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face.
    "Back into that bed with ye now," Elsbeth
gent ly pushed Kris
into the lumpy mattress, "just ye lie back down here and get ye some more
rest. I shall return an hour or so with some nice broth for ye and some ointment for those cuts and scrapes ye have ."
    Kris did n't argue. Lay ing her head on the pillow, she closed her eyes. They snapped open again.
    "Elsbeth?"
    The woman stopped just as she
opened the door, "Aye?"
    "Could you tell me what year
it is?" Kris asked half wish ing that such an odd
question hadn't just
popped into her head. And she did n't like the uneasy feel ing that came along with the question. She somehow knew she wasn't
going to like the
answer, but after see ing Iain MacGregor up close and personal, she had to know.
    Elsbeth brows drew together in
bafflement, than she shrugged, "'Tis the year of our Lord 1604, lass. Do ye
nay remember?"
    Kris shook her head. She knew if
she tried to speak, she would scream. She lay back and closed her eyes. As soon
as she heard the door click shut, she jumped out of the bed and started pac ing the room, ignor ing the pound ing in her head.
    This was not possible. No, this wasn't happen ing . It was some kind of strange
dream. It had to be. It
could n't be what it
appeared to be.  She wasn't really in the
seventeenth century. She could n't be. To travel through time was pure fantasy.
    Sure, it happened in books, and
movies, but never in real life. She crossed to the window and gaze down toward
where the town had been yesterday. Today there stood a small village of that ched roof houses with little gardens to the
side of each. In the far distance, she could see the heather that dotted the hills along
with the sheep and cattle graz ing placid ly . She pressed
her forehead against the window, the cold class welcom ing against her flushed skin.
    Was it possible that she wasn't hav ing a not her bizarre dream? That all of this was really happen ing ?
    It did n't have that dream- like quality to it at all. She
reached up a hand to feel the bump on the back of her head and winced in pain. Well,
the goose egg was real
enough. She looked at the scrapes on her hands; they were genuine as were the scratches on her legs and the small rip in her nightshirt.
    She felt like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz , on ly she hadn't landed over any
rainbow to find munchkins, the good witch, Glenda, or wicked witches with
monkey armies. She had landed over the rainbow to find a very real Iain MacGregor.
    "Toto, I do n't think we're in Kansas
anymore." She giggled at her own quip then had to warn herself to be careful. She could easi ly tumble over the edge right into hysteria. She had to stay calm and think this through. There had to be some rational explanation. There was always a logical answer for e very th ing . What that explanation could be,
she wasn't sure, but
somehow she'd find it.
    Somehow.
    She turned from the window and
crawled back into the large bed, mak ing it crunch beneath her. She would rest some more, and hope the knock on her
skull hadn't caused a
concussion. She prayed that when she awoke again, she'd find this had all been a nightmare brought on by too much sun, or the bump on her head. Anyth ing except what it appeared
to be.

Chapter Four
    Iain strode into the great Hall,
glanc ing about as he
crossed the room. "Where is Raibert?" He bellowed to those in the
Hall. Several heads came up, but the on ly response was a
collective shrug. Iain threw them a disgruntled look as he strode to the table.
"Someone find him," Iain roared, "now!"
    "Ale," he grunted to a
small kitchen maid who appeared beside him with a plate of food. He sat down hard
in the Laird's chair and watched the people in the Hall scatter.
    "Aye, Laird." She set
the food on the table and threw him a saucy smile before disappear ing into the kitchens. She
returned a few moments later with a bottle. Iain waited until she filled his
goblet then drained it in one long pull. He waved her away, and refilled