Outlander: The Standing Stones

In the Thick of Things and Campbells

My mind was spinning so hard I was almost dizzy. I was trying to breathe as quietly as I could, despite the fact that with the noise of the horses and voices I might not be heard. I wanted to turn and look, see just who was there, but knew I dared not. For better or for worse, I was trapped.

Let's see, what did I know? Well, it was highly unlikely that I would have company here, even less likely that a group of horsemen would descend upon this place. I had this sick feeling in my stomach,  that if daylight were to descend and I could get a good look at my surroundings, I would find them drastically changed. How did I know that? I didn't, but I had a pretty good idea.

But what had happened to my watch? If I could pull out my phone and try to turn it on, what would I find? Blame it on my Russian, as my father used to say, but I know that I know that I know that something has happened. Maybe the stones had taken me, maybe there was a power here that kept people away, and I had paid the price for my curiosity. All I could do was sit and listen to the men and their horses that seemed to be paying this place not much attention at all.

My back hurt. I was tired, I was hungry, and I wanted to go back to the inn. I wanted to pull the flask out of my pack and drain it but didn't dare. I needed to be ready to run at a moment's notice, but where I'd run to? I had no idea.

I leaned back against the stone and listened, instead. There seemed to be two English voices, the others Scottish. There were not a lot of people as far as I could tell. To my dismay, it seemed that they were getting ready to spend the night. I could hear wood chopping, and that meant they'd probably build a fire. How dare they? This place was sacred, it had stood for thousands of years, how dare they desecrate it by treating it as no more than a hunting camp?

Like in my dream, I heard footsteps coming towards me. I'd stayed here long enough, it was time to get away-somehow. Maybe to the other side of the clearing. I prayed there would maybe be a tomb and I could duck down in it and hide until they fell asleep. All I could hope for would be that they did not keep sentries and that the horses would not betray me.

As I watched him pass by me, I could see he was dressed in a hunting kilt, which I recognized from a tartan book I had skimmed. Which clan, I could not tell. A few men wore kilts around here, but it was mostly for special occasions. "It's a coincidence, Irina," I told myself, "Just like your watch, your phone probably doesn't work, either, maybe it's due to magnetics or something like that. Just be calm, if you panic, you'll never get away." But to where, a part of me wondered.

My eyes followed him, guessing that he had received the call of nature and was answering. I hope he had the sense not to desecrate anything, but knowing only where I was, not when, I had no idea what he was up to. At least he hadn't seen me.

But someone had, he dropped down in front of me and put his hand over my mouth before I was even aware of him. "Shh, lass," he said in tones so soft I barely hear, "I'm here to help ye." His hair shone silver in the moonlight, but his face was in shadows. "Do ye want to be getting out of here?" He didn't remove his hand from my mouth, but he was gentle, and I was not afraid.

I couldn't tell who he was, he was tall, so tall I was surprised that he could conceal himself when the stranger returned to join his camp. I looked at him and nodded my head, letting him know that yes, I did trust him. I was going on my instincts and prayed they would not betray me. "We've got to move now," he said, "I don't know the best way to go because they've got the entrance blocked. It looks like they may be here for the night, so if ye're patient, we may get away when they fall asleep." He took my hand and pulled me up, leading me deeper into the shadows and away from the light of the moon.

"Who are they?" I whispered, aware of how eerily the sound carried. "What are they doing here? Don't people leave this place alone?" I knew how superstitious Scots tended to be, but that was no less true of Russians, or anyone who had any kind of belief in a spirit world. My Russian grandmother used to take me on her lap and tell me stories of Russian princes and princesses, and Baba Yaga flying through the air in her magic cauldron. My Belgian grandmere told me elegant stories of princes on horseback riding into dark forests to find captive princesses and magical kingdoms.