Entwined (29 page)

A cold wind whipped up around them, blowing ever harder and harder. She clung to Duncan and the dog as the air began to circle them. Faster and faster it whirled, as time unraveled around them until they could see no more but a hazy blur, the misty outline of what had been. Dizzy and disoriented Eilidh fell against Duncan, losing hold of Amber’s collar as she did. Unable to support her any longer, Duncan, too, collapsed. They both fell to the ground and lay, unresponsive in an ever increasing vortex, until eventually the swirl calmed and the air warmed. The night sky disappeared and in its place beamed a warm summer sun.

******

CHAPTER 30

Ellem - August 1716

The dog staggered to her feet her eyes dazed and unfocused. She stumbled to Eilidh’s side, gently nuzzling her nose against her mistress’s.

“Get your tail out of my face,” Duncan moaned, lifting his hand to swat away the nuisance.

Eilidh’s eyes flickered and she lifted her hand weakly to rest on her forehead.

“Not now, Amber,” she said, turning her face away from the dog’s cold nose.

Duncan pushed himself up from the ground.

“Come on, Eilidh, we need to get into the hole,” he said, reaching down and pulling her to her feet.

“My head’s banging,” she said, swaying slightly. Duncan steadied her against him. “How long have we been lying there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you tell what year it is?” Eilidh said, squinting against the sunlight.

“I haven’t got a clue, but if I were a betting man, I’d say we were in the 18th century.”

“Well we aren’t dead.”

“No Eilidh, I don’t think we are,” Duncan said, smiling down at her. “But we might not be alive for much longer if we don’t get out of sight.”

“Can you remember where it is?”

“Vaguely,” Duncan replied, turning to his left and making his way a few steps upstream.

It didn’t take them long to find the hole and, although a little overgrown, it was much as they had left it. A small hollow burrowed into the hillside.

“Are you sure we are going to fit in here?” Duncan said, drawing his knees up high under his chin to make enough space for Eilidh and Amber.

“I think so,” replied Eilidh, squeezing into the hollow beside him.

“At this moment I wish you had a smaller dog,” Duncan groaned. “Get your tail out of my face, Amber,” he said, once again swatting the tail from his face.

“She can’t help it,” Eilidh said, trying unsuccessfully to cross her legs, and instead drawing them up tightly against her chest.

“How long did you say we should wait in here?”

“I did think we should wait until tonight, but I’m not so sure now.”

“The air feels like mid-summer,” Duncan said, trying to take a deep breath in the confined space.

“Which means it won’t be dark for hours.”

“If you don’t mind too much, Eilidh, I don’t think I can spend hours in here.”

“I agree. Any ideas on what we can do?” she asked, still massaging her forehead.

“Have you still got a headache?”

“I never time travel well. It will pass in a few hours.”

“Do you feel strong enough to make a run for it?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I thought about going out into the woods. You know the shelter we used to play in?”

Eilidh nodded, “Aye, I remember it. Wasn’t it built as a bolthole in case the Redcoats ever came this way?”

“It was, but I don’t remember it ever being used. All I recall of the place was the three of us playing in it.”

“Which means it’s somewhere Shannon is likely to look for us,” Eilidh said.

“Unfortunately, Eilidh, you are right, and that is why I’ve discarded the idea.”

“Any other thoughts?” she asked, hopefully.

“Well actually we could head out into the hills until nightfall, then double back when the farm falls quiet.”

“What if someone sees us?”

“We’ll just have to be careful.”

“Aren’t you curious to know what everyone is up to?”

“Yes, I’m very curious, Eilidh, but not so much that I would risk our lives to satisfy it.”

“I miss my parents,” she said, suddenly giving Amber’s fur a quick ruffle with her hand. “Do you suppose someone buried them?”

“I am sure they were buried, Eilidh, but we can’t risk finding out. I’m sorry,” he said, gently reaching over the dog and taking her hand in his.

“How long do you suppose we are going to survive out here?”

“As long as it takes, Eilidh, as long as it takes.”

“I might be able to make our lives a little easier,” she said, looking up at him with her big round eyes.

“And how would that be?”

“My Pa buried a tin outside our cottage. I remember it because we did it together. He said I wasn’t to mention it to another living soul. It was the money your Pa paid him to build the big house when they first came here. Pa kept the tin in the house, adding the odd bit to it here and there, but then one day he noticed some of the money had gone missing. He thought I had taken it at first, but then… oh, it doesn’t really matter who took it, but he decided to bury it.”

“And you think the money is still there?”

Eilidh nodded. “Aye, I’m sure it is still there because he only buried it a few days before Angus came to the farm.”

“I’m not sure it’s worth the risk, Eilidh,” Duncan said, tapping his fingers on his bent knees.

“Why not? You said yourself that we will have to double back from the hills to go south.”

“But going into the heart of the farm? Eilidh, it’s just too risky. We don’t know where Shannon is, we don’t even know who is left on the farm.”

“Without it, Duncan, we don’t stand a chance,” Eilidh said, frankly.

“We’ll manage.”

“No, Duncan, we won’t. We haven’t a penny to our names.”

“I’ll find work.”

“Dressed like that?” she said, with a nod at his clothes.

“Alright, so let’s just suppose I supported this ridiculous notion of yours. What do you have in mind?”

“I propose that we come back here tonight and look for the money. You can take my Pa’s clothes and I’ll change into my own dress. I know my Pa was a bit shorter than you are, but it will be better than what you are wearing now.”

Duncan lowered his head and shuffled his foot along the ground.

“And Amber?”

“What about her?”

“Are you suggesting we bring her back here too?”

Eilidh nodded fervently. “Yes, of course. What else would we do with her?”

“I don’t like it, Eilidh. It’s too risky.”

“Then you stay in the hills tonight and I’ll come back with Amber.”

“Don’t talk such nonsense,” Duncan snapped. “We’ll do it together but make sure Amber behaves herself.”

The dog cocked her head at the mention of her name.

“She’s being good now. Actually she’s complaining less than you are.”

“That is because she is a dog, Eilidh, and dogs like confined spaces. Humans on the other hand don’t get along with them quite so well.”

“She’ll be good. Won’t you, Amber?” Eilidh said, sliding her bottom along the ground toward the entrance to the hollow.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting out of this hole. I thought we were going to head for the hills?”

“If you’re ready ,then,” Duncan said, partially straightening his legs in the gap Eilidh had left.

“I’m ready,” she said, sticking her head tentatively out of the entrance. “Looks clear enough to me.”

Once out of the hollow Duncan stretched his legs and massaged a cramp from the back of his thighs. “How old were we when we made that?”

Eilidh smiled softly at him. “A lot younger than we are now.”

Duncan scanned the hills to their left, raising his hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“Let’s do it, then,” he said, taking Eilidh’s hand and making his way along the river bank.

Amber ran on ahead, stopping briefly for a drink before shooting off again in pursuit of a pheasant.

“Amber,” Eilidh called, in an exaggerated whisper, “Come back here, girl.”

The dog reluctantly broke her stride and mournfully returned to her mistress’s side.

“Time enough for that, you can find us a nice plump hen later, but for now you have to stay with us,” Eilidh said, patting the dog’s back.

“Don’t you think it’s odd?”

“What?” Eilidh asked.

“The fields, the hills – look. There are no cattle, no sheep.”

Eilidh cast her eyes out, scanning the long grass and over grown fields where cattle and sheep used to graze.

“Aye, now that you come to mention it. I wonder where they all are?”

******

CHAPTER 31

The trio wandered deep into the Lammermuir Hills, carefully avoiding cottages and fields that may have been inhabited. They knew their path as it was one they had trod many times before. A sudden wave of sadness inspired Duncan to reach out and clasp Eilidh’s hand.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sensing his deepening mood.

“I was thinking that the last time we walked these hills we were children,” he paused and cast his eyes out over the purple heather that carpeted their path, “Children, with not a care in the world.”

“That is the nature of life,” Eilidh said, picking up a stick from the ground and hurling it through the air. Amber immediately gave chase, skidding to a gangly stop as she realized she had overshot the stick’s landing.

“Do you ever think about what might have been?”

“No, not really,” Eilidh replied. “Life is complicated.”

“I suppose,” Duncan said, with a deep laugh. “You are frightfully practical.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” he said, turning a broad grin on her. “But that is what I love about you.”

Eilidh stopped walking and turned to face him.

“Did you just say you love me?”

“Yes, I did, and I said it last night too, and I’ll say it again if you want me to.”

“But,” she paused, scanning his eyes for a moment, searching for clues, hints of his true feelings, “but I thought you only said that because we might die.”

“Don’t talk silly, lass. Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, casting her eyes to the ground as she felt a flush of red creeping up her neck.

“Eilidh?” he said, reaching out and sliding his arms around her waist. “I love you. Do you hear me, I loved you last night, and the night before that and the night before that, and…”

Laughing she tapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Stop it, you’re being silly.”

“Silly am I?” he asked, tilting her chin so that her deep blue eyes stared up at him, “Well, my little Eilidh, I’d like to show you just how silly I can be,” he breathed, covering her lips gently with his.

“Now do you believe me?” he whispered softly.

“Aye, Duncan, I believe you.”

They lay on the soft, warm ground, in the folds of a hill eating wild blackberries and watching the sky as the sun set over Edinburgh. An excited Amber lapped at water from a nearby spring before bouncing back to Eilidh to devour a handful of berries.

“Eww, Amber, you’ve slobbered all over my hand,” Eilidh cried, wiping her palm on the grass. “I love you dearly but I hate your slobber,” she said, pushing herself up from the grass.

Much like a small child, the early evening brought a silliness to the dog, and Duncan laughed out loud as he watched her run madly around in circles and then shoot off in pursuit of a phantom catch.

Eilidh silently wished they had let Amber loose on the pheasants, because although she had eaten a good quantity of the sweet blackberries, her stomach still rumbled in anticipation of a meal.

“We’ll have need of her hunting skills,” Duncan said, thoughtfully.

“Won’t find better,” Eilidh replied, trying not to think more than she had to about food or her want of it.

“Have you given any thought to what you will take from your parents’ house?” Duncan asked.

She shook her head slowly, lifting her look to his face, to the wide set of his jaw and steady pulse at the base of his throat, to the high bridge of his nose and freckles that dusted his cheeks. She didn’t want to think about her parents, or the farm. She had no wish to face the terror her return to the cottage would bring.

Dusk was drawing in, and soon they would have to leave the comfort of the valley and make their way back through the hills to the farm. Duncan wanted nothing more than the comfort of her body, the warmth of her touch and the softness of her lips on his, but for that he was going to have to wait.

Roughly dusting off his jeans he lifted his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“Are you ready?”

Eilidh nodded, but the flash of fear that crossed her eyes told him she was no more ready than he was.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said, holding out his hand and pulling her up.

“We do,” she said, patting her thighs, “Come on Amber, time to go.”

The dog bounced to heel beside her and Eilidh stooped slightly to pat her back.

“Good girl,” she said, smiling down at the expectant face cocked toward her. “I’ve nothing to give you, Amber. You should be long past needing treats by now.”

They walked in silence over the hills following the path they had traveled earlier and the moon was high in the night sky by the time they reached the outer boundaries of the farm.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Duncan asked, taking her hand in his. She clung to it like a frightened child and nodded her reply.

“It looks deserted to me,” Duncan said, pointing at the black outlines of the workers’ cottages.

“There’s not a single candle’s flame down there? Where is everyone?” Eilidh asked, scanning the hillside for signs of life. “I can’t even see a light in the main house. Where’s Shannon?”

A deepening frown crept over his brow and he too scanned the horizon for signs of life. They stilled in the evening air, hardly daring to breath, watching, listening, waiting for what, they were not sure.

“Let’s go,” Duncan said, eventually giving a gentle tug on her hand.

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

“No,” he replied, with a bluntness she had never heard in his voice before. “Get what you want from the house and then we leave,” he finished, stooping to take hold of Amber’s collar.

They approached Eilidh’s childhood home without challenge. The door was, as Eilidh had suspected, unlocked. Her parents had never felt the need to use a key, and she doubted whether one had ever existed. Duncan released Amber into the house and followed Eilidh through the door.

Caught off guard, she stumbled against her mother’s chair. The smell of the room filled her nose and immediately her memories were there in the forefront of her mind. She choked back a sob as she fought the instinct to call out for her mother, to run to her father and bury herself in their embrace. She shook her head erratically, trying to free herself from the pain. Instinctively her hands grabbed for a shawl, neatly folded on the seat of a chair. She nestled her face in the softness of the wool and cried for the people she had loved and lost. Sobbing, her knees buckled and she fell to the ground. His arms were around her, holding her tightly to his chest.

“It’s alright, Eilidh,” he whispered, pulling her firmly against him. “We don’t have to stay here.”

She drew a deep breath, releasing it slowly and then straightened her shoulders before moving gently away from his hold.

“Let’s do it,” she said, handing him the shawl. “Will you put that in your bag, please?” she finished, heading purposefully for the stairs.

“What can I do to help?”

“See if there is anything you want to take from down here,” she said, making her way up the ladder. “Pa’s saddle bags should be over there, beside the fire. Fill them with whatever you think we might need.”

“You’re not still hoping to use one of the horses are you?”

Eilidh poked her head down from the loft, “You know me too well.”

“Evidently,” Duncan groaned. “I told you, Eilidh, I don’t want to be wandering around this place any longer than we have to.”

“I know, but it won’t take five minutes to see if any of the horses are left. Just think how much easier our life will be with one.”

He gave a guttural grunt of disapproval and returned his attention to fumbling in the darkness. He groped his way around the cottage until his hands fell on the smooth shape of what he was looking for. He reached into the pocket of his trousers and removed his lighter, thanking God for the brilliance of the new world he had just left. With a quick flick he had a flame which he drew to the wick of the candle he had just found. He scanned a shelf behind the old man’s chair. A pewter candlestick stood proudly beside a pint mug and a small wooden box. He reached over the chair and gently edged the candle into the holder before removing the wooden box from the shelf.

“Eilidh, did you know your Pa had a stash of coins in the house?” he asked, counting out the heavy metal disks into his hand.

“Pa was always collecting money,” she said, dropping a bundle of clothes through the hole in the ceiling where the ladder reached up to the loft.

“There’s a fair bit in here.”

“I think there’s even more buried outside,” Eilidh said, coming to stand beside him.

“Where did he get it all from? I’m sure my Pa never paid enough to save this sort of money,” Duncan said, cocking one eyebrow, in much the same fashion as his father did.

“I don’t know, I guess he just saved hard. Here,” she said, throwing him a pair of woolen trousers and cotton shirt, “put these on.”

“Eilidh, something’s not right here,” Duncan said, stepping out of his modern world trousers.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” he said, holding the wooden box up.

“Duncan, I don’t know where my Pa got the money from. It’s hardly a fortune.”

“Eilidh, it’s not a small amount of money.”

“He saved some coins from his wages. Really, Duncan, why make such a fuss about it. He’s dead now, I can’t ask him and nor would I want to. It’s none of mine or your business.”

“Eilidh,” he said, abandoning the task of trying to fit his legs into the trousers of a man half his size. “This isn’t from his wages.”

She flashed an angry look at him, briefly distracted from her annoyance by the sight of the man in nothing but his undershorts.

“What do you mean?” she said, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck.

“This is a gold coin, Eilidh, and worth a fair bit, by my reckoning.”

“I’m not sure I care too much. If it helps us survive the next sixteen years then I’m grateful to my Pa. I don’t see why you are obsessing over it.”

He reached for the candle holder and lifted it carefully off the shelf. He held the coin up to the flame, his eyes studying it, carefully, as though it were a vital link to some missing puzzle.

“Eilidh, this coin wasn’t made until 1967.”

“It can’t have been,” she said lifting a bag of oats and dropping it on the floor beside the bundle of clothing.

“Honestly, Eilidh. I’m being perfectly serious. This coin was minted in 1967.”

She sighed, impatient with his persistence.

“Show it to me then?” she said, holding out her hand.

“Take it over there, by the light,” he suggested, dropping the coin into her hand.

Lifting it to the flame she gasped in surprise.

“You are right. How do you suppose it came to be here?”

“I wish I knew,” he replied, taking the coin from her and dropping it back into the wooden box.

“Here, empty the coins into this,” she said, lifting a small leather pouch from the dresser drawer. “We haven’t got time to waste on it now.”

“Eilidh, I really think this could be important,” he said, following her instructions.

“And you might be right, but I would rather we discussed it away from here. You’ve not finished changing,” she said, scowling at his undershorts.

“There’s no way those clothes are going to fit me,” he said, bending to retrieve his own trousers. “And Eilidh, if you add any more to that pile we are going to need a cart to move it.”

She smiled knowingly across at him. “I have every intention of using a cart and a horse to move it.”

He glanced sidelong at her, “Are you serious?”

“Never more so,” she said, with a quick nod.

“Amber and I are going to see if we can find this money my Pa buried. Will you go out to the paddock and see if there are horses left? We only need one horse, the cart’s not very big.”