She had no doubt that by the time they stopped, her feet would be red and raw. She hoped they would find the necklace at MacIntyre Castle and she could get home, soak her feet in a hot bath before lying on a comfortable bed that had a roof over it.
She suddenly felt a strange sense of loss. What was that? She was supposed to be looking forward to going home. What was that pang deep inside her? Probably just hunger.
It would be strange to go home after everything she’d seen. She’d seen people killed. That wasn’t something she was likely to forget in a hurry. She’d been the only twenty-first century person ever to get to see what a Medieval castle was actually like to live in. Wait until she started her Masters, she’d be able to describe exactly how things were all those years ago.
She glanced at Cam as he walked a few feet in front of her. His back was perfectly straight, his legs swinging as if he’d only walked a few yards, not miles and miles on no more than a couple of carrots. What was he thinking about?
She wished she could remember more of her studies. Then she’d know what happened to his clan. She certainly couldn’t remember anything in her books about a barefoot man taking over half of Scotland, claiming one castle after another. But then, there were gaps in the histories. Would Cam be defeated? Would his castle fall like the rest?
It seemed impossible that anyone could defeat him. The speed with which he’d moved when she was attacked was incredible. He had felled three people in seconds. It didn’t seem possible that he could be killed. He certainly didn’t look worried.
They stopped in the late afternoon. Rachel was glad of the rest, her feet were killing her. They sat on a hilltop above a cool clear loch. The only sound was that of an eagle soaring far above them.
There was no wind, the sun warm enough for Rachel to remove her coat and lay back on the soft heather, closing her eyes while she kicked off her shoes.
“Why did you not tell me?” Cam asked.
She sat up on her elbows and looked up at him. “Tell you what?”
“The state of your feet. They’re bleeding through your hose.”
She looked down. He was right. “I thought they were just blisters.”
“You should’ve said. Wait there.”
He moved away, his eyes scanning the ground. She watched as he squatted down and ripped something from the earth. Returning to her, his fists moved together, mashing green leaves smaller. He spat into his hands, continuing to grind the mixture. “Here,” he said. “Get your hose off.”
She slid her socks down, wincing as the fabric brushed past the bleeding patches. The pain was worse in the open air and it was all she could do not to cry out. She didn’t want to, not with him glaring at her like that.
“Keep still,” he said, kneeling at her feet and pressing the mixture to her right foot. At once the pain died, a warmth moving up her legs as he rubbed the poultice gently over her skin. She watched as he moved to her other foot.
He was a confusing sight. His face suggested he was furious with her and yet his hands moved softly, causing no pain at all. His enormous fingers were surprisingly nimble, administering the last of the mixture before he sat back on his haunches.
“Dinnae touch it. Get your hose over the top and it should protect ye for the rest of the day. I’ll put more on tonight. Now come, we need to get moving again. Time is against us.”
“Can we not rest a little longer?”
“I dinnae ken what is happening back at home. I dare not tarry.”
Whatever he had applied to her feet made a huge difference. Not only had the pain gone when she began to walk, her energy level improved. The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough. Without thinking about her feet she was free to let her mind wander as she looked at the changing scenery around her.
What she noticed most was how quiet it was. That day they passed a couple of traders with carts but no one else. No cars racing past along the road, no sirens in the distance, no airplanes in the sky. Just the birds circling the mountaintops and the leaves rustling in the breeze whenever they passed a copse of trees.
It was just growing dark when they reached their destination. The first Rachel knew of it was when they crested a hilltop and there in the valley was a dark mass of stone, towers at four corners. Cam stopped dead, staring down at the castle.
“What is it?” Rachel asked.
“I dinnae ken,” he replied, “but stay near me. I dinnae like this. It’s too quiet.”
She could see what he meant. There was no sign of life anywhere around the castle. From her time with the MacGregors she was used to seeing people continually passing in and out of the gates, farmers on their way back to their fields, traders, children, fishermen, all the life of a clan in full flow.
There was none of that here. MacIntyre Castle was a desolate place. “Were they attacked?” she asked as they descended the rocky slope toward the castle entrance.
“There is no sign of battle,” he replied, drawing his sword and holding it by his side. “No guards on the door neither.”
“Do we have to go in? I’ve got a bad feeling about this place.”
“The necklace is inside. We must go in.”
