reply, she pushed the door open and entered. Inside was a plain square room, with an unlit fireplace and a window beside the door. The floor was covered in flagstones, years of dirt and dust making up its mortar.
Abby walked around and wondered what the building had seen over the years. How it must have been set up to help those in need. How many babies had been birthed here, children healed, and people stitched up?
Looking out the window, she sighed. Rain fell, the dark clouds to the south had arrived earlier than she’d hoped. Well, at least in the cottage she was dry, if not warm.
She sat on the window ledge. There was nothing else for her to do but wait out the storm and hope it passed quickly. It was an overly ambitious thought. The weather had been miserable ever since her arrival. Why would it change now?
Her hand slipped against something cold, and she looked down to find a small vial. It was bottle-like shaped with a neck and looked to be made of clay.
Abby picked it up, studied it a moment before placing it back down. Nausea spiked in her stomach and she clutched her abdomen, trying to calm her breathing. She gasped and stood, dizziness threatening. The room spun, voices, faces—she couldn’t comprehend. What is happening to me?
Fear froze her to the spot. She tried to fight her way to the door, but the room turned at an increasing rate, making it impossible to leave. Something bad was happening. Something she couldn’t control.
She screamed and then hit the floor with an oomph before blackness enfolded her.
Chapter 2
“Abigail, are ye well?”
Abby opened her eyes, the stone floor beneath her back seeping coldness into her bones. She sat up and looked about. The memory of what had happened to her was as clear as the woman sitting before her. Smiling at her like some long lost friend.
“Who are you?” She sat up and scooted away from the girl—woman, she corrected herself—as the stranger stood and Abby was able to get a better look at her. She was tall, and well into her twenties.
“I’m Gwen MacLeod. I summoned ye.”
“What?” Abby rubbed her hand and looked about the room. The empty, lifeless building she’d walked into was now full to the brim with bottles with different color ointments. Herbs hung from the ceiling, some freshly picked and others dried. A roaring fire burned in the grate and a pot hung over it, cooking some sort of food that smelled nicer than anything she’d tasted since landing in Scotland.
“What do you mean by ‘summoned’?”
“Please, don’t stress yourself. I promise I can send you home. Eventually, mind ye. Just let me explain.”
Abby narrowed her eyes. The woman’s Scottish dialect was strong, and yet she spoke clear enough that Abby could understand what she’d said. “Are you going to hurt me?” There was no way in hell she was hanging around here if this summoner wanted her in the pot of stew now bubbling in the grate.
“I would never hurt ye, I promise. I’m a healer, a forward-thinking woman who likes to study other spiritual beliefs. But that declaration must stay between us, if ye don’t mind. Only my family knows of my gifts, and I would like it to stay that way.”
Abby stepped toward the fire, spotting a large iron pole beside it. If only she could reach it without being obvious, she may have some way of getting out of here. Although, where she’d go was another question altogether, if she was in fact no longer in the twenty-first century.
“Very interesting, but I fail to understand why you’ve summoned me here. And where is here, exactly? What have you done?”
The woman’s cheeks flushed in what Abby assumed to be embarrassment. Well good. She should be embarrassed. Dragging people out of their lives, supposably, for who knew if this woman was speaking the truth, was unacceptable. Not to mention dangerous.
“Ye are in Scotland in the year of our Lord, 1601. At my home, Druiminn Castle. This cottage is where I tend to our people, and heal them.”
Abby took another step. “1601.” She rubbed her temple, a headache forming behind her eyes. “I can’t be in seventeenth century Scotland. Everyone died of disease or was slaughtered in battle, male or female. I’ve seen Braveheart. I’ve learned all I need to know about this time and I don’t want to stay here. You have to send me home. Now.” Abby craned her neck