Chapter 8
Molly followed theman, Gerald, out of the Trading House and into a brisk wind blowing in off the sea. The sun was getting low and she had to shade her eyes against its rays in order to look out at the bay.
The bowl-shaped inlet was well shielded by the cliffs that enclosed it and the water inside was as still as polished glass, despite the wind. It was a perfect spot for a settlement that didn’t want to be found.
Was there still a village inside this sheltered little bay in her time? Or had it gone back to nature?
The question sent a strange wrench through her. When she returned to her time, all these people: the fishermen hauling in their catch, the children running through the streets, the women hanging up washing, all of them would be gone.
Conall would be gone.
“Well?” Gerald asked, raising one bushy eyebrow. “Where would my lady like to go?”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” she asked him. “‘My lady’ I mean?”
He grinned, showing a row of crooked yellow teeth. “What would ye like me to call ye?”
“How about starting with my name? It’s Molly.”
His grinned widened. “As ye wish, my lady.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “Never mind. I’d like to see the harbor.”
He led her downhill on a winding path with fishing nets and lobster pots piled on either side. As they walked, Molly took in the sights of this odd little place.
The streets were lined with carts and barrows full of fish or vegetables, dogs barked at chickens pecking around in gardens, children laughed as they played tag around corners—it all felt so domestic, so normal, despite being so different to everything she knew.
At last they reached the docks where the boats were tied up. They bobbed gently in the water. A group of men were unloading small barrels from a large two-masted sailing vessel at one end. She stopped and watched them, her curiosity piqued.
“Where are they from?” she asked, pointing.
Gerald was leaning against a post, peeling an apple with his belt knife. He shrugged. “Italy by the looks of the ship.”
“Italy? They came here all the way from Italy?”
“Aye. Italian wine is quite the rage amongst the nobility in Edinburgh and they’ll pay a hefty price for it.”
