Page 5 of Highlander’s Captive

But here there was none of that. Here there was fresh, cold air and thick, ancient walls, and the breathtaking, raw beauty of the Highlands. The colors of fall reigned here, as though the very rocks had rusted, moss grew everywhere, and leaves were always aged. There was so much history—hundreds and thousands of years—and a part of her belonged here, too.

“Do you think any of our ancestors lived here?” Amy asked.

Jenny shrugged. “Maybe. Grandpa would have known.”

“Yeah, he would have.”

“Even Dad would probably—” Jenny suddenly stiffened, her mouth still open.

“It’s okay,” Amy said. “You can mention Dad. How is he?”

Jenny swallowed and looked at her hands. “Fine. Asking about you.”

Amy pursed her lips, her throat clenching. “Well, I’m asking about him, too, see? Is he still sober?”

“Yeah. Holding up.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Yeah. Thank you for the money, by the way. Again.”

“Of course. You can’t support him alone on a teacher’s salary.”

It was hard to talk about Dad. To distract herself from the scratching in her throat, and to avoid Jenny’s grateful expression, Amy studied a bare bush growing by the wall to her right.

“I’m not alone. I have Dave—” Jenny’s eyes widened as she looked across the courtyard. “Hey! Zach! Stop it, get back down this minute!”

But Zach was already halfway up the pile of crumbled rocks, heading to the top of the tower, and not slowing down. Jenny jumped up and raced towards him, waving her arms and yelling for him to stop. Amy sat up straight, alert, just in case. Her hand brushed over the backpack, feeling the familiar shape of the first aid kit inside.

“What a bonnie wee crowd of children,” said a lilting female voice.

Amy glanced up, to her right. A young woman stood by the bare bush Amy had studied a moment ago. The air filled with the scent of lavender and freshly cut grass. How strange. Goose bumps covered her skin. She remembered having a similar feeling whenever she and Jenny had told each other ghost stories—suddenly the shadows had grown darker in the corners of the room, and she could almost see shapes she hadn’t noticed before.

The woman was pretty, her features delicate, her skin translucent, with tiny freckles like a sprinkling of ground cinnamon on her nose and cheeks. A dark-green woolen cloak hung from her shoulders, and the hood of a cape covered her bright-copper hair.

“Yeah,” Amy said. Her jaw must have lost the ability to close.

She studied the northern entrance which was ten feet or so away. Was that how the woman had slipped in unnoticed?

“They are a bonnie…crowd,” Amy said.

Zach was already on top and began singing, “‘Oh, say can you see, by the dawn's early light…’”

“What is he singing?” the woman said. “I like that song…”

She swayed her head a little from side to side with the broken rhythm of Zach’s bellowing.

“Erm… It’s the American anthem…” Amy said.

“Oh. The American anthem. I shall remember that song.”

Amy smiled politely. Who was the woman? She seemed to be dressed in a historical costume underneath the cloak, a long green woolen skirt and a white shift that showed just a little from beneath the hem.

“I like your costume,” Amy said. “Are you a tour guide?”

“A tour guide?” The woman laughed. “I suppose ye might say so. My name is Sìneag. What about ye?”

“Amy.”