Page 29 of Winter Longing
Cole responded, trying to keep his temper in check. He didn’t like the guy’s self-righteous attitude. “Yeah, I know it sounds crazy. But it’s true. I was born in 1995 and Tank—” he glanced at him, not quite sure what year he was born, unable to do quick math right now.
“1990,” Tank supplied.
The priest said nothing so that Cole felt compelled to explain what happened, and this time, Tank helped him out with the telling.
“We were hiking—” Cole began.
“It was right back there, where you guys found me yesterday,” Tank added.
“Everything seemed fine, normal,” Cole continued.
“Until it wasn’t,” Tank picked up the story. He questioned Cole, “Did you feel that, too? The way the air changed?”
“Yes!” Cole answered promptly, pleased to have this corroborated, having begun to wonder if he’d imagined it. “It was weird and then you seemed really far away, or like you were moving away—”
“Exactly,” Tank concurred. “Same. We were only a few feet apart, but it was like I was seeing you through binoculars. And then...nothing. I woke up, covered in snow, not exactly where we’d been, though I could see the mountain.”
“Yes. Same. I wonder how close we were, and if I simply went looking in the wrong direction?”
“I thought I’d die from exposure,” Tank said. “It’s fuc—pardon, Father—it’s freezing out there overnight.”
Cole nodded, having endured the same, though apparently one less overnight than Tank. “Jesus, man, I’m so happy you made it, that they found you.”
Tank grinned and nodded. “Dude, I’ve never been so confused or so certain of my own death before that.”
Cole understood completely.
As one, they turned to the priest to gauge his reaction.
“Nineteen hundred?” He questioned softly. “’Tis unnatural.”
Cole seized on this as well. “Exactly. That’s what I said to Ailsa.”
He was treated to a fairly dark glower from the priest, and had the impression the man did not like how easily her name rolled off his lips, how familiar it made them seem.
Ailsa inserted herself again into the conversation, clearing her throat first. “I might suggest—Father Gilbert, do ye agree?—that we nae say anything of this to Tavis.” She glanced at Tank. “Or...is it too late?”
Tank shook his head. “No. He asked a lot of questions—you were there, you know,” he said to Father Gilbert. “I told him I was an American. I assume now he appeared to think I was lying since America isn’t even...discovered yet.”
Cole watched the priest while Tank answered, trying to discern his attitude. “You don’t believe us?” He guessed, and wasn’t surprised. He’d be riddled with skepticism if their positions were reversed.
Father Gilbert didn’t immediately respond, his eyes flicking to Ailsa, who was looking at him with a mixture of concern and hope.
The priest took a deep breath, clearly weighing his words carefully.
“Believe you?” he echoed, his voice thick with skepticism. “That is a hard thing to do, young man.” His gaze hardened slightly. “I have spent my life in service to God, not to whims or fantasies. Traveling through time... is a fantastical thing to claim.”
“But why would we lie?” Tank asked, his voice rough, challenging.
Father Gilbert didn’t look at Tank immediately, his eyes fixed on the ground for a moment, as if pondering. “Lying... no. But what you speak of—what you claim—it does not fit into any truths that I know. It is not natural.” He paused, his voice softening, “And yet, Scotland is a land full of strange happenings and tales—some may say cursed, others enchanted. But even so...” He sighed and met Cole’s eyes. “There was a rumor, not long past, of a woman who married a northern laird. Word spread of her... dealings with demons, witches, and her ties to another time.” The priest shook his head as if to dismiss the thoughts, but the unease remained in his voice. “I thought it madness, then. But now...” He trailed off, glancing over to Ailsa, as if to gauge her reaction. “I’m not a fool,” Father Gilbert continued, his voice taking on a more cautious tone. “I have seen enough in my years to know that there are things—unexplainable things—that can happen in this land. Whether you believe in them or not, there are mysteries here, and to dismiss them outright would be foolish. But that does not mean I believe everything I hear.” He folded his hands together, eyes narrowing. “However....”
Cole leaned forward, pressing, “However?”
Father Gilbert hesitated, his fingers tightening around each other. “If your story is true, then you are in grave danger. The laird—Tavis—would not entertain such madness. He might rather guess you are spies or agents of the English. And if not that, he might decide you are cursed and bring ruin to this keep.”
Cole felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. “So what do we do?”
Father Gilbert’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You say nothing of this...time-traveling nonsense. If you must offer an explanation, you tell him you are from Spain. Far enough away to explain your strange ways and mannerisms, but not so far as to draw suspicion.”
