Page 7 of Treachery in the Highlands
"Look out!"a woman shouts."He's coming for you!"
Before I can understand what's happening, a large body tackles me to the ground.A rough voice snarls, "Gotcha, Joey boy.Did you really think you'd get away from us?"
"Fulvio?What the hell?"
He hoists me off the floor, grinning like the maniac he is.
I struggle against Fulvio's iron grip, my mind reeling.How the fuck did he find me here?In this castle?In the long gallery?
"Let go of me, you stupid gorilla!"I shout, twisting and kicking with every ounce of strength I have."Somebody call the cops!"
Fulvio just laughs, a cold, mirthless sound."Not a chance, Joey boy.The boss wants a word with you."
I'm about to tell him exactly where he can shove his threats when suddenly, the air begins to shimmer and warp.Not again.But something's different this time.The walls of the castle seem to ripple and fade, replaced by swirling mist.
Fulvio's grip on me loosens as he gawks at the surroundings as if he's completely dumbfounded."What the fuck is going on?How are you doing this?"
He shakes me again, but his grip isn't as ironclad now.For a moment, he just stands there, completely flummoxed.
And he loses his grip on me.
I seize my chance, wrenching free and stumbling backward.My hand brushes against the glass case holding the ancient sword.With a blinding flash of light, the glass case shatters.Shards litter the floor and tourists flee, ignoring the glass shards on the floor that crunch beneath their feet.Without thinking, I grab the sword, its weight unfamiliar yet somehow right in my hand.
Fulvio lunges at me, his face contorted with rage."You little shit!"
I swing the sword wildly, more out of instinct than skill.To my shock, the blade connects with Fulvio's arm, slicing into his flesh and drawing blood.He howls in pain, stumbling backward.The mist around us thickens, swirling faster and faster, on the verge of becoming a miniature hurricane.I can barely see Fulvio now.He's just a dark shape in the fog.The floor beneath our feet seems to shift and tilt wildly.
"What the hell did you do?"Fulvio shouts, his voice sharp with fear.
Before I can answer, a deafening roar fills the long gallery.The mist parts briefly, and I catch a glimpse of something impossible.A vast, swirling vortex of energy, pulsing with an otherworldly light.It's creepier than what happened to me last night, and it's like nothing I've ever seen before.The supernatural whatsit grows larger by the second, and soon, I might not be able to escape.I need to get out of here.Now.
But it's too late.The vortex expands rapidly, engulfing me while Fulvio's form recedes from my view.The sword falls out of my hands, clattering to the floor, as I feel myself being lifted off my feet, spinning wildly through the air.Then I feel the sword's hilt clutched tightly in my hand again and glance down at it.The metal is glowing with an eerie blue light.Fulvio's screams fade into the distance as we're pulled apart by the force of the vortex.
The world around me becomes a blur of color and sound.I can't tell which way is up or down.My stomach lurches as I'm thrown through the air, spinning wildly, my limbs flailing like I'm a ragdoll.The sword vibrates in my hand, pulsing with that eerie blue light.Just when I think I'm going to be sick from the dizzying motion, everything stops.
I crash into deep, dark waters and plummet down, down, down with no way to escape my fate.Yet somehow, my fall was cushioned by something...inexplicable.But I have a worse problem than how I got here and why I'm not dead.
Because I can't swim.
Chapter Four
Rachel
A Few Moments Ago
I stroll along the banks of Dùndubhan's moat, crossing over the drawbridge on my way back to the castle.Pausing halfway there, I turn to gaze down at the murky depths.My father would be shocked to find out what sorts of tales I dream up in mind to pass the time.A lass like me should never venture out on her own, that's what most folk believe.Even my mother, a woman from the future, believes I must be coddled like a bairn.I love them for them for caring so much about me, but I do sometimes feel a wee bit...stifled.
I've often dreamed of a mysterious stranger who would sweep me away to thrilling places and whisk me away on breathtaking adventures.A lad who would make my pulse quicken and give me a warm slickness between my thighs.A lad with a wicked streak.
Ah, but 'twill never happen.Mayhap if I squeeze my eyes shut and wish with all my might...
I stride onto the far bank and lean against a large, ancient stone that lies beside the drawbridge.The water below ripples, and for a moment, I swear I see a face gazing back at me.Not my own, mind you, but that of a man with dark hair, whisky-brown eyes, and a strange-looking beard that covers only a small area around his mouth.But when I blink, the image is gone.
"An Diabhal fhéin!" I whisper, staring into the murky depths.My heart races as I try to make sense of the vision.Who was that man, and why did he appear to me?Mayhap I shouldn't have invoked the devil when cursing my rotten fortune, but I cannae help it.
Wind whips my hair around my face, and I pull my cloak tighter.The air feels charged, as if the very fabric of time is stretching thin.I've heard tales of such occurrences from my great-aunts, though I've never experienced anything like that myself.Glancing back at the castle, I debate whether to share my vision with anyone.Would anyone believe me?Even among witches, this manner of sightings is rare and often dismissed as fanciful imaginings.
Och, of course my family would believe me.
