Chapter 2: In the Thick of Things
My mind was spinning so hard I was almost dizzy. I was trying to breathe as quietly as I could, despite the fact that with the noise of the horses and voices I would not be heard. I wanted to turn and look, see just who was there, but knew I dared not. For better or for worse, I was trapped.
Let's see, what did I know? Well, it was highly unlikely that I would have company here, even less likely that a group of horsemen would descend upon this place. I had this sick feeling in my stomach. That if daylight were to descend and I could take a good look at my surrounds, I would find them drastically changed. How did I know that? I didn't.
But what had happened to my watch? If I could pull out my phone and try to turn it on, what would I find? Blame it on my Russian, as my father used to say, but I know that I know that I know that something has happened. Maybe the stones had taken me, maybe there was a power up here that kept people away, and maybe I had paid the price for my curiosity. And all I could do was sit and listen to the men and their horses that seemed to be paying this place not much attention at all.
My back hurt. I was tired, I was hungry, and I wanted to go back to the inn. I wanted to pull the flask out of my pack and drain it dry, but dared not. I needed to be ready to run at a moment's notice, but where I'd run to? I had no idea.
I learned back against the stone and listened, instead. There seemed to be two English voices, the others Scottish. There were not a lot of people as far as I could tell. To my dismay it seemed that they were getting ready to spend the night. I could hear wood chopping, and that meant they'd probably be building a fire. How dare they? This place was sacred, it had stood for thousands of years, how dare they desecrate it by treating it as no more than a hunting camp.
Like in my dream, I heard footsteps coming towards me. I'd stayed here long enough, it was time to get away—somehow. Maybe to the other side of the clearing. I prayed there would maybe be a tomb and I could duck down in it and hide until they fell asleep. All I could hope for would be that they did not keep sentries and that the horses would not betray me.
As I watched him pass by me, I could see he was dressed in a hunting kilt, which I recognized from a tartan book I had skimmed. Which clan, I could not tell. A few men wore kilts around here, but it was mostly for special occasions. "It's a coincidence, Irina," I told myself, "Just like your watch, your phone probably doesn't work, either, maybe it's due to magnetics or something like that. Just be calm, if you don't be calm, you'll never get away." But to where, a part of me wondered.
My eyes followed him, guessing that he had received the call of nature and was answering. I hope he had the sense not to desecrate anything, but knowing only where I was, not when, I had no idea what he was up to. At least he hadn't seen me.
But someone had, he dropped down in front of me and put his hand over my mouth before I was even aware of him. "Shh, lass," he said in tones so soft I barely hear, "I'm here to help ye." His hair shone silver in the moonlight, but his face was in shadows. "Do you want to be getting out of here?" He didn't remove his hand from my mouth, but he was gentle, and I was not afraid.
I couldn't tell who he was, he was tall, so tall I was surprised that he could conceal himself when the stranger returned to join his camp. I looked at him and nodded my head, letting him know that yes, I did trust him. I was going on my instincts, and prayed they would not betray me. "We've got to move now," he said, "I don't know the best way to go because they've got the entrance blocked. It looks like they may be here for the night, so if you're patient, we may get away when they fall asleep." He took my hand and pulled me up, leading me deeper into the shadows and away from the light of the moon.
"Who are they?" I whispered, aware of how the sound carried eerily here. "What are they doing here? Don't people leave this place alone?" I knew how superstitious Scots tended to be, but that was no less true of Russians, or anyone who had any kind of belief in a spirit world. My Russian grandmother used to take me on her lap and tell me stories of Russian princes and princesses, and Baba Yaga flying through the air in her magic caldron. My Belgian grandmere told me elegant stories of princes on horseback riding into dark forests to find captive princesses and magical kingdoms.
"I am somewhat surprised to find them here, but it's a good place to be if you don't want to be found. They started out as just a hunting party until they stumbled on me, now their prey has changed somewhat. Damn those traitorous Campbells to hell, though I must have become too complacent for them to find me so easily."
"And you're a Jacobite, and that's why they pursued you? What year is this anyway?" I tried to keep my voice down, but I was becoming panicky, and excited.
"That's a strange question, lass, but it's 1744, if you dinna already know." He looked me over carefully, "Those are strange garments for a woman to be wearing, especially one who looks like you."
At least you didn't use the "b" word, I thought. "There's more to me than meets the eye, I promise," I answered, "I'm warm, well, fairly warm, and I'm wearing clothes that offer me a lot more freedom and protection than women's clothes would. And I hope we can get away from here, soon, I grow more nervous by the minute."
"Well, I'd have something for that, but my flask is empty."
"Mine's not, and I've been waiting for a chance to get to it." I slid down, carefully, on the ground, and began to search through my pack as quietly as I could until I found the flask. It was too bad that I had consumed all my food, but at least I had my whisky. I uncorked it and took a good, long drink, then handed it to him. Not the best scotch, but it wasn't bad.
He held up the flask to salute me, drank deeply, then handed it back. I drank as deeply as he, and he smiled, impressive for a girl his look said.
He took hold of my hand and led me more deeply into the trees. He slid down a gentle slope and I realized he'd found a tomb that had lost its barrow so long ago that time had forgotten when. We huddled down at the bottom, using each other for warmth and slept fitfully until just the first rays of sun started showing in the East.
"Come on lass," he said, we need to put as many miles as we can between them and us before sunrise. I smiled and shook my head.
"I appreciate your offer of help, but you need to get going. I bet you need someone who can provide a diversion so you'll be the last thing on their mind. They're obviously looking for you, but they're not looking for me. I'm going to let them find me so you can get away."
"D'ye ken what you're doing, lass? These are dangerous men." He scratched his head, clearly not knowing what to think.
"Listen," I told him, "you may not realize it, but I can take care of myself. I have tricks up my sleeve that you have no way of knowing about. My father was a Russian fisherman, he was tough. He taught his kids to be tough, to never be afraid. I'm walking into this with eyes wide open, and I don't need anyone to defend me. No matter the outcome, it will be all right. They're hunting for a Jacobite, not a woman who has no loyalties either way. How can they know if I've seen you? I was scared and I spent the night in one of the tombs. They didn't see me because they weren't looking for me, it's as simple as that. Now you better get going while the going is good."
He threw back his head and laughed. In the growing light of the down I could see that he had a mop of curly red hair and beautiful cornflower blue eyes. "If that's the way ye want it, then who am I to argue. If you ever need the help of Jamie Fraser, I owe you a debt."
"I'm Irina Bogdashevkaya, pleased to meet you. Thank you, Jamie, I won't forget this. Russians don't forget a debt. Now please go, I'm going to have to present myself to your Campbells and sell them a story."
"Now that's a name I won't forget," he smiled. He bowed his head briefly, waved, and then took off. Now yon was a man, I could hear Mrs. Struan say, not that Mac was any less of one.
I wondered what he was doing, but the Rebellion was going on and there were undoubtedly spies from both sides roaming Scotland. I wish I had a way of letting the losers know their fate, so they could take steps to avoid it, but I'm not so much of a fool to think that I could change history. History and the excavating of it was my business, after all.
Suddenly I bowed my head, caught up in the realization I was nowhere near the village, or the Scotland that I knew. Maybe if I could make it back to the menhir-but I could hear the sound of men waking up and with the sky beginning to lighten the way it was, someone was sure to see me.
I began to pick my way quietly through the woods. I didn't want to be seen, I planned to wait in the woods until the Campbell party had left. I wondered about the mysterious Jamie Fraser. Who was he and what had he been doing? I hadn't researched the history of Scotland much, so I really had no idea where the different clan territories would have been. I knew enough to know that it was basically Jacobite versus the Crown loyal clans, and I had picked up enough to know that the Campbells had been known as the worst of traitors to their countrymen.
Snap! A boot stepped on a twig, I knew that without even having to look. I held still, held my breath, my denim jacket wasn't too obvious, but the bright red scarf that I'd found in the tartan shop, and the silver pin I'd bought to hold it, would have stood out like a flag. All I could do was stand and breathe as quietly as I could. With any luck, if he wasn't looking for me, he wouldn't find me. "Please god," I breathed, "Let him be alone. Let him just be taking a leak. Let him go back to his friends and let me get out of here."
But to where? I asked myself. Somehow I'd tripped a wire in time and I knew with sinking heart that the cozy little inn that Mrs. Struan ran would not be in the village—if the village was even there. I was caught up in the spell of the fairy stones, and only with the help of the stones, of the giant menhir's whose shadow I must have slept in, did I stand any chance of returning home.
I love fairy tales. I love the stories that my father—damn him—and my babushka used to tell me. I've read mythology from all sorts of cultures, I love the stories of the Mabinogion—Rhiannon, Math, Pwyll, Gwydion. I love the elegant French fairy tales my mother told me, but I loved to hear them sitting by a fire or in a big overstuffed chair where I am firmly rooted on the ground and safe. No one has ever told me how I get out of one if I accidentally fall into it, and if the Campbells didn't move their collective arses soon I was going to be stuck spending the night in the wood, or even worse, captured.
I stayed as still as I could. Maybe he wouldn't notice me, if he did, I was in trouble. It would be obvious that I was not from around here, I was not from anywhere they were familiar. If they asked me about Jamie Fraser I would play as dumb as I could. If I was caught I would be cooperative, but deceptive. Like I heard someone say on an "X-Files" episode, a lie is most conveniently hidden between two truths.
He was almost past me. Don't look, don't look, I thought, just keep going. I'm not here, I'm a figment of your imagination, a dream. I don't belong to this time, I am an accidental tourist.
Almost past, almost past…but I was not fated to be that lucky. By chance he turned and saw me, then tried to grab my arm. And found himself sitting on the ground for his trouble.
He looked at me and shook his head, "How did ye do that, lass?"
"Some people are more than they seem." I liked the way that sounded and he looked puzzled. I looked around and saw one of his friends coming to join him. The other stopped, saw his friend on the ground, looked at me, then back at him.
"What the hell did she do to ye, Gordon?"
"She didn't do anything, ma feet slipped out from under me. Now, will ye give me a hand and help me up?" Well, I can understand why he wouldn't want to admit he was there because of me. He had feet big enough that tripping could have been a problem all on his own. I wisely kept my mouth shut.
"We need to take her to Georgie and Colin, Abner. She's here where she clearly don't belong. They can decide what to do with her. Come along, lass, and there'll be no trouble."
I followed without complaint. I promised Jamie that I'd keep the attention on me and away from him and I intended to make good on that promise. The poor Jacobites, so many would be killed in the battle of Culloden, and so many more pursed to their deaths. The Scots felt so passionately for their Bonnie Prince Charlie, they love a lost cause. Even worse, they'll fight among themselves over it.
I think Abner and Gordon were surprised at how well I kept up with them. It was nearly a quarter of a mile to the Campbell camp, and when we got there I was surprised at the number of men that comprised the hunting party. My original guess had been about ten, it was closer to twenty or more. Most of the men rode good horses, English horses, not the traditional ponies the Scots tended to favor. I could smell cooking, too, and it reminded me that I had not eaten since the night before. I was sure to be made a captive, so I hoped that my captors would treat me kindly and feed me.
Six men were seated together before a fire. Four were older, older than me, maybe thirty five or more, but one of them, a good looking young man, was twenty at the oldest. The one sitting next to him had white blond hair and deep set grey eyes, he was attractive, but not nearly so as his friend. The two of them, plus one of the older men, wore hunting kilts, while the others dressed in English garments clearly meant for outdoor sports. Too bad the sport they pursued was human, a young Jacobite as prey.
"Sir," Gordon addressed the youngest one, "We found her in the woods, near where we were tracking the Jacobite. There's no sign of the Jacobite, but we found her skulking about in the woods."
"I was not skulking," this was my cue to speak up. I looked at the young one, the one he addressed as "sir" and could have lost my heart there and then. Beautiful brown eyes with the long lashes some men are blessed with and women covet. He looked like he might not be as tall as his blond friend, but even with the kilt I could tell he had broad shoulders and a slender waist. And yes, I could lie to him without problem, but were it between the sheets, well, the truth might spill out of my mouth despite my best intentions.
"Well, what were you doing, lass?" His voice was more Jackson Brown than Antonio Banderas, but it tickled my ear all the same. I'm thirty, but I like younger men, and I was trying to keep myself from thinking of all the things I'd like to do to and with him.
"I'm an arch—I study antiquities. I'm trying to study and measure as many Neolithic stone monuments before they're destroyed. People seem to be fond of knocking the stones down, or stealing them. I hope to leave what I find out for posterity, so people can learn how these places used to look."
"And who might ye be doing this for?" A bit of Scots was slipping through, so far he'd spoken more formally.
"I'm doing this for me, me and no one else." I looked at him defiantly, "Are you one of those men who think women can't do things for themselves? I can take care of myself, and do it very well, with no one's help."
"She's feisty, Georgie," his blond friend said, "I don't think she knows about the Jacobite, she "probably didn't realize she was trespassing on Campbell land."
"This wasn't Campbell land before, though you think you own Scotland, don't you? I don't care about Jacobites, or the British, or Campbells, all I'm interested in is Neolithic stone monuments. It's not as sophisticated as Hadrian's Wall, I know, but it's a lot older and that makes it interesting to me." Sometimes I talk too much, but the two of them seemed to find me amusing, so much the better.
"Why don't we take her with us?" one of the Brits spoke up. "We're not going to find him, let's head back."
"I agree, cousin, I'm all for sleeping in my bed," Colin spoke up, "We can take her with us. I'd like to see what she looks like in decent clothes. You're a pretty thing, my dear," he said, addressing me, "What is your name by the way?"
"Irina Victoria Bogdashevskaya," I made a mock bow. I emphasized the consonants with a good imitation of my father's Russian accent. I love the sound of Russian, I always have. I'm so glad that my father made us learn Russian. I am fluent in Russian, French, and English, and if I ever have children, they're going to learn Russian, too.
"That's Russian. How do you come to live here?" One of the Englishmen was looking at me suspiciously, but I was prepared.
"My father was a Russian fisherman who came to Belgium to try to make a better life for himself. My mother was the daughter of a wool merchant, and they fell in love and married. My father went to work for his father-in-law and did quite well for himself. My parents are both dead now, and left me enough money to pursue my passion for antiquities." (It was hard to use that word, the term archaeology wasn't really in vogue then, but the rich loved their ancient treasures, so that's what I'd pretend to be, an antiquarian who dug and sold my discoveries to the rich)
Suddenly, most embarrassingly, the world started to grow fuzzy and I became unbearably lightheaded. Just before I fainted I could hear myself say, "I think I need to eat something." Then the world grew black and I knew no more.