Page 8 of Beyond Dreams

“Holly,” she interrupted loudly, losing her mind and her patience. “My name is Holly.” She grasped at a small flicker of hope at the mistake. “I’m not Ceri—you’ve got the wrong person. Oh, thank God. May I go now?”

“That’s who ye were but are nae more. Ceri ye are now, the other one nae more.”

“You can’t take my identity from me,” Holly cried.

“Ye want to go home?”

“Yes. Please. Thank you.”Finally!

“Then ye must be Ceri for a while. Ye ken we all have a purpose. Yers is to bring peace. And when it’s had, only then can ye go.”

“This isn’t fair,” Holly cried. “I didn’t sign up for this! I don’t want to bring peace. I don’t know how. I want to go home.”

“Wed the MacQuillan, ’tis all that is needed. Peace and then you can return.”

“Wed? Like...marry someone? Are you crazy? Of course you are. You’ve just said I’ve been moved through time. Wait—is that the MacQuillan?” She asked, pointing to the older man at the foot of the bed.

“Nae, I’ve said that is Hugh MacHeth, yer brother.”

“Oh my God! No, he is not.” She had never in all her life been so addled by confusion and frustration, trying to make sense when there seemed to be none to be made. “This is all nuts and honestly, it’s a bit much. I’ve had enough. Call off the dogs or whatever. Cease and desist. Pull the plug on this prank. It’s not funny anymore.” Actually, it never was. She seriously wanted to meet the brainiac behind this hoax, which was way over the top and by now, had really gone on way too long.

“’Tis nae jape, Ceri MacHeth.”

Obviously, they were going to play it out. Whatever. Holly crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. Let’s get on with it. How long is this going to last?”

Sidheag shrugged. “That’s up to you. Be warned though: dinna fall in love. Those who do never return to where they’ve come from.”

Holly barely contained another snort, looking around at the faces staring at her. “Trust me, that will not be a problem.” The whole of the woman’s words caught up with her then. “Wait.Thosewho do? There are others who come from another time?” Even as she asked the question, she realized how ridiculous she sounded, playing along with their disturbing game.

“Several come from when you do,” said the woman. “Ye might find them, if ye ken where to look.”

Holly rolled her eyes at this. Sarcasm came to her aid, as if often did when fear and vulnerability were provoked in her. “What? Is there like a monthly meeting at some creepy castle?”

Ignoring her, the woman added to her statement. “Others were moved from centuries not related to yours.”

Meaning to express one last bit of doubt, lest the joke was exposed, and she looked the fool for falling for all this baloney, Holly said, “Time-travel is not real.”

“And yet here ye are.”

“Fine, and where exactly am I?”

“Just where ye were, found in the broch ye visited and brought here to Hewgill House. But ye’ve gone backward.”

“Story of my life,” Holly scoffed, wanting so badly to be wholly unconvinced. “How far back? What year are we pretending to be in?”

“’Tis St. Margaret’s day, the year of Grace, 1303.”

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