Turning away from the window she headed downstairs, pushing open the door at the bottom and stepping out into the courtyard.
She kept her hood up, hoping no one would notice one more figure. Those who saw her gave her a wide berth, the smell of the garderobe lingering upon her.
She tried to keep calm and walk normally but her limbs seemed to have other ideas.
“Just relax,” she muttered, concentrating on slowing her breathing, trying not to stand out at all.
She kept her eyes fixed in front of her, not stopping as she weaved between the people before reaching the chapel. She ducked inside, pushing the door closed behind her before letting out a sigh of relief.
Tavish hadn’t told her what the stone looked like, she realized as she looked about her. How was she supposed to know if she found it?
He’d said to look by the altar, hadn’t he?
The altar was simple, a single long stone slab supported on two thick stumps of wood. Between the stumps was a wooden box and something told her to look inside. As she opened it she smiled. Inside was a small square of stone about six inches in diameter. In the middle was carved an S in the same Celtic design she’d seen in Tavish’s house.
“You’ve come for the stone,” a voice said behind her as she ran her finger along the curves of the S.
Leaping up in fright, she slammed her head into the base of the altar stone, staggering to her feet, the hood of her cloak slipping from her face.
She found herself looking at a blurred man who had somehow walked into the chapel without making a sound.
“Wh-” she said, stumbling to her knees, dizziness washing over her.
“Apothecary,” the figure shouted. “In the chapel with haste.”
Another figure appeared beside the first and the two of them walked toward Lindsey while she tried to scramble away from them. They came into focus when they reached her.
“Do not fear,” the nearest man said, “We mean you no harm.”
“Who are you?” the second asked. “Are you hurt?”
“I just banged my head,” she replied, her voice weak.
“Punishment enough for sneaking into my castle,” the first man said, chuckling to himself.
Lindsey let them help her up, looking at them both closely. “Who are you?”
The first man spoke. “I am Dom MacIntyre, laird of the clan. This is Father Adam, apothecary and builder of this chapel. And you are?”
“Lindsey MacMillan.”
“Of clan MacMillan? What brings you so far north?”
“It’s a long story and I’m not sure you’d believe me.”
“We love long stories here and we have all the time in the world to listen. Speak.”
Lindsey found herself telling them the truth. Later, she wondered why she’d done it. She guessed it was the blow to her head making her feel woozy. It might have been the quiet serenity of the chapel, the very air telling her she was safe there. It might have just been the warm smiles on the two people sitting with her.
It was hard to square the way they were with her knowledge of the pauper family they’d passed on their way north. This laird seemed kind, ensuring kitchen maids brought her hot drinks while she talked and talked and talked.
When she mentioned coming from the future, the two of them looked at each other, whispering something she didn’t catch.
She told them about arriving, about finding Tavish, about his banishment from the clan. She felt no qualms in telling them she had come north to retrieve the sacred stone.
When she was finished the two of them were silent for a moment before the laird took her hand. “You were meant to come to us,” he said. “Isn’t that right, Father?”
“God has guided her here through the ages as He did the others, praise the Lord.”
