Chapter 2: Theory put to the test!

Scott parked the 4x4 and immediately set about pitching the tent and transferring those goods he had decided were the most important inside it. As he had planned, he tied several of the tent's guy ropes to the vehicle. Once he was finished he walked into Inveraray proper and spent some time just milling about the town, soaking up the beautiful scenery of Loch Fyne, the peak of Strachur on the far shore and the sunshine on the whitewashed buildings that fronted the little pier.

He knew there was nothing he could do to make time go quicker but his excitement was getting to him. Possibly one more day to go and he would be back with his family and friends, back where he belonged.

That evening he decided to visit the Loch Fyne Oyster Bar for dinner again, walking the three miles from his campsite to reach the single storey restaurant. He was delighted to see the same old woman greeting diners at the door, perhaps a good omen, but was disconsolate to see just how busy the small establishment was. It was clearly full and there were a number of families waiting to be seated too.

The old woman came out of the restaurant proper and spied him hesitating in the doorway. Scott could see she recognised him - nothing wrong with her memory, despite the fact she was almost seventy! She walked up to him, a bright smile on her face.

"Och laddie, it's good to see you've come back to us. We're a might busy tonight as you can see, but for someone with your love of our country I just know I'll be able to find you a seat before long. Will ye be waiting?"

"You're very kind, and I don't believe you remember me after all this time. I really don't mind waiting if you're sure I'll be able to eat at some point." He replied.

"Dinnae worry yourself laddie, I'll find you a spot before lang."

Scott took a seat in the entranceway and bided his time. He had a view out over the loch and he let himself drift off, picturing his longships beating up and down the waters as the evening sun was setting in the west. His daydreaming was interrupted by a question from the old woman.

"Is it another walking trip through God's own country that you're planning?"

Once more Scott was astonished at her powers of recall.

"I'm hoping to rekindle some old memories, relive some of my past." He responded.

"Good, there's much that we can learn frae the past, young folks seem to forget that in their rush."

With that she was off again, bustling around the restaurant as she waited on tables and engaged the diners in what was sure to be pleasant conversation.

It didn't seem that long before the woman beckoned to Scott and made to show him to a table that had just been vacated. A family of what sounded like English people complained that they had been waiting longer than Scott had, but the woman shushed them by telling them Scott had a longstanding booking and had already been delayed. Scott smiled at this little white lie and thanked the woman profusely for getting him seated.

He pored over the menu - it didn't look as if it had changed much from his previous visit - and settled on Queen Scallops in garlic butter again (nostalgia!) but opted for the Glen Fyne Sirloin steak as a main course. He ordered a bottle of the same red wine he had drunk previously and sat back to wait for his meal.

"I'm glad that you've managed to choose the right wine to accompany your meal this time laddie - if I remember right, you had red wine with fish on your last visit." The old woman smiled as she said this to show she was teasing him. "Enjoy your meal, we're busy or I would have stayed to chat longer."

The scallops proved to be as good as he remembered them and the Sirloin was a treasure, it melted in his mouth, the juices on his taste buds making his mouth water. The crowds were in stark contrast to his meal here the year before and he found he wasn't enjoying the atmosphere quite as much. He didn't linger, but paid his bill, leaving an outrageous tip and waved to the old woman as he made for the door.

She somehow managed to get to the door before him and thanked him again for coming. On impulse Scott suggested he might return the next night to eat again, but much earlier this time, nearer to opening time. She confirmed that would be fine and he was off for his three mile hike back to the tent.

He slept well following his two three mile walks and the glasses of wine he had taken with dinner. When he awoke the next morning he spent some time planning for any eventuality that might occur if he was indeed pushed back in time tonight. He had brought his kilt and other gear with him and he laid these out now so he could change into them later. His sword and dirk were laid out too.

Scott then spent some more time going over what he had brought with him and questioning whether he had made the right choices. He decided the laptop computer was going to be no good without a power source so stashed it back in the 4x4. If the 4x4 made it, he would have power and the computer could be used if it didn't, the battery on the computer would soon run down. He realised he had surprisingly little in the tent with him when he had finished, mostly books and other small items. If the 4x4 didn't make it he was going back with not much more than he had left, but the risk of trying a different approach other than the tent was a risk too great to take he decided.

"I would happily go back with nothing!" He admitted to himself.

At last it was time to begin his walk back to the Oyster Bar. He didn't know why, but suddenly Scott wanted to wear his kilt for the occasion. He changed quickly and set off. He arrived about ten minutes before official opening time but it was almost as if the old woman had been keeping an eye out for him and she ushered him to a seat, taking his order.

"So, laddie, I can sense there's something about you, aye, I felt it the last time you came. I can tell you have this Scotland in your soul and close to your heart, it does make an auld woman happy to see that in a youngster these days. And yer kilt has a well worn look to it that shows you've hid guid use oot o' it."

She sat and talked with Scott as his food was being prepared and he enjoyed her homely manner. He looked out of the plate glass windows and smiled to himself as he saw dark grey clouds gathering in the distance.

Scott didn't have wine with his meal on this occasion but he did buy a bottle to take with him. As he paid his bill and prepared for his walk back to the tent the old woman bade him farewell, her words striking a chord with Scott.

"You take care noo laddie, Scotland needs mere like ye I'm thinking and I hope yae find whit it is your looking for."

The walk back seemed to pass in no time at all and Scott's anticipation was growing as he pulled himself inside the tent. Almost immediately he heard the sound of thunder in the distance and he opened the bottle of wine, pouring some into a cup and taking a sip. He had no idea whether the wine was necessary but he had remembered drinking wine on both of the previous occasions he had 'time travelled' and he was leaving as little to chance as possible.

He wasn't sure whether sleeping played any part, but he lay down anyway, his excitement making sleep very unlikely at the moment. The thunder was clearly getting closer and Scott could now also see flashes of thunder lighting up the inside of the tent. Perhaps an hour later it happened. There was a huge clap of thunder and a simultaneous flash of lightning. Scott's ears were assaulted by an almighty crack as he felt the tent struck by something, the ringing carrying on for some minutes.

When his ears finally cleared he noticed at once that the sound of the storm had gone. He felt suddenly very nervous, knew he had to get out of the tent, discover whether his theory was correct, find out if he had travelled back. His mouth was suddenly dry and his hands were shaking.

"Fuck it Scott, come on!" He thought at last.

He unzipped the tent and poked his head outside.

"Sweet Jesu!"

There in front of him was the outline of his house in Inveraray. It had worked! He glanced to the side and took in the fact that the 4x4 wasn't there so his precautions had been spot on, but bang went a lot of new technology.

Scott looked again at the house and beyond it to the camp. There was something, he couldn't put his finger on it, but something didn't feel right. He reached behind himself and found his sword and dirk before crawling fully out of the tent. He changed his mind and thrust the sword back inside the tent, pulling the rods and guy lines out so the structure collapsed in on itself to lie flat on the ground amongst the trees.

He crept quietly through the settlement, little sign of life evident at this time of night. There was light coming from the area of the hall-house and he edged slowly towards that. As his eyes became more accustomed to the darkness he began to see there were signs that the camp was somewhat in disrepair, un-maintained was the word that sprang to his mind. He began worrying.

When he was within fifty yards of the hall-house he could see the flag that was fluttering over it. It wasn't his own Norse-slayer banner, not the Saltire, not even Gabrain's Dalriada design, but something he couldn't quite believe. Flying proudly above the Inveraray hall-house was the device of Murdoch of Fife.

"Oh Murdoch, what have you done you treacherous bastard, you treacherous, treacherous bastard." Scott moaned quietly to himself.

Scott crept beyond the hall-house and confirmed the gates of Inveraray were locked and guarded. His next stop was his house, but he could see no sign of his family being there. He quickly made his way back to the collapsed tent. Inside it were all the things he had managed to bring back from his own time - not a lot he had to admit. He pulled his rucksack and sword out of the tent and then covered it over with vegetation. The rest of the gear would have to lie here, he needed to get outside the settlement to try and discover the extent of Murdoch's betrayal.

He could try to go over the walls but that would probably be too risky. His best chance was to wait for the gates to open in the morning and try to slip out casually as just another resident of the settlement going about their business. He knew his size was going to be an issue - he was a good five or six inches taller than anyone he had met in this time - but he would just have to walk with a stoop. He wrapped his rucksack in his plaid to cover its twenty-first century look and give him a bundle that would both hide his face and give him reason to stoop.