CHAPTER 10
Scotland, by the shore of Loch Duich; October 1740
The fog billowed, gray and sinister over the hills. It was so dense that you couldn’t even see your hands before your
eyes. The panicked mooing of cattle mingled with the angry barks of dogs. They sounded like dark, diabolical characters
that had entered a dank and murky underworld and were stomping through the black smoke of a fiery inferno. The only
thing missing from this hellfire was the smell of sulfur and brimstone.
“Come on! This way, you damn cows,” Duncan Stuart said, his voice thundering through the fog.
If all of this seemed like a hellish depiction of Plato’s cave, then Duncan Stuart was the inevitable demon. He was
tall and dark, with eyes black as a moonless night. And this demon was in excellent company, for Dougal Stuart’s
appearance was in no way inferior to that of his twin brother. He was a giant man, too, and possessed just as much
physical strength. His black hair was shorter than his brother’s, his chin covered in dark stubble, and his jawline
even more pronounced and strong.
“Every cow accounted for? Then close it.”
After closing the gate behind their cattle, Dougal scraped some cow dung from his boot and cursed.
“All right, all done.”
Duncan nodded approvingly. One of the dogs came up to them and started sniffing at Duncan’s boot. This earned him a
good kick in the side that sent him scampering back to his pack with his tail between his legs.
“Ross, call back your damn dogs already. I’m warning you,” Duncan hollered.
One blow of the whistle, and the entire pack disappeared into the fog. Duncan raised his eyebrows in disdain. The dogs
would surely knock skinny Ross to the ground again as soon as they jumped up on him.
“Come on, we have to get a move on. I don’t think these cowards of the Cameron clan dare attack us if they value their
lives at all, but I’ll still be glad to be back on my own land,” he grumbled.
Dougal pushed himself off the gate and adjusted the plaid around his shoulders.
“All right, then. We’ll get our things from the cabin and be on our way. We have a good distance to cover before we
meet up with the others. I don’t think they’d be overjoyed that we are missing some cows again!”
With a sullen expression, Duncan followed his brother in the direction of the horses. Ross Galbraith was already
waiting, reins in hand, and with a whole lot of dogs by his side. They hadn’t really wanted to take their useless half
brother along, but without his dogs, it would have been hard to round up the cattle in this kind of weather.
It was impossible to tell that Ross was related to them. He was scrawny and angular, with bright red hair and pale skin.
And despite being seventeen years old, he still lacked the raw, masculine strength of his two brothers. He was like a
puppy with long legs and a head far too big for his small body.
Dougal yanked the reins from Ross’s hands and swung himself onto his horse. Not a moment later, Duncan followed suit
and drove his boots deep into his horse’s side to urge it on. Over his shoulder he called:
“Ross, if those flea-infested dogs of yours can’t keep up, I will leave them behind. You hear me? We need to make
haste.”
Quickly, so as to not further annoy his brothers, Ross mounted his horse and whistled for his beloved dogs. The journey
to come would be long. He hoped it wasn’t too long for his furry, four-legged friends.
To him, they were much more than simple herding dogs. They were the only friends he had in the world.
The cold had seeped into my skin and made me shiver. I massaged my arms and struggled to get up from the cold, damp
ground.
“Dammit!”
My pants were cold and wet, too, and they clung to my legs. Wishing I still had that rain jacket, I wiped clumps of
earth from my butt and took a good look around. I couldn’t make out much in this thick fog, but one thing was for sure:
The old cemetery was gone.
Dense bushes of Scotch broom spread as far as my eyes could see, but the chapel, cemetery wall, and gravestones were
nowhere in sight. The only thing still around was the rough-hewn memorial stone of the five sisters right in the middle
of not much. Absolutely nothing else reminded me of the place I’d left in a swirl of magic. God only knew where I had
landed.
I tried to get a sense of direction, but after taking only a few steps I was forced to admit to myself that I had no
idea where I had even started out. The fog was so dense that I could be walking in circles. I couldn’t even see the big
stone anymore because I’d focused on handling the uneven terrain instead of on where I was going.
My stomach grumbled, and I realized that I hadn’t eaten in ages. Just as a new panic attack tried to grab me with its
angry claws, I spotted the outline of a building. I quickly ducked under the next shrub of Scotch broom.
Would I be able to get help here? I had to find out where and, most important, when I was. And I really needed some
food. But, if I had really landed in the past, I couldn’t just walk up to that lonely old stone cottage and knock on
the door. The people here had most certainly never heard of the Black Eyed Peas, whose funky faces were printed on my
tank top—and my jeans would probably even raise more questions than I’d like under the circumstances.
Dammit! When we’d planned to send Sean into the past, we wanted to dress him in period-appropriate clothes and equip
him well before he started a dangerous journey into the unknown. But me? I sat here wearing nothing but a thin, faded
tank top, a pair of blue jeans, and a dagger that I would sooner cut myself on than be able to use for defense. Still, I
found the weight of it on my belt comforting. Anyway, I wouldn’t stay here long and with any luck I wouldn’t get
myself into a situation where I would have to defend myself. I just had to find something to eat and practice a little
patience until the fog lifted. Then I could find my way back to the cemetery and to my own century. I didn’t just need
to go back for my own sake, but also for Payton’s. Sean urgently needed to know that there really was a way.
I crawled closer to the stone cottage. It looked abandoned. Nothing stirred, and no sound came from it at all. I pulled
myself together and tiptoed to the side of the structure, but even from here I couldn’t see or hear anything. I walked
all the way around the humble building that leaned, crookedly, to the side. I looked around surreptitiously—but when
everything stayed peaceful and still, necessity won over caution.
I pulled open the door of a wooden shed attached to the cottage. I peered into the darkness. A startled mouse darted
between my feet, and the quiet rustle in a corner hinted at yet more unpleasant company. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling,
and everything smelled of dust. Initially having held my breath, I finally dared to breathe out and enter the shed.
My worries were unfounded. Nobody had lived in this place for a long time. The barrels in front of me were filthy, and
thick dust covered every available surface. Mice seemed to have chewed through some of the boxes over in the corner, the
elusive content of which had spilled out and over the floor. Very faintly I was able to make out the aromatic scent of
herbs, and a dried bunch of some kind of plant hung from the low ceiling. When the top of my head accidentally touched
it, the bone-dry leaves crumbled and rained down on me.
Swiftly, I went farther in. It didn’t look like there was anything edible around here. Whatever may have been stored in
the barrels at some point, it was surely spoiled by now. My stomach protested loudly against this sad realization. Maybe
I’d have more luck inside the cottage proper.
Just as I wanted to step back outside using the narrow doorway, the sound of loud barking made me come to a terrified
stop.
“Shit!” I gasped.
Under no circumstances did I want to get caught here. Not only was I afraid of being mistaken for a thief, but the way I
was dressed was probably enough for me to be burned alive at the stake. I pulled the door closed and was happy to have
what little light came through the cracks and gaps in the wooden planks.
The sounds kept getting nearer. By now I could hear horses’ hoofbeats as well. My mind went into overdrive. I couldn’t
hide in here. If anyone were to open the door, they would see me and I’d be doomed. They would take me for a witch,
because how else would I explain my strange clothes, my surely anachronistic language, and my complete lack of knowledge
about the customs and traditions of this place and era?
Hoping to hide behind one of the wooden boxes, I pushed it away from the wall, and its rotten lid broke off. I spied
some coarsely woven fabric and quickly pulled away the rest of the wooden slats.
Male voices were now very close by.
“Fuck!”
Frantically, I dug through the box, trying not to make a sound. My hands were shaking. I grabbed piece of cloth by piece
of cloth, until at long last I found something. It was some kind of a housedress, extremely simple and shapeless, but
probably perfectly suitable for everyday life and work in the eighteenth century.
I pulled the scratchy fabric over my head, glad that I didn’t have to wear it directly on my skin. I hurriedly smoothed
down the skirt part of it over my pants and all the way down to my feet. But unfortunately that didn’t work. My pants
were clearly visible under the dress. Even though everything inside me struggled against taking them off, I really had
no choice. Some kind of ribbon or belt around the waist would have given this sackcloth a little more shape, but if
there was one thing I wanted to avoid, it was showing these men that I actually had a waist.
And so I tied a very loose knot and hoped that the wide, loose-fitting cut would look as unflattering as possible, while
at the same time hiding the dagger that I’d tied to my upper thigh with my belt.
I gave a terrified start when I suddenly heard angry barking right outside the door. I could hear the dogs scratching up
against the wood. I ducked behind a barrel and tried to make myself as small and inconspicuous as possible.
“What is it, girl? What did you find? Is there a big juicy rat in there?”
The whining and scratching continued, and the man laughed.
“All right, then, if you insist. Go get it!”
The door ripped open and, because my eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, I was blinded for a moment. Then I saw the
man. I looked him square in the eye just as the giant dog pushed me to the ground and stood over me, snarling and baring
its teeth. Thick saliva dripped from its mouth right onto my cheek, and I screamed. Screamed for my life.
The angry, slobbering beast was pushed aside, and I saw that pale, freckled face again. I felt nauseated, numb, and
paralyzed. As I screamed, I couldn’t even manage to lift my arms to block the fist I saw coming in for a blow.
Darkness swallowed me whole, but it wasn’t kind. Haunting images flooded my mind, brought to life by the throbbing pain
in my temple.
I was holding the knife tightly clutched in my hand. I had thrust it in so deep that my fist touched the lifeless chest
of the man, and I could feel that the heart underneath my fingers had stopped beating. A single word flashed through my
addled brain: betrayal.
I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. A tear, burning hot like melting metal, burned its way down my cheek and
fell, unhindered, onto the blood-soaked earth.