"Not exactly what I'm used to," Lila said. "I feel like I'm in a period costume drama on the telly."
The road, such as it was, was a rutted two-wheeled path through fields and forest, meandering around hills. Aside from nagging questions about where (and when?) they were, it was a pleasant enough walk of two or three miles. They rounded a hill and the forest ended abruptly at the edge of a village. Maybe a small town.
Lila saw wooden and stone buildings, with thatched or tiled roofs, and chimneys with smoke rising from them. No aerials, though. Some windows had glass in them. Others were open. No motor vehicles. People, horses, and a couple of carts moved through the streets.
"I don't think we're in Kansas any more," Lila remarked as they entered the village. Lila listened intently to whatever conversation she could. Much of it was in a language she didn't speak, but a couple of speakers used English--albeit in a thick Scottish brogue that was almost impossible to understand, far stronger than any she'd heard in her time.
"I think we're in Scotland," she said quietly to Nina. So the other language was probably Gaelic. Lila spoke several languages, but Gaelic wasn't one of them.
On their left, several soldiers in instantly-recognizable red coats exited a building, rifles in hand. It was only upon seeing them that Lila realized none of the civilians appeared to be armed. Scotland. Red coats. No arms in sight amongst the Scottish locals. That didn't spell anything good.