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Erik knew that the calm wasn't going to last.

You didn't spend most of your life on the water without knowing that the flat calm was only as sure as the next cloud on the horizon. Storms came and went, ebbed and flowed. There were some you could watch approach, others that turned a clear blue sky to the dark grey of impending doom. He wouldn't trade a moment of it.

For now, though, he was going to enjoy the stars overhead, the sound of water against the hull, and the memories of watching a MacDuff put the crown on Bruce's head. Between that and reuniting Chief with his bride? It hadn't been a bad month. It wouldn't always be like this and there wouldn't always be victories. They'd started a dangerous campaign and would be fighting major and minor battles along with the overall war to clear the damned English from their lands.

Erik MacSorley knew how to take advantage of every opportunity, even when the opportunity was for nothing at all to happen.

Chuckling to himself, he decided celebrations might just be in order. Meg, he knew, would welcome him and the rest of his crew with open arms...and possibly open legs. Cheered by that, he roused himself from the deck and went towards the hatch to let the lads know of his plan. His clansmen were always more likely to step lively when they knew what the payoff was.

He wasn't two steps below decks when he realized something had happened, something even Campbell couldn't see.

He was in a castle of some sort. It had to be that because no keep was as appointed as this. The floor felt strange under his boots, the air had lost the scent of the sea, and everything about where he stood fairly screamed out wrong.

Deftly, he pulled his sword from his sheath and kept his eyes out for whatever had caused this magic.

OOC: Erik is dressed like this but with Matt Barr's face.

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He raised an eyebrow at that and took the container from her, studying it. Another in the list of things he'd never seen before, but as he understood it, there would be too many to count here. Tentatively, he raised the liquid and sniffed. He had no idea what the words meant, but she seemed in earnest saying them. Trusting that she wasn't trying to kill him by liquifying his bowels, he took a drink. "I dunno what springs ye've been drinkin from, but none of 'em taste like this."

He set the glass aside and waited for the cramping to begin.

She's leaning forward on the edge of her seat, utterly swept up in this simple task, but simplicity is what she needs right now. It takes her away from the stress and the worry and lets her simply experience something new through someone else. "Do you like it, though?" she asks, a bit forward and insistent.

Erik looked from the glass to the woman and back again before daring a second attempt. He was most likely going to hate himself for this later, but he took another drink. Then, because he could see it meant something to the lass for reasons he couldn't fathom, he gave her a half-shrug and made his face as blank as he could get it. "Ach, I've tasted worse."

Hardly a ringing endorsement, but she supposes that it's not the worst thing in the world to hear. "I see you're really just going to praise the Scotch," she accuses, but in a playful way. "I suppose I can't stop that, but if you do decide to drink to excess, I do hope you feel comfortable calling for aid. I'm really willing to help at any time. I'm here most of the time anyhow, these days."

"Ye seem very focused on how much I drink," Erik noted, confused, "is there a shortage of good drink?"

"No, it's not that, I think it has more to do with the fact that I'm having a hard time turning off the caretaking aspect of myself," Simmons confesses, flashing a brief and fretful smile. "I've been looking after a friend of mine, but he doesn't need me at all hours of the day. Except, I can't stop fretting and I think it's spilling over to other things."

"Well, ye make a fine one, but ye don't need t'be worryin about me. I've been lookin after m'self for nearly th'whole of m'life. But I appreciate th'effort on m'behalf."

He raised the water to her and sipped again.

She's unconvinced, but possibly because she wants to be. She wants to continue having a purpose and this seems the best way to continue with that. "Well, if you say so," she says. "Still, if you need anything, I hope you're never afraid to ask."

One eyebrow raised, but there wasn't any anger in his voice. It was all teasing. "I hope yer not suggestin that a Highland warrior would be afraid of askin a wee English lass anything. Because if ye were, I'd have t'take offense at that." He chuckled then and chucked her under the cheek. "Don't worry about me, Sassenach. I'll muddle through. And if I can't, I'll be sure t'fetch ye."

"I'm not wee," she protests with all the determination she can muster up, chin lifted upwards as if she can frighten him off with precisely that alone. "I can be very intimidating, you know. I can build weapons that could stun you in a second flat. That's very frightening," she insists.

"I've not found much yet that a good sword can't handle," Erik replied, jerking his head to the hilt of his sword just visible over his head, "but as I said, if I need more than that, I'll be sure t'get in touch with ye and let ye build me somethin that will take down an army."

She wants to dig out an ICER and show him exactly how much of a punch it can pack, but she thinks she'll have plenty of time to do that. "Well, then, we'll have to make a deal. Once you're good and settled, I'll show you some more advanced weaponry."

"I'd like t'see that," Erik admitted without even a moment's hesitation. If there was a chance he could learn something here, something he could take back with him to help Bruce, he'd take it.