possible.” Lifting her shoulders in a shrug, Skye shook her head. “So, since this is my first Christmastide here, do tell me what it’s like.”
Ian scooted his chair closer to his wife. “Before the Reformation, there was dancing and games and feasting, and the wine and ale flowed. But since the ruling that all things of the Roman Church are now a transgression, we must keep the celebrations more subdued. Until Hogmanay, that is. That is still a festival,” Ian explained.
“Well, mayhap that is when you shall find your lady love,” Skye teased Daimh. “And do nae deny it. I ken you are ready to settle down. Is there anyone who hae caught yer fancy?
“Nay, me lady. Most of the lasses shy from me, but I hae not given up hope. The laird himself was in despair until ye entered his life. I could get as lucky. And if I recall, ye arrived around Michaelmas, the feast to celebrate angels.”
“Aye,” Ian agreed. “And how appropriate. I celebrate every day.”
“I dinnae understand. Why should any lass not chase you? You are strong and honorable and kind. To say naught of how handsome a warrior ye are.”
Daimh’s eyes widened at the unexpected praise from the wife of the laird. “I am big, and I think many believe I am dangerous.”
Skye grinned. “Only to yer enemies.” She shook her head. “If you find a lady to your liking, let me know and I shall put in a good word.”
Daimh fervently wished that was even possible.