Highland Stone (2 page)

"How long to the airport?" she asked the driver, looking at her watch.

"Fifteen minutes."

By the time she checked in they were ready to board. She crammed her flight bag under the seat in front of her, buckled up, and adjusted her five-foot-six-inch length to get more comfortable. It would be a long flight from Beckley, West Virginia.

Ever since she was little, she had read about faraway places, and wanted to see the world. That combined with her love of the planet created a potent desire to explore and discover. She loved digging in soil, and studying the explosive history of this home we called Earth. Those interests led her to geology and beyond. Her job as a volcanologist took her to interesting places, like Hawaii. A couple of weeks ago her excitement about this new job had overflowed. She needed the time away to rethink things. Unfortunately, it gave her unwanted time to think about her grandmother's death and the fact that now she was truly alone. The dredges of insomnia took its toll and she fell asleep.

The 747 bounced like a surfboard on a wave. A particularly hard jolt woke Kara.

"We are experiencing some turbulence," the captain said over the intercom. "Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she sat straighter. The stiff muscles in her back ached. Raw emotions lingered from her dream and ripped her heart apart. She'd been in that beautifully barren place where she always met
him
, the man with the dark features and disarming smile.

Jeez, stop drooling.
She had the same reaction every time she had the dream. Who was he and how did he penetrate her subconscious?

Resolved that she'd had all the sleep she could take, Kara lifted Glynnis' box out of her bag. From the chain around her neck, she retrieved the little gold key. She inserted it into the latch and twisted. The box sprung open and a small leather-bound book fell into her lap. Kara shifted toward the window, snatched up the book, and set it aside. A beautiful oval-shaped stone approximately four inches long, the color of ivory with cracks of green winding through it beckoned her.

Her quivering fingers stroked the glassy finish. Bits of crystal twinkled in the light. A strange magic vibrated around the smooth piece of rock. Kara curbed an overwhelming desire to rub her cheek against it. She rested the object back on the velvet cloth which lined the box and turned her attention to the journal. The cover felt soft and supple. Inside the front flap, she saw handwriting belonging to her grandmother. The graceful loops in the handwriting swirled in her head with the music of her grandmother's distinctive brogue.

May 5, 1948. I was born in the Hebrides o' Scotland in the year of our Lord 1340 A.D. My home wasna particularly happy. The castle was stark, filthy and we had verra little food to sustain the entire clan. I did my best to grow vegetables, but the land was barren and desolate from years o' neglect. The plague had taken many to their deaths. Wars and savageness were a part o' everyday life and my father, the mighty chief, or at least that's what he thought he was, liked it that way. He cared little for comforts and only wanted more lands and more power. He brought terror down on all who opposed him and being the bastard he was, treated me no better than cattle.

One day, in the year of our Lord 1356 A.D., he ordered that I be given to a rival clan chief. 'Twas a union to bind the two clans and make their numbers stronger. More coin in his coffers. I would had sooner pranced before the English army naked than be bartered and the callus whoreson knew it. My bráthair had been my only salvation growing up, but he was away on a mission designed by the chief.

I knew he had sent my bráthair away so he wouldna be there to champion me, but there was naught I could do other than run. So, that night, while others slept, I pinched the clan stone and fled. When he found me gone, no doubt he would send warriors to hunt me down and drag me back. I would have been beaten or worse for defying his orders. I couldna run fast enough.

I rubbed the magical talisman for protection as the ancient tales had foretold. A swirling mist covered the forest in white. It engulfed me and everything faded to black. When I woke, I was in another time, another place.

Kara lowered her arms and laid her head back against the seat. She chuckled softly. This was definitely her grandmother's greatest tale. Her last tale.

I was sure to go mad from the fear and aloneness. Wandering the strange land, I would go hungry for days. Not that hunger wasna a familiar friend. Some locals took pity and helped me find work and my own place to live. Every day I hid with the worry o' being found. It took some time afore I made friends and started my new life.

Then, I met Haskell Malone, young and full o' fire. He swept me off my feet and we were marrit. Haskell shared his strength and courage and made me believe that no matter what life threw at us, we would handle it together.

For a reason she couldn't explain, Kara's hands shook, making it harder to focus on the words and finish the story.

Years passed and still no one had appeared to drag me back. I had taken the MacKay talisman so likely no one could follow, but I couldna keep the fear at bay. It haunts the back of my mind that one day the demon will appear and kill me dead. I have a son, Michael. Haskell and Michael are my life.

Sometimes my heart breaks because I miss my bráthair and, in taking the stone, I put my clan at risk. But I wouldna give back one hour—one day.

This history 'tis not for everyone, most wouldna believe it. In my heart, I am certain one will come to take this knowledge and do the right thing. Until then, I keep it hidden.

R. Glynnis Malone.

Glynnis had always been tight-lipped about her past. She shared very little of her roots. Kara remembered once when she was in fifth grade and needed a note for school. Glynnis had written out the note and signed it, R. Glynnis Malone. When Kara asked what the R stood for, Glynnis clenched her jaw, tightened her lips, and shooed her off.

For as long as Kara could remember, Grams harangued her about being too serious. "
The universe is filled with magic, Kara. It swirls around us unseen. You have to believe and be open to it."
Her choice to become a scientist really hampered her ability to believe in the mystical world.

Glynnis used to tell wonderful stories about knights, fair maidens, Highland warriors, and young girls who had the balls to stand up to their fathers for unfair treatment, even if it meant severe punishment.

Kara's heart ached. This journal was Grams' farewell. The story, a last attempt to bestow a sense of magical wonder on her fact-minded granddaughter. She picked up the stone and caressed it. In truth, she missed Grams' stories. Perhaps the centuries-old Scotland that Grams' brought to life with her storytelling is why Kara's dreams conjured the stark landscape and kilted warrior.

A shadow fell over her. Kara looked out the window to see strange clouds tear through the sky and streaks of lightning come perilously close to the plane. White spirals reached for the heavens like fingers laced with beautiful pastel colors. Her eyelids drooped, suddenly too heavy to keep open. With the stone clasped in her hand, everything dimmed.

Kara blinked trying to focus. Cold, stiff muscles spasmed in her back. How long had she'd been asleep? She stretched her arms overhead when realization hit. She was no longer in the confines of an airplane. "What the hell?"

A light mist coiled around slopes of purple heather. In the distance lay a still body of water, a lake perhaps, sheltered by cliffs, creating a breathtaking backdrop. Fading twilight streaked through passing clouds and she sat on a gravel road with a severe wedgie and something sharp jabbing her butt.

"Holy hell." She pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes, and counted to ten. When she opened her eyes, nothing had changed.
The strange weather caused the plane to crash and I'm dead.  But if the plane crashed, wouldn't I be injured, and wouldn't there be burning debris from the fuselage littering the ground?
A vicious headache pounded at her temples. Shifting to her hands and knees, Kara braced herself before rising. She stood and took inventory. Aches and pains wrestled through her body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, each vying for a place to settle, but all her parts were intact. At her feet lay the stone she'd found with her grandmother's journal. She picked it up and put it in her pocket.

Strangely dressed people gawked at her as she strolled toward the throng. Some kids chasing a small dog ran past her so closely that she staggered to keep her balance. They giggled but kept on their hunt. The sweet smell of fresh elderberries tickled her nose, as did a strong lavender scent from nearby bushes. She could hear murmured voices, a startled laugh, and a hawker announced some type of fair. More children raced around stands filled with woolen fabrics, apples, and what looked like raspberries.

She could see, hear, smell, and feel pain—this couldn't be a dream. But it couldn't be real either. She massaged her temples and closed her eyes again. "This isn't happening." She bit back a bout of hysterical laughter.

The voices and laughter quieted as more people began to take notice of her arrival. Several crossed themselves as if they were seeing some kind of apparition or demon. In her current attire, she struck out like a red rose in a bouquet of white carnations. Chills raced across her skin. The Boston Celtics t-shirt she wore offered little warmth.

Grand buckets of wood were ablaze.
If only she could get closer to one of those, the fire would warm her. But, she dared not approach with so many gaping on-lookers which set her already shattered nerves on edge. Furiously rubbing her hands up and down her arms to generate friction and warmth, she scanned her surroundings for a hiding place. There was none save the woods. At dusk, who knew what kind of creatures would be in there:  snakes, spiders, bats—not the most pleasant thought. Skulking away, she drifted up the road, and ducked into a thicket of trees. Large pines towered above her and the smell reminded her of Christmas. She slid down the trunk of one to the cold, hard ground. "Scotland," she murmured. "How in God's name did I get to Scotland?"
Think Kara, you're a scientist.
Her brain had always been her best weapon against adversity. Okay, so her right hook had gotten her out of a few jams, but she'd been working on temper control. The trauma of her grandmother's death, fond memories, and the story she fell asleep reading could explain her location. The why of it anyway. Or it could be psychosis. Because that's the only plausible thing she could come up with now, she'd gone over the edge—nuts.  She had no fever, no illness, and no alcohol, so the how was going to be a little harder to explain. She studied rocks, volcanoes, gems, not physics. Time travel, space warps, magic, those weren't her specialties.
Where there are people, there are answers.

Staying concealed, she peered through the foliage at the gathering of people. The murmurs were more frantic now and she heard words like witch, banshee, and faery.

One withered man with a hunched back and heavy accent argued the price of some kind of tool. An elderly woman wrapped in large squared tartan of blue, red and yellow strolled over to a wooden two-wheeled wagon covered in baskets, examining each with a critical eye. Others milled about the stands, all adorned in plaids. One stocky fellow wore his as a kilt, a woman had hers wrapped about her shoulders.

Kara's grandfather used to wear his tartan on special occasions. He often spoke of the festivals in the old country and how much fun he'd had there.

The setting sun meant a rapid change in the air and the cool mist which earlier had been mysterious, now stuck to her exposed skin. She crept back toward the small field of merchant booths where villagers sold their wares. If she didn't find a way to warm up soon, she worried about hypothermia setting in.

Kara searched for a familiar landmark in the landscape. Nothing. Her stomach grumbled as she happened upon one family packing up their vegetables. She'd give up chocolate for a month if even one piece rolled off their stand unnoticed. Miraculously, an apple came to rest up against her shoe having done exactly that. As casually as possible, Kara picked up the apple and quickly sauntered away from the cart before kicking up speed to a jog. A thundering sound of horses careened toward her. She stumbled and fell.

A horse whinnied.

She threw her arms over her face and screamed before the rider reined the animal in. The horse reared, its massive hooves kicking out at the air above her head. Its active forelegs landed a foot away and a figure jumped off the stallion and roared down on her.

"Bloody hell, woman, are ye mad, jumping out in front o' me horse like that? You could've been killed."

Kara lowered her arm.
I'm not trampled.
Words caught in her dry throat, and her stomach flip-flopped as she gaped at the mountain of a man towering over her. His dark hair whipped around broad shoulders and his blue eyes burned with anger.

It was
him
, the dark giant who came to life in her dreams.

Finally finding speech but sounding croaky, she said, "I twisted my ankle."

He dropped to his knees beside her and with gentle fingers touched her swollen flesh. Startling blue eyes now looked at her with concern and something else she couldn't place. "These be odd garments." He rubbed his hand against the denim on her calf. "Strange cloth."

Panic flared in her.

"Ye shall catch your death." He held her hand in his light grasp to gently wipe rocks and grass away from her palm.

Kara shivered. His Scottish brogue caressed her ears, sounding better in real life than in her dreams.

"Where be your companions?"

"I—I'm alone."

He seemed thrown by her comment. "Foolish woman. Ye shouldna travel alone. What 'tis your name?"