Page 10 of Luthias

Was it some kind of elaborate hazing ritual? Had Gordon and Bill Buchanan arranged this whole deal to initiate her? Who would go to all this trouble for a new intern?

Maybe Buc knocked me out and kidnapped me, and I just don’t remember.

Emery lowered the window covering and backed away, running her hand all over her head. She didn’t feel any bumps or sore spots. According to the little date window on her watch it was seven a.m. on June twenty-eighth. She had been unconscious for at least eight hours. She then inspected the room again for any sign that it was a movie set or mockup. That was when she noticed the complete lack of modern conveniences: no electrical outlets, lighting, manufactured textiles, air conditioning vents or carpeting.

Everything didn’t just look medieval, it was medieval.

By the hearth she saw a round-bottomed dark metal pot that stood on three legs that looked very familiar. She went over and saw it had been filled with water, probably to be heated in the fire. It had been primitively cast of thick bronze. Bronze, she recalled, had begun replacing pottery in Scotland by the thirteenth century. She’d written a paper about them for an antiquities class, and included photos of pots found by archaeologists that looked exactly like this one.

This pot had some soot marks on the bottom, but otherwise it looked brand-new.

“I never fell off that table,” she murmured to herself as she ran her fingertips over the rim of the cauldron. She remembered the sensation she’d felt just before blacking out, when that tingling warmth had wrapped around her and made her hair float in the still air. “My head doesn’t hurt. This isn’t a hallucination. I travelled through time, just like he said.”

Emery should have cried or fainted or screamed her head off, but as the realization sank in she felt instead as if she’d just won the lottery. If she had come to Scotland during the actual Middle Ages, then the whole place would be filled with men walking around armed with daggers and claymores and dirks. Bladed weapons had been the smart phones of the medieval era, Emery thought, feeling another surge of excitement. She could collect all the data she needed to fill in the gaps in her diss, and see the weapons of this era in mint condition up close instead of peering at photographs and ancient relics in glass display cases.

Sure, and in this time period I can also die from an infection, plague, tuberculosis, starvation, or someone hacking me to pieces with one of those claymores.

Emery glanced at the bed, wishing she could climb back into it and hide under that soft, warm blanket. Instead she squared her shoulders, marched over and pulled the big door open, and stepped out of the room.

Two spears crossed in front of her nose, making her freeze in her tracks.

“Fetch the laird,” the man on Emery’s left said to the one on her right, who pulled back his spear and took off down the passage. The one who remained behind shifted to block her path. “Go back inside, Mistress, and rest.”

He sounded just like Luthias, Emery thought, and even looked a little like him with his long red-gold hair. Instead of crystal amethyst his eyes were dark blue, and he was a bit shorter but just as well-built as the laird. On the side of his neck was a dark red splotch that looked like a burn or a birthmark, but otherwise his skin appeared flawless. If she had been in the twenty-first century she would have guessed him to be an actor or model playing a medieval warrior. Yet his tunic, trousers, boots and tartan all looked handmade and period-perfect, which supported her theory.

Wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Tell me something. I’m in Scotland, and the year is thirteen-something, right?” As he nodded she felt a little steadier. Her theory was correct, that was all that mattered. Now she needed to find that sword and jump back to her time. “What’s your name?”

He hesitated before he said, “Ameron MacRoss.”

“Nice to meet you, Ameron.” She would have shaken hands, but he was still holding the spear in his. “I’m Emery. I’d really like to take a look around the castle. Please step out of the way.”

“I cannae, Mistress.” The guard matched her movements as she tried to go around him. “The laird ordered you remain in his chamber.”

“The laird, huh? Sorry, I didn’t hear anything about that.” She took a step back and started to turn toward the room, and then darted in the opposite direction and ran.

Ameron shouted and came after her, so Emery didn’t have time to hide anywhere. She reached a wide set of stairs and hurried down them, passing torches set in heavy wall brackets and more window slits. When she reached the bottom step she saw a big arch and ran through it, only to collide with a huge, scowling man with very odd, jack-o-lantern hair.

“You,” he said.

“Me.” As he lifted his fist as if to punch her, Emery kicked him in the shin as hard as she could. “Hey, don’t hit girls.”

She ducked under his arm as he tried to grab her and took three steps before she bounced off a towering, lanky black-haired guy with snow-white skin.

“Dinnae run, wench.” He caught her arm, but before he could tighten his grip she wriggled free and then stumbled, falling to her knees.

Emery looked up into the very scary face of a man with a horribly bruised eye that looked filled with blood.

“Oh, my god.” She pushed herself to her feet and put a hand on his cheek as she peered at his eye. “What happened? Are you all right?” She turned to see the other men just herding around them, as if nothing was wrong. “Don’t just stand there, he’s hurt. Someone call––oh, no, that’s not an option now––do you have a doctor here?”

“Eh?” the very pale man said as he joined the injured man. “You’ve a wound, Chieftain?”

“No, naught.” The chieftain looked bewildered now as he looked at someone else, and the light showed more of his features.

When Emery brushed her hair back from her eyes she realized he had a port-wine birthmark that completely covered his eye and one-quarter of his face. What really made him appear wounded was her own stupidity, she thought, feeling her stomach sink down to her knees.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see your face clearly, so I thought you were hurt.” As more highlanders surrounded them, she grabbed his hand and murmured, “Listen, I kind of ran away from two guards. Do I get a beating for that?”