“No but-”
“Violence only leads to more violence. I slay him, someone comes at me with a dagger in the night in revenge. He was brought into this clan as a result of marriage. Slay him and his father’s clan wage war on us and I have enough problems. I am not my father. I have always ruled by law, not by fear.” His voice lowered, as if he’d forgotten she was there. “And yet fear takes their hand once more. They talk of the need for sacrifice. We havenae done such a thing in more than a hundred years.”
She looked at him. He was staring through her as if he no longer saw her. “What is it? There’s something else.”
“I dinnae ken why I’m telling you this but there’s something up with them all. They’re convinced the only way to make us safe is to sacrifice a virgin to the Old Gods. I will not go back to those heathen ways. We are a Christian people.”
“So tell them sacrifices are out.”
“They’ve been told but someone is stirring them toward mutiny against my rule and I’m doing all I can to stem a rebellion. Until I find out who, how, and why they are like this, I need to be careful and you need to be my betrothed until you get yourself home again. Think what a strange woman walking about would do to them? You need to get back where you belong. Are you sure this necklace thing will work tae get ye away from here?”
“You believe me then?”
“Mebbe. Mebbe ah think you’re a thief who wants the necklace to sell and I want to be there to see your story crumble around your ears.”
A trumpet blew loudly in the courtyard, the sound echoing off the battlements. “What’s that?” Rachel asked.
“The MacKenzies are here. Just what I need. You stay here and keep hidden.”
“You’re kidding right. I need to see this place. When am I going to get the chance to explore an actual medieval castle again? You have to let me explore it, at least for a little while.”
He acted like he didn’t hear her, walking over to the door and heading out to the staircase beyond. She heard a bolt scraping shut and then she was alone. She tried rattling the door but it was locked.
“Fantastic,” she said, sitting on the edge of his bed and trying to decide what to do next.
There wasn’t a huge amount she could do. She wasn’t even sure if the cook’s necklace would send her back to her own time. There was a logic to her idea but what was logic when a necklace had sent her hurtling back to medieval Scotland in the first place?
She stood up and looked out the narrow window. The Laird was down in the courtyard addressing a group of men on horseback, their tartan green in contrast to Cam’s red. Even though they were above him looking down, somehow the power was still all with him.
She looked at his face as he talked.
It was a handsome face, she couldn’t deny that. The dark glint in his eye, the sense of raw power barely kept in check by the few laws of the time.
His muscles outshone anyone she’d ever seen in the present day. He was clearly someone who had worked hard all his life, none of the courtly meals and piling on the pounds she would have expected of nobility of that era. He had deeply tanned skin from hours in the sun and hair that looked as impossible to tame as he was.
“Look mom,” she said out loud. “I’m in a man’s bedroom. You’d be so proud. Betrothed to be married too. Haven’t I done well?”
The bolt scraped back in the door and she turned in time to see the Man-at-Arms peering in at her. “The MacKenzies would like to meet the Laird’s betrothed.”
“He told them about me?”
“Would you accompany me down to the great hall?”
“Of course.”
“This way, M’lady.” The way he said it made her start but when she looked closer the smile was fixed on his face. He ushered her out the bedchamber and then down the flight of narrow stone stairs. Stepping out into a corridor she heard loud voices coming from behind a curtain.
“In here,” he said, pulling back the curtain to reveal an archway that led straight into the great hall. Inside the conversation died at once as they all turned to look at her.
Two contradictory thoughts occurred to Rachel at once. The first spoke to the history geek inside her. She was seeing how a medieval feast was actually conducted with her own eyes. Talk about primary source material.
A fire burning in a brazier in the middle of the room, ashes falling onto the stone floor below. Four tables all filled with rough looking Highlanders. Dogs curled up asleep on old rushes. The place smelled of men.
At the far end of the room was a dais and Cam sat at a lone table up there, looking out at her with barely concealed rage. She knew what that look meant. It meant she was supposed to stay out of sight.
At the same time as the academic in her drank in the details of what she saw another thought took over. It was fear.
None of the faces that had turned to examine her looked friendly. In fact a number of them looked more than a little bit threatening. She felt like Rapunzel walking into the tavern with Flynn Rider. Only there wouldn’t be a song and dance number coming up. She’d be more likely to be sliced through before she took another step. Already swords were being drawn.
