Taken by Angeline Fortin (ebook reader with android os TXT) 📕

Thousands of men, women and children from the Brough Muir muster, which had marched out of Edinburgh, combined with those gathering from Midlothian at Ellemford.  Pages, squires, wives, and children.  People to care for them all.  To feed them and clean up after them.

The military encampments were a marvel to Scarlett, whose idea of camping was far removed from the ever-expanding spectacle around her.

Ellemford Haugh – the ‘haugh’ meaning only a meadow near a river, Rhys told her – on the banks of the Whiteadder Water, became a city of tents that first night.  Big ones, small ones.  Flamboyant and humble.  Tents of all colors set in long avenues and cross streets like it was a metropolis unto itself.

Her tent – Rhys had been very clear on that point – was modestly sized with red and white stripes.  Laird’s squire, Aiden had pulled a large feather mattress from the cart for her to sleep on as well as the small table and chairs for her comfort.

Not far away from hers were two large tents of red and yellow bearing the Hepburn coat of arms.  One Rhys was sharing with his father and brothers.  The other was for Patrick and Aleizia.  Theirs had been fully furnished with all the comforts of home.  Scarlett could only imagine how lavish King James’ was.

Or Laird’s.

Rhys had made no mention of where Laird planned to sleep.

Rhys had taken her on a tour of the Ellemford encampment the previous night after supping with Patrick and Aleizia.  Everywhere the Scottish accents of Highland and Lowland blended as men prepared for battle, sharpening swords and knives.  Stringing bows and mending chainmail.  All through their walk, her eyes strayed left and right, wondering where Laird might be but she never caught sight of him among the growing throng.

Today, when they had left Ellemford and moved southward, she wouldn’t have imagined they were stopping near Dunskirk.  Scarlett was glad for it though.  The idyllic tranquility of the place was a long lost friend, soaking into her and washing away the moment of melancholy.

Skirting the shore of the pond, Scarlett made her way to the postern gate of Dunskirk and slipped inside.  The halls were dark with shadows but she knew her way well enough and the keep was but a fraction of the size she remembered.  Working her way through and up the second floor of the pele tower, she took note of what it was.  What it could, no, would someday be.

Near the center of the great room, she found the spot she’d been in when she’d traveled through time.  She circled the room, playing the moment over and over in her head once more.  And the questions came again.  How?  Why?  Would she ever know?

It was also the spot where she’d first encountered Laird.  Amongst all the confusion and chaos, he’d brought an element of excitement into her life.  Anticipation that had long been lacking in her days.  She couldn’t find it in herself in that moment to regret the unexpected journey.

Not that she wanted it to last, of course.

So much was waiting for her back home.

Her mind blanked but Scarlett shook the unnerving moment away.  Of course, there would be a thousands moments to look forward to even if she couldn’t enumerate them now.

Bracing her palms against the casing of the narrow window, she leaned out inhaling deeply as she looked back over the path she’d taken to the castle and the encampment in the distance.

She loved this place, missed it terribly in the years since the filming for The Puppet War wrapped up.  There’d never been another place in the world where she’d felt such peace.  Of course it was half the castle it used to be, or would be, but the spirit of it was still there.  Now it was Laird’s.  Scarlett wondered if he adored it as much as she did.

She hoped so.

Footsteps shuffled through hall below and Scarlett pushed away from the window, climbing the winding staircase to the top of the tower to avoid discovery.  Though she had told Cormac that she was afraid of heights, her phobia was only mildly pathetic rather than neurotic.  Besides the parapet walk was wide and the view remarkable.  From up here, she could clearly see the layout of the castle within the curtain walls.  In her time, there were four towers like the one she was in and two flanking towers breaking up the enclosed walls that connected them.  Now there was just the single, mammoth pele tower and a small keep within the open walls surrounding the bailey.  Everything else was gone.

Again.  How?  Why?

She was still pondering the question when a rough, burly brogue spoke close by.  “Lovely day to be in Scotland, isn’t it, Miss Thomas?”

“I’m sorry, have we met?” she asked, turning to the wizened old man who leaned against the tower wall.  His arms were crossed over a rough woven tunic and he wore leggings with leather straps criss-crossed over his calves and down to his leather shoes.  Pushing his cap back on his balding head, he gave her a wink.  An all too familiar grin creased his cheeks.  “Wait… Mr…  Donell?  Is that you?”

“Aye, lassie, and how are ye on this fine day?”

“What are you…?  How did you…?” she stuttered, gawping at him like a strangled fish.

“Just a few days away from the press and already yer no’ minding yerself every word in public.”  He nodded approvingly.  “Quite an improvement, I’d say.”

Such relief bulleted through her that Scarlett hardly gave his words a moment’s thought.  She grasped his hand excitedly.  “Oh, thank God I’m not the only one caught up in this nightmare!  Do you know how we can get out of here and go home?”

“A nightmare, is it now?”  Donell tilted his head questioningly.  “Is that what ye want, lass?  To go home?”

“Of course, I do!  How can you even ask such a thing?”

“But this is what ye wanted, wisnae it?” he pressed, his eyes boring into hers