Chapter Three
Beth stood in the chamber, her clothes on the bed. He was coming to see her. She didn’t have long to get into the medieval dress. Anxiety gnawed at her. All she wanted was to find her mom and now she was locked in a castle tower and a brutish highlander was coming to interrogate her.
Derek had lied to her back at the old hall, telling her that her mother was waiting for her at the castle.
“She’s up there in the solar waiting for you,” he said as they crossed the courtyard. “Straight up the stairs.”
She almost ran up the stairs to the second floor of the keep, turning sharp left at the end of a corridor and walking into a small room lit by a single window. There was no one waiting in there.
By the time she realized she’d been lied to, the door was locked behind her. “Hey,” she shouted as it slammed shut. “You promised me she was here.”
How could she have been stupid enough to believe it? No doubt he’d acted on the orders of the giant to keep her compliant and she’d been gullible enough to fall for it.
Her mind had been scrambled by the fire. That was the only possible explanation for falling for such a blatant lie.
She dashed over to the window and looked out. There would be no leaving that way. It was a sheer drop down to the courtyard far below. The shutter creaked in the wind as she looked out at the scene down there.
A part of her still believed it was all a re-enactment. She was surprised she’d not heard of it before. So much money had clearly been spent here making it all look authentic. It was like a movie set but with no camera crew to be seen.
Every single person down there was in period costume, all of them acting in the character of middle ages castle dweller. But where were the visitors?
Her mind went back to the journey, something niggling at her that she didn’t want to think about. She’d sat in front of the actor who must have been playing the laird, him holding her firmly in place between arms of steel.
She looked at the surrounding countryside while they traveled. What was wrong with it? Something didn’t add up. She couldn’t work it out, finding it too hard to focus on anything but his chest pressing against her back.
It was the road, she realized whilst sitting in the tower. They’d come along a rough rutted track that was stone and mud, nothing else. There were no cars anywhere. No white lines or road signs. Only the horses and the surrounding fields divided into long narrow strips. No walls, no hedgerows, just the fields and beyond them the imposing mountains.
Then the castle, looming up before them when they crested a hilltop. As it grew nearer she stared in disbelief. It looked so real, as if she had really gone back in time. The attention to detail was second to none. There wasn’t a single cable or sign anywhere. Nothing modern at all.
The place itself clearly wasn’t finished. Men were working on wooden scaffolding on the outer walls and piles of stone were dotted about on the ground. Lime pits smoldered and everywhere was the sound of hammering and chiseling. There were no drills though. They were using authentic tools to work on the walls.
The keep looked worse than the walls, the battlements and towers pointing upward like broken teeth high above her. The room she was locked in was complete at least but the plaster on the walls was bulging in places. If she’d been in charge, she’d have had words with the laborers about doing their job right. It hadn’t been given enough time to set properly.
She looked around the room, hoping to find something that would help her escape. There wasn’t much to see. A small bed frame of unvarnished wood, straw mattress on top. Blankets of itchy wool, dyed the same style of tartan that the re-enactors wore. Next to the bed was a low table containing a candle, a large ewer of water beside it.
The only other furniture was a chair by the hearth and a faded woolen rug that covered less than a quarter of the flagstones.
She stopped her search when she heard a key turning in the lock behind her. She spun around in time to see Derek walking in, a pile of clothing in his arms. “I thought I’d bring the attire up here, save the women a climb up the stairs.”
“Look, I’m not one of the re-enactors,” she said. “You’ve got me mixed up. I’m a visitor, just a guest, that’s all.”
“Aye, you’re a guest of the MacIntyres and you’re to change into this.”
“I will not change into anything. I need to find my mom. She’ll be worried about me.”
He shoved her backward, a warm smile spreading across his lips. “If you need some assistance in changing, I could always help you.”
She knew then why he’d brought the clothes himself. He winked at her and reached out toward her chest. She batted his hand away. He lunged again and as he did so she slapped his face, hard. “Get your hands off me.”
“You would strike a MacLeish?” he said in disbelief, rubbing his cheek. “You’ll pay for that soon enough, lass.”
“Enough. I’m not part of this game. You’re holding me here against my will. That is a crime and if you don’t let me out at once, I shall call the police and have you arrested.”
“Call for whatever you like. No one will hear you from up here.”
“I’m calling them right now,” she said, reaching for her cellphone in her jacket pocket. She cursed as she realized it wasn’t there.
Of course it wasn’t. She’s given her jacket to her mother to keep her warm in the cold Scottish air. No cellphone, no car keys, no way of getting help. Fantastic.
