She turned on the flashlight and studied her surroundings. There, against a rocky wall, was the stone with the carving—dark and still, not glowing. Along the rough rock wall laid firewood in heaps and wooden planks. Barrels stood along the walls, as well, and full sacks. She didn’t remember anything being there before; as far as she remembered, it had been a giant, empty cave.
It was clear now that she was in a storeroom, not the crumbling ruins she’d walked into.
She stood, her head spinning, nausea rising. Her body ached all over, as though she’d had a hard fall. Something boomed, and the walls and the floor shook, sending another shower of rocks and sand over her.
What was going on? An earthquake? She’d never heard about earthquakes in Scotland. If it were one, she needed to get out right away.
She ran the flashlight’s beam over the walls. Where there’d been an empty doorway leading to another room, there now stood a solid, heavy door with large bolts.
Crazier and crazier.
Well, whatever it was, Amy needed to get out. She walked on weak legs towards the door and opened it. It was dark, but a golden light poured from somewhere above, illuminating the curved stairs she’d descended before—but they looked like new. More chests and barrels lined the walls here. The odor of wet earth and decay was gone, replaced by the barely noticeable scent of grain and something else…something like beef jerky.
The room had been a ruin when Amy had followed Deanna in just a few minutes ago. Was Amy hallucinating or dreaming? Her head heavy, she made her way towards the stairs. Looking up the flight of stairs, she could see the light of fire dancing on the wall. People’s worried yells and cries carried from somewhere outside. Probably, Jenny and the class were looking for her.
Amy laid her hand on the cold, hard wall, which felt very real, and walked up the stairs as quietly as she could. The ground floor wasn’t a ruin anymore, either. It was a storage room of some sort—full of swords, spears, and axes, as well as barrels, crates, and chests like downstairs. Fire from torches on the walls illuminated the room. There was a door that probably led outside and another opened door to a stairwell leading up.
Amy gave a small shake of her head. This looked exactly like the tower she and Deanna had run into—but as though she’d returned to a time when it had been recently built.
What was this? Maybe the rock and the whole glowing river and such were just some sort of mushroom or algae that had hallucinogenic effects? Or had she hit her head? How else could she explain this?
Sìneag had spoken of a river of time and time travel. That must be why Amy had dreamed herself this medieval world.
Or maybe Amy had gone crazy, her fear in that dark space sending her over the edge.
Another boom, and the building shook. A large rock fell from the wall onto a barrel, splitting it in two, and brown, yeasty liquid poured out—beer? Amy had better hurry if she didn’t want to end up like that barrel.
She approached the door and opened it a crack, peering outside through the slit.
Her stomach dropped.
It wasn’t the empty, grass-covered courtyard surrounded by four ruined walls and towers anymore.
It was a real castle, all four towers tall and whole with cone-shaped wooden roofs. The yard itself had several small timber buildings and one big building made of stone. Amy could smell horse dung, woodsmoke, and something being cooked. Archers shot arrows from the walls, she realized. And men ran across the courtyard in heavily quilted coats, metal helmets, and chain mail. Almost everyone had a sword on their belt, as well as a shield, and many had spears or axes.
Amy blinked once, twice. Her heart stopped for a moment. How was all of this even possible? Maybe it was some sort of hologram to represent how the castle had looked when it was still in use. What other explanation was there? Unless Amy truly had gone insane…
Then a man came straight towards the tower, and Amy closed the door. Her pulse beating like a drum, she searched for a place to hide.
The stairs.
She dashed up the circular staircase. There was a small door on the landing, and still more stairs. She heard someone on the ground floor open the door and step inside. Amy tugged open the door in front of her and peered in—it was a barrack room with several beds, and there was no one there. She quietly went in and closed the door behind her, listening for anyone following her.
There were eight beds and something like sleeping bags on the floor. Three slit windows let light in with huge, wide sills like sitting alcoves.
Amy walked to the window, and her jaw dropped to the ground. The castle was surrounded by water—a moat—something that hadn’t even existed when she was there with Jenny and the class. On the other side of the moat was a small village with thatched-roof houses…
And an army—an actual medieval army—with a catapult, archers, tents, horses, carts, and campfires around the village.
This could not be happening. When they had driven here in the bus, there had been a few scattered houses here and there, and instead of the moat, meadows, hills, trees, and boulders.
In her jeans, hiking shoes, and puffer jacket, she felt strangely out of place. It was like she was in another time… But that wasn’t possible, she reminded herself stubbornly.
Quick footsteps hurried upstairs, and Amy froze momentarily. Then she rushed to the nearest bed to hide, but she had no time. The door opened, and she whirled around, holding her flashlight like a weapon. A tall warrior—sword, ax, and all—stepped inside.
Astonishment flashed through his handsome features.
And then it turned to threat.
Chapter 3
Craig stared at the woman.
He had opened the door because someone was coming from downstairs, and he needed to hide.
When he’d come through the tunnel that morning, he’d carefully checked the tower and the courtyard. Then he’d gone back to Bruce, and together they’d made a plan.
A plan that would open Inverlochy Castle to Bruce and bring the Comyns to their knees.
A plan that did not involve an enemy lass seeing him and alerting the whole castle to his presence.
She held a small rounded object in her hands, something like a bottle, in a protective manner. She was a pretty one, with her hair like copper in the sun, her eyes as blue as the sea. She was dressed like a man, in dark breeches that shamelessly hugged her long, sculpted legs, and some sort of a padded, short coat.
Very strange—but who knew how the Comyns allowed their women to dress?
One thing was clear.
He needed to silence her before she screamed—which, based on her eyes as round as moons and her open mouth, she was about to do.
Craig raced to her. She backed away, but he caught her, clasping her mouth with one hand and holding her wrists behind her back with the other. The strange object fell and rolled across the floor. Her scent reached him—flowers and fresh wind, the lushness of a summer forest. Her skin and lips were soft under his fingers, and surprisingly, a wave of tingles rushed through him.
She struggled, trying to break away, and he whispered into her ear: “Dinna make a sound, lass. I wilna hurt ye. But I must keep ye from screaming yer throat out and alarming the whole castle. Aye?”
In response, she lifted one foot and stomped on his boot with a strength he wouldn’t have imagined she had.
He didn’t make a sound, although pain burst through his leg and almost made him release her.