Chapter 5
A Cultural Exchange
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Rowan jerked awake with a gasp, alarm prickling down her spine in almost painful waves. There were a few confused moments as she
flailed around in unfamiliar sheets before she was disentangled enough to sit up. The new position did nothing to improve her situation.
Nothing around her sparked even the slightest memory. Clutching the harsh linen sheet to her chest, she examined her surroundings for
any sort of clue as to where she could be. Unfortunately, everything looked wrong and completely strange.
Thick, primitive tapestries covered rough stone walls in a barbaric opulence that did not soothe any of her worries. Although it was quite
obvious the hangings were hand done and probably old, she could not place the culture that produced them. Then there was the color of
the stone peeking between the tapestries, where in the world did rough stones have a golden peach color that looked like it could be alive?
Even though her last clear memory was of the Mediterranean the air felt wrong for that part of the world. It was too moist and the scents too
sweet. If she had to guess, she would say she was somewhere in central Europe or maybe the British Isles .
Groaning at the impossibility of it all, Rowan clasped her aching head in her hands and tried to think despite the fact that even her eyes
hurt. A blur lay over her thoughts, as if she were drugged with too much sleep. Everything was too sharp and too bright for her aching vision.
Reaching up to massage the side of her head in the hopes of easing the pain, Rowan was disgruntled when her fingers encountered a
snarled and tangled mess. When had she undone her braid? Last she remembered on the plateau…
A flash of the strange, intent man silently urging her to drink something flooded back. Oh God, she curled the thick blankets to her chest for
comfort, trying not to notice the strange textures of the fabric. She was not in Greece , of that she was certain. Her breath shuddered in and
out of her chest as she tried to control her panic. It hadn’t been a dream; the monsters, the swirls… everything. Swallowing against the
terrified scream rising in her throat, Rowan began to take stock of her surroundings with new eyes. If even half of what she remembered
was right, things were going to get very odd.
“Well.” She whispered to herself, “It is time to get moving and see for sure one way or another.” A massive fireplace faced the bed, throwing
bright heat into the otherwise cool and dim room. It made it easier to get out of bed despite her skimpy attire. Walking as quietly as she
could, Rowan made a circuit of the room. Thin windows placed high on the walls and were little more than slits. She was willing to bet they
were more for defense than light. The thickness of the crude glass framed in them further reduced the illumination. Though it was hard to
be sure, the color and angle of the light that did seep through had her guessing it was either early morning or late evening.
There were three, thickly carved, heavy doors leading from the room, all were reinforced with iron straps, and all were closed. She had no
idea which one would lead to the more general quarters, or if any would at all. Maybe she was in some sort of upscale prison or
something. Looking around the room again, Rowan dismissed that idea. Everything was too sumptuous, too beautiful for a prisoner. There
was a small sitting room off to the side that drew her attention, the small nook had been so discretely placed she had overlooked it on the
first go around. A couple of comfortable looking wingback chairs sat near the other side of the enormous fireplace; each chair had a small
table of fine, dark wood beside it. On the mantle itself were magnificent pieces of what appeared to be scrimshaw, although she had never
seen teeth in quite that shape. They were too pointed, too sharp to fit any whale she knew.
A small movement drew her gaze back to the chairs, Rowan stifled a small shriek as a man faded into view, sitting casually in the right
chair as if he had been there all along. He was not the man from the fight. It was hard to get a good look at the stranger, it was as if
everything about him clung to the shadows or perhaps the darkness shaped him. That thought left her shaking her head. No; she had seen
those that were of the darkness, he was nothing like those, those…things. Though truth be told, the shadows about him were frightening
enough.
Turning her attention back to the matter at hand, she struggled to recall what had happened even as her gaze remained fixed on the
stranger. The man that had pulled her here had not been alone when he had dosed her with something. Although the memory was hazy,
Rowan thought the stranger had done something with her right hand. Curiosity had her glancing down; a fine gold ring with tiny rubies
running in some sort of script circled her index finger. It was quite beautiful, and all she wanted to do was pull it off. For all she knew, this
ring marked her for some unpleasant fate, but decided to wait. These man had not harmed her while she slept and there had to be a
reason they put such an expensive thing on her finger.
Although she stood in plain sight looking at him, the stranger showed no reaction to her scrutiny so she felt free to continue observing him.
He was trying very hard to be an everyman she decided. His profile was smooth, almost cat-like and showed a face with pleasant, even
features that would have been unremarkable in the crowds of a dozen countries in her world. With his deep tan skin and brown-black hair,
he could fade into crowds all over her world and his size was comfortably in the middle of most men she knew. The nape of her neck
pricked as she realized this man was nearly impossible to describe in any way that mattered. To her suspicious eyes, the man resembled
nothing more than a coiled snake—a large, dangerous, coiled snake.
He raised his eyes slowly and looked directly at her. The first thing she noticed were his eyes, they were dark gray, almost black really. They
were the color of stone and showed just about as much sympathy. A clear bright intelligence sparkled in their depths along with a great
deal of mischief. Neither did much to disguise the dark shadows of worry and a lack of sleep. Here, then, was her guard. It did not matter
that his arms did not strain his shirt sleeves or that he was overtly carrying weapons or particularly watchful in appearance. She of all
people knew how little that meant. Rowan only had to see him move to know if her suppositions were correct.
“Greetings, lady.” His cultured purr held an undertone of threat that made her want to jump out of her skin. Even though Rowan was willing
to bet the man had tried to be reassuring, there was a thread of hidden animosity to his words.
“Hello,” She returned uncertainly, trying to decide both why the guy was hostile and why he felt the need to hide it. Of course it could all be in
her head, Rowan had to admit she wasn’t feeling particularly calm or reasonable at the moment. “Um, where am I, please?” Her unease
exploded into full blown panic as she realized neither of them had said a word in English.
Ignoring her rapid breathing, he patted the chair beside him. “Perhaps you would care to join me beside the fire so we can discuss your
current situation.” Long fingers gestured toward a tray that held a steaming pot. “I am told that I brew a fair tea and I am sure you need
refreshment after your long sleep.” Her mouth trembled as she attempted to restrain her hysterical laughter. The man was trying very hard
to come off as civilized, but his courtesy felt like an invitation to after dinner drinks from Dracula.
Shaking her head slightly, Rowan turned her back to a wall, needing something safe and solid at her back. “What is going on —?” She
started to speak before breaking off abruptly. The sounds that came out were so totally different she covered her mouth in horror. Didn’t she
have control over her own mouth anymore?
“Be calm, the ring you are wearing is giving you our language until such time as I can find your world.” The man smiled reassuringly up at
her, or at least it looked like he tried to. The effect was spoiled by his eyes; nothing warmed those chill orbs.
She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, wishing that her mental balance would come as easily as her physical. “Okay; first there is the
problem of something either putting words in my mouth or knowledge in my head and second there is the whole issue of that ‘find my
world’ thing going on.”
“But the answer is born of the same source for both.” His mouth twitched with some hidden amusement. “It is simply magic and good
sense. The ring allows you to learn each word as it is used, quickly and efficiently. In a very short period of time our language will be as
familiar as your own and you will be able to remove the ring.” Rowan supposed that was nice, but she couldn’t focus on anything beyond
his most disturbing statements.
“And the find my world issue,” she whispered as trembling started in her limbs. “That sounds really bad, I mean didn‘t one of you guys pull
me here?” It was one thing to think she might be on another world, it was quite another to absolutely know. A low moan of distress died in
her throat as the enormity of her situation hit her. The guy had just spoke of magic as casually as she would a computer and she had the
proof of it on her own hand.
The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes, unfortunately your world isn’t known to us.” The man’s eyes darkened with some
unidentifiable emotion. “The ring I gave Lord Cantrell randomly opens passageways between worlds in order to try and shake the pursuit of
the Unclean Ones. It is not a mapping tool per se.”
Trying to focus on the matter at hand, Rowan sought some clarification. “Those things, the nightmares that followed him, are what you call
the Unclean?” It was as good a name as any she supposed.
The man gave a short nod. “Lord Cantrell had no other option but to take you with him when the way opened. He could not leave you to the
Unclean. They destroy both the body and spirit of those they touch.”
Rowan wanted to shut her eyes and curl in a ball so she could deny the truth of it. “So I am stuck here, at least for now.” She concluded flatly
and tried not to show just how terribly shocked she was.
When the man rose to his feet and crossed the room with the silken promise of death in his every gesture, Rowan’s estimation of his
fighting ability underwent a rapid reassessment. He ignored her panic as he sketched a graceful bow.
“I am afraid that I am left to beg your forgiveness, lady. This situation is completely my fault. I made the ring and it was not supposed to
open a rift anywhere near a vulnerable being. It’s my creation’s failing that you are here now.”
The way he straightened and eyed her speculatively made her wonder just how much of an accident it had been. “Well,” She breathed in
her best imitation of her mother. “Just send me home as soon as possible and all will be forgiven.”
Dark eyes glittered with amusement at her patently false calm. “Please call me Grim. I hope to become friends with you in the time you
spend here and am impatient enough to despise useless formality.” His smile was charming, even if it somehow reminded her of a shark.
Rowan knew that Grim wasn’t the sort to be friendly without reason and found his attempt at charm reassuring. There had to be something
he wanted from her and that something might just keep her relatively safe for a while.
“My name is Rowan,” she supplied hesitantly “Rowan Kelly to be exact, and I am trying very hard not to freak out.”
The way his head cocked when she supplied her name gave her a chill. The thinning of his lips was not an illusion though. “Mistress Kelly,
it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I would hazard you will feel better once you are able to refresh yourself.” Her breath caught as
he gestured toward the large wardrobe in her room. There was a familiar looking flash of red on his hand that drew her attention. He wore a
ring exactly matching the one she had glimpsed on the mysterious ‘Lord Cantrell’ .
“That would be nice,” Rowan answered in response, hoping to cover her sudden interest in his ring though she had a feeling Grim knew
anyway.
Grim stepped closer to one of the closed doors, “Good, I took the liberty of calling for a maid to attend you and bring some fresh clothes. I
hope you will find them acceptable.” Rowan almost smiled at the not-so-hidden order to change in his tone. Grim was very comfortable with
giving orders.
“I am sure they will be fine,” She smiled tensely, fighting the urge to shoo him out of the room. Now that she was really awake and not quite
so panicked, her bladder was making itself known. If Grim didn’t leave soon, she was going to embarrass them both.
Grim either took the hint or her eyes were turning yellow because he opened the door and made a beckoning gesture to someone out side.
“If you will excuse me, then. Perhaps, after you are finished, you would consider joining me for a light supper?”
Rowan’s mouth watered at the thought. Weirdness aside, she was really hungry. It felt like forever since she had last eaten. At this point
even Brian’s tofu and beet sandwiches sounded good. A shudder coursed up her spine at the memory of the last lunch she had shared
with her health minded brother. Well perhaps she was not that hungry, but it was close.
“Thank you, I would like that very much,” she replied softly, telling herself that she might be looking forward to tofu after this meal.
Grim gave a brief nod and glided from the room without a single sound to betray him. Rowan was still blinking in awe of the absolute
silence of the man when promised maid bustled into the room carrying an elegant tray and several bundles.
A quick look at the woman’s attire had Rowan wondering if it was too late to run. She was alright with the whole SCA version of medieval
gear, but this was taking it a bit far. The maid’s head was covered with an odd, abbreviated bonnet and her body was drowning in layers
upon layers of clothes that looked nothing short of smothering. Rowan’s gaze was drawn downward. She could muster no surprise when
she saw that even the woman’s shoes were hidden underneath dragging skirts. At least it looked warm, and there was quite a chill clinging
to the cool stone walls.
The woman did not seem to mind being under close scrutiny as she bustled about the room doing various tasks. There was one though
that brought instant gratitude. Rowan could not contain the smile of relief when she was shown a discretely concealed door, leading to an
old-fashioned water closet. Thankfully, she had been in enough old European castles and houses to know exactly how to manage it.
Several minutes later the world was looking a lot better.
She had almost resigned herself to the fact there would be no indoor plumbing when the maid inquired, with admirable tact, if she would
like a bath. Rowan did not need to be asked twice. Between the tiny showers and the lack of anything but baby wipes on the plateau, she
did not exactly smell of roses. Visions of footmen carrying water forever danced in her mind, but could not compete with her yearning to be
clean. She decided she could even put up with herds of strangers tromping through her bedroom if it meant she could be clean again.
The maid ushered her towards the least decorated door in the room, the one that was placed nearly in the corner, the exact opposite to the
one that Grim exited from. Astonishment coursed through her when the woman opened the unassuming panel; all complaints about indoor
plumbing flew out of her mind as steam billowed in the room upon scented waves.
It was a private bathing chamber, the likes of which she had only dreamed about in her most opulent fantasies. Rough stone gave way to
smooth marble with her first step through the door. A heated pool filled most of the chamber, and shimmered in the light of what seemed to
be a hundred candles. The light was caught by the soft curling steam and the fantastic carvings that marked the steps leading down to the
scented water. The air was filled with the smell of herbs, deep earth and minerals. Just the scent of it relaxed muscles she did not even
know were tense before she stepped into the room.
A small feminine purr of appreciation escaped her as she gingerly tested the steaming water with a tentative foot. It was perfect. Warm
enough to relax every muscle. Cool enough to keep her from lethargy. The water felt heavy against her skin, obviously loaded with salts and
minerals. She did not have to be told that it was pulled from some hidden mineral spring; she could feel it in the soothing touch against her
flesh. The pool stretched four meters on each side and appeared to slope down to several meters deep. It was large enough to compete
with a small swimming pool.
Rowan shed her clothes quickly and plunged into the water with a delighted smile. If she had not known that Grim was waiting, she would
have been tempted to stay the whole day. As the water closed over her head in a silken caress she amended that thought to a week, or at
least as long as her skin could manage. The rich smell of flowers was added to the air as the woman poured a vial of scented oil into the
water, and gestured to a tray holding jeweled crystal containers.
Oh this was heaven! She swam over to the woman and reached for the tray, guessing that it had to have some sort of shampoo. Her hand
was gently swatted away as the woman gestured that she should turn around. She sighed with pleasure as talented fingers massaged the
soap into her scalp. She drew the line at letting the woman soap up her body though. She washed her body quickly with the soft gel that
was provided, guiltily aware she had already kept Grim waiting for quite some time.
When she rose out of the pool she was immediately enveloped in a thick thirsty towel held by the maid. As she was wrapped in sensuous
luxury, she noted for the first time that there was another door leading from the bath. She wondered if it led to another bedroom. Faint
unease stirred. If room beyond was a bedroom, who owned it? She guessed it would lead to either Grim’s or Lord Cantrell’s quarters. A
voice echoed across the water from the closed room. It was a man’s voice, though the pitch was higher than she expected. She stopped for
a moment. The tone sounded young and hurt. She hesitantly raised her hand to the door, somehow compelled by the tone—the urgency.
She could almost make out the words. If she just leaned closer maybe...
“Please, no!” The loud cry sounded as if it was torn from the depths of Hell itself. She glanced at the maid in alarm. The woman was
regarding her impassively, though her eyes were filled with sorrow.
“What is it?” Rowan asked breathlessly, suddenly terrified. The thought of either one of the strong men she had met crying out seemed
ludicrous, at least without a lot of pain, and the servant was just standing there as if it were normal. Was she in a house of horror? How
could the woman just stand there unmoved when the cry had been torn from someone’s soul? Her hand tightened on the door in
resolution—she would help even if they would not. Maybe then she would have some answers.
Her hand was covered in a surprisingly strong grip. “No, my lady,” the woman soothed even as she struggled to pull Rowan away from the
door. “It is nothing. All of us have bad dreams sometimes.”
Rowan’s mind went numb with shock. Bad dreams? More like nightmares. That cry had not sounded like a dream at all. There had to be
more to it, she was sure. She opened her mouth to protest, but the almost ancient sorrow in the other woman’s eyes stopped her. This
particular occurrence was nothing new, but the woman was far from untouched by it.
The maid ushered her back into her room and got her dressed with no more than a few non-informative pleasantries being exchanged.
Rowan reflected that neither of them wanted to talk after that particularly haunting cry. Turning her attention back to the clothing she was
being offered, she was curious as to what Grim could have ordered for her.
The selection was daunting initially, until she got a better look. Barring the rainbow of colors, there were really only two choices; multi-
layered dresses, stiff with embroidery, or thick tunics with leggings. Waving away all the dresses with what she hoped was a properly
grateful look, Rowan selected a pair of thick black hose that clung comfortably while still giving freedom of movement. She was not going to
compromise any mobility until she knew more about this place.
A silken tunic of deep burgundy was held up for her approval, “How about this, my Lady?” A shy blush met her quick glance of inquiry, letting
her know that these folks were not comfortable with bare skin even while dressing.
“Oh that is lovely,” Rowan accepted it, with a smile and casually draped it over her front. Her compliment was completely sincere, the fabric
was beautiful and the embroidery understated compared to the ornate dresses. Her only irritation came when she realized that these
people had obviously never heard of support bras. She supposed that was reasonable since they had not been created on her own world
until the movie industry demanded perky starlets. “Could you tell me if there is anything in there, to take care of this issue? There is too
much here to let it just jiggle around.” She lifted her heavy chest for illustration and was pleased when the maid giggled.
“Nothing so fine as what you had on before, my Lady, but there are these.” Thick binding straps appeared in her hands. Rowan eyed them
doubtfully for a moment, then sighed.
“You will have to show me how to use them because they are nothing like what I have seen before.” The confession brought a blush to her
cheeks. It was one thing to have your hair washed or a towel handed to you and another thing entirely to have help binding an intimate area.
“I’d be glad to show you.” A few moments of twists and turns later everything was secure and covered. The maid stepped back with her
hands on her hips and a look of satisfaction in her eyes. “Now this belt will finish everything else and give you a proper place for your
weapons.”
She produced a thick belt with some sort of abstract design, Rowan fingered the thickly reinforced holes in the belt. She did not miss the
multitude of daggers that had been attached to Grim. If she was not mistaken, even her maid had two daggers. She wondered if they were
going to eventually give her a weapon too or if she was going to have to come up with them on her own.
Soft leather shoes were placed before her, reminding her strongly of moccasins. It made sense when she thought about it. She doubted
these people ran down to the local twenty-four hour superstore to pick up a pair of slippers for an unexpected guest. She wiggled her toes
experimentally. These must have been made while she slept, they were such a perfect fit. Her hair was pulled back and plaited into a
simple braid, secured with a ribbon and then it was done.
“Thank you.” She called after the maid as the woman bustled out the door, now burdened with dirty clothes and linens.
Her gratitude loosened a bit of the woman’s reserve, “It’s Myrna, my Lady, and if you like I will see to you for your stay here.”
She paled as the innocent comment brought home the precarious nature of her situation. It was all she could do to smile in reply. “Of
course, I would like that, Myrna, especially if you could bring yourself to call me Rowan.”
A small curtsy and a dimpled smile answered, “Of course Miss Rowan. You had best hurry now, Lord Grim will have supper waiting for you
by now.”
Rowan managed to keep her groan to herself until Myrna left the room. That was one reminder she could have done without. Well there
was no sense putting it off any longer, steeling herself for more strangeness, Rowan followed Myrna out the door.
The common area, as Myrna had called it, took all of Rowan’s attention away from looking for her host. The walls here were not as
unfinished as her room, they were smoothed and covered in a thick cream-colored plaster framed by rich wood paneling. Apparently the
barbaric luxury of her quarters was out of choice, not necessity. That did not mean this new room looked in any way normal. The carpeting
drew her attention almost immediately, at first look she thought it was some sort of brown plush but now that she looked closer it appeared
to be a fur with incredibly dense hair. It was as if the carpet came from a single massive beast. A cold chill moved down her spine as she
tried to imagine what kind of creature could grow to such a size.
Putting the thought down to sheer fancy, she finished her survey of the room. There were four plump couches placed in a loose circle. All
were made with thick, stuffed leather. Several low tables of black wood were placed in front of the couches and there was an abundance of
cushions. There was another massive fireplace of rich black marble in the room. Small sculptures covered the mantle—most looked to be
ivory—all showing the same fluid style. The walls had no pictures or tapestries on them, but instead had mounted wooden carvings or
weapons. There were a lot of weapons, all arranged in artistic displays resembling glittering starbursts of death. It was, without a doubt, a
man’s room.
The ceiling was amazing. Hanging from every beam, draped from hooks and recesses, were dozens of herbs. There were so many she
could not even see the patterns on the ceiling. The massive collection gave the living area a subtle scent of the forest. She examined the
plants critically. She had learned much of basic herbalism during her research into ancient formulas. Though the herbs were alien to her,
they were obviously being cured for a purpose and were not there purely as decoration.
Her gaze was drawn to the wall beside her and a wave of familiar comfort engulfed her. The wall was covered in a massive rack covered
with tiny labeled bottles, each filled with liquids and powders. There was a table in front of the rack which reminded her of the tables in the
chemistry laboratories at her university. There was a silver tray loaded with what she assumed be alcohol off to one side, tiny glasses
stacked next to the crystalline containers filled with an amber fluid that were cut in the exact same style. They were the only containers in the
whole display that displayed the same pattern, even though the colors of their liquids slightly differed.
Farther along on the table was a tiny weight scale. Miniscule bottles were arranged in careful rows behind it. Additional measuring devices
were there as well, looking as if they were intended to measure small amounts liquid. Making a guess that these people would not be
careless with their safety, she could only assume that all the little bottles represented drinkable items, even if they were not as drinkable as
the alcohol.
She considered the room carefully, absorbing the feel of it. It told her much about the person that lived here. The decorations in the room
seemed straight forward and plainly functional. She decided this had to be Lord Cantrell’s place. It was too dark, too directed to match her
impressions of Grim. The secrets that dwelled in Grim’s eyes made her think he would be surrounded by deadly luxury or monk-like
austerity. This place had comfortable touches of a simple home and that was something she would never associate with Grim.
Her eyes were drawn to the simple grace of the ivory carvings arranged on the mantle, to the simple white, flowing sculptures placed in the
center of each table. This was the only concession to beauty for its own sake. The pieces somehow conveyed power and energy in their
smooth curves. This was a sanctuary, a place to come for peace.
Her gaze was drawn to the only objects that seemed out of place in the room. Mounted on the wall in front of her was a small, roughly
shaped shadow box. She moved to see what was inside; a thin blue ribbon, a carved wooden knight, a dulled brass hair comb, a baby’s
rattle and a handful of bright stones. A broken silver necklace was draped over the rattle. They had to be family mementos perhaps, or fond
memories. This place needed more of them she decided. There was something missing, an air of comfort perhaps.
A door opened unexpectedly and Rowan had the briefest glimpse of a man sitting on a bed, his face obscured by his hand. Dark hair
tumbled over his bare shoulders. There was something familiar about that muscular, very powerful form. Weariness and resolve was
evidently graven into the long line of his body. She stepped forward, drawn by the obvious sorrow that was etched in his body. Grim
suddenly stepped into view from behind the open door and took in her arrested expression at a glance. He stepped through the door,
closing it firmly behind him before striding across the room. His slight smile looked more strained that it had been before.
“Ah, I see you are looking refreshed.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we dine?”
“What about Lord Cantrell?” she asked, making a guess as she gestured to the closed door. Even without seeing his face she thought she
knew the form of her rescuer.
“He had a very late night and asked that we not wait for him.” Grim gave her what Rowan knew was meant to be a winning smile. “Do not
worry, I made sure there would be plenty for all.”
Rowan took the proffered arm quietly, trying to resolve her impression of the man she had seen last night with the man she had seen on
the bed. The position of Lord Cantrell’s room had drawn a chill down her spine. It had to be his room that bordered the sinful bathing area
and it was his nightmare she had heard.
Where ever it was she had landed, this place was frightening and dangerous and she was completely alone.