and looked around the room. She was no longer in the stone cabin where she’d first met Gwen. Far from it.
The room was square. A narrow window, with glass panels that didn’t quite fit the small diamond frames, looked out to a valley beyond. Wind whistled through the small gaps and she shivered. Although a large fire burned in the grate, the room was cold.
Abby stepped out of bed and cringed at the icy flagstones beneath her feet. She made her way to the fire and stood staring at the hearth. Wood had been stoked to burn for some time and yet, it was the peat, added to increase the flame, that was making the room stink.
She looked around and conceded that for a historical bedroom, it wasn’t so bad. The floor did have animal skins scattered about and the bedding itself had been warm. But the quiet, dark space, without power, or modern bathroom comforts, certainly hammered home the fact she wasn’t in her time.
In her own room, her laptop and cell phone were never far away. Instinctively, she felt for her pockets in her jeans, that she wasn’t wearing. They must have her clothes somewhere, along with her phone. Would it still work? Would they give it back?
Walking over to the small chamber pot that jutted out from under her bed, she noted that the bowl itself was plain, no colors or designs, but the inside was stained.
She cringed at not seeing a toilet, or anything resembling toilet paper, for that matter.
A knock at the door was followed by the muffled sound of Gwen’s voice.
“Come in,” she said, walking back toward the fire to keep as warm as she could.
“Good morning, Abigail. I trust ye slept well and are feeling better this day?”
The woman’s vibrant, expectant visage eradicated what little anger she had left. No more arguing, she just wanted to be sent home. How hard could it be? She had managed to get her here in the first place.
Abby nodded. “I am. Thank you. Although I’m disappointed that I’m still here. When can you return me home?”
Gwen smiled, coming over to her and taking her hands. “As to that, I have news. My brother has agreed, since I’m unable to send ye home right away, that you’re to stay as our guest. In a sennight, we have clans from all over Scotland arriving for the Highland Games. My brother will choose a wife from one of the daughters. We are to make ye a close friend of mine, from a distant family, if ye will.”
Abby bit back the curse that wanted to fly out of her mouth. She took a deep, calming breath instead, and began setting the woman to rights. “I cannot stay another night in this castle. You brought me here, now you have to send me home. I refuse to play your games and pretend I’m some lofty lady I’m not.” She glared, not allowing herself to react to the girl’s crestfallen visage. What did she expect? For her to be happy here? There was no damn toilet paper in this time. Women could survive almost anywhere and in any time, but without toilet paper, well, that was a whole different scenario.
But that wasn’t all, of course. Her whole life was in another time. Her home, school, friends, the few she had, were not in seventeenth century Scotland. What were they thinking right at this moment? Did they even know she was missing?
“I can’t send you home without risking your life. To move through the time portal again, so soon after you travelled through it, could splinter you physically. I’m sorry, Abigail. I assumed you’d be happy to be here.”
Abby stood. Never had she heard such a stupid thing in her life. “Why would I be happy to be here? I don’t know any of you. You’re strangers to me. Not to mention, there’s no electricity, no running water, no bathrooms, no medicines. Nothing. It’s barbaric. I won’t survive here. Do you even have coffee?”
Panic threatened to choke the air out of her lungs. She started to pace, and for the first time she wondered who had changed her into this long flowing gown. “Who put me in this nightgown?”
“The servant, Betsy, who’s assigned to look after you, dressed ye last eve. Please try and calm down, Abigail. I’m sorry about the situation ye now find yourself in. I know it’s my fault, but it cannot be changed. I suggest, unless ye wish to