Blue Bells of Scotland: Book One of the Blue Bells Trilogy (41 page)

"If the Shawn I knew a week ago said that, I'd think I was being set up." Niall waited. "But you're different since then." Aaron frowned, then said, "I'll show you something." He crossed to the computer, tapped, and stood back, indicating that Niall should read.

"The head wound has made me see double," Niall said. "Read it, please."

"This was a friend of my grandfather's," Aaron said, seating himself at the computer. "I knew him—straight up, honest guy. He's been interviewed. It was in a book."

Niall held tight reins on his impatience. "What happened?"

"This guy and two friends were out in a field near Kersey, in England."

"I know of Kersey!" Niall said. The Laird had visited the place, years ago when England and Scotland had still been friendly.

Aaron looked at him askance, and turned back to the computer. "They heard church bells, climbed a fence, and the church was gone. And Kersey suddenly looked like it would have in medieval times."

"Mid...what?"

"You know, thirteen, fourteen hundreds."

"They are evil times." Niall sighed, thinking of Edward's army.

"What?" Aaron looked at him, perplexed. "Isn't that 'were?'"

"Were, yes," Niall agreed. "They just walked into another time?" Hope shot through him. "How did they get back to their own time?"

Aaron shrugged. "They just did. They walked through the village. It was deserted, meat hanging in the butcher shop turning green, cobwebs everywhere. They started running, turned a corner, and when they looked back, there was the modern Kersey again."

He clicked the mouse, bringing up another page. "In a lot of these stories, there's this eerie silence, but in some, they interact with the people from the past, even buy things that come back to their own time with them." Niall fingered his crucifix. It and the coins had leapt forward with him. "But here's a really wild one. This woman," he tapped the screen, "says she was at the coliseum and suddenly found herself surrounded by Roman gladiators. One of them stabbed...." Aaron stopped, staring at Niall with naked curiosity.

"Like someone shot me?" Niall raised one eyebrow, unsmiling.

Aaron swallowed. "They found her unconscious in a tunnel, with gashes in her leg. They were the exact distance of the prongs on a trident from 250 A.D. just like she described." He studied Niall, waiting.

"Suppose," Niall said, "that it was not she who was stabbed."

"But they found her. They saw the marks."

Niall leaned forward. "Suppose someone from 250 A.D. who looked just like her was stabbed and found in the tunnel."

Aaron stared at the monitor and bit his lower lip. "Then where's the original woman?"

"You know more than I. What do you think?"

"If that were true, and I stress if, then there are two women from two times, who look alike. Somehow they switched places."

"How would you switch them back?" When Aaron didn't answer immediately, Niall added, "Would it be the place that caused the switch, or a connection between the two of them?"

"I don't know." Aaron studied Niall, his eyebrows drawn together, frowning. "Put them both back in the same place, maybe, and hope." He leaned forward, regarding Niall. "You saw people. What year would you guess they were from?"

"The year of our Lord, 1314. They are preparing to fight England for Stirling Castle. All Scotland is at stake."

"You could tell all that from looking at them?" Aaron asked doubtfully.

"I could tell you much more," Niall said softly. He leaned forward, piercing Aaron with his gaze.

"If you were the Shawn I knew...."

"Am I?"

"No." Aaron studied Niall. A pulse beat rapidly in his throat. A muscle twitched in his jaw. "But you were exactly where she left him. Nobody would believe you if you said you weren't. Because to believe anything else...." He frowned, his eyebrows drawn together, his head tilted. Just then, a jingling melody came from his belt.

His mouth pursed as he fumbled for his cell phone. Niall stared in fascination as he flipped it open, speaking to the unseen person. He closed it, and lifted his hands in a gesture of resignation. "I was supposed to meet Celine." He paused and when Niall didn't answer, said, "Let me know if you have any more questions." He turned at the door. When Niall said nothing, he added, "Anything at all."

"I will," Niall said.

After a momentary silence, Aaron let himself out, looking back in curiosity one last time.

Central Scotland, 1314

They traveled through the night, slower than they would have liked, due to the monk's injuries, eating the hard biscuits, or bannocks as Allene called them, dried meat, and turnips Fergal had provided. Not exactly McDonald's, Shawn thought, but a sight better than nothing. And all of it better by far than being hungry in a dark cellar, smelling the stench of their own waste, or facing scarred men with swords. Allene stuck close to his side.

The monk, peering through bruise-ringed eyes, told his story as they walked. Brother David, newly ordained and assigned to lead an abbey's choir, had been hiking south through the Glen, singing, when Edward's men had set upon him. Ignoring his insistence that he wasn't Niall Campbell, they'd beaten him and left him for dead. He'd woken to find Allene pouring a draught down his throat.

"A traveler found ye and carried ye to Fergal," Allene said. She slipped her hand through Shawn's arm. Warmth climbed up his insides. He thought of Amy, back in Inverness, and his awareness in the cellar of letting her down. Moonlight danced off Allene's wild red hair, freed from the cowl, and springing in curls around her face. She'd ask questions if her betrothed pulled away. Amy would understand. Scotland depended on him.

"Aye, he saved my life. And they'll be wonderin' what's become o' me, at the abbey," Brother David lamented.

"You're safer with us for now," Allene said. "We'll send word when we can."

They lapsed into silence, but for Brother David's labored breathing. Moors and hills rolled away on all sides, looking to Shawn as they had the day he'd hiked them with Amy. He wanted to believe he'd imagined the soldiers, the body in the cage. But the stench lingered in the pit of his stomach. Fear echoed through his veins, afraid they'd be seen silhouetted against the moon on the empty moor or as they crested yet another hill.

"They'll be sleepin' off the ale," Brother David reassured him, as Shawn turned yet again to search behind.

Shawn nodded and continued in silence. He curled his toes up against the damp bog.
It's real,
he told himself. As the distance increased between himself and the soldiers, a flame of excitement licked upward. How his father would have loved this opportunity, to find out how much they'd gotten right in their camps! What archaeologist wouldn't give his last pick and shovel for this chance! He tried to study Allene's garb without staring. He wondered, when he got back, could he look her up on the internet and find out how she'd fared. Seeing his gaze, she patted her hair and checked her robe.

"It's nothing," he said. He looked across the endless mountain moors, with moonlight bright above and a canopy of stars shining brilliantly down, and the marsh sucking at his every step. They were safe now, he assured himself. But he remembered enough history to know it was a brutal time, full of mutilating weapons and killing diseases. He rubbed his chest: and humorless men with pitchforks. He had a life to live, back in the twenty-first century, and people who would be wondering where he'd gone. Pique replaced the burst of excitement. He belonged in his suite, surrounded by opulence, double tall lattes, and beautiful women. There had to be a way back.

"Allene."

She turned to him, questioning.

He tried to think how he might ask such a question. For all he knew, they'd hang him or drown him as a witch for even asking. But then again, he decided, they needed him. He'd blame it on the head injury. "You ever hear any stories, um, legends, about time travel?"

Allene's eyebrows furrowed.

"Going to a different time, do you mean?" asked Brother David.

At Shawn's eager nod, Allene exclaimed, "Do you no remember old Rabbie's story?" She proceeded to tell what had apparently been a favorite of Niall's: how King Herla went into a cliff to spend three days at a dwarf's marriage festivities, and emerged three hundred years later.

"Lousy way to repay a wedding gift," Shawn said. They trudged on in silence. The story gave him no hint as to how he might get out of this mess. The harp bumped against his back, a monotonous rhythm. The marshy land cushioned his steps as he beat the corners of his brain for an idea. But, except for getting back to the castle, his mind was a bare attic, giving him not even a cobweb with which to weave a plan.

"Do people routinely disappear hundreds of years into the future?" he asked after another long interval.

Allene laughed.

Normally, he appreciated his ability to amuse women, but he found her response unhelpful. "How did King Herla get back to his own time?" he pressed.

"You're like a bairn wi' your questions," Allene said. "He never got back. Mind the burn, now."

Shawn jumped back just on time, from another of the many small streams crisscrossing the land. Though they could scarce afford the delay, they knelt in the rocks at the water's edge so Allene could cleanse and re-bind Brother David's wounds. Shawn washed his own hand and re-bandaged it. He looked up, catching Allene's eye. Moonlight shone in her hair and glowed off her pale skin. She turned away.

As the morning dawned, they approached a forest. "We're getting close," Allene said. "But we must still take care. Wolves and boar roam this wood, and we're no yet safe from Edward's men. We'll sleep but a few hours, and say, if we're asked, that we're going to Edinburgh for the music festival. Allan a Dale." She smiled at him, and his heart melted.

* * * * *

Chapter Fourteen

Inverness, Scotland, Present

Niall arrived at the last rehearsal awash in elation, hope, and despair. He greeted a number of musicians, and took his place behind the harp. He watched for the downbeat, and began playing, setting his brain free, as his fingers danced through familiar pieces, to work through all he'd learned.

Time travel happened only in theory and stories. His fingers skimmed over a light ballad, and his brain skimmed past time machines and wormholes. It had happened the first time, after all, without either. His left hand glided up the strings in flowing arpeggios; behind him, the clarinets took up the melody.

"A little slow," Conrad said. "Keep your mind on the music."

Niall nodded, expecting more rude comments. None came. He listened for the beat, watched Conrad's arms, and settled into the tempo, warning himself against over-confidence. He thought once more about organizing something like an orchestra, with Iohn and William. But they didn't have the instruments to create such a thing.

"Nice job." Conrad drew the piece to a close. "That's in good shape for tomorrow! Pull out
Gilliekrankie
." Music shuffled on stands behind Niall. "Ready?" Conrad asked him.

"Ready." Niall watched Conrad's baton, an expert now, and began another song about another battle. What a sad history, he thought. Sadder, still, if all he knew and loved were destroyed when he could possibly save them. Without machines or wormholes, there was only the element of chance, with which this whole thing had begun. One story after another showed exactly what he'd experienced—some sort of connection via place. All the stories seemed to contain elements of strong emotion.

The trombones and kettle drums thundered out the melody with a powerful beat. He was sure his harp couldn't be heard over them, but he kept playing and pondering. So what, he wondered, was the secret of picking the right location. Maybe he should have gone straight back to Glenmirril. But what-ifs did no good. Herla and his men, and the people in Aaron's stories, had simply walked into other times. Perhaps he could, too.

His fingers slowed, gliding into the ballad section of
Gilliekrankie
. But what if Shawn had not been in the tower that night? Would he still have made the switch, Niall wondered.

Conrad waved his arms suddenly, cutting off the orchestra. "Flutes, flutes, flutes!" he cried in exasperation. "Late again! You're with Shawn." Was Allene with Shawn? Niall closed his eyes, knowing Shawn's habits with women. "Shawn, bring out the melody there, so the flutes can hear you."

Niall waited for the snickers. He turned, and sure enough, one of the trombonists was speaking. "How do you know there's a flute player at your door?" he shouted. Several musicians turned in expectation.

"Knock it off," Caroline snapped.

He ignored her. "They can't find the key and don't know when to come in!" The orchestra laughed. Caroline glared. The man picked up the spray bottle for his slide and sprayed it in the air. A fine mist descended over Caroline. She shook her fluff of corn silk hair and brushed irritably at the water spots on her shirt.

"Children, children," said Conrad. "If we could all come in at the
andante
. Shawn?"

Niall let out his breath. He was no longer the butt of comments. Without that, it would be pleasant here, playing music all day, having his food set before him, Amy loving him and...willing. He smiled, and started on the
andante
. The flutes sang with him.

And his mind wandered again. If Glenmirril was key, even if he made the switch there, he'd never reach Hugh on time. And if the connection was between himself and Shawn, how did he know where Shawn was right now?

Gilliekrankie
drew to an end. He ran his finger up a final gliss, as Conrad cut off the orchestra with a graceful circular motion of his hands. The instruments hung, suspended in midair, letting the last notes reverberate. Conrad lowered his arms; the instruments drifted down.

And Niall made a decision: his best chance was being where Shawn was. But where would that be? At Glenmirril? In the Great Glen? Dead? He sifted through possibilities while Conrad talked, bullied, and cajoled the musicians with pointers on the next song.