Chapter Four
It was now mid-afternoon and once more. and perhaps for the last time, Harper was on her way to the hospital to check on Davina. If the woman was awake, perhaps she could finally answer Harper’s questions and ease some of the turmoil. Then she could put all this time travel nonsense aside and concentrate her efforts on finding out where Skye had really disappeared to.
The car pulled up out front and she instructed Cameron to leave if she had not returned in twenty minutes. She’d contact him again when she needed to return to the cottage.
Walking inside to the reception area, she asked for Davina’s room number. The woman at the desk typed something into her computer and looked up. “I’m assuming yer not a relative,” the woman said, raising her eyebrows.
“I was the witness to her accident. I was just concerned for her since she apparently has no relatives here. At least the police told me they hadn’t located any so far.”
The desk nurse appeared skeptical. “There are MacKenzies everywhere here, so I imagine one of her relations is aboot. But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for you to see her. She’s upstairs in the ICU. Third floor. Just follow the signs. The nurses there can help you.”
Rather than call attention to herself by approaching the nurses’ station, she walked down the third-floor hallway looking into the rooms. She passed several before she saw the woman she sought. Surrounded by machines and hooked up to them by a myriad of wires, Harper quickly checked the corridor. No one was paying any attention to her, so she slipped into Davina’s room and stood for a moment looking at her. Watching her rhythmic breathing, controlled by mechanical means, made Harper sad. But then, it was modern technology that might save her. Her dark hair highlighted the woman’s pallor, and she might have looked like she was merely sleeping if the machines didn’t reflect every aspect of her body’s responses. Davina didn’t appear any different than any other twenty something woman and Harper wondered what she expected to see. A sign that read ‘I’m From The 1500s’? If only the woman would open her eyes.
The tube coming from Davina’s mouth was evidence that waking up was not going to be soon, so Harper turned to leave when a thought struck.
Easing her way to the closet on the left side of the room, she opened the door and peered in. Davina’s clothes were folded in a plastic bag and Harper reached in to pull out the garments. The materials felt strange, and the clothes were put together with rough hand-sewn stitching. Either this gown was made without a sewing machine, or it was made before sewing machines were invented.
Harper tucked the clothes away, closed the closet, and, with one last look, slipped out. She nearly collided with a man who had appeared just outside the room, his back pressed against the wall to the right of the door. His expression was one of someone who was so defeated he might never recover. And then Harper recognized he was the man that had hit Davina. He was a handsome man in his early fifties, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair threaded with white. His eyes were a startling blue-gray and shadowed with grief. Her heart ached for him. Slowly, she approached him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Harper said gently.
His eyes flickered, then widened with recognition. “Ye were there.” He dropped his gaze, but not before she saw his eyes were swollen and red-rimmed from crying.
“I was. And I told the detectives you aren’t to blame. You didn’t even have time to react, let alone stop. She ran directly in front of your car.” Harper reached out and patted his shoulder. “I’m Harper, by the way.”
“James. James MacRae.” He looked up, his expression perplexed. “But why was she running? And why into the road?”
“I don’t know. Something must have frightened her.” Hesitant to ask, but knowing she must, Harper continued. “Have you heard any more about her condition?”
“They don’t know if she will ever wake up. She banged her head pretty hard… and so much blood.” His voice caught on a choked sob.
“You mustn’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault,” she repeated, hoping to soothe away his doubt..
“Thank you, but I was the one who did this to her. And she’s a MacKenzie. It has always been the sworn duty of a MacRae to protect MacKenzies.”
“You know, sometimes accidents do happen and there’s nothing you can do to prevent them. They are just that. Accidents. You mustn’t blame yourself.”
“And who should I blame? The fairy folk? Thank you for your words, but they canna take away my responsibility here.”
Harper nodded and turned. There was nothing she could say to comfort this man. That type of chivalry and moral compass was woefully missing in most of today’s society. But she would wager that if it existed here, in present day Scotland, it was no doubt even stronger in this country in the past. If she had been the one driving, she would have felt exactly the same. And Davina was still in a coma, she couldn’t offer any reassurances to either one of them.
Grateful the car was still waiting outside, Harper hopped in and went back to the cottage. Cameron indeed knew of a place for her to keep her luggage, so he waited while she picked up her belongings and they rode to the storage facility. Harper rented a space for the three-month minimum. Of course, she would be back to claim her things before then, but she knew they would be safe until she returned. She kept some of her cash, knowing she would need to eat a meal and take care of Cameron. Then they drove back to the bungalow where she paid Cameron and gave him a generous tip. She told him she would call for him again in a few days. Or would she? Not from the 1500s.Ha!
It was time to consider her options. But there was only one choice. When you have a theory, you either need to prove or disprove it, right? So the time had come. She just wished she had more data, but there was no more to gain. It came down to a leap of faith. Like when she was little and decided to jump off a diving board into the swimming pool for the first time. Sometimes you just have to close your eyes and push forward and hope for the best.
At the pub, she filled up with a good meal. Harper stared into the second glass of rich amber liquid and fervently hoped to find direction in its depths. Taking a sip and enjoying the slow warmth the liquor imparted, she knew the only answers she was going to find were to first believe in the power of the cloak and see if it actually worked. Not that she really had any real expectation that it would. But at least she would have tried and could move on.
Swallowing the last of the drink, she paid her bill and walked outside into the icy air. The shock of wind cleared her head and refocused her thoughts. Her mind vacillated back and forth on the ridiculous versus why the hell not’ until the decision was made.
Seeing Davina’s clothes had finally convinced her. The evidence was becoming hard to deny. Stoking her determination as she headed back to the cottage, she reminded herself it would work or it wouldn’t. But she had to attempt it. And if it failed?—when it failed!—she would figure out a way to actually discover what had happened to Skye.
Her friend had so much faith in the whole cloak/time travel thing. If Skye hadn’t been successful, she would have been horribly disappointed. But how disappointed was the question? Enough to simply give up and disappear? Skye had no identification, no passport, no money. She had sent it all to Harper. And in this day and age, one couldn’t simply vanish. Harper would have to enlist the police to find Skye and pray her friend hadn’t done something stupid or dangerous or reckless. Until then, she was going to exhaust the other possibility first. The one she couldn’t tell anyone else about. There was no question she dared not mention the possibility of time travel to the authorities.
Pacing back and forth in the living room, she finally faced her remaining reluctance and headed to the bedroom. She laid out her purchases and undressed. One by one, she put on the woolen stockings, shirt, skirt, and other accessories. Checking in the mirror, the lack of bra and underwear wasn’t obvious. It would take some getting used to, but she had to admit she was more comfortable. The long skirt whispered around her ankles, and she just felt silly. Like the only one to show up at a party in costume, thinking it was supposed to be a masquerade. But—in for a penny, in for a pound.
Swinging the warm velvet cloak over her shoulders and pressing the bag to her chest, she felt ready. Well, as ready as she would ever be. Even knowing she would need someplace to store Skye’s cloak—if it worked—she was aware of how empty the satchel was. All her other belongings were in storage, and she had a moment of panic. But she reassured herself that when she woke up in the morning, Cameron could drive her back to the storage unit and she could retrieve all that she had brought with her.
It was go-time. She grasped the tattered piece Skye had bought on Ebay. She never liked dealing with the unknown and the thought shook her to her core. What if fantasy was about to become her reality?
Wrapping herself in the old material, Harper laid down on the bed, keeping the cold terror that seeped into her bones at bay with sheer will. Turning out the lights and holding onto her bag, she chanted “1562, 1562”, believing the cloak needed instructions as to their destination, and wondering when she had actually, irrevocably lost her mind.