Velloc held my ankle in a tender but firm grasp. When they handed him the coated strips, he aligned the herb-covered sections on my swollen outer ankle, crossing them over one another, and pressed down. Agile fingers wound the dangling ends of the makeshift bandage repeatedly around my foot and tucked in the ends, creating a supportive compression brace.
When he motioned his fingers up and down the length of the log I sat upon, gesturing for me to lie down, I hesitated. He glared, leaning into my personal space, dictating my choices: I had the right to obey his clear instruction, or compliance of said command would be forced upon me.
I lowered my upper body down, and he backed off, attending to unknown matters with his men. The ankle pain diminished a few degrees, and I elevated the wrapped foot onto a raised knee.
Slow breaths and murmured deep voices lulled me. My eyelids grew heavy. Warm sunshine fell across most of my dress as I fell under the sticky spell of an exhaustion-induced nap.
I shot upright, yelping . . . and almost rolled off a log. Someone’s hold gripped my shoulders firmly from behind. I glanced back, looking up. Velloc.
The Pict’s bent, muscular legs corralled my upper body, telling me he’d not only returned, but that he’d guarded me during my nap. I had no illusions as to the reason—I remained a flight risk. I yawned, fighting the need to sleep a while longer.
He examined my ankle again, rebound the poultice tighter, and worked my boot back on. The pain had diminished to a tolerable heat from its earlier wicked throb.
Hours blurred together as we continued to walk. Based on the sun’s movement, we’d been heading almost due north. Are we there yet? chanted louder and louder in my brain as I wondered when we’d arrive at our mystery destination.
Amber glowed in the sky, the tired sun casting its last hour of light from behind us. A faint, fresh smell tickled my nostrils. I struggled to define it as the familiar scent teased my mind, wafting by on occasional breezes.
After a few minutes, sounds followed. Loud. Roaring.
The ocean.
We broke through dense foliage, and a sizable flatland meadow stretched ahead carpeted with short, green grass. Rock structures and teepees stood at the edge of a precipice at the horizon. Waves crashed into an unseen shoreline.
All around me, the men sounded off with animal cries resembling wolves and birds. Muted matching calls replied from afar. Velloc remained silent, hovering closer into my side.
Out of the distance, dogs emerged, racing toward us. The hounds lapped our group in circles until they vibrated excitedly at the sides of their masters.
Velloc wrapped an arm around my waist, securing me from behind as two dogs assaulted our legs with the heavy beats of their tails. High-pitched whines quieted when he soothed them with slow strokes on their long, gray ears. He took my hand in his, offering it to each of their noses. Cool, wet snorts were followed with nudges from foreheads, the dogs accepting me as a friend.
When we crossed the field, approaching the outer edge of the village, everyone greeted us. Most of the tribe wore clothing similar to Velloc’s men: furs and leather of various animal hides. Some of the women even wore basic textile dresses.
My presence alarmed no one, as if strangers visiting had been a common occurrence. Curious faces cast intermittent glances my way, but all had wide smiles from our small group’s return.
I scanned the village’s landscape, unable to partake in their rejoicing. Small, round stone dwellings led up to a partially built broch. The birth of a ruin definitively answered the question of “When am I?” The dry-stacked structures had disputed purposes, but they’d all been carbon dated to within two hundred years of construction. Which meant I’d been thrown into either the first century BC or AD.
With the time-stamp discovery, the ordinary dirt beneath my feet held greater historical meaning. Somewhere else on the planet, Christ could be walking about. Subject to the whim of powerful outside forces, he’d been dropped into the world to save it. If only my role had such a magnanimous purpose.
Emotionally tapped, I flew on academic autopilot, filing away bits of information observed through a keen scientist’s eye. My foundation of historical knowledge, and an inherent desire to seek, obtain, and catalog every fact I could collect, were the only things keeping my heart beating and lungs breathing in my newfound survival mode.
Firm pressure on my back dragged me from my reverie. Velloc nudged me gently, walking ahead, and I followed the man in charge of my journey. By his very hand, I’d been summoned to his time. He seemed well aware of the fact, which explained his continued possessiveness and responsibility of me.
According to Iain, the box had been passed through generations of lairds before him, all the way back to the Picts. He’d also said it had been designed to match up soul mates. I’d come to believe Iain the moment I’d fallen hopelessly and irrevocably in love with him. If Iain’s words bore absolute truth . . .
I glanced up at Velloc who was a pace ahead of me. Yeahhh . . . My brain couldn’t wrap around it.
The other men and women had broken off, retreating into their respective homes, leaving us alone. A quiet hush had fallen upon the village. Family reunions happened privately as the sun set, fading the sky to slate gray through the sea mist.
Velloc stopped at a low rock structure, similar in size to the rest, and waved his hand, gesturing me inside. I sighed. There was no point in fighting a path I so obviously belonged on, no matter my desire to be elsewhere.
I stepped into Velloc’s structure, taking his suggestion as invitation before my knee-jerk stubbornness forced him to make it a command. The sparse furnishings were functionaclass="underline" a wooden table with two chairs, and a pallet on the ground with layers of plush furs upon it. The only illumination was the diminishing skylight that filtered through the doorway, casting the interior into a palette of shadows.
“Keff,” he said. Sit. He spoke the singular word I’d learned with a note of exhaustion in his tone. I related with every fiber of my being, mentally and physically, and I gladly collapsed on his bed. My entire body immediately sank in relief, threatening a total pass out.
Velloc laughed. It was the first time I’d heard the sound from the very serious man. I rolled over, regarding him. The smile transformed his rugged, bearded face into almost handsome. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a lean, muscular physique—features he shared with his people. They were a few inches shorter on average than their Highland descendants, which lent credence to historical opinions about the Viking raids occurring later. Velloc stood a couple inches taller than me, placing him under six feet, but nothing about the man appeared small.
He grabbed food and a skin with liquid from the table, bringing them to my boneless body. In silence, he broke off pieces of cheese and salted meat, feeding me. Too tired to argue, I clamped my teeth onto the bite-sized portions he lifted to my mouth. Both the meat and the cheese were hard, giving my jaw a good workout. The deerskin pouch held amazingly pure water, which I gratefully swallowed, quenching my thirst and washing down the meal.
“Velloc?” I propped up on an elbow, addressing him for the first time since my initial failed attempt. Before sleep claimed me, I wanted some semblance of communication—partly because I was alone with him, and he’d assumed the role of my ally and protector, but mostly, because I was alone with him . . . in very tight quarters . . . with one bed.