The distant low thunder spurred him into action. Leaning down, he checked to be certain she was still breathing. Slow and steady breaths were a good sign. She would be all right until he retrieved the boat and returned. He removed his plaid and covered the length of her. After a few strides in his boat's direction, he glanced back over his shoulder to be certain there had been no change.
Within a short time, everything and everyone was loaded, and Robert strained against the oars to gain the far shore across from the castle ruins. He kept a wary eye on the sky. Mist traveling toward them was now visible and would reach the area in a short time. He remembered a deserted hut not far from the bank and directed the small transport toward the area. That would be more sensible than trying to reach Doon Brae since it was still a short trek over the hill. He guided the boat up onto the low bank and jumped out to tether it. Then, he turned to his next duty of unloading.
He was about to strike the flint to light the rush candle in the diminutive room when he heard a moan. He finished his task and turned to the one on the undersized straw cot. An unstable chair was pulled to its side, and he carefully positioned himself in the event it went crashing to the floor. Looking down at his uninvited visitor, curious blue eyes met his.
"Welcome back, lass," he said.
Marcella reached up and pulled the cloth from her head. She tried to rise, but failed in the effort and dropped back down to the hard mattress.
"Wait a bit before ye try tae move around," he advised.
There were no words coming to mind for her to question anything. It was all a muddle of thoughts. The stomach growl caused a frown.
Robert heard the signs of hunger. "Ah hae th' fish tae cook, but it will tak' a bit ay time."
Her throat was like cotton. The discarded cloth was located and she wiped it across her mouth.
Seeing her distress, he rose and went to get the skin of water. Returning, he made an effort to smile and again raised her head for her to take a few sips. She pushed it away when she had enough.
"Thank you," she croaked. "Do I still have my bag?"
He nodded. The glassy eyed stare hinted she still wasn't entirely conscious.
"There is a candy bar in it."
"A candy bar?" he asked. He had never heard of candy being on a bar. But he shrugged and reached for the bag. Peering in, he saw an assortment of articles. Most were unfamiliar to him. Everything he pulled out and held up to her was regarded and when she shook her head, he would return the item and dig for the next. "Close tae bottomless," he muttered.
"Blue wrapping paper," she said. "Soft insides."
Frowning, he kept searching. Finally, his fingers wrapped around an unusual object and he squeezed the soft insides. Grunting, he held it up and was rewarded with a hint of a smile.
Marcella reached for it and tore at the wrapper with what strength she possessed. The bed was far less adequate than her soft queen sized mattress in her apartment, wherever that was at the moment. "Would you help me to sit up, sir?" Her brows furrowed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't believe we had a chance to be formally introduced."
Robert finally relaxed and chuckled. "Nae, I believe no," he said. "MacKerra. Robert MacKerra of Clan Fergusson."
It was an effort, but Marcella propped up on her elbows and looked at him. A flush crept up her throat to her face. "Clan?" She looked down at the length of material still covering her. Not just an attractive piece of textile. It was an identification plaid of clan colors. Bands of forest green and dark blue were crisscrossed with red and white stripes. She fingered the lightweight, obviously hand-loomed wool. Her eyes flashed back at him. "Clan?" she repeated.
"Och aye. A sept o' the Fergusson clan." It was simple to him. What was so difficult for her to comprehend?
The petite form collapsed back to the bed. Quickly vacating the chair, he drew closer to the cot to be certain she had not left him again. Her eyes were searching the ceiling. The candy bar hadn't been eaten, and he picked it up and offered it to her. She definitely needed something hardier, but he dared not leave her to begin cleaning the fish. Her head turned to him and tears had filled her eyes. Without a thought, he smoothed the hair back from her face. "Lass, perhaps ye should eat this wee sweet tae provide some strength while Ah cook us a bite."
Nodding, she took the bar and pulled back the paper. She studied him while nibbling the rich candy.
"We will visit when I get supper afire," he said. "Thaur be mony questions we baith hae." He turned to begin his task.
There was one question in the forefront of her mind she had to know. "I would like to ask one now, if you please?"
He turned back to her, giving her his full attention. "Aye. Which would 'at be?"
"What year is this?"
After hesitating because he didn't know if she really needed to know the answer at this precise moment, he knew he had to. "'Tis 1698."
The remains of the candy bar dropped to the mattress as she held his stare. "It cannot be!" she finally responded through stiff lips. "It is the 21st century. I live in an upscale apartment in Henderson, Florida. I am a high school teacher and have just completed the school year. And I will wake up from this nightmare any minute."
Portal to Loch Doon
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0058KS2NO
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/69907
