A hesitant pecking at the door made him turn. Lorna and Agnes stood side by side, worry wrinkling their brows and their hands clasped in supplication.
“Aye?” They wouldn’t speak until he granted permission. “What is it?”
“Yer lady wife,” Lorna started, then stopped and gave a hard swallow.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
“Her bedchamber is locked from the outside, my chieftain,” she finished, taking care to keep her gaze lowered. “We dinna have the key.”
“We called out to her to see if she had need of anything,” Agnes said, almost whispering, as she kept her head bowed. “She didna answer even when we rapped hard on the door and called out to her a second time.” She stole a glance up at him and gave a quick dip of her chin. “Mrs. Dingwall said for us to tell ye so we might know what ye wished us to do.”
What should they do? Aye, that was the question of the day, and dawdling about did nothing to answer it. Time to speak to Evie and sort this impossible mess out. But to do so, he needed privacy with his unusual wife. With a flip of his hand, he shooed the maids away. “Get with Cook and order yer mistress a fine tray to break her fast.” As they turned, another thought came to him. “And hot water,” he called out to them. “For her morning broth.” Her precious tea. Now, he understood her dread about using up the last of it.
“Aye, m’chieftain.” Both girls dipped another curtsy and scurried off.
He stared after them, battling with himself. With a determined rolling of his shoulders, he charged forward. Time to face her. Talk to her. Perhaps he shouldn’t have locked her in her room, but instinct had taken over. The need to protect himself and his people. When he explained, surely, she would understand. At least, he prayed she would.
When he reached her door, he paused, focusing on the latch as if the bit of brass would grant him wisdom. Instead of unlocking it and pushing in, he knocked.
Silence answered.
“Evie?” he called out softly, the bitterness of remorse flooding through him. He unlocked the bolt and eased the door open a crack. The snuffed candle left the room dim and filled with shadows. The window covering remained closed, refusing to flood the chamber with sunlight. He crept deeper into the room, squinting at the mounds of pillows on the bed. Maybe she slept? Sometimes women wept until exhaustion overcame them. Didn’t they? She had looked ready to weep when he left her. The memory of her fear, her lonely urging for him to believe her, haunted him. She had seemed so…lost. His chest ached. A burning hole had taken the place of his heart. Evie had told him the truth, and he had deserted her.
“Evie?” He tapped on the privacy screen that partitioned off the chamber pot and washstand from the rest of the room. Continued silence. The type of empty quiet that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He stepped around the screen, and his gut clenched, almost bending him double. No hit to his middle had ever left him as winded as he was right now.
Every corner of the room was empty. Evie was gone. She had found a way to leave him.
*
Still on thefloor, leaning on the bedpost for support, Evie stared at the locked door for what seemed like forever. It was as if time stood still. Held her suspended. Made her achingly numb. At least most of her was numb. Her heart hurt like it had been ripped in two.
He hadn’t believed her. Even after all she showed him. He still hadn’t believed. Of course, she didn’t much blame him. After all, it was a large pill to swallow. She covered her face with shaking hands and bowed her head. What would become of her now? What could she do? How would she survive in this godforsaken century without Quinn? Not because he protected her, but because, damn and blast it all, the bloody fool had made her love him. That hard-headed Highlander who thought himself invincible had weaseled his way into her heart.
“Pull it together, Eves,” she whispered as she lifted her head. “You’re on your own now. Done it before. Just need to do it again.” She grabbed hold of the bedpost and pulled herself to her feet. “Time to get moving. I’ll be damned straight to hell if I sit here and wait for them to come for me.” If he didn’t believe and accept her for the oddity she was, then by jings, she would find a way out and make it on her own. Somehow.
She repacked her backpack with everything from the twenty-first century and then some. As much as she longed to wear her jeans, she refrained. No. If she was to fit in and survive this medieval hell, she had to dress the part. She relented a bit and wore her boots. The long skirts should hide them well enough. She donned the plainest kirtle in the wardrobe, braided her hair, and covered it with the fresh white kertch that Agnes had explained all married women wore.
As she fastened a braided leather belt low around her waist, her wedding ring caught her attention. She stared at it, twisting it to make the emerald sparkle. His mother’s ring. He had touched her heart when he placed it on her finger. The beauty of the stone meant nothing to her. What it represented meant it all. With hard, fast blinks against the threat of tears, she slipped it off and set it on the table. The ring needed to stay with Quinn.
Backpack on her shoulders, she lifted the candle and examined the walls closer. If Fern’s room had an entrance to tunnels, surely hers did, too. At least, she hoped so, because if it didn’t, she would have to rappel out the window with whatever she could fashion into a line. No matter what, she was leaving.
Fern’s opening to the tunnels had been hidden behind a tapestry. Evie turned and eyed the one with the demonic-looking bunnies. “What better place to hide a door?” She flipped a corner back and peered behind it. Disappointment made her huff. Nothing but a solid wall of stone. So much for that idea.
She returned to the center of the room and turned in a slow circle, determined not to give up. There weren’t any other tapestries large enough to conceal a way out. What else would hide the door to the tunnels? Her focus locked on the two monstrous wardrobes and the bed. It had to be behind one of those three. She fished out her penlight and flashed it behind the bed curtains hanging at the head of the bed. Another solid wall of stone blocks.
There had to be a tunnel entrance. Wouldn’t they wish for the lady of the keep to run and hide if they ever came under attack? She shined the light behind the wardrobe to the right of the door. Nothing but solid wall. And what looked like a dried-up mouse. Lovely.
“You are my only hope,” she informed the matching wardrobe on the left. With her cheek pressed to the wall, she tried to see behind it, but something blocked her view. She stepped back and frowned at the thing. Why couldn’t she see behind it? She tried again from the other side but had no luck. Apparently, she would have to move it.
“This should be interesting.” She slid her backpack off and leaned it against the door. With her back pressed against the side of the large, solid mahogany monstrosity, she shoved with all her might. It didn’t budge. Not the slightest centimeter.
“I have moved big furniture before,” she told the thing as she set her shoulder against it and pushed again. It didn’t even shudder. “Stupid thing!” She thumped the side of the cupboard and immediately regretted it. “Blast it!”
After shaking off the sting of the hit, she returned her backpack to her shoulders, then paced back and forth in front of the closet while twiddling her penlight between her fingers. “I can’t see behind you or move you, so you have to be hiding what I’m looking for.”
A book about a wardrobe leading to a magical place came to mind. She pulled open the double doors. Penlight on, she pushed aside the clothes hung on the pegs along the back wall. “There you are, my precious exit.” At least she hoped that hinged panel was her way out. She popped it open and swept the tiny beam of light into the black void. “How about if we use our full-grown flashlight, shall we?”
She clicked off the penlight and returned it to the safety of its slot in the backpack. After crawling all the way inside the wardrobe, she crouched and rummaged through her possessions. There was the awesome tactical flashlight the infomercial had convinced her she couldn’t live without. In a moment of weakness, she had ordered the thing. Thank goodness it had turned out to be legit. The small black flashlight had a beam brighter than a searchlight. She clicked it on and closed the wardrobe’s outer doors. At least if someone walked in, they wouldn’t discover her right away.
