Soon, she would be locked in chains in the dungeon. He waited for any sign of the silver key but when the last box was unpacked, he realized she did not have it. What did that mean?
He needn’t have worried. She was barely settled in before she began exploring the castle. He followed her in silence, watching closely, waiting patiently.
During the day she wrote. At night, she often cried. He left her when she did, feeling for the first time as if he were intruding on her privacy. He felt a strange tug deep inside her when she cried, wanting to hold her, tell her it would be okay.
He shook the feeling away. She had MacCallister blood pumping through her. He must not forget that no matter how pitiful she looked, sobbing in the armchair by the fire, a small black rectangular object in her hand.
He didn’t know what it was. Sometimes she spoke into it and it seemed as if a tiny voice spokeback. Other times she attached it to a wire and left it for a while.
It was just one more thing about this time he didn’t understand. Not that it mattered. What mattered was the silver key. Where was it and when would she find it?
The third day after she moved in, it happened. She had already clambered up onto the battlements, standing with the wind blowing her hair as she looked out at the village across the valley, the village that had raised him.
It all looked different to his time, not that it mattered. He would not be here much longer. Soon he would be back in his own time and his father would be alive and together they could be a family, go find his mother.
On the morning of the third day she stood at the top of the steps that led down into the dungeon. “If you’re down there,” she said to the staircase. “I’m coming down. Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.”
Don’t be afraid. Wallace managed a grim smile. It was not he who should be afraid. It was her. Not that she would know it until it was too late.
She descended the stairs with a lantern morepowerful than any he’d seen before. It lit up the stairs and then the door that led toward the dungeon. She stopped, shining the lantern around her. He stopped too, the light passing through him. He waited.
“I’m hoping you’re friendly,” she said. “Lord knows, I could do with a friend.” She began walking again, stopping in front of the locked door he knew so well. “I wonder,” she said out loud, reaching into her pocket and drawing out a keychain. He hadn’t seen it before. Where had she kept that hidden?
There was only one key on the chain, a small silver one, the top marked with an M. He held his breath, watching as she slid the key into the lock. She turned it and there was a dull thud from deep inside the door followed by a scraping sound. She was opening the door.
She gasped when she pointed the lantern into the dungeon. On the floor were two skeletons of indeterminate age. He expected her to fall back, to run screaming from the sight. Instead, she stepped inside, kneeling beside the skeleton of his father, crossing herself as she did so. “May you rest in peace,” she said. “I wonder who you were.”
She stood once more and turned around, stopping dead. “Who are you?” she asked.
Wallace looked behind him. There was no one there.
She continued to stare at him. “I asked you a question. Who are you and what are you doing sneaking up on people like that?”
He blinked. Surely not. He lifted one hand and waved it slowly in front of her face.
“Don’t wave at me. Answer me before I chuck this flashlight at you.”
“You can see me?” he asked, hardly daring to believe what was happening.
“Of course I can see you. You’re standing right there. Who are you?”
“I am Wallace MacGregor.”
“Very funny. Who are you really?”
“I am Wallace MacGregor.”
“You’re Wallace MacGregor? The son of Jock and Daisy MacGregor?”
“Aye.”
She took a step toward him. “The MacGregor who died more than seven hundred years ago. That’s you, is it?”
“I can prove it.”
“Go on then, prove it.”
“Unlock this door at midnight tonight.”
