Not quite.
It was worse than crying. This was sitting down on the cold floor while every explanation she’d been clutching since she woke in the stable came apart.
A reenactment.
A head injury.
An immersive historical experience with a really irresponsible safety team.
Any second now, a guide in a polo shirt would appear and ask if she’d gotten separated from the group.
No guide came.
No phone rang.
No car passed beyond the walls.
There was only Ashcombe in the dark, full of sleeping people who believed the year was 1265… because it was.
She was stuck for good. There wasn’t a flight to rebook. No clients to call. No calendar alerts. No plan.
For the first time in her adult life, Amelia Quinn had absolutely no idea what happened next.
The strange thing was that beneath the grief, far beneath it, in a place she didn’t want to examine too closely, there was the tiniest thread of something almost like relief.
Which was ridiculous. Possibly worse than ridiculous. Definitely proof she’d finally lost her mind.
“You’ll catch your death.”
Amelia jumped, making the flame go out.
Thomas stood in the doorway of the tower, a dark shape against the night, a lantern in one hand throwing gold across the hard lines of his face. He wore no mail, only a dark tunic and hose, his hair mussed and wet as if he’d dragged a hand through it more than once. A few days of stubble shadowed his jaw.
Of course he looked like that at midnight in the rain. Couldn’t the man look mildly unfortunate just once? It would be helpful.
He didn’t ask what she was doing. Thomas looked at the tallow, her bare feet, the cold floor, and whatever was on her face, which she suspected was a great deal.
With a nod to himself, he came inside and crouched a careful arm’s length away, setting the lantern between them on the stone bench.
“I came for the sword,” she said.
There didn’t seem to be any point lying. Not to him. He’d never believed her lies anyway.
“It’s not here.” Her voice cracked.
“There’s no sword in this tower.”
“No,” she said. “I’m getting that.”
Somewhere outside, a dog turned over and gave a heavy sigh, as if disappointed in both of them.
“That first day,” Thomas said at last.
His voice was rough, and he didn’t look at her. He looked at the flame instead.
“You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it, because unfortunately there was evidence.
