“What was that?”
Lorna ignored Lady Murdina. Instead, she yanked the blanket the rest the way off the window, knelt on the bench, and hung halfway out of the carriage. “Where is Thurso?” she shouted up at the driver. “Where are we?”
“Thursa Castle up ahead,” he bellowed down to her.
She couldn’t see much through the swirling snow. The icy wind stung her eyes, making them tear. She swiped the moisture away and squinted harder. Where was town? Where the devil had the buildings gone?
Something yanked on her from behind. “Get back inside here, fool girl!” The laird exploded with another coughing fit. “And cover that damned window! Are ye trying to kill us all?”
Numbed into a heart-pounding stupor, she eased back, crouching on the bench as she stared out the window while gripping the edge of the opening. Disbelief, denial, and rising panic filled her. Even through the storm, a few outlines of the larger structures should have been visible. The town’s buildings reached the edge of the sea in every place except for the cliffs. But all she could make out was the ancient pillar, the crude stone obelisk carved by the Picts. And the driver was right—Thursa mound was just up ahead. The obelisk marked the path to the foundation of the old castle.
But it couldn’t be so. That stone must be another Pictish monument.
She knew that to be a lie of desperation but clung to it, anyway. They had to have turned off and taken a route farther east to a part of northern Scotland she didn’t know. That was all it could be. They just called it Thursa as part of their playacting. What other explanation was there?
“Look what ye have done!” the laird croaked. “We shall freeze to death afore we arrive.”
“Reginald!” Lady Murdina snapped. “Haud yer wheesht!” She threw off her coverings, rose from her seat, and swayed back and forth to keep her balance. “Cover that window, girl, lest I be forced to kill my fool brother!” She threw a blanket across Lorna’s arms. “Cover it! Now!”
Lorna glared at them both, ready to tell them to go straight to the devil. Did they think to force her into their little acting troupe just because she was already dressed for the part?
Then she noticed Frances and Hesther out of the corner of her eye. Both cowered in their seats like pups afraid of another beating. For their sake, she covered the window and secured the blanket as best she could.
“Open the gate!” the driver shouted.
Or, at least, that was what Lorna thought he said. With the wind blasting against the sides of the coach, it was hard to hear anything. As she settled back down onto the bench, the coach shuddered to a stop.
Reginald exited like a shot.
Lady Murdina rose and shook a finger within an inch of Frances’s and Hesther’s noses. “Remember what I said. Both of ye. Understand?”
They each gave a flinching nod, then recoiled back against the seat.
A raging protectiveness surged through Lorna. She shoved in between them and Lady Murdina. “Ye best leave them alone.” She fisted both hands. “There are laws, and dinna think I willna call the authorities for help.” She didn’t know where they were, but there had to be a landline phone or a cell phone somewhere.
Rather than lash out, Lady Murdina took on a malicious glint in her eyes that matched the cruel set of her mouth. “Dinna try me, lass. Once I am Countess of Caithness, I can order ye stripped and beaten in front of the entire clan.”
“So ye are a coward, then? Let others do yer fighting for ye?” Lorna had dealt with bullies before. This poor excuse of an actress didn’t know who she was up against. If it came to protecting Frances and the maid, Lorna would thrash Lady Murdina and her stunt double both. Neither of them would be in any shape to continue this re-enactment.
“Sister!” Reginald’s croaking shout echoed with warning. “Yer betrothed approaches.”
Lady Murdina transformed into a smiling bride-to-be. “We shall continue this discussion later,” she said, then stepped down from the coach.
“The two of ye stay close to me, aye?” Lorna locked eyes with Hesther and Frances until they both nodded. “Soon as I get to a phone, I will call Gracie. She’ll come for us—wherever the bloody hell this is. I know kind folks in Thurso who can help both of ye. Even offer ye a place to stay if need be or ye can stay with me.”
“What is aphone, mistress?” Hesther asked in a fearful whisper.
Lorna halted just as she was about to step out the door. She stared at the wee girl who seemed sincere about the strange question. “What was that?”
“Aphone,” Frances said, perking up now that Lady Murdina wasn’t around. “She asked what it was?” The lad’s pallor had even changed to a healthy pinkness now that he was no longer afraid. “I want to know too. Be it a magical horn to call the angels?”
“A magical horn to call the angels?” Lorna repeated, completely dumbfounded. Why did they cling so fiercely to their roles in this strange re-enactment?
“Aye.” The lad bobbed his head with interest. “Is Gracie the angel sent to save us?”
Before Lorna could respond, a large man wearing a shaggy black fur draped around his shoulders ushered forward an older woman wrapped in a colorful plaid.
“Come on wi’ ye now,” the matron called through the door. “I be Mrs. Thistlewick, housekeeper here at Thursa. Make haste afore ye freeze or the ague sets in. That laird of yers mustha surely coughed and spewed all over ye during yer trip.”
