After I had revealed my nationality to the dimly lit room full of Scotsman, my head lolled back to lay on the chest from which I had lifted it. Vaguely I heard the broken sentences of my saviors echo around me, but my mind was so far gone with exhaustion by then that I let the words flow over me, making no attempt to hear what they were saying. Instead, I forced myself to time my breathing to the body in front of mine, it gave me a distraction from the dull pain of the pulling needle at my back.
Where was I? That question had been fighting its way to the forefront of my mind all night, and now with nothing else to think about, it had reared its ugly head again. With the common sense that most human beings are born with, I had been able to deduce that I was most likely no longer in the 21st century. From there I began to rack my brains, looking for any indicators of the time period; when did the British stop wearing redcoats? Why didn't I ever pay attention in history class? All very important and seemingly life or death questions at the moment.
There was also another, larger question to be answered. How? How on earth did I change times? One moment I was wandering around the massive stones on the hill and the next I was waking up in who-knows-when.
Being an avid reader, my mind instantly jumped to magic; in the stories, the characters are always swept up in amazing adventures, usually with the help of some otherworldly influence. As a reader of these breathtaking stories I was always jealous of their worlds, who when compared to the boring hum-drum of my world, were exciting and a place where anything was possible. I regret to say, that this was precisely the fact that convinced me to stay as long as I could in this strange world, my father would have laughed at my romantic notions of such a dangerous situation; and yet I think that if I asked these people to take me back to the rocks and from there back home, I would never forgive myself for passing up my own storybook adventure.
Now don't get me wrong, I don't plan on fighting to stay in this hostile time period, I am merely planning on keeping some of my information secret; not mentioning how I came to be in this land, and not asking to me taken home. I will instead let fate do as it will with my life, if it wants to take me along with these natives, then I will follow it wholeheartedly. If it wants to take me home, then I will follow, if not with a heavy heart at a missed opportunity.
Throughout all of this deep, meaningful thinking, I was completely unaware that the tugging at my back had ceased, along with the chatter. Now there were only two voices, the deep Scottish brogue of my headrest and the higher pitched English accent of the strange woman at my back. Their voices mumbled together quietly, trying not to wake me, whom they thought was asleep. I felt a gentle, wet dabbing at my back as they spoke, their whispers twined together, every now and then rising with a laugh or snort. Without meaning to, I yawned, drawing their attention back to me and ending their conversation abruptly. I blushed slightly, under my ratted hair, at the awkward situation of being caught awake.
Slowly, like he was handling a small, hurt bird and not a human, the man in front of me lifted my upper body off of his chest, I wrapped my arms tighter around my middle to keep up my torn sweater, which dangled in damp woolly curtains down my sides, together. I looked up with a stiff neck into deep blue eyes, endless and yet confusingly light. The fire from the torches and candles in the room sparkled off of them, seeming to make them dance in the darkness. His hair was red, just like I imagine a Scottish man's would be, and his face was lightly freckled. He had a strong jawline that could cut steel and a long, straight nose. His neck looked strong too; altogether, I can't say I was disappointed to have been leaning on his chest this whole time.
Of course, because of the proximity between us, his looks, and the fact that I was barely keeping my shirt up, I blushed deeply. Looking down between us, I realized that was also awkward, blushed again and looked behind myself instead, to try and inspect the damage.
The English woman behind me wiped her hands and came to stand in front of me with the man; she was thin, with big hips and wildly dark hair, which was tied back into a hastily done bun. He face was smeared with my blood and her hands tinged pink. I looked into her warm, almost motherly eyes and swallowed nervously.
"Thank you" I whispered. Her eyes crinkled in the corners as a smile stretched across her face,
"Anytime, but let this be the last, shall we?" She bared her teeth in a smile, surprisingly white for a time period that I was pretty sure, had not been introduced to the toothbrush yet. Suspicions aside, I smiled back wearily. The man who had been in front of me had slowly begun to take his leave, with a final head nod to the woman and I, he turned on his heel and disappeared up the stone stairs, his shadow flickering across the wall.
With a creak, the woman sat on the table next to me, her hands knotted in her lap.
"I realize that you've had a trying day" she began, "but I just want you to know that I was in a similar situation once and if you'd like to talk about it sometime, I'm all ears."
Her offer rang through my head, little warning bells going off at the emphasis she put on the phrase, 'similar situation'. "Could she be from the 21st century too?" I thought wildly.
The woman reached for my hand, "You can call me Claire by the way." Her eyes crinkled again, as she said this, then with a surprisingly strong tug, she pulled me up and began to help me to the cot in the corner. Without a word, she pulled off my muddy boots, and helped me on to my stomach, tucking blankets around my waist to prevent my rolling. When she was finally content with my sleeping position, she stood up blew out the nearest candle, the blue smoke swirled up in a haunting whirl as she swept by. I watched silently as Claire gathered up a large book from the table and sat herself down in front of the fire to read. I scanned the small, dungeon like room for her bed, then with a shock I realized that was exactly what I was laying on. This small thought embraced my body like a warm blanket, comforting and secure; I was too exhausted to voice to her my appreciation and thankfulness at her small kindness, and instead settled for a simple example of the trust I felt for her as I teetered on the brink of sleep,
"My name is Laine."