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She puts her hands on my cheeks, pressing hard. I wince when she touches where the bruise is. She moves up to my temples. She jerks her hands away, gasping.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she snaps, but her eyes are wide, and she’s white as a sheet.
“Are ya alright?” Duncan asks, looking at Alesoun with concern.
“Fine,” she says, shaking her head. “Do you nae have work to be tending?”
“Aye,” Duncan says, his brow furrowing. He looks between the two of us and Alesoun’s frown deepens. He crosses his arms over his chest and makes it clear he’s not leaving. Alesoun turns to face him full on.
“Well?” she asks in a tone that brooks no argument.
Duncan meets her eyes for two heartbeats before he drops his gaze and his arms at the same time. He looks past Alesoun to me and smiles. “I’ll be back if’n you need anything, Quinn.”
“Thanks,” I say, truly feeling grateful.
He hesitates at the door, looking over his shoulder. I think for a moment he may stand up to her and stay but a glare from Alesoun drives him out.
Now I’m alone with this imposing woman who’s staring at me as if I’m a specimen under a microscope. She clears her throat, grabs the jar of salve she used on Duncan, and turns around to put it away.
“So,” she says. “Who are ya?”
“I’m Quinn,” I say.
“Right,” she says, sighing. “Nae all the story though, is it?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Your clothes, your accent, and…” She trails off, leaning against her cabinet. “You’ve got a pull to ya, I’ll give ya that. Now tell me what ya know.”
Her face has gone slack and her shoulders slump. She looks exhausted. Everything about her, the way she looks, the way she talks, says she knows more than she should. Truth, or enough of it to weigh her down. Of everyone, she’s the only person I’ve met who I might be able to be honest with.
“I really don’t know what’s happening,” I say at last. “I was separated from my friends. There was a heavy fog, so thick I couldn’t see anything, and I was trying to keep up with them, but I got lost. When I stumbled out of it, I was… here.”
She nods, her frown growing even deeper.
“Where did ya get those fancy pants?” she asks.
I look down at my jeans which are covered in stains and torn.
“A store?”
“Ach, a store, she says. As if. Where would this store have been? London?”
“No,” I shake my head and bite my lip.
Tears swell in my eyes as my throat closes. I’ve held it together. All that has happened, I haven’t lost my cool. This is too much though. How do I explain to her where I’m from? Or, more importantly, when I’m from.
“Describe the fog. In detail,” she says.
I tell her what I can even though I don’t see the point. It was fog. An unusually thick fog but I don’t know what that has to do with anything. She is interested though, listening and asking questions that don’t make any sense. Did it swirl? Was it hard to breathe? Was it cold? Hot? Did I see anyone? Did I see shapes? And the one that makes me shiver, did I hear anything? I answer all her questions the best I can and when I finish, she shakes her head.
“Where do ya think you are, lass?”
“I don’t know,” I say, tears falling and lips trembling. “None of this makes sense. Is this some weird game? A cult? I’m sorry, I don’t belong here. I want to go home.”
“Ach,” she says, moving in and wrapping her arms around me.
