She stood on the door step, having the strangest feeling that she would never set foot in there ever again.
She walked briskly back down to the train station, the key safely tucked away in her coat pocket. Her mom had loved her, had loved them both. She had the word in her pocket and the word was love.
The thought made her happy and sad at the same time. The letter hadn’t mentioned her father. He was still a mystery. But at least she knew she had a mother who loved her.
Why had she abandoned her children? She thought of the dream she’d had so often over the years she was no longer sure if it was real or not. Was there a clue in the dream? Was that why it kept coming back to her in the quiet hours of the night?
She managed to find a spare seat on the train back. Sitting with her legs crossed at her ankles, she looked out the window but saw nothing. She was busy reliving the dream for the thousandth time.
She was a child, very young, too young to remember any of this. A fire was raging nearby. People were screaming. A man appeared above her, pushing her toward a door. A key was pushed into the lock. He had a thick Scottish accent. “Ahm awfa sorry it has tae be this way.”
There was a thud and she looked up. The train had stopped. She was back in Leeds. How had that even happened?
She was home half an hour later. Before she even took her coat off she pulled out the key, crossing to the box which remained where she’d left it, teetering on top of the pile of books. “Let’s see,” she said out loud as she slid the key into the lock.
Holding her breath, she turned the key. There was a click deep inside the box and then the lid popped open.
What did that even mean? That her mother sent the box too?
She looked down. Inside was a single object.
A necklace.
A reddish pink oval stone on a thin gold chain. She lifted it from the box and then held it a couple of inches from her face. The almost pink stone became a deeper blood red in the light. Far inside was a black swirling smoke that seemed to move.
Was it from her mother? Had it once been hers?
She lifted the necklace over her head, glad of the length of the chain and the shortness of her hair. Once it was in place she pressed it to her heart. At once she heard drumming from nearby.
This isn’t Jumanji. Where’s that coming from? Has the tenant upstairs bought a drum kit?
The drumming grew louder. Instinctively she wrapped her hand tighter around the blood red stone.
One minute she was there. The next, she was gone. It was as if the necklace, and Rachel, had never existed at all.
Chapter Three
Cam was alone in his chamber. He was certain of that. Years of battle and intrigue had given him a sixth sense when it came to such things. He had been able to tell when Remigius the monk was hiding behind the curtain with the dagger waiting for him to fall asleep.
He had known that time in Castle Doune when the jester laid under the bed with the vial of hemlock ready to use. He had known when those two outlaws had concealed themselves in the sacristy while he talked to the bishop in Stirling only six months after becoming Laird.
He could tell when people were nearby. That was why he was certain there was no one in the room but him. That meant it was impossible that there could be a woman talking behind him.
Yet when he turned, there she was. Wearing the dark clothes of a witch, her hand clasped around a necklace. She stood by his bed, looking as shocked to see him as he felt to see her.
“How did ye get in here?” he asked, grabbing her by the arm. “Who sent ye? Answer me or feel my steel across your throat.”
“Where am I?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to his threat. “Who are you?”
“You, witch. Answer me. Who sent you?”
“Where am I? What happened?”
A knock on his door. “My Laird, the people have gathered in the hall as you requested.”
He cursed under his breath, dragging the witch over to the corner of the room. “I’ll deal with you later,” he said, opening the door to the garret and pushing her through. He slammed it shut on her bewildered face. That would hold her. The wood was hazel. It would counter any spells she might try and cast while he dealt with the gathering.
He locked the door, pocketing the key before turning and heading out to find Tor waiting for him, a nervous look on his face. He never looked nervous.
