As night began to fall she had realized that she had been traveling with them the whole day. Her bum was sore and they stopped a few times to let her relieve herself.
The first time she had tried to run away, but failed miserably.
She got bashed on the head with who knows what and rode unconsciously for the most part of the ride.
She was scared. Never in her life had she ever been this fearful.
She just wanted her mom and her family, something to eat-because she had refused the pieces of stale bread they offered her- and she was emotionally strained.
She gathered that these men-whoever they were- did not speak English.
The leader and the man who did not leave his side –his right hand or assistant from what she could tell- did speak English; but it was different.
It sounded foreign and outdated.
Then she realized it.
She hadn't recognized it in her panicking frenzy state, but she too, was speaking Middle English?
Holy cow. When did this happen?
She liked English class, but she had never in her life taken an interest to learn Middle English.
Stunned by her new ability to speak so, thousands of notions flooded her mind.
Why am I suddenly capable of speaking Middle English?
Where in the world am I?
When in the dimensions of time and space am I?
No one uses Middle English this fluently, not even obsessed fans or cosplayers...
Something is not right.
Yet, again, nothing since she got here was right.
As the day passed she was starting to doubt any signs of hope.
There was nothing in the location which she was in that indicated any familiarity.
Except trees and horses.
What if I...?
No. No way, that couldn't have possibly happened....
But the only reason that could explain...
Ha. She wasn't that crazy yet. Maybe after a few days of this hectic frenzy she could convince herself.
Worried of the chances that she was going mad, Leora noticed the men had come to a stop.
She was helped off the horse by the man who was riding it -not gently- and the rest of the men had set up camp.
They had made a fire and put out their blankets surrounding it.
She felt like a dog on a leash as the man who had taken control of her tugged by her bondage ropes and secured them to a tree.
Finally she could get some rest. She couldn't even nod her head off on the back of that horse and she wouldn't have dared leaned against the riders back.
She just stared at the ongoing scene of men eating and conversing around the fire, she didn't even notice who had come by to stand aside her.
It was him.
"What do you want?" she asked with a blank expression. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction that he had worn her down.
As she looked upon him she noticed his features, his long black hair and beard, his devilish dark brown eyes, and his terribly strong build. He was terrifying.
"Listen here you, I tried to help you, but I will not tolerate anyone mocking me to my face. Here is your second chance, tell me who you are and where your from so can decide what to do with you."
If she answered right would they help her? And if she replied with something they didn't want to hear would they kill her?
She had no choice. She decided to speak slowly, thinking over every word she was going to say.
"I'm from New York," she replied and added, "Westchester."
He was growing impatient, "From that bloody place, aye, well I had hoped you weren't because of your accent. There is no way I'm going anywhere near England any time soon."
ENGLAND? Across the Atlantic Ocean, thousands and thousands of miles away.
"I'm not from England!" she cried.
He looked at her with a puzzled look.
"I'm from America, the United States of America?!" She pleaded in her mind that this man would know at least that.
AT LEAST KNOW THE UNITED STATES. Shouldn't everyone know where that is, even what it is by now?
"What is this? All your talk of things no one has heard of? You daft woman, are you mad?" he answered.
And that's when she knew it.
No one has heard of her country, no one spoke modern English, they had traveled all day and no sign of any gas station or cars, she seemed to be going crazy, she might as well admit it.
She had time traveled.
She tried to recall anything that would have tempted fate to do this to her, but was interrupted when the Laird spoke again.
"Name," he grunted, he was losing any patience he had.
"Leora MacDuff," she replied quickly.
Now the Laird MacLachlan was just as confused as she, it took him awhile to respond.
"You have a Scottish name but speak like an English. I know MacDuff wouldn't let a chit like you run wild and about, even if you were just some kin in name."
She saw him trying to assess the information and now she was even more confused.
MacDuff? Was he associating her family name with a Scottish clan?
"I am not kin to MacDuff nor am I part of his clan," she stated.
"Then who the bloody hell are you?"
She had to face the truth, she was an alien in this place and she was beyond hope.
Tears streamed down her face as she said,
"I have no idea."