“No, nothing like that. Tell her, Harry.”
One of the lab techs stopped and turned to face her, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You’ll be no more than ten miles from MacGregor Castle, that’s as accurate as we can get it. We can be sure it won’t be more than a month before the peace treaty. You can get the knife anytime in that month as long as you don’t leave it too long. Once he sets off to the treaty it’ll be too late.”
“Can’t I just go back again and have another go?”
Harry shook his head. “This is a one shot deal.”
“You don’t seriously believe all this, do you?”
He’d already turned back to the monitors, pushing buttons with a look of concentration on his face. Heather looked up at Tony who was still smiling as he pressed a small silver key into her hand.
“Good luck,” he said. “Remember, we’re all rooting for you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” she said as he ushered her down the steps. She turned around to find him right behind her, waving her forward. “Seriously,” she continued, holding the key out toward the lock. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
She slid the key into the lock and turned it slowly. As she withdrew the key she felt something tingling in her arm, like a balloon had been rubbed against her skin, the hairs standing on end. She turned the handle. The door opened. She could see grass on the other side. The door led outside. Tony stood close to her, peering through.
“This your back garden?” she asked.
Not quite,” he said, giving her a push across the threshold. “See you soon.”
His push was harder than it needed to be and knocked her off balance. She staggered forward and by the time she righted herself the door had been pulled shut behind her. She went to pull it open but it was locked. She looked up. The lab had gone. In its place was a crumbling stone building. Where had the key gone? Had she dropped it?
The door swung open a second later. Her brain couldn’t handle what she saw through it. There was no sign of the lab. Instead there was a huge figure filling the doorway.
He was tall enough to brush the lintel, his arms bulging with muscles. Across his chest a tartan plaid did little to hide his tanned skin. He was staring at her. Light brown short hair topped a handsome face. The man’s dark eyes flashed fury as he raised a sword above his head and brought it whipping down to slice her skull in two.
She winced as the sword came crashing down. She had no time to react. She was going to die.
At the last moment the sword stopped, resting on top of her hair. The man frowned at her as he pulled the sword back. “Who are you?” he asked in strong Scottish accent, his voice surprisingly warm rather than scary. “Speak with haste, where did you come from?”
From behind him other faces peered out at her, more men like him, none of them friendly.
“You need not fear us,” he said, taking a step out of the doorway. “But you must conceal yourself. Quick, we have little time. They are coming.”
She shook her head, unable to move at all. “You were going to kill me,” she managed to say, eyes fixed on the sword.”
He shook his head. “I am Gavin, laird of the MacGregors. I do not kill innocent women.”
Someone whistled from somewhere to her left.
“Inside, now!”
He reached out to grab her. She took one look at him, at those arms like tree trunks. She thought of what he would do if he got hold of her. Then she turned and ran for her life.
