Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(41)
Determined to exploit the small window of light the night sky had granted, I limped over to a tree, found a manageable dead branch, and swept forest litter into a pile under the canopy. The father–daughter camping trips we’d taken on my dad’s summers off taught their far-reaching lessons. Thankfully, bugs and small creatures didn’t freak me out. Well, not much, anyway, since more important issues . . . like survival . . . forced trivial matters away.
I settled onto my makeshift bed, elevating my foot, wide-awake since I’d only been up a few hours of my day. I wondered what Iain would think when he realized I’d gone missing. Actually, he wouldn’t think anything for days, since he’d left the castle to find his guardsmen.
No one would even discover my absence there until well after morning had come here, wherever . . . and whenever . . . here happened to be.
CHAPTER Thirteen
Highlands of Scotland—Ancient Reign of the Picts
I tossed a white flag at restless sleep, blinking at gloaming’s grayish sky, accepting what I’d been fighting: the Universe had undisclosed plans for me far beyond my humble archaeology-grad-student existence. Tired, hurt, and undeniably alone, I sat up on the leaf-litter bed. Earth spun into another day, forcing her inhabitants to do the same. Dawn marked the start of a new chapter in a story I’d thought had already ended in my happily ever after.
What a fool I’d been.
How na?ve the human race had become, myself included. Like most of society, I’d thought I had a solid grasp of the real world. But in the pulse of a heartbeat, the rogue wave of a new paradigm crashed upon the rocky outcropping of my life, scattering accepted principles into a million effervescent bubbles, each one bursting with every thought I’d known to be true.
Twice in as many weeks I’d struggled with assumptions about what defined my reality, but thought-driven insomnia had crystallized the details of my situation. At the exact moment I’d believed my mind warp had settled in Iain’s time, supernatural forces had hurled me to a more ancient Scotland, where blue-painted Picts ruled the land.
Although I hadn’t any clue of the exact era, my brief exposure to the natives suggested the medieval Highland home I’d come to love, and the man I’d fallen in love with, existed more than a millennium beyond where I sat. I took a deep breath. Tenacity to survive long enough to find a way home became the only thing saving me from funneling down into a whirlpool of self-pity.
My immediate goal remained protection from men looking to kill me. I couldn’t pinpoint how I knew they hunted me with any rational explanation. I just knew. Like a divining rod pointed to a strong source of water, I knew escape remained ahead . . . danger stalked behind.
Once I no longer felt threatened, I would figure out a way back to the cave—back to the box. That I’d taken flight into the midnight darkness hadn’t escaped notice of my clearer-thinking head. Directionally challenged from birth, I prayed a new skill had developed overnight.
I carefully stood, shifting my weight onto my good leg as every other muscle and tendon screamed in simultaneous protest about the strenuous pace I’d forced on them. Tears sprang to my eyes, the physical pain twanging my mental anguish, but I took several more deep breaths, willing the hair-trigger anxiety to go away. My slowing heartbeats joined the cacophony of birdsongs, squirrel chitters, and cricket chirps—happy, normal sounds indicating no alarm had been tripped. Confident that I remained alone in my section of untamed wilderness, I hobbled across the damp leaf-litter carpet, inhaling sweet botanical scents as I sought the most camouflaged path, leading . . . somewhere indeterminate.
Thank God for small things, like wearing my twenty-first-century boots. I wiggled my toes, confirming the swelling hadn’t constricted the blood flow, but I still gritted my teeth in pain with every step as I shuffled along. To make matters worse, my thirteenth-century dress snagged at every thorny, thick-brushed opportunity. I steadfastly gathered every bit of torn fabric and fibers which would’ve been gift-wrapped breadcrumbs for my pursuers. A desire not to fall again also topped my new list of “Wisdom Gained in the Light of Day.”
Where the hell am I going? I sighed.
Sun’s first light illuminated the dark undercanopy with narrow golden beams. Logical thoughts crept in, highlighting the gravity of my situation.
He is predator—I am prey.
He is native—I am foreigner.
The traitorous distractions chiseled at my resolve, yet my realist side couldn’t discount the tremendous odds against me. The man chasing after me like the wind blowing through the trees knew the challenging terrain. I did not.
“Great. He probably knows where I’m headed better than I do.” Talking out loud might not have been the wisest action but, absent friendly voices, the sound of my own soothed me.
In the loneliness of my surroundings, my heart ached. I needed to get back to Iain. How would he find me? How would he know I wasn’t merely missing in his time, but that I’d been lost somewhere in time? The box clearly continued to be an open gateway, and in my panic-induced marathon, I’d created a vast amount of distance between me and my only route back home.
My pace eased, along with every thought bouncing around in my head. With my endless mental chatter, I’d failed to listen to any telltale animal sounds and hadn’t noticed the terrain change.