Page 22 of Desire of a Highlander

“Ronan has called a meeting of the whole village regarding the folks ye brought in last night. If ye’ve finished yer breakfast, we’ll go there now.”

News of the meeting had gone out ahead of them, and by the time Faye and Elodie arrived at the big barn, it was already crammed with people, both villagers and new arrivals alike. Elodie and Faye squeezed in at the back where there was space. Ronan was already there, standing at the front of the group with his arms folded, waiting for everyone to file in. He looked over as Faye and Elodie arrived and nodded a greeting. Elodie nodded back, feeling a strange warmth go through her at the sight of him.

When everyone had arrived, found a place to sit, and settled down, Ronan uncrossed his arms. “Yesterday was quite the day,” he said, his deep voice rumbling around the barn. “First, we had Elodie join us. And then a second group yesterday evening. It’s been a long time since we’ve had so many arrivals in one day.”

His gaze flicked across the new arrivals who were huddled together in the middle of the barn, looking better after a decent night’s sleep but still wary. “What happened?” Ronan asked softly. “What brought ye to the Steading?”

A middle-aged man rose slowly to his feet. Elodie recognized him as Morag’s father.

“There’s not much to tell that ye willnae have heard before,” he said. “We were all tenants of Sir Richard Clare. He made it clear he supported the Articles of Union. Some of his neighbors didnae and named him a traitor. There’s been strife between them for months but it all came to a head three days ago. Riders came. Set fire to our village, stole our animals, attacked the lord’s militia. The manor house was burning when we fled. What happened to Sir Richard and his family, we’ve no idea.”

The villagers nodded at this as if they’d heard the story many times before. There was no anger. Only a weary kind of acceptance.

“What?” Elodie said out loud before she could stop herself. “They just rode in and attacked you? With no provocation? They can’t do that! Why didn’t you go to the police?”

The room fell silent. Several people looked confused.

“The police?” someone repeated.

“Or the authorities,” Elodie replied. “Local government. Somebody.”

Blank faces met her words.

Damn it! She didn’t know enough about this time to find the right words. “Surely somebody is responsible for enforcing the law and protecting people?”

Finally, one elderly man snorted. “Ye mean the king’s men?”

“Yes! If that’s who’s in charge.”

“They dinna care,” the elderly man said. “They’ve bigger concerns than us. They’re hunting rebels and ferreting out threats to the king. The likes of us dinna matter. With our lord gone there’s nobody to look out for us.”

The words landed like a punch. The likes of us dinna matter.

For a moment she wasn’t in a seventeenth century barn, she was back in that glass-walled boardroom at Cross Construction listening to executives explain why affordable housing targets needed to be reduced and why profit margins mattered more than people. The setting, the clothing, the century might have been different. But the message? Exactly the same.

Elodie looked around the crowded room, at the frightened refugees and the children clinging to their parents. She knew nothing about this place, these people. And yet it felt startlingly familiar.

There is always a way back. A way for that person to find their true path if they have the courage to retrace their steps and choose another.

What had Irene MacAskill meant when she’d spoken those words to her? Elodie had no clue, but for the first time since arriving in the past, she found herself asking a different question. Not how do I get home?

But why am I here?

Chapter 6

Ronan drove another nail into the warped doorframe and stepped back to judge the fit.

The cottage leaned slightly to one side, its thatch patched with turf and its walls showing the scars of years of neglect. The door itself was little more than salvaged boards lashed together with iron straps. Still, once it hung properly, it would keep the weather out, and for folk who had spent days sleeping beside the road, that was enough for now.

Eamon braced the frame while Ronan adjusted the hinges. “Think it’ll hold?” the younger man asked.

“It’ll hold until I can do it properly.”

“So...maybe a week?”

Ronan snorted. “Cheeky bastard.”

Eamon grinned and handed him another nail. Around them, the settlement hummed with unusual activity. New voices. New people. New problems. Thirty-five more mouths. Ronan hammered the nail home harder than necessary. How were they going to feed them all?