Something that had been nagging at him all day suddenly came into focus. Something she had said earlier.
“Lass,” he began. “Earlier, when ye accused me of stealing yer carriage—”
“Did you have to bring that up? I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have accused you. I was...a little overwhelmed.”
He shook his head. “It doesnae matter. Ye said I was working with an old woman. What old woman did ye mean?”
Isabelle shrugged. “I met an old woman right before I met you. She was looking for her cat. Her name was Irene MacAskill.”
Magnus exhaled sharply, his worst fears confirmed. “Did she tell ye who she was? Or what she wanted?”
“No, not really. She told me her name, prattled on a bit, then left looking for her cat. You and her were the only people I met all day, so I kind of jumped to conclusions when my car was gone. Sorry about that. Again.”
Magnus closed his eyes and took a slow breath.She prattled on a bit, then left looking for her cat. Of course she did.
His gaze drifted into the distance, searching the horizon for answers. “I had a strange encounter with an old womannamed Irene MacAskill today too,” he said. “She spoke in riddles and prophecies.” He picked up a stone and tossed it into a nearby stream. The soft plop echoed in the quiet. “And I suspect she’s the reason ye are here.” He rubbed his forehead to soothe a growing tension behind his eyes. “Irene MacAskill is more than just an old woman looking for her cat. She’s a Fae. She meddles with the threads of time.”
Isabelle pressed her lips together and said nothing. She reached down to stroke Snaffles who was lying beside her with his head on his paws.
“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that I am here,” she gestured vaguely around her. “I’m in the past because an old woman named Irene, who is not a woman but actually a fairy, decided to meddle with time?”
“Aye, lass.”
Isabelle shook her head. “Nope. No way. I don’t know what is going on, but I havenottraveled to the fifteenth century.”
“I know this must be difficult, but—”
He fell silent as something caught his attention—an acrid smell that carried on the wind. It took only a second for him to recognize it.
Burning.
He spun and saw on the horizon to the west where the sky still held a faint blush of light, a column of smoke rising into the sky. His stomach knotted with dread and he strode over to the horse.
“Sorry,” he said to the beast. “But I need ye to carry me again. It isnae far this time, I promise.”
“What are you doing?” Isabelle asked. “What’s wrong?”
“See that?” he said tersely, nodding in the direction of the smoke.
“The smoke?” Isabelle asked, peering in the direction he indicated. “Looks like a campfire or someone’s chimney.”
“That’s no chimney or campfire. That’s a village burning.”
Isabelle started in shock. “What? How do you know that?”
Because I’ve seen enough of them, he thought.Too many.
Holding onto the horse’s reins, he swung onto the beast’s back. “Come,” he said to Isabelle, holding out his hand. “They may need help.”
She hesitated. He could see her weighing up her options—to stay with a madman or strike out on her own across the rapidly darkening moors. Perhaps deciding that sticking with a madman was the lesser of two evils, she took his hand and allowed him to pull her up behind him.
“Hold on to me,” he instructed before nudging the horse into a canter towards the rising smoke.
Isabelle put her arms around his waist. Damn him if he didn’t enjoy the sensation a little too much. She leaned against him and he felt her body trembling although he didn’t know whether it was from fear or cold. He wished he could reassure her, tell her that everything was going to be alright. But the truth was, he didn’t know if it would be. Where the Fae were concerned, all bets were off.
It didn’t take long to reach the village, a tiny settlement of around ten houses, nestled in a sheltered dip in the landscape where too small burns met. Magnus reined in the horse and looked down. In the encroaching gloom, he made out stacked blocks of drying peat laid out along the village edge,which was how they survived out here. In fact, it was these peat blocks, along with several houses, that were burning, sending up a thick black smoke and lighting the village in a lurid light.
Several of the houses had been reduced to charred ruins, still smoking and softly glowing in the semi-darkness. An unsettling quietness had fallen over the place, punctuated only by the occasional crash of a falling beam. Magnus slid off the horse, then helped Isabelle down. She said not a word, but stared at the destruction with horror-filled eyes.
