I wait for her to finish. When she doesn’t, I prompt, “In time for what?”
Rage distorts her features. “You’ve traveled, girl. That time isnow. And now it’s happening to you.”
I nod, keeping my voice calm, non-confrontational. “Look, Janet left before I was born. Nineteen years ago. You know, in the twenty-first century,” I addunder my breath.
“No.” Stabbing a finger at me, Donag growls, “For you, it’s the seventeenth.”
“Wow, you are super misunderstanding my accent.” I slow my speech. “I said I’m nineteen.”
Donag swats the air impatiently. “I’m nae deaf. I heard what you said.” She steps closer, eyes burning.
“The year is 1622. This year.Today.”
Chapter
Nine
“Ohhhhkay.” My eyes dart to the door and back. This woman is deranged, and I want no part of it. “So…1622.”
I take in her rumpled period clothing, and something clicks into place.
“Is this part of that historical reenactment thing? Because wow, you really take yourself seriously.”
I edge toward the door. “But that’s awesome. Good for you.” Shuffle an inch closer. “Those Highland Games look cool.”
“This is no game.”
Donag leans in, blocking the light, until all I can see are her eyes glinting in the dark. “You have traveled far. Into the past.”
“Uh-huh. I see that.” I risk a full step sideways, my entire focus on the exit. She’s messing with me. She has to be. “Your little hut is very realistic, but I?—”
She snatches my ear and twists. Pain flashes whitebehind my eyes.
“The year is 1622. This is where you live now. Where you will live, where you will toil, and where one day you will die.”
Terror explodes through me, and instinct takes over. I lunge past her, fling my body at that giant wooden bolt, and yank. But it’s stuck, the metal track choked with rust.
A chair crashes behind me, and my scalp breaks out in a cold sweat.
Hands and legs shaking, I brace myself, grip the bar, and shove with everything I have. Splinters bite into my fingers, metal slices through my palms. But finally, it starts to slide.
Callum appears at my back.
My heart revs like Poppa’s tractor, punching my ribcage.
I wrench at the door. It opens a crack, but he slams a hand against it, shutting me in.
“It’s nae safe outside.”
I stare at that hand. Big. Scarred. A thick line cuts clean across his knuckles, like he’s been slashed by a blade.
This is the kind of man who gets in knife fights.
I tuck my chin, stealing a look back into the room. Like,reallylook.
Baseboards, walls, ceiling. It’s all wrong.
I thought the lights were out. But there are no lights.
