“Dance with me?”
He took her hand before she could answer, sliding his other arm around her waist. Smiling down, he began to lead her gracefully through the crowd, until they had danced their way to a quieter spot near the door.A charmer, she thought to herself, smiling back at him in spite of herself.
“Do you have a name?” he asked, leaning against the doorjamb, but keeping her hand in his.
“Nessa.” She tried to pull her hand away, but he stubbornly kept it. “Doyouhave a name?” she asked him.
“Brun, War Chief of Fidach. And I must say that I find you very beautiful.”
Nessa felt the heat of the blush that must be staining her cheeks. “Thank you.”
“I am not the only one; the eyes of many men are on you tonight, lass. Please tell me you are not spoken for already.”
“No. I’m not…spoken for.” The words still felt like a lie, even though she would never see Nathan again. If she were home…
Brun leaned in closer to confide, “Even if you were, it would not matter. I would still try my best to steal you away.”
His lips hovered near her ear, and Nessa took a step back. He was making her a little bit uncomfortable. “I thought you wanted to dance.”
“Can I interest you in a walk outside instead?” The look in his eyes told her he wanted much more than just a walk.
“Umm…” She looked quickly around the room. “My friend is waiting for me…” She couldn’t find Veda, but her gaze did land on Bridei, and the look on his face made her gasp. It was murderous. Did he think she was telling secrets to Brun? Wait…weren’t the two of them on the same side? That made no sense…unless Brun was spying on her to see if she was spying on Bridei? But the men who followed her every move on a daily basis were still close by, she knew each of their faces by now like the back of her hand…
Namet seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Brun, the King requests a word with you.”
“What? Now?”
“Aye.”
Brun looked more than a little annoyed. “Until later, lass”, he told her with a smile and a lingering kiss on the back of her hand. “I will find you again, very soon.”
Oddly, for the rest of the evening, the King ‘requested a word’ with every single man that spoke to her for more than a passing moment. She wondered if he was quizzing them on what she said, or if he just didn’t trust her to speak to anyone at all. How was she supposed to start a new life, if she wasn’t allowed to talk to people? With a sigh, she helped herself to more ale, and went to find Veda.
Nessafound herself alone in Bridei’s private chamber the next morning. She vaguely remembered Namet escorting her up the stairs in the wee hours of the night, but she had had several helpings of the freely flowing ale, and her memory was a bit foggy. She had slept on the floor again, and the King’s bed was empty. She wondered where he had been sleeping since she’d arrived, and then decided that maybe she didn’t want to know after all. As attractive as she found him, he wasn’t hers. If he was sharing a woman’s bed, it was none of her business.
She wondered if she should go downstairs, or wait for someone to come for her. By the position of the sun outside the small window, it was at least late morning. She had quickly grown to hate being alone, because it meant her thoughts would turn to the fact that she was stranded in the past. Her brave thoughts of starting a new life here from the night before seemed to have evaporated in the light of day. Or perhaps it was only the spell of the music and the alcohol.
She tried the door, but it was locked from the outside. Turning around, her gaze fell on a large wooden trunk which rested against the stone wall. Somehow, she’d never really taken much notice of it, at least not since the first day. What was in there? Nothing dangerous, or Bridei wouldn’t have left her here alone with it. Her mind raced with possibilities, and she looked around furtively.
If the scrolls had really been handed down through generations at the bequest of Bridei as their family history had recorded, then he must have the original copies, she reasoned. And if she could find the ones about travelling through time, or the wrinkle in the blanket, orwhatever, maybe—just maybe—she could figure it out. Probably not, unless there were very simple instructions in legible handwriting, but she really had nothing to lose. The originals would be in Latin, the only written language the Picts had used. Her Latin wasn’t very good, but she could understand the basics. Could the scrolls possibly be in that trunk? There was only one way to find out. She nearly ran across the room.
The trunk was locked, but the mechanism was so primitive that she had no problem picking it with a small and sturdy twig from the kindling pile near the hearth. When she was a child, she’d loved to break into abandoned buildings and explore, so she had become quite adept at opening old locks.
She carefully lifted the lid of the trunk, and the old iron hinges creaked. Her heart beat faster, and her hands trembled a little. She shouldn’t be doing this, but she had to know. If there was even the slightest chance that she could still get home, she had to try. She opened the lid until it rested against the wall, and looked down into the chest. The first thing she saw was a large woolen blanket dyed a bright red, and her heart sank a little. Maybe it was only a linen chest after all. She lifted the edge of the blanket. Was that—yes it was! Stacks of vellum. She lifted the top bundle from the trunk and spread it open on her lap. The first page was a list of names. She put it aside. What she needed had to have some math or at least some…
“What are you doing?” His voice stopped her heart for two, possibly three long beats before it began thudding in her chest again.
“Um—looking for a blanket. I—I’m cold.”
His eyes dropped to her breasts, barely concealed under the thin fabric of the tunic she wore. She tried to will her nipples to stand at attention, but they of course refused to obey. “You don’t look cold to me.”
“I was left alone, no one was here…I needed…” Her voice quavered as she tried, and failed, to concoct a believable excuse. The vellum sheets were unbound and spread on the floor. She had quite obviously been searching for something. This didn’t look good for her.
“But I came back, little lamb. And that trunk was locked. Where did you get the key? How long have you been waiting for a chance to use it?”
At his words, the image of the bleeding lamb heads came rushing back, and she wondered if her own head would soon be in a similar situation. “I didn’t have a key, it just opened and…”
“You lie. I locked it myself.”
