Chapter Three

 

 

Beth stood in the chamber, her clothes on the bed. He was coming to see her. She didn’t have long to get into the medieval dress. Anxiety gnawed at her. All she wanted was to find her mom and now she was locked in a castle tower and a brutish highlander was coming to interrogate her.

Derek had lied to her back at the old hall, telling her that her mother was waiting for her at the castle.

“She’s up there in the solar waiting for you,” he said as they crossed the courtyard. “Straight up the stairs.”

She almost ran up the stairs to the second floor of the keep, turning sharp left at the end of a corridor and walking into a small room lit by a single window. There was no one waiting in there.

By the time she realized she’d been lied to, the door was  locked behind her. “Hey,” she shouted as it slammed shut. “You promised me she was here.”

How could she have been stupid enough to believe it? No doubt he’d acted on the orders of the giant to keep her compliant and she’d been gullible enough to fall for it.

Her mind had been scrambled by the fire. That was the only possible explanation for falling for such a blatant lie.

She dashed over to the window and looked out. There would be no leaving that way. It was a sheer drop down to the courtyard far below. The shutter creaked in the wind as she looked out at the scene down there.

A part of her still believed it was all a re-enactment. She was surprised she’d not heard of it before. So much money had clearly been spent here making it all look authentic. It was like a movie set but with no camera crew to be seen.

Every single person down there was in period costume, all of them acting in the character of middle ages castle dweller. But where were the visitors?

Her mind went back to the journey, something niggling at her that she didn’t want to think about. She’d sat in front of the actor who must have been playing the laird, him holding her firmly in place between arms of steel.

She looked at the surrounding countryside while they traveled. What was wrong with it? Something didn’t add up. She couldn’t work it out, finding it too hard to focus on anything but his chest pressing against her back.

It was the road, she realized whilst sitting in the tower. They’d come along a rough rutted track that was stone and mud, nothing else. There were no cars anywhere. No white lines or road signs. Only the horses and the surrounding fields divided into long narrow strips. No walls, no hedgerows, just the fields and beyond them the imposing mountains.

Then the castle, looming up before them when they crested a hilltop. As it grew nearer she stared in disbelief. It looked so real, as if she had really gone back in time. The attention to detail was second to none. There wasn’t a single cable or sign anywhere. Nothing modern at all.

The place itself clearly wasn’t finished. Men were working on wooden scaffolding on the outer walls and piles of stone were dotted about on the ground. Lime pits smoldered and everywhere was the sound of hammering and chiseling. There were no drills though. They were using authentic tools to work on the walls.

The keep looked worse than the walls, the battlements and towers pointing upward like broken teeth high above her. The room she was locked in was complete at least but the plaster on the walls was bulging in places. If she’d been in charge, she’d have had words with the laborers about doing their job right. It hadn’t been given enough time to set properly.

She looked around the room, hoping to find something that would help her escape. There wasn’t much to see. A small bed frame of unvarnished wood, straw mattress on top. Blankets of itchy wool, dyed the same style of tartan that the re-enactors wore. Next to the bed was a low table containing a candle, a large ewer of water beside it.

The only other furniture was a chair by the hearth and a faded woolen rug that covered less than a quarter of the flagstones.

She stopped her search when she heard a key turning in the lock behind her. She spun around in time to see Derek walking in, a pile of clothing in his arms. “I thought I’d bring the attire up here, save the women a climb up the stairs.”

“Look, I’m not one of the re-enactors,” she said. “You’ve got me mixed up. I’m a visitor, just a guest, that’s all.”

“Aye, you’re a guest of the MacIntyres and you’re to change into this.”

“I will not change into anything. I need to find my mom. She’ll be worried about me.”

He shoved her backward, a warm smile spreading across his lips. “If you need some assistance in changing, I could always help you.”

She knew then why he’d brought the clothes himself. He winked at her and reached out toward her chest. She batted his hand away. He lunged again and as he did so she slapped his face, hard. “Get your hands off me.”

“You would strike a MacLeish?” he said in disbelief, rubbing his cheek. “You’ll pay for that soon enough, lass.”

“Enough. I’m not part of this game. You’re holding me here against my will. That is a crime and if you don’t let me out at once, I shall call the police and have you arrested.”

“Call for whatever you like. No one will hear you from up here.”

“I’m calling them right now,” she said, reaching for her cellphone in her jacket pocket. She cursed as she realized it wasn’t there.

Of course it wasn’t. She’s given her jacket to her mother to keep her warm in the cold Scottish air. No cellphone, no car keys, no way of getting help. Fantastic.

Derek was still looking at her. He lowered his voice. “I’m a MacLeish you know? I can help you if you let me.”

“You can help me by getting out of my way. I’m not staying here a minute longer.” She tried to push past him.

He shoved her backward and the door was shut before she had time to recover. She ran across and tried to get it open again but it was already locked. Hammering on the door, she screamed, “Let me out at once!”

There was no response, only retreating footsteps.

She crossed to the window and shouted, “Help!” No one even looked up. They were all clearly in on this together.

Was it not a re-enactment? She’d done a couple of escape the room challenges before. Was this the same kind of thing? Had her mother paid for it for her as some kind of surprise?

It was possible. The fire hadn’t injured her. Could they fake a fire though? Of course they could, it happened all the time on TV. Were the victims just covered in special effects make up? Was that it?

She thought about what had happened so far that morning. They’d arrived at the old hall just after it opened, the first visitors to go inside. Her mother had been unusually excited. She’d thought it was just because she was seeing Andrew MacIntyre’s birthplace but maybe it was because of this.

The smoke. Her mother had noticed it first. Almost as if she were expecting it. Then the flames and her moving through them to the outside, miraculously unhurt.

The men on horseback had appeared from nowhere which was very convenient as well.

Some had run into the fire without stopping. It was all starting to make some kind of sense. It was a set up. They’d brought out actors playing the wounded.

Had she actually seen anyone getting hurt?

No, not a single person. It all fitted her theory. This was just a game like that Michael Douglas movie or that other one, the Bill Murray one set in London. The Man Who Knew Too Little. That was it.

It must have cost her mother a fortune for the tickets. All these people needed paying and all of them doing this just for her benefit.

She could have kicked herself for being frightened. None of this was real, it was just a game. She looked at the clothes Derek had left on the rug when he left. They looked so authentic. The attention to detail was incredible.

She thought about what she knew about medieval costume. Holding up each piece, she slotted them together in her head, trying to remember what her mother had said while they’d been going around the old hall.

No underwear but a long linen undergown. What was that called? A kirtle, that was it. Like a nightdress but almost reaching the floor. Then a dress of plain red wool, the hem of that would reach the floor. Several holes had been deliberately cut into the dress, she had no idea why.

Grey leggings called hose like the men wore. A wool belt known as a girdle back then. Black leather shoes like modern slippers but with the seams on the inside. Attached to the bottom of each shoe was a smooth wooden sole an inch high.

A white pillbox hat was in the pile too. Then a chin strap to hold the hat in place. That was a barbette, she remembered mom saying.

“Only married women had to cover their hair at that time,” mom had said, pointing to the mannequins on display in the old hall. “But you were looked down on if you had your hair on display at all, especially in the noble families. They were quite lucky up in Scotland, lots of plants to dye the clothes. Down in England it was a lot more expensive to be so colorful.”

Seeing outfits like that on a mannequin was very different to holding one in her hands. Was she supposed to put it all on and act like one of them? Could she at least get someone to break character and explain what she was supposed to do?

She looked out into the courtyard again. She saw Derek deep in conversation with Andrew, the laird, the man her mother had admired more than any other figure from the middle ages.

“He united an entire clan and then brought peace to the region for decades afterward,” as she was so fond of telling Beth. “No other clan chief achieved as much for another hundred years.”

Beth looked down at the actor playing him. From this distance she couldn’t tell what he was talking about but she guessed it was her. Derek was gesticulating next to him, no doubt complaining about being slapped.

He seemed to make up his mind a moment later about something and marched toward the keep. Was he coming to her? He stopped again, turning back, continuing his conversation with Derek.

She had to decide quickly. Join in the game or tell him she wanted to cancel the whole thing. Mom had paid for it and would want her to enjoy it.

There was something else she needed to decide too. Should she change into the clothes they’d given her or remain in her existing ones?

Her mother had given her no clues about any of it, she never even mentioned an interactive game when they headed to Scotland together.

Two weeks looking at the sites her mother loved. That was all they were supposed to be doing. It might be their last chance. She was getting weaker all the time. It wouldn’t be long before she lacked the strength for any journeys. It might be their last vacation together ever. That thought alone was enough to bring Beth close to tears.

She would join in, she decided at last. It would be what her mother wanted. She pulled her top over her head, tossing it onto the bed.

Crossing the room to the ewer, she sloshed water onto her arms, wiping away the worst of the soot. Returning to the bed, she undressed to her bra and panties before rolling the hose up her legs. They felt softer than she’d expected, more like leggings than pantyhose.

Once that was done she stepped into the kirtle. Over that went the dress, the kirtle visible in places through it. The dress fitted her surprisingly well, the hem brushing the floor until she put the shoes on, their wooden soles raising her in height at the cost of her ability to balance.

It took a while to get used to the feel of the shoes on her feet. When she finally felt able to stand without stumbling she turned to the hat, tying it to her head with the barbette in a neat bow under her chin.

She wished there was a mirror to see how she looked but maybe her mother could take a photo whenever they were finally reunited. She brushed the dress down, surprised by how comfortable the ensemble was.

She knew he was coming up. She could feel it in her bones. He was on his way up the stairs.

Still it came as a shock when she heard the door unlocking behind her. He was so tall he had to duck as he entered the room, only standing up straight once he was inside. He took one look and her and said, “Now you look like a proper highland lass.”