Konnor looked back to the castle as they approached it. Now that they were a few feet away, he could see through the slit windows that someone was moving on the timber gallery built on top of the rampart. He’d learned that was what they were called when he and the guys had visited an old castle.
The gate opened slowly. A white-haired man in a heavy, quilted coat stood in the opening. A sword was sheathed on his belt. Konnor cocked his head, studying the man’s costume. Something about the posture of the man said he wasn’t kidding, and the Marine in Konnor tensed.
“Mistress, why are ye without Tamhas and Muir?” the man asked, one hand on his sword. “And who is this?”
“’Tis Konnor, Moire’s cousin. He needs Isbeil. He’s hurt his leg. Aren’t Tamhas and Muir back?”
“Nae.”
“Damn it. They’re probably looking for me.”
As they walked into the courtyard of the castle, four men tugged at the heavy gates to close them, and a weight settled on Konnor’s chest when they closed with a thud. The inner courtyard was a perfect square with four towers in the corners, probably about 160 feet in width and length.
There were several buildings in the courtyard. A large, rectangular stone building with a tall, thatched roof and small windows with no glass, a wooden building a man led a horse out of, and two small wooden houses with thatched rooves. The aromatic scents of soup and fermented hops reached him. Wow, this was a proper self-sustained community.
Most of the people in the courtyard were men wearing baggy leggings and long, belted tunics. They had bushy beards and shaggy hair and carried firewood, sacks on their shoulders, baskets with vegetables and bread. Their feet kicked up dust from the dirt-packed courtyard as they walked, and chickens and geese ran around cackling and squawking.
Had he walked into the past? How could this place even exist? Were they all so invested in their role-playing that they really wanted to live like it was the Middle Ages? If this community was what Sìneag had meant by time travel, she’d certainly nailed it.
“I need to tell ye something, Malcolm.” Marjorie looked around and leaned closer to the white-haired man. “I heard MacDougall spies in the woods. They snuck around the castle and were talking about a siege.”
Malcolm’s face fell, and he was speechless for a moment. Was that panic showing on his face? “Colin…” His bright eyes flashed, and his nostrils flared. “Are ye sure, lass?” he said finally.
“Aye. Very sure. They’re coming. They ken the weakness of the northern wall. But they dinna ken I heard them.”
“Good.” He glanced at Konnor and then back at her. “Let me take over. Ye must be exhausted carrying a huge man like him.”
Marjorie let go of Konnor, and Malcolm took her place supporting him. Disappointment ran through him at the loss of her strong shoulder under his arm and the soft curve of her breast beside his chest. He searched her face, but she was looking at Malcolm.
“Right,” she said, then she quickly glanced at Konnor and nodded. “Get better. Put him in the chamber next to mine, Malcolm. ’Tis the best one for a guest, especially a sick one.”
“Aye, mistress,” Malcolm said.
He turned with Konnor to enter the big, round tower.
“Wait!” Konnor said. “Can I use your phone? I need to call someone.”
He needed to call the Keir farm and let them know he was running late. Maybe Andy was already there, and if not, he needed to ask them to go and find his friend so Andy didn’t spend time out there looking for him. Marjorie and Malcolm studied him as though he’d just spoken Mandarin. They wore the same expression Sìneag had.
“A phone?” Marjorie said. “What’s a phone?”
Konnor chuckled. They really were deep into role-playing. The medieval costume certainly suited Marjorie. The colors highlighted her soft, glowing skin, beautiful without a trace of makeup. She had slightly slanted eyes, full lips, and shiny, dark hair.
He might actually enjoy this, but he did want to call his mom and let his friend know he was okay. “Right. Funny. What’s a phone? So you guys don’t have one in a castle like this?”
“Nae.”
“Damn. Where is the nearest one?”
“I dinna think I’ve ever heard of one,” Marjorie said. “Sorry, Konnor. Mayhap ye hit yer head?”
She was mocking him, and Konnor was slowly losing his patience. “Come on, guys. Do you have a safeword or something for when you want to stop playing in the Middle Ages? If you do, I’d like to use it now. I really do need to use a phone. I have people who might worry about me.”
Marjorie looked confused. “What nonsense are you talking about?”
“Aye, lad,” Malcolm said.
Konnor’s fists clenched and unclenched. He hated being at the mercy of complete strangers. “I can’t figure you guys out. Are you some kind of cult?”
Marjorie and Malcolm exchanged glances. “A cult?”
“Or neo-pagans?”
“We’re Christians.”
“Okay. Maybe very, very orthodox then, if you’re refusing to use modern technology?”
“Malcolm, just take him away before he says something else and I decide to keep him locked up. ’Tis a good thing ye’re Moire’s cousin. If ye were a stranger, ye’d be locked in a cellar by now.”
Konnor clenched his lips tightly together. Stubborn folks. He didn’t understand why she was pretending as though she didn’t know what he was talking about. But something told him not to push anymore. If he wanted her help, at least any medical help, he probably should let it go for now. Whoever this Moire was, once she announced she’d never seen him before, he’d be in trouble.
“Aye,” Malcolm said, and the two of them limped through the dusty courtyard, into the tower, and up a narrow, round flight of stairs.
They passed through two massive wooden doors with thick and rough iron hardware and went up another flight of stairs. Malcolm led him through a door into a small room with a single wooden bed and a fireplace. A slit window let in some light and fresh air. A chest stood by the wall and an unlit torch was placed in a sconce above it. That was it. No electrical outlets. No lamps. No glass on the window.
Malcolm helped Konnor to the bed and let him sit. He leaned over him with a threating expression on his face, and although Konnor wasn’t afraid of the man, uneasiness settled in his stomach. Malcolm’s bushy, white eyebrows knit together, and his blue eyes flashed. “Look, lad, I’m the constable of this castle, so ye better watch yerself. I dinna ken what ye’re playing at, but if ye hurt our mistress, or even look at her funny, I will cut off yer ballocks and serve ye them for dinner. Understood?”
Konnor returned the antagonistic stare. “I don’t have any intention of hurting anyone. Especially not your mistress.”
Every word Konnor spoke was the truth. He could never hurt a woman, especially not the most beautiful and intriguing woman he’d ever met.
Chapter 4
Marjorie walked out of the tower towards the northern wall. Aye, there was damage all right. The rampart was missing several merlons that had crumbled and fallen over the last several years. Rocks from the wall had been chipped away one by one with time.