I wished I could see my mom. I could hear her terrified screams not far from me, but my vision blurred as pain continued to course through my body.
Just when I thought I could bear no more pain, I heard what I thought was my spine snapping, and I gladly embraced unconsciousness.
Chapter 9
Scotland
1645
Vision slowly made its way back to me as I waited for the blurry images to clear. I reached to grip the edge of the table and struggled to pull myself to my feet. I moved my hands to grip the sides of my head, only briefly registering that my fingers didn’t come away from the table’s surface covered in dust. I could hear the blood pounding in my head, and I couldn’t catch my breath. A voice from behind me started to penetrate my foggy brain.
On unsteady feet I spun toward the doorway, struggling to make out the form standing in front of me. I knew it had to be my mother, but it didn’t look like her. This was a short, plump woman, while my mother was tall and slim.
I closed my eyes briefly and opened them once more, hoping it would help me clear my sight. It did nothing to increase my vision, but I could now make out the woman’s words.
Why is Mom talking like that? I don’t understand what she’s saying. Am I injured? My head certainly feels like it. Did part of the ceiling collapse? What’s happening? Thoughts coursed through my mind as I listened to the woman’s ramblings.
“Oh God! Oh dear, sweet Mother O’ God! The old laird was right. What is old Mary going to do now? And with the lass just hours away from her wedding! Lassies picked a grand time to be messing with magic, they did!”
That’s definitely not Mom. Am I in the hospital or something? Wait! Wedding? What the hell is going on?
I struggled to process my surroundings as I felt the woman’s hands grip my shoulders and shake them.
“Lass! Are ye all right? Old Mary needs ye to speak.”
“Please, stop shaking me! It’s killing my head!” I gasped and reached to grab my head once more, realizing I could finally see the woman clearly. The pain that had nearly ripped me in half only moments ago had slowly eased into a migraine.
“Oh dear heavens, lass! Where’d ye learn to speak in such a manner? Ye must be from far away, dearie. Old Mary’s never heard any such speech in her life.”
I felt the shaking stop and looked into the gray eyes that were studying me fiercely.
“Oh, by the Saints, lass! I never believed his stories, but ye do look remarkably similar; except Lady Blaire would never dress in such inappropriate attire. Why, ye look like the worse kind of tavern wench! I can see the shape of yer legs, lass! Not to mention…”
My head was throbbing too incessantly to concentrate. I scanned the room, while silently willing the woman to stop speaking.
I knew I wasn’t in a hospital. The space looked old and somehow familiar. Slowly, I turned my head back to the table I was leaning against now and saw the portrait of myself.
Memories of what I’d been doing only moments before came rushing back, and panic burst forth as I shot out of the woman’s reach.
“Where’s my mother? What happened? What? What is that?” My voice and fingers were shaking as I pointed to the portrait and stared back at the old woman.
“Oh, ye poor thing. Ye look quite frightened to death.”
I watched as the woman moved toward me once more and pulled me toward a stool in the corner of the room.
The woman was right. I was scared. Attempting to stifle my panic, I followed her urging and collapsed onto the smooth, wooden seat.
“Are ye all right now, lass? Allow me to explain to ye, Dearie.”
I simply nodded as numbness replaced the sense of panic, and turned to watch the woman as she spoke.
“I’ll no be sure about the where and when ye came from, dearie, but I can tell by yer manner of speech and dress, it is nowhere I’ve ever seen or heard about. Not that old Mary’s been or seen very many places.”
I watched as the woman paused and chuckled slightly. Then, seeing my confusion, she stopped laughing and pulled her face into a look of seriousness once again.
“But I can tell ye that today is the third day of November in the year sixteen hundred and forty-five. And it is yer wedding day.”
I started to refute the woman’s claims, only to find that my mouth was dry and my knees were shaking. I sat quietly instead.
“Ye are in Conall Castle, lass, and while old Mary knows ye won’t be the Lady Blaire, the rest of the castle won’t be able to tell the difference, and unless ye want to be locked up, I suggest ye doona let them find out the truth.”
As I listened to the woman speak about my upcoming marriage to the castle laird, laughter threatened to bubble up out of my throat.
I definitely hit my head. The room collapsed, and I am in a coma. I’m in a coma, and I’m dreaming that I went back in time to marry a Scottish laird. That’s what you get for daydreaming nonsense, Bri.