The whispering voice in the back of her head finally spoke loud enough for her to hear, though she still tried to ignore them. “This isn’t a game,” it said. “This is real and you better get used to the idea.”
She’d always known of course, deep down. She’d just been trying her best to deny it. What was more likely? That this was an elaborate live action game involving a cast of literally hundreds, all set in countless acres of land? Or that she had somehow found herself in the actual middle ages?
Neither option seemed particularly plausible but the dead woman in front of her looked very real.
Had she died in the fire? Was this some elaborate version of heaven? No, if it was heaven, there wouldn’t be mud on everything.
“This is real, isn’t it?” she muttered, groping for the door, desperate for some air. “Oh, God. This is really happening.”
She almost fell out into the open, grabbing hold of the wooden post that held up one corner of the pentise. A wave of dizziness washed over her. This wasn’t a game. This was 1190 and that poor woman had just died from a fire they thought she’d help set.
This being the past meant two things. The man standing in the doorway looking out at her actually was Andrew MacIntyre, laird of the clan her mother loved so much. Perhaps she should ask him if he planned on marrying a Dagless. Maybe she’d meet her own great, great, great times however many great, grandmother here.
This being the actual middle ages meant something far worse than being stuck here. It meant she might never see her mom again. That thought brought tears to her eyes that she couldn’t stop from falling as she gasped for breath, sinking to her knees, shaking her head in disbelief. “It can’t be real, it must be a game.”
“This is no game,” Andrew said softly behind her. She looked up, expecting to see fury still plastered across his face.
Instead, he looked kinder, almost gentle. He held out a hand, lifting her slowly to her feet as she continued to pant for breath.
“The hall,” she gasped, talking to herself as if he wasn’t there. “It must be something to do with the hall and the fire. If I go back, maybe I can get back to her. She’ll be worrying herself sick wondering where I am. I have to go.”
She turned but he wouldn’t let go of her hand.
“What are you doing? Let go of me? I’m going to look for my mom.”
“It’s not safe out there, lass. The MacLeishes are on their way and there may be a siege coming before long.”
“So? What does that matter to me? Let me go.”
He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “There are others out there too. Those who might not be as kind as I’ve been.”
“Kind? You lock me in the tower and won’t let me leave your castle. How is that kind?”
“Kinder than letting my men toss you back into the blaze. Kinder than having you hanged for your part in murder. Kinder than letting you walk out while those from Pluscarden make their way here. Some of them may want revenge on those who burned down their village and I won’t be able to stop them if I’m in here and you’re out there.”
“But I didn’t do it.”
He let go of her hand. “Aye. I think I believe you.”
“All of a sudden, you just believe me?”
He shrugged. “You have honest eyes.”
“So you’ll let me go?”
He shook his head. “I said I believe you but I doubt they will. I’m doing this for your own safety.” He waved at someone who was crossing the courtyard carrying a roll of parchment. “Finley, over here.”
“I was just looking for you,” Finley replied. “I have MacLeish’s response to your missive.”
“I will take it. Get Derek and get her into the tower.”
“Aye, my laird. Derek!”
Beth turned and begged Andrew to let her go. “Please, don’t do this. I need to go home.”
“It’s for your own good lass. You’ll be safe here while we sort this affair out. I will not leave you long, I swear.”
A look of sorrow crossed his eyes as he turned away, breaking the wax seal that held the letter shut and reading quickly.
