A/N: Because I'm excited, I've posted a extra, extra long first chapter. Please, let me know how you like it! Comment, comment, comment! Much love! xx

"Grab my hand," Symon says gruffly, reaching out for my mostly-frozen body parts. I grant him my fingers, showing little emotion as he helps me out of the red Corvette to ensure I make it over the puddle of water underneath my door.

Normally, I'd go starry-eyed by the small, gallant gesture but today, after the argument we had, I cannot even gather up a thank you. I can see right past the gentleman-like actions he's made sure to do since this morning and know he's completely aware that he screwed up royally.

He sniffles, his red nose running as I walk before him towards the ancient entrance of Cawdor Castle- a moat. I push my crimson hair back from my shoulder, braided to keep my hair tame from the rough Scottish weather, and cross my arms in front of my body.

"Gilly, come on. Talk to me," he persists, now right behind me as I pull open the door. "I could have gotten that."

"I can do things for myself, Symon... I don't need you."

"Come on, don't say that, honey."

My emerald irises shut in fury. "I've told you not to call me that."

"I didn't mean what I said- what I did. I was upset."

"You always say that. I always forgive you and it changes nothing." Sucking in a aggravated breath, I approach the woman at reception and hold up two fingers, reaching for my wallet.

"Put your wallet away. You know how that aggravates me," he snaps gently, pushing my hand away, smiling slightly at the woman glancing between us in curiosity. I don't fight him on it, sure I won't win.

"Thank you," he murmurs low to her, turning with our tickets. He rests a hand onto my back, guiding me forward towards another group of guests. A small woman, wrapped in a shawl of plaid, smiles kindly as we walk into the main room, before glancing back down at her pamphlet.

I stare at the splendor in amazement, although I've been here more times than I can count now. Becoming a tour guide in Inverness only six months ago, has given me the pleasure of going to historical monuments every other day, and get paid for it. Unfortunately, it's not much money. I'm practically living pay check to pay check.

Unlike Symon, who wooed me in a matter of minutes at a pub in Edinburgh when I was there, observing its history. He's a news anchor- one of the most well-known in Scotland. His looks have gotten him far, pulled him from the bottomless pit of debt his father left his mother and now, he's recognized by at least one person every time I'm with him.

And he revels in it.

As he moves in front of me, arms behind his back, clutching his leather gloves, I stare at him. The man I met only a mere month ago. His dark eyes hypnotized me immediately, as did his overwhelming sense of self-acceptance. He's so sure of himself. 

Something I struggle with, to my shame. He knows it and uses it against me more and more as we grow more comfortable with each other. He scratches his dark beard contemplatively, glancing around at the furniture and paintings for the first time.

I hate that I'm so attracted to him. When he addresses me as his girlfriend in front of his groups of friends or when his fingers dance against my cheek across the table, I feel a nervous feeling in my chest. It's not love- but something else. Lust... maybe?

At twenty-two years old, I offered him my virginity. Only three weeks after knowing him, something I told myself I'd never do... This past week has been one of experience, leading me towards a different type of life.

He wasn't the best lover- rather greedy actually, but I felt his desperation when he grabbed me, pulling me down onto the mattress. Inexperienced with romance, it was a welcome feeling- to make someone yearn for you.

After that, things began to change. In the past week, I've witnessed a different side of him. A possessive, dominant part of him I'd never seen before. He believes I need him- he believes, because I am a young, innocent woman, that I'm suddenly his. Which made it hard for him to swallow that I want to wait to sleep with him again, until I'm sure of what I want.

And that is precisely the reason for our argument this morning- just a few hours ago, when he threw my blow dryer at my head- in a rage that had his face the color of his fancy car.

When I, shaken, bent down to grab the broken pieces of it off the floor, he seemed to come back from that rage, apologizing desperately with whispered affections and soft kisses. But, I've seen him become violent and now, I don't know if he could ever go further.

I realize he's walked to the far end of the room, now talking to the woman we saw before, reading the pamphlet. As I near them, I realize she recognized him from TV.

"I just adored that segment on the rise of industrialism in our highlands. Things need to change, and soon, ye ken?" she says, glancing at me as I step up next to him. "Hullo, missy."

"Hello," I reply, with a small smile. Her eyebrows go up in surprise.

"You're an American?"

"I was raised in America but my parents are Scottish."

"I was gonna say- your hair is certainly fiery."

"Isn't it?" Symon says, smiling as he runs a hand over the back on my head, stroking the top of the braid. I glance up at him, a tall man of six feet five inches, a tower compared to most men. Thankfully, I'm 5'11 so I don't look too unnatural beside him. However, that is not the case for the women in front of us.

She looks as though she's straining her neck, looking up at both of us. "Very bonny couple."

"Thank you, ma'am. Good day," he answers and with a nod, gestures us further down the room, towards the entrance way for the next room. Slowly but surely, we begin to warm up to each other as he pressures me for information on the history of the strong, withstanding masterpiece around us. He knows that's the way to my unsure heart and he milks it for all it's worth.

Even in rainy, windy weather, the infamous gardens are magnificent. When he reaches out for my hand, I don't push him away. We walk side-by-side in the cold drizzle for a while in silence, calm silence. I'm soaked through by the time he speaks up.

"I am truly sorry for earlier, Gillian. I swear to you, it will not happen again."

"What if it had hit me, Symon? You-"

"Then I would have given it to you to hit me back with."

I shake my head at his attempt at a joke, too unnerved to dismiss this as something so simple, something common. I've never been hit in my life and came fairly close today. His face hardens when I don't speak and he nods, looking down, realizing his wrongs.

"It won't happen again, Gill."

Staring at him, I nod. "It better not."

...

"Two whiskeys," Symon sighs to the bartender as we take a seat, stretching his tight tie from his throat. I unwrap my scarf from my neck and set it onto the empty bench beside me, reaching up to wipe my nose with my sleeve.

It's October and freezing. I don't know if I'll ever get used to it after having lived in Florida for so long. My blood will take a while to thicken. Symon clasps my head, pressing his lips to my temple.

"You good?"

I nod, smiling softly. It's been weeks since the conversation at the castle and we've been happier than ever. He's grown aware of his possessiveness and has died the intensity down considerably. Here to spend Halloween, or Samhain, as they call it here, with me, he drove up for the weekend.

"Here you go, sir," the bald man says, setting the small glasses down before us. I take one and raise it to Symon, who does the same.

"Sláinte."

We clink glasses and both take a long gulp. The drink I've become acquired to burns exquisitely drifting down my throat, warming me to my very core.

"You know what I've always wondered about you?" he asks conversationally, resting an elbow onto the bar.

"What?"

"How do people take to you being their tour guide? With the American accent."

I smile, shrugging. "Most just ask me where I'm from. They can tell I'm Scottish by my hair. It doesn't make things too different."

"And you do like it?"

"Yes, I love it... It's always been my dream to come here. I mean, look at it. I lived in Florida- all you have there are beaches and gators- flat lands. And then one comes here, to his rich nature and historic architecture... How can someone not fall in love with it here?"

"I don't know. But beaches sound pretty wonderful to me."

I smirk, nodding. "Yeah, those are great... Water temperatures at 80-90 degrees."

"My God." The look of bewilderment is clear as day on his face. "We should head over there... maybe stay with your family."

What? "You want to meet my family?"

He presses his lips together, looking slightly offended by my cautious tone. "Well, I mean, you don't have to say it like that."

"No, I mean... I, uh, haven't even met your mother yet."

"Well, that's only because she's very particular with who she meets."

I stare at him, not sure if he is insulting me or just worded that poorly but I decide to get off the subject, not ready to introduce him to my family. Last I spoke to my family, was over a month ago, with my brother.

"You were telling me about work," I say, resting my hand over his. He looks down at it and nods after a moment.

"Yes, I was. Turns out, Henry told Donnie about my idea for the new footage... and he truly liked it. We're filming tomorrow afternoon."

"Wow, that's... wait, tomorrow? I thought we were going to that party."

"What party?"

"The one Cecilia told me about a couple weeks ago. The Highland one. You had said you would go with me."

"I don't remember anything about it... Anyways, I can't. I have to do this footage- come on, you know my work is more important than some party."

I press my lips together and look down, seething as he talks down to me like a child. Why the hell would he come up here to be with me anyways if he was leaving the next day?

"You don't look very attractive scowling, Gill," he says bluntly, lifting his glass of whiskey to his lips. Fucking bastard. Standing in a rush, I grab my drink and very effectively douse him in it, grabbing my coat and scarf, not bothering to stick around for his fury.

"GILLIAN!"

I push the door open, entering the- thankfully- relatively crowded street because he's right behind me, grabbing my arm.

"Let me go," I get out, as calmly as I can, not wanting to bring attention to us.

"You're an ungrateful bitch, Gillian. I've spent an entire day with you, doing whatever you wanna do- bloody castles and picnics in this godforsaken weather! We haven't even slept together in weeks- since that first night!"

I stare at him, in complete bewilderment. "You're making it seem like I owe you or something! I'm allowed to want to take this slow."

He moves his hand through his short, brown hair in a rush and trickles of whiskey fall to the ground. "You know how important my job is."

"Yes, I know," I conquer with annoyance. "You remind me everyday, Symon."

"Is it a crime that I'm good at my job? That I make good money? Do you resent that or something?"

"Resent that? What the hell?" I shout, pulling my arm from his tight grip. "I love my job. I know I don't make much money-"

"You make no money, let's just be frank with each other. I don't want you to hold against me the fact that I actually do make it."

"You're a bastard," I hiss, turning quick on my heels towards the opposite way. Thankfully, this is a small town and my apartment is only down the road.

"Gillian, we're not done talking!"

"Oh yes, we are!"

People are walking by us hesitantly now and I feel my face redden in embarrassment. "Gillian!"

"Just leave me the hell alone, Symon."

He grabs my arm once again but I pull it from him with a glare so vicious that he lets go, stopping. I turn without a word, desperate to get to the safe confines of my apartment.

Slamming the door shut, I lean back against it, closing my eyes in relief. Out of breath, I throw my coat and scarf onto the sofa in the middle of the room, groaning angrily.

The small, one bedroom apartment may not be much but it has everything I need. A oven, bed and books. No TV, or radio- only one of my dad's old computers that he was going to trash. I've never been one for social media. The news are only negative so I have no interest in that either.

All I need are my books and my reading window.

If that means I live in a dream world, I'm okay with it. Absolutely, I came here knowing full well that I'd be getting away from everyone I ever knew. My family and friends- and I was okay with that.

I've never formed an attachment to anyone there that felt meaningful. Of course, I came here and was doing just fine, living in my own peaceful world, until this man popped up into my life and changed everything.

He's wonderful 90% of the time- but that 10%... it's a really, really unattractive side to him. And tends to be the side I remember most.

I walk through the sparse apartment, towards my bedroom. The white brightness of the décor has a way of calming me. I'm stepping out of the shower when I hear the consistent knocking.

"Gillian, open up. Come on."

I close my eyes in regret, having forgotten he had left his room key here, when he came to pick me up. Shit. "Hold on."

I grab my robe from the back of the door, dropping my towel on the ground.

"I'm really sorry, Gilly. Just... let me in."

By the door now, I slow at his words, unsurely and grab his room key off the table. He's shivering when I open the door, his hands tucked in his pockets. I feel the crisp air and clasp my robe tighter with one hand, using the other to give him the key.

"Here is your key," I whisper, grabbing the doorframe. He reaches out to stop it immediately.

"Gill, I know I said a lot of things out there I shouldn't have. I've just been frustrated lately."

"Why?"

"Because... out of the blue, you've just stopped sleeping with me. People don't just stop unless there is a reason."

I shake my head. "The reason is simple- I want to know you. The real you."

"So, you mean, you think it was a mistake?"

"No, I don't believe that... Can't you just accept that I want to take it slow? It's not permanent."

He looks down, frowning, clearly not enjoying the idea. "Did I do something wrong? Hurt you- in-"

"No, no. Nothing like that."

He reaches out, brushing a strand of damp hair from my face. "You're sure?"

I nod. "I'm sure."

He clasps my chin, lifting my gaze to his. "And I am sorry- for what I said. Your work means a lot to you- I know that."

"Thank you," I murmur, smiling softly. His eyes are warm right now, like milk chocolate, a contrast to their usual dark hue. He nods and moves forward awkwardly and takes me up into his arms.

His lips are on mine, roughly in an instant, as he holds my head in place with his strong grip. I'm the first to pull back, pressing a hand to his chest.

"May I stay with you?"

After a moment, I nod and turn, opening the door wider. His tall frame bends to make it into my doorway and into my miniscule apartment. He shrugs out of his coat, setting it onto the couch as I lock the door for the night.

...

"Good morning, sunshine," Symon murmurs, above me. I peek through one eye, finding him dressed in the clothes from the previous night.

"Good morning," I whisper softly, clearing my throat. Pulling my sheet up over my chest, I sit up and smile. "It's early."

"Yes, but I wanted to tell you the news before I go."

"... News?"

"We're recording the footage earlier- I'm running out now to do it. I'll be back in time to go to that party with you."

Excited now, my eyes widen. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

I reach out, grabbing his hand. "Thank you, Symon."

"... You know how much I like you, right?"

The words sound wrong coming from his lips but I nod anyway, smiling softly. "Yes... I like you too."

"Then we're in agreement... I'll be here to pick you up at seven. You said to wear my kilt?"

"Yeah, it's a costume party. 18th century. Everyone will be dressed up."

"Where is it?"

"Ardverkie Castle. It's about an hour, hour and a half from here."

"Alright. I'll be here at seven then."

...

"Thank you, Rose, for this. I can't believe you had one left."

"I knew you'd be going, for sure, darling," she says, handing me the last plaid gown in her store. "I've got so many for these damn costume movies that I don't know what to do with them."

Pulling down the zipper, I grin wide. "Oh, I'm so excited."

"The whole town's goin'... Oh, steer clear of Greer Neilson though."

"Greer Neilson? Who's that?"

"She's known to toy with magic... and not the good kind, ye ken?"

I look down to keep myself from laughing, not wanting to offend her. "Alright, I will."

She rests her hand over mine, warmly. "Smart lass... have a good night tonight, alright?"

"Thank you. I'll be sure to."

...

"Wow."

I hold the door open wider, proudly as Symon takes in the rather uncomfortable, no- very uncomfortable dress I'm in.

"You definitely don't look like you're from this time,"  he adds.

"Apart from the makeup."

"Yes, well, you look beautiful with it on."

I smile, looking over him with appreciation. With the dark beard, the clan Macintosh tartan, and brown boots to his knees, he looks like something straight out of a romance novel. "I'm digging the kilt."

"Easy access."

My eyes widen in shock. "You mean- you mean, you're not wearing-?"

"Boxers? No. No true Scotsman does."

"Oh." I feel a blush creep over my face and quickly reach to grab my keys. "Alright, well... uh, let's go."

With the traffic of cars also on route to the party, it ended up taking us two hours to get there. I've got a hand over the tight laces as he parks and I chastise myself for not tying them a bit looser. But, I wanted to look as skinny as I possibly could in this thick material.

As I step out of his corvette, I squeak in excitement, watching the guests making their way into the entrance of the castle. People of all sizes and colors laugh amongst their parties in the parking lot as we make our way in as well. Some men even have swords or what I know- as a broadsword.

It adds to the effect.

One minute, we're in 2016. The next, the 17th or 18th century. No lights- only candles light the room. Hundreds of them. Symon rests a hand on my waist, pulling us over towards someone. Surprised, I look around to see who he's leading us to.

There's a man by a long table, plentiful with sweets, cheeses, and dark meats. His shirt just barely covers his belly- definitely not long enough to be tucked into the kilt that clearly isn't his. Upon seeing us approaching, he smiles though.

"Symon! Gracious man, never, ever would I expect to see you of all people here! And in your clan tartan, no less."

"You and me both, Carson. You and me both... May I introduce you to my good friend, Gillian Clarke? Gilly, this is Carson Wells."

Good friend? Good friend? I just barely manage concealing my surprise at the rather miniscule introduction and reach out to take his extended hand.

"It's... nice to meet you."

"And you. Symon, you may want to consider stepping up your game! Women with red hair like that don't come around everyday."

Symon smirks and nods, looking down. I wait for him to say he's actually seeing me but he doesn't.

"Actually, Carson, we've been seeing each other for a while now," I clarify, with a hint of anger in my tone.

"Ah? Okay," he says, after a glance at Symon who smiles shortly, nodding.

"I'm going to find something to drink," I murmur when they begin to talk amongst themselves about work. Symon nods in such a dismissive way, I let out a breath of annoyance when I'm clear of them.

I'm so done. Done with his self-righteous, arrogant mannerisms.

I've known this guy not even two months and he's treating me like this? Imagine years from now... You know what? I don't want to. As soon as the realization appears in my brain like a ticking bomb that's been waiting to go off, I chuckle to myself, now at the bar.

"Champagne for the miss?" the bartender smiles, raising his brows, reaching for a flute. I shake my head, way past champagne.

"Whiskey."

"You don't see women drink much whiskey nowadays," a woman says beside me, startling me. Her light brown hair is done into an updo- a messy yet somehow sufficient style. "And it's a damn shame. Have you been brought up with it?"

I nod, taking the glass from the bartender. "Yes."

"It's a fine drink." She gestures to my glass and I watch the bartender nod, reaching for one. Looking back to her, I take in her attire, flabbergasted at it's apparent authenticity.

"Wow... your dress. It's lovely."

"It's my favorite. Have a couple more at home but this tops them all."

"What time period is it supposed to be from?"

"The 18th century. Like the party." She leans in, smirking. "Wanted to- represent."

I nod, humming, observing her carefully. Something about her is off. She's young and fair, but there's a suspicion behind her crystal blue eyes that makes me feel on edge standing beside her.

"So, what brings you to Scotland?" she asks, taking the drink from the bartender. We both move out of the way to let others in our place.

"I live here."

"Really? But you've got an American accent?"

Used to telling this story on my tours, I state the facts blandly. "My grandparents moved to America when my mother was young."

"So your father is from America?"

"No. Surprisingly, she married someone also Scottish."

"Well, what a story. Explains the hair and freckles though."

I nod, laughing awkwardly. "Are you from here? Inverness that is?"

"Aye. I live in Inverness."

Symon approaches us then, his face curved in suspicion. "Gillian, why don't you come with me."

"I'm fine," I hum, taking down the last of the whiskey. His lips curve into each other and within seconds, he reaches out, taking my arm, pulling me away as if I were an impudent child.

Fed up, I pull my arm back, eyes wide when we're clear of her ear shot. "How dare you treat me like that?"

"That woman you were with is a witch. An actual witch. She's known for it. She's been on the station before."

"So? There are tons of witches in Scotland! She wasn't doing anything to me?"

"Notice how no one goes near her? She has a booth in here and no one is going to it. She's not good."

"Oh, come on, Symon."

"You're acting ridiculous, Gillian. That man you left so rudely was my boss. Can you just... cool it- for tonight? I changed my schedule to be here."

"Well, you won't need to be doing that from now on."

His eyes go wide. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"And what does that mean, if I may ask, Gillian?"

"It means that I'm calling a cab. It means I'm not going home with you tonight- or any night."

He chuckles, rolling his eyes. "Gillian, oh my God."

"And you're laughing..." I nod, smirking. I should have known. "You know what? It's over, Symon. I don't want to see you again."

I begin to move past him but freeze when he grabs my arm tightly, shaking it. "You can't just break up with me, Gillian."

I look between his paled knuckles and his face and raise my eyebrows. "I just did, asshole. Now, let me go before I kick you where it hurts."

He's red- a vibrant shade of red. It should concern me but I truly only want to get away from him when he's like this. He leans in, pursing his lips in anger and utters, "I'm going to let you go. Go fucking relax and then we're leaving- together."

"Let me go," I growl, scared but unwilling to show it. He does though and I grab the spot he was holding, glancing around at the unnoticing crowd around us before I hurry towards another room, desperate to get away from him.

I step around a couple blocking the doorway, trying to get around them in this large dress but don't successfully. "I'm sorry," I mutter, finally getting through into the other crowded room. Grabbing my cell phone out of the pocket in my dress, I dial the number for a cab, pressing my hand to try to get my heart to calm.

I want to get out of here as soon as I can.

"An angry sort of man, is he?"

I'm not surprised to hear her voice. The woman- the witch, it may seem, stands beside me as I finish telling the cab service where I am. Hanging up, I tuck my phone away and shake my head.

"Yes, he does tend to get angry."

"It's not surprising. His ancestors have an power-hungry streak a mile long."

I stare at her in confusion, pursing my lips. "His ancestors?"

"Aye."

"I take it you know a lot about history?"

She chuckles softly, licking her brightly colored lips. "Aye, you could say that... Your boyfriend is a rather important man, is he not?"

"He's a news anchor. You could say he's important, I guess."

"Men change with power. He will too."

"How do you know?"

"I ken many things."

I feel my skin prickle uncertainly. "He said you were a witch."

"A witch? No. I'm a mystic, a psychic - a healer of some sort."

"So, you're saying you know what's going to happen to someone?"

"Aye."

I smile, cautiously. "So, you know what's going to happen to me?" 

"Aye... Do ye believe it?"

"I never have," I answer awkwardly, shrugging my shoulders. "I've never spoken to a physic before so I wouldn't know. I don't find much joy in finding out when I'm going to die."

"That is not a question that a physic would answer- a sound one, anyway."

"But, you know it?"

She nods, setting down her whiskey onto a table. "Aye, I do. I'd never tell you that though... Why don't you come back with me?"

I chuckle, shaking my head. "No, no... Thank you though. I'm fine. My cab is going to be here in a few minutes."

"Well, why not come back until then? It's all positive, I promise ye."

"Why does Symon believe you are bad?"

She runs her fingers over the silver rings that cover every finger on her left hand. "People doubt what they cannot understand."

"Yeah, well I'm not really sure about this."

"It's a new experience, come on," she urges, entwining her arm with mine. I begin to open my mouth to argue against it but in the end, decide to comply. It's a good way to pass the time. I rethink the idea though when I finally approach her corner. It's a tent of different colored fabric, draped across each other in a very bohemian style.

She lets go of my arm and walks into the entrance, removing her shawl. "Come on in, dearie."

I step in hesitantly, less nervous when the tent consists of two chairs and a bare table. I half think I was expecting a crystal ball to be set up in the middle, glowing brightly. She takes a seat, patting her hair down. "This constant rain does nothing for my hair."

"I know what you mean," I reply, taking a seat slowly, glancing around.

"You don't have to look frightened. This will be painless, I promise you."

"I'm fine. I have to hurry though."

"I understand. Let's get started, then." She holds out her hands, outstretched. "Place your hands in mine."

"What are you going to do?"

"It helps me see better when I'm touching the person," she clarifies. 

"Oh." I place my hands into hers, coughing awkwardly. "Alright."

I stare at her intently as she fixes her gaze onto them, the skin of her fingers just barely touching mine- as if she were transferring energy to me or something.

"You have a difficult relationship with your family. Something to do- with your brother? His name- does it start with an L?"

My stomach tussles around in my body. "L-Lyle."

"Aye, I don't see them much in the upcoming future... You're a free soul, independent... You have many exciting past lives."

"Past lives?"

"Aye, you're wiser because you've lived though many different lives." She nods, looking up briefly. "Aye, you will marry in this life. I'm only seeing one union although he is not your only sexual partner."

I smile softly. One marriage- that's good.

"I see hardships. Many of them... Much confusion but you will get through them. You will have someone you trust to help you."

"What do you mean hardships?"

"Obstacles to move forward. You'll have many crossroads but I truly only see positive outcomes. And I see them happening in Scotland. I do see America, but that may be because I'm seeing your past as well."

"And kids?"

"I see a family. A large one. You're with them- aged and happy."

"Do you see Symon in my life?"

She nods. "I do. I see him in your life for a long time to come."

My brows curl together. What? "Married?"

"No, not marriage."

My lips press together disapprovingly as she frowns. "You're scared of him. He's hit you- or almost hit you before. He's violent?"

I stare at her wordlessly, shocked. She looks back down at my hands, squeezing them.

"That won't change. He is a violent man by nature, and will only become increasingly so as time goes by. I would be careful around him."

"I broke up with him. I don't understand why he is in my future."

"Everything happens for a reason. Maybe he is to get you somewhere in your life- the key to something... Whatever it is, be careful with him."

I nod, heart pounding. My lips are dry. "I-I understand..."

She moves back suddenly, nodding. "Your life will be plentiful with adventures and love. The good definitely outweighs the bad."

It's not the most positive reading but I nod slowly, accepting it. "T-thank you."

She smiles prettily, nodding and stands. "Aye, of course, honey... You're pale. Want me to get you a drink? Whiskey?"

I clutch my head, shaking it as she reaches for a bottle. "No, I shouldn't drink... Water, please." 

Grabbing a metal cup, she pours the water and hands it to me. "Here ye are. I'm sorry- sometimes the energy of this can be draining."

"I can see that," I reply, sipping the water slowly. "Do you feel drained usually- by it?"

"Oh aye. Absolutely."

I swallow and shake my head, standing. "I really should go wait outside."

She smiles just barely and nods. "I understand... Well, I hope we meet again. We do both live here, as you say."

"Yeah, of course," I agree. "How much do I owe you?"

"Not a dime."

I close my eyes, realizing that whiskey must have finally impaired my brain. "Really? You sure?"

"Yes, Miss Clarke, I'm sure."

I chuckle, humming before I realize one crucial flaw in that last sentence. "Wait... How do you know my name? I never told you it. I don't even know your name."

I reach for the chair to steady myself as my knees begin to gather a prickly sensation, buckling together. Oh, this is not good. And not normal. I force my eyes open and stare at her, now breathing heavy in fear. What did she do to me?

"What did you do?!" I shout, glancing around frantically. She grabs my arm when I try to make a run for the door. My bones are weak, too weak to try and get away now. "I'm dizzy."

"You're dizzy because you're about to pass out."

"W-Why?"

"Well, I'll tell ye... My name is Greer Neilson- and I am a witch. Not only that- but I'm also someone who is about to change your entire life."

"I don't want my life to change," I plead before my legs give out and my numbed body crashes into the chair in front of me, knocking the table around. She just stares at me as I struggle to remain conscious. "Am I going to die?"

She smiles, shaking her head. "No, you shan't die but change is inevitable. I will see you when you wake."

"No, no, no. G-Greer, no."

I'm not even able to utter a grunt as my body gives up and I rest my head against the carpet. Gasping, I watch in a hazy blur as she walks towards the front of the tent, towards the crowd and grabs a piece of fabric.

"Greer."

Without a glance back at my fragile form on the ground, she lets it fall, covering the doorway and the room darkens.

My eyelids struggle but it's hopeless. They're too strong.

The room goes dark.

...

A sweet, comforting scent fills my nostrils, rousing me back to consciousness. My heavy eyelids blink rapidly but I find my vision remains unclear as the seconds pass. Flat on my back, I go to lift my arm, groaning softly at the sore pain throughout the ligaments.

What the hell happened to me?

Continuing to blink repeatedly, I swallow, my mouth free of any saliva. Looking around desperately, I try to speak. "Hello? Is anyone there? I can't see anything."

"Gill?" My eyes catch a dark figure begin to stand up from something across the room. The voice is unmistakable. It's Symon's. I lean my face into his outstretched hand as he bends down in front of me.

"I can't see anything," I whisper, scared.

"It will pass. I couldn't either- took a couple minutes."

"Where are my clothes?" I feel a soft material over my body but it's not material I had on earlier.

"I don't know. Mine is gone as well. I've got on a shift kind of shirt or something."

"What the hell happened? She-she poisoned me, I think."

"I don't know. We're locked in here. I tried to get the door open... This room is really strange."

"Strange how?"

"There is no electricity. No air conditioning. I think we're in a old castle- maybe or ruin. Everything here looks- old, ancient."

"Is there water anywhere? I feel like I'm going to be sick."

"No, no food. No water. No windows," he answers quietly, sounding aggravated.

"She's going to kill us."

"They went through a lot of work for that. No, I think this is something else entirely."

"Like what?"

"Blackmail maybe. I don't know... You should sit up." He grabs my hand and pulls, grunting. "I feel like I've been run over by a train."

"It must be the side effects."

I feel a rather brief, calm sense of relief as my vision clears in a matter of seconds and I can see clearly. But that relief quickly dissipates when I take in my surroundings. The small room is stone, lit only by the raging fireplace. There is a bed on the other side, sheets tussled aside. My eyes widen in shock as I manage to stand, desperate to touch it. The shift over my body is see-through, a white, soft fabric just above my ankles.

"What are you doing?"

I touch the mattress I was laying on to find it's not a mattress at all. "Symon, this is not a typical mattress. This looks like it was filled with something- definitely not cotton. I've read about this. I didn't know people still used beds like this."

He turns, hands on his hips. His white shirt ends mid-thigh. It scares me to think that I was wearing a bra and underwear before I came here. Who the hell unclothed me? Is that all they did?

"That's the least of our worries. Who the hell doesn't have a bathroom? A light? I mean, this is ridiculous," he says, sternly, shaking his head. I do the same and walk over to where he's standing, pressing my hand over my mouth in shock. In fear. In panic.

"We'll be okay. Maybe this is a misunderstanding," I whisper, hoping to calm myself with the empty words.

"A misunderstanding? A man held me down while that bitch poured the potion or whatever the hell it was down my throat. This was no misunderstanding. I've got the fucking bruise to prove it." He turns, raising the shirt up to reveal his naked back and the large purple bruise covering the small of it.

My lips tremble. "A man? There wasn't a man when I was there."

He drops the fabric, running a hand through his short, dark hair. "Maybe you didn't see him there."

"No, I was alone with her. She gave me a reading- a positive one- she seemed completely harmless and nice and then I had some water. I went unconscious after that."

He presses his lips together, shaking his head disapprovingly. "What did she say in her reading?"

"Just things about my future. The usual things- love, marriage, my family."

"Nothing out of place? Nothing that could add up?"

I clasp my head, trying to cease the throbbing. "She kept saying my life was going to change. There would be hardships- that I would get over though."

"A change..." he chuckles. "A change, great."

"I didn't know."

He swivels to look at me, extending his arms in anger. "I don't care if you didn't know! You got us into this bloody mess!"

"I'm sorry. I obviously didn't know she was going to poison us."

"I told you she was a witch!"

"I know! I'm sorry I didn't think you were telling the truth! I haven't ever really believed in that. I grew up in Florida, for God's sake!"

He shakes his head, turning. "I'm too angry to talk about this shite right now."

I open my mouth to go against him but shut it quick, taking into heed Greer Neilson's warning- he's a violent man and that isn't likely to change. I hear a rattle by the door suddenly, a turn of a lock and we both back up as the door swings open, revealing a man first, then Greer herself. Her hair is down, shoulder length and frizzy. I bite my lip nervously, backing up against the table as the man, tan, burly- with a beard that would impress rednecks far and wide- sets down a lantern beside me.

Symon speaks first, puffing his large chest. "You- you bitch! You're going to let us out of here- right now."

"I'm afraid that wouldn't work out so well for ye, Mr. Macintosh."

"You can't keep us here," I say sternly, watching the man warily.

"No, we can't. And we won't. But I suggest ye sit down and listen to what we have to say before making a rash decision, running outside into the wild in only your shift."

"Where are our clothes?"

"Just take a seat."

In an act that surprises me, Symon takes my hand and brings me towards the bed, nodding for me to sit. I do so, my feet cold against the cold, uneven wood covering the ground.

"We listen to you and you will let us go- unharmed?" Symon says, still standing.

"Aye."

He stares at them a moment before he sits beside me, crossing his hands together. She removes the plaid around her shoulder, coughing. Her nose is red, probably from the chill outside.

"In ancient folklore here in Scotland, there was a tale of a stone- a rather, large heavy stone that had been- enchanted by the fairies. It was a way for souls to pass from one vortex to another."

"I've heard of that story. The stone was called...  cloch ama?"

"Aye. A time stone. It was said to be a tale until a woman and her loved one went to the fairy glen and drank from the water near a dark stone, a stone darker than the rest. She disappeared before his very eyes."

"I truly don't understand why this story has any relevance to our situation. Just let us go," Symon snaps, standing up in a rush. I touch his hand softly when her lips press together angrily.

"I will get to that if ye would shut your trap and take a seat."

"Please, Symon. We should hear her out."

"It makes no sense! She's talking complete nonsense!"

"I know. But, we need to hear it."

After a moment, standing stiffly, he sits back down, sighing.

"She disappeared. He ran back to the village, saying what he saw. Now, of course, his ramblings were met with suspicion. No one believed him- or so they thought. A curious couple went, unable to stay away... they had been secret lovers, unable to be together and desperate to disappear together. They broke off a piece of the magic stone, consumed it, and alas, they traveled to another side."

Symon sighs, looking down at the ground between his knees, obviously aggravated. I stare at Greer, confused. I know she doesn't mean to harm us- in fact, it looks like she's trying to help us.

Her husband speaks up next. "They came back years later by crushing the stone to dust and putting it into a drink, drinking it. And that is how the tale grew to a reality. Everyone looked for it- tried to find it but these people hid it carefully, knowing the world would abuse it's power."

"What does this have to do with us?" I whisper, shaking my head obliviously.

"You both have taken the dust into your system. You are no longer in the time ye knew."

I look to Symon, who looks at me. "Um... what time are we in then?"

"You've traveled to- the time of the party. The year of seventeen-thirteen."