Blue Bells of Scotland: Book One of the Blue Bells Trilogy (45 page)

"Miles? Aer ye mad?" Allene jolted to a stop at the bottom of the hill and clambered to her feet, yanking at her robe, jerking her hood back over her tell-tale hair. "We've no choice!" Shawn and Brother David skidded to a clumsy halt beside her, bumping into one another.

Brother David limped ahead. Allene and Shawn gave one another one last, sharp look, and raced after him. Shawn swung an arm around his back, and they loped along, slower than Shawn could have gone, but faster than Brother David could on his own. "Where's the town?" he asked Allene.

"Straight over the next hill," she said.

"Run!" he ordered.

"I canna leave you!"

"Run!" Shawn barked. He slung the harp off his back and pushed it at her. "Hide this. Clothes for me, a hiding place, anything!"

Her lip trembled. But she took the harp and hiked up the robe. Her legs flashed as she flew across the field, up the next hill. Shawn threw a glance over his shoulder—the soldiers had not crested the hill— and dragged Brother David as fast as he could. "Leave me," Brother David said. "Get Hugh."

"Save your breath," Shawn muttered. He dragged the monk at a hobbling half-run. Brother David grunted in pain with each jolt, but made no further protest. They struggled to the top of the rocky knoll.

A shout rang out behind them. Shawn grabbed Brother David in a crocodile hug, throwing them both down the slope, rolling one over another. Heather and gorse scratched. Stones gouged. The young monk groaned and cried out the whole way.

"Sorry," Shawn gasped, rolling up for air. "This…" He rolled under Brother David's weight and up again. "...or...die."

Crashing into a boulder at the foot of the hill, he leaned in, scooped the other man over his shoulder with strength he'd never had, and ran, jarring the monk with each step. The town appeared ahead. A more beautiful sight he'd never seen! Already, his chest heaved for air. His legs screamed for mercy. He couldn't look back. A stitch ripped through his side. Shapes formed ahead as he closed in: crowds! His salvation!

The merry sounds of a festival reached out to him. He pushed himself, Brother David's abused body slamming into his back, his moans filling his ears, and reached the edge of the throng.

Jugglers in harlequin clothing danced around him, spinning balls in the air. He gripped Brother David's legs, batting at the jugglers with his free hand, fought his way through to a booth laden with vegetables.

"Turnips, tasty turnips!" bawled an old woman, grabbing his sleeve. He spun his head, searching for Allene. Now there were more stalls, musicians strolling the street, a man with a monkey. He reached the outlying buildings of the town, his head twisting side to side, hunting for a hiding place.

"Your fortune for a penny," cried a scarved woman in front of a painted gypsy caravan.

"Breads, buns, rolls!" bellowed a fat man draped in white.

Shawn pushed through a gaggle of giggling children. Brother David grew heavier. Shawn's legs trembled under the weight. Stone houses and merchants' stalls rose around him.

"Fruits!" a young girl shrilled in his ear, snatching at his sleeve. "Five a penny!"

He took another step, twisted to peer down a dank alley for a hiding place.

An acrobatic team strolled by on their hands, pointy shoes waving in his face. A boy led a string of ponies, brushing against him, making him stumble. The smell of cheeses and fruits and meat and animals filled the air. Shawn spun, the weight of the monk on his shoulder growing; seeking sanctuary. People called and laughed. Colors spun in and out. His legs weakened under Brother David's weight.

"Alms!" cried a toothless beggar, stretching a bony hand from among rags.

His knee buckled. He grabbed a stone wall to steady himself.

Something gripped his elbow. He spun, yanking his arm back, and staggered with relief to see Allene's red hair and pale face. Wordlessly, she pulled him into a small, empty room, with stone walls and a rough, wooden floor. "Change!" She pushed a bundle into his arms, and reached to ease Brother David off his shoulder, onto a straw pallet in the corner.

Shawn asked no questions. He rinsed his muddy face in a water bucket by the fire, then stripped his torn and muddied clothing down to his Hanes. That Allene might question his underwear was the least of his concerns. But she was occupied, dressing Brother David in his own new outfit. Shawn fumbled with his clothing, hopping on one foot.

"Tights, you got me tights," he muttered, dragging the forest green apparel over one foot. He toppled onto the floor, cursing, yanking at the leggings, trying to remember how Caroline, Celine, Amy, any of them, pulled on nylons. He struggled to his feet, yanking them up around his waist, and snatched up the voluminous linen shirt. Next came a dark-green tunic. He twisted it once, twice before finding the right way to slide it over the shirt. "Who am I now?" he grumbled. "Robin Hood?"

"Dry yer eyes," Allene said. "Ye're in better shape than poor Brother David."

Shawn picked up a pointy green hat. "Yes, how is Friar Tuck?" he asked, jamming it on his head.

She turned from the bed, gripping her knife.

He jumped back. "It was a joke!"

"The hair," she said.

Shawn put a hand to his hair, shocked at her intention. It was as bad as stabbing him. Worse. "No." He stepped back, holding up his palm.

"It must go," Allene reasoned. "We canna stay here. I know not when the owners will return. Haste!"

"You don't touch my hair." Shawn pushed his face up to hers.

"An I doona touch your precious locks," she said, "they most certainly will. Come here, you bampot."

"I am not a bampot," he snapped. "What the he...what's a bampot?" The shouts of the crowd outside reminded him it would be the shouts of the soldiers soon. He turned to the door. Allene flashed forward, grabbing a hank of his hair. He yelped, clasped his hand to his head. "That's my signature!" he yelled. "That's how people know me!"

"You wish the English to know you?" Allene snapped. "Doona be foolish."

"Braid it," he said. "Quick!"

She heaved a sigh. Her fingers flashed, pulling his hair so tight he thought his skin must be stretched across his skull. She yanked a length of leather from a shelf, and knotted it at the bottom of the short braid. "We must go," she said. She bundled the used clothes under her robe, becoming a portly hooded figure. "I'll take Brother David." She helped the man to his feet, dressed in an outfit similar to Shawn's. Nobody would take him for a monk or a minstrel. She hefted the harp on her shoulder. "Meet us at the tinkers' caravan. Mayhap they will help us."

"Wait, why can't I go with you?"

"The soldiers at Fergal's Inn saw three. Such will they be looking for. Now go! Doona attract attention." She wrapped her arm around Brother David, leading him out.

Shawn slipped out the door, trying not to look furtive. You're a performer, he reminded himself. Everything in his being screamed to run. But he straightened his spine. He thought of every Robin Hood movie he'd ever seen, and put on a jaunty fair day smile. He had no idea where the tinkers' caravan was. He wasn't even sure what a tinker was.

A caravan, he remembered, was a wagon of some sort. He looked around. Dozens of wagons leapt out at him, wagons with children, wagons with wool, fruits, turnips and woven goods. Small, broken-down wagons running like medieval rickshaws on two wheels, and large rugged ones on four wheels, pulled by behemoths with feathered hooves. He sauntered through the fair, hefting vegetables, inspecting sheep, and asking where the tinkers might be found.

Outside the inn, a group of men sang.
Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu!
Shawn groaned. Of all the songs to run into. But he stopped, fascinated. Sung in a holiday atmosphere, it wasn't such a bad piece.

He joined in.
"The seed grows and the meadow blooms, and the wood springs anew! Sing cuckoo!"
They smiled, welcoming his bass. When the song ended, they clustered around, inviting him for a drink. A busty girl hung out the window, spilling bountifully over the top of her blouse. Shawn smiled, thinking he might.

The acrobats strolled by again, one man balanced on the shoulders of the two below. "We found the tinkers, over at the far end of town," called the man at the top of the pyramid. He leaned down, nose to nose with Shawn, placed his hands on the other men's shoulders, and turned himself upside down, feet in the air far above. A boy raced up, vaulted into the hands of two more men, and flew into the air, landing on the upside down man's feet. Laughing, he streamed a multi-colored scarf from his mouth, yards and yards of it trailing down to the giggling village children.

Shawn smiled. He winked at the girl still beaming in the window. It wasn't such a bad time when people weren't trying to kill you.

But—they were. He set off toward the far end of town, stopping to haggle over a pony with a merchant. He inspected the animal's teeth as he'd seen done in a movie, and turned away.

He stopped short, face to face, chest to chest, with the soldier he'd played for in the village. The scar pulled his lip up and his eyelid down.

You're a performer
, Shawn told himself in the nano-second after recognition. He kept the cold wash of fear inside, behind a large show of teeth. The man had been drinking that night, after all; he might not even recognize him. "Fine animals," he said, jerking a thumb at the ponies. "But he's asking too much."

The man stared, his one good eye open wide.

Then he opened his mouth.

"Niall Campbell!" he screamed. "Captain! Captain! I've found him! I've found Niall Campbell!"

Inverness, Scotland, Present

Niall crossed the broad castle lawn, toward the gardens. From his room, high above, the gardens had been clearly visible. From the ground, he saw only high stone walls. Like life, he thought—change your position and things look different. Amy's pregnancy changed things. Maybe the peaceful gardens would give him a fresh perspective. He prayed desperate
Aves
for Shawn and Allene. But he questioned their value. Shawn and Allene's fate had been sealed seven hundred years ago.

The taste of blood welled in his mouth; he wiped at it and rubbed his jaw. Rob's blow would leave a nasty bruise. He hoped there wouldn't be too many questions.

He followed the garden wall to an arched opening, with wooden doors flung wide in welcome. A path drew him in to solitude. Gone was the noise of cars. Gone were the voices of Rob and Amy and Conrad. Gone were the soothing scales and melodies to which he'd become accustomed. He looked around. The path of crushed shells and stones wound through a vivid blaze of crimson, saffron, and sapphire blooms he couldn't name, into a shady arbor of towering oaks. The stones and shells crunched beneath his shoes. The gardens stretched for acres; he thought again what lives of luxury these people led. But that had no bearing on his problems. He must set his mind to it, and see what he could sort out.

He made the sign of the cross, clasped his hands, and with lowered head, followed the oatmeal shells. "God in Heaven, my Father," he prayed, "I thank Thee—I suppose I should, at least—that I've quit carrying my knife. I'd ha' killed Rob. I think that may be more of a problem here than in my own time." He kicked a shell, and kept walking.

"I'm lost," he said. "I doona ken why You sent me here." His eyes picked up a burst of indigo, running rampant along the edge of the path. He stooped and picked a handful of bluebells, their blossoms dangling gracefully. He lifted them to his nose and breathed in, seeing Allene in the tower, angry and impetuous and determined. And no doubt alone in the wilderness at this very moment, with that monster, Shawn. He squeezed his eyes tight, suffering his own personal hell at the thought.

"Allene and Scotland need
me
," he whispered fiercely. "Not that weak excuse for a man. Why did You give me the answer to turn the battle, did You not intend me to use it?" Surely God would look with favor on his plan, and take him back.

He opened his eyes. A black garden snake slithered from the blossoms. It paused, its black eyes glittering, before undulating across the path into the bluebells, drawing his eyes to the peace and beauty there. He scanned the resplendent hues of the sanctuary. There seemed to be no war here, only making music all day. Still, Amy needed someone. Could it be God's intention that he care for her? Even if Shawn came back, he wouldn't.

Niall rose, entering the oak arbor. The sun dimmed, as leaves twined overhead. If he were caught in this time, it wasn't a bad existence. He could do so much for Amy.
My burden is light
, said Jesus. He'd been torn from family and friends, knowing he'd failed them, feeling the coward, safe here while they suffered their fate, even if it was beyond his control. But there would be Amy, and music.

He emerged from the arbor into an alcove, hemmed in by towering box hedges. A marble bench, with round stone balls for legs, faced the hedges. A stone statue of a nude woman danced in jets of water shooting from a fountain. He'd heard of such things in Florence, but the rugged Highlands had nothing like it.

He dropped onto the bench, contemplating the woman, every inch of her, while the melody and movement of the water mesmerized him. He thought of Shawn and Allene. The past had already happened. Maybe, as the time travel sites argued, history couldn't be changed. But he could help Amy here and now.

His mind drifted, imagining his life in this place: playing the harp, sleeping in luxurious beds, marrying a kind and adoring woman. Travel—he'd dreamed of traveling farther than the Laird, but had never thought he could, with Scotland's troubles. Women. He blinked. Women? That didn't happen under the Laird's watch. But here, Shawn's exploits had put ideas into his head. More than ideas—possibilities. He crossed himself. He would not become Shawn.

He stared at the woman, dancing under the stream. Her hand stretched out to him. There was no guarantee he could change history. He might be returning to find his people slaughtered, dead, and gone. He might be sacrificing Amy for an unalterable past. He yanked an apple from the tree limb above him, and placed it in the stone woman's hand.