Chapter Four

 

 

She looked like she’d lived in the castle forever. Andrew couldn’t believe his eyes when he unlocked the tower to find her standing there like a true highland lass, fire in her eyes and standing like she was ready for a fight.

From what Derek had told him of her refusing to change, he expected an argument but nothing had prepared him for the sight of her in that dress that clung to her body so perfectly. He walked in to find her not only changed into the attire that had been provided but looking utterly ravishing.

Her hair was hidden under the filet but that meant her face had nothing to hide its beauty.

The dress fitted her as if it had been made just for her, the girdle gathering it in tightly at the waist. Through the carefully cut holes he could see hints of her kirtle. It was the latest fashion and he approved, at least on her.

It made him desperate to see more, exactly as the seamstress intended. Imagine seeing her in just the kirtle, he thought, then he imagined peeling even that layer from her, leaving her wearing not a single stitch of clothing.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It would never do to have such sinful desires for a MacLeish. People would talk. “I have sent word to your father.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time for a reply.”

“Oh, and why’s that? Think he’ll disown your actions?”

“My father’s dead.”

“Duff MacLeish is dead?”

“No, Jonathan  Dagless is dead.”

He scratched his forehead. “Who’s Jonathan Dagless?”

“My father. He died when I was ten.”

“Are you saying your father is not Duff MacLeish?”

“That’s what I just tried to tell you. Now just stop acting for a minute and talk to me about this game.”

“This is no game lass.”

“I know, I know. You’re not supposed to break character. But I can if my mom’s paying for this. I want to speak to her then I promise I’ll be as medieval as you want. All bad teeth and swordplay. Whatever you need.”

“I have no ken what you’re blathering about but if you think I’m going to believe you’re not a MacLeish when you were with those who wore their tartan, you’re a fool.”

“I’m not a MacLeish. I’m Beth Dagless. I’m twenty-three, I live in Surrey and I’ve been studying architecture for the last year with the Open University. I’m not a MacLeish, a MacDonald’s burger or a Cameron MacIntosh musical. I’m here with my mom and I’m worried about her. She’s really sick, okay? So you can stop all this yay verily and hey nonny nonny and talk to me like a normal person or I’ll be leaving a scorcher of a one star review on Tripadvisor about this castle and this game.”

He sighed, examining her closely. “You use a lot of strange words, lassie, whoever you are. Tell me something.”

“What?”

“If you’re not a MacLeish, how do you explain coming out of my hall with one of their burning torches in your hand?”

“I was visiting with my mom.”

“Does she work for me? I’ve not seen you before.”

“No, listen. We’d come to see the birthplace of Andrew MacIntyre. Then I don’t know, there was this fire all of a sudden. It was like a magic fire and then this tornado blew me outside and I’d grabbed mom’s hand but it wasn’t her hand, it was that torch you saw.”

“Why did you come to see where I was born?”

“Sorry, what? That’s what you choose to focus on? You are so self centred.”

“Why did you come to see where I was born?”

“Look, I know you’re acting. You’re playing Andrew MacIntyre. I get it. You’re the laird and all gruff but I’m not playing until I get to see my mom.”

He stood tall, his voice loud enough to make her wince. “I am not acting anything. I am Andrew MacIntyre, laird of all these lands and the fair isles to the north of here.”

“Right. Course you are. Look, I bet I can catch you out. What year is this?”

“The year of our Lord 1190.”

“Okay then. If it’s really 1190, who’s the king?”

“William is once again king of Scotland though only after handing over a fortune to Henry last year like we still pay weregild to our tormentors, the deuced fool.”

“You know your history. I’ll give you that. Do they have some course you have to take before doing this?”

“Course?”

“You know, training you up so it’s all believable. I know it’s a game okay? There’s no need to keep pretending.”

“You still insist in this absurd nonsense of gameplay? I will prove this is real. Come with me.”

He marched to the door, waving impatiently for her to follow. He didn’t look back. He knew she would come after him.

 

 

*

 

 

Beth wasn’t sure where he was taking her but anywhere was better than being locked in like Rapunzel. She followed him to the end of the corridor as he turned, and then headed downstairs.

As she descended, she noticed a smell so bad it almost knocked her over. “What is that?” she asked, trying not to gag as they walked along the corridor and out onto the balcony beyond.

“What? There was only the great hall back there? What of it?”

“You didn’t notice that smell?”

He shook his head. “You are stalling. It will not work. Come see what kind of game you think this is.”

He marched across the courtyard leaving her to follow. The hall had smelt so foul she gulped at the fresh air like a drowning sailor washed onto a beach after a storm. It smelled as if the hall had been used as a bin and toilet all at once.

The courtyard was little better. To her left clothes were draped over thick bushes of holly to dry but there was little chance of that in such damp air.

The mud was churned up from the passage of many feet and it was imbued with stink that clung to her nose and the back of her throat. Walking through the filth in her medieval shoes was not easy but she was more glad than ever for the wooden soles. They stopped the worst of it soaking into her feet and helped the hem of her dress remain relatively clean.

The actor playing Andrew opened the door to a building set against the castle wall, standing for a brief moment under the pentise overhanging the entrance. “In here,” he said before vanishing.

It took Beth’s eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom as she followed him inside. She heard crying and moaning up ahead of her in the darkness.

“Where are we?” she asked, blinking and through the gloom spying low beds laid out in a row along the wall. A figure occupied each one, some still, some writhing and moaning in agony.

“The infirmary,” Andrew said, striding toward the nearest bed. “Does this look like a game to you?” he asked, pointing down at the woman laid before them, her face wrapped in clothes. What skin was visible was burning red and black.

An awful smell rose from the patient, far worse than that which came from the great hall.

Beth had to work hard not to gag as the woman shifted in place. Her mouth opened and a gout of blood spurted out like a fountain. “Rory,” the actor shouted. “Mary needs your aid.”

Out of the shadows a portly figure ran over, kneeling next to the bed, wiping blood from the stricken woman’s lips. “Stay still,” he whispered. “God is with you. Angels protect her.”

The woman coughed again, her back arching as she did so. Then she fell back, a final wisp of air leaving her lungs. She was dead.

“Gone,” Rory said, closing her eyes with his palm before getting to his feet. “May the Lord protect you and the angels watch over you.”

“But…but this is just a game,” Beth said, staggering backward toward the door. “She’s just acting, right?”

Andrew looked furious. “I’ve known that woman all my life.”

The whispering voice in the back of her head finally spoke loud enough for her to hear, though she still tried to ignore them. “This isn’t a game,” it said. “This is real and you better get used to the idea.”

She’d always known of course, deep down. She’d just been trying her best to deny it. What was more likely? That this was an elaborate live action game involving a cast of literally hundreds, all set in countless acres of land? Or that she had somehow found herself in the actual middle ages?

Neither option seemed particularly plausible but the dead woman in front of her looked very real.

Had she died in the fire? Was this some elaborate version of heaven? No, if it was heaven, there wouldn’t be mud on everything.

“This is real, isn’t it?” she muttered, groping for the door, desperate for some air. “Oh, God. This is really happening.”

She almost fell out into the open, grabbing hold of the wooden post that held up one corner of the pentise. A wave of dizziness washed over her. This wasn’t a game. This was 1190 and that poor woman had just died from a fire they thought she’d help set.

This being the past meant two things. The man standing in the doorway looking out at her actually was Andrew MacIntyre, laird of the clan her mother loved so much. Perhaps she should ask him if he planned on marrying a Dagless. Maybe she’d meet her own great, great, great times however many great, grandmother here.

This being the actual middle ages meant something far worse than being stuck here. It meant she might never see her mom again. That thought brought tears to her eyes that she couldn’t stop from falling as she gasped for breath, sinking to her knees, shaking her head in disbelief. “It can’t be real, it must be a game.”

“This is no game,” Andrew said softly behind her. She looked up, expecting to see fury still plastered across his face.

Instead, he looked kinder, almost gentle. He held out a hand, lifting her slowly to her feet as she continued to pant for breath.

“The hall,” she gasped, talking to herself as if he wasn’t there. “It must be something to do with the hall and the fire. If I go back, maybe I can get back to her. She’ll be worrying herself sick wondering where I am. I have to go.”

She turned but he wouldn’t let go of her hand.

“What are you doing? Let go of me? I’m going to look for my mom.”

“It’s not safe out there, lass. The MacLeishes are on their way and there may be a siege coming before long.”

“So? What does that matter to me? Let me go.”

He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “There are others out there too. Those who might not be as kind as I’ve been.”

“Kind? You lock me in the tower and won’t let me leave your castle. How is that kind?”

“Kinder than letting my men toss you back into the blaze. Kinder than having you hanged for your part in murder. Kinder than letting you walk out while those from Pluscarden make their way here. Some of them may want revenge on those who burned down their village and I won’t be able to stop them if I’m in here and you’re out there.”

“But I didn’t do it.”

He let go of her hand. “Aye. I think I believe you.”

“All of a sudden, you just believe me?”

He shrugged. “You have honest eyes.”

“So you’ll let me go?”

He shook his head. “I said I believe you but I doubt they will. I’m doing this for your own safety.” He waved at someone who was crossing the courtyard carrying a roll of parchment. “Finley, over here.”

“I was just looking for you,” Finley replied. “I have MacLeish’s response to your missive.”

“I will take it. Get Derek and get her into the tower.”

“Aye, my laird. Derek!”

Beth turned and begged Andrew to let her go. “Please, don’t do this. I need to go home.”

“It’s for your own good lass. You’ll be safe here while we sort this affair out. I will not leave you long, I swear.”

A look of sorrow crossed his eyes as he turned away, breaking the wax seal that held the letter shut and reading quickly.

Derek and Finley began dragging her away. She again called out to Andrew but he was walking away, ignoring her completely.

 “Help me get her to the top of the tower,” Derek said. “She’ll not escape there.”

“But that part’s not finished. If she should escape…”

“If she plans to escape that way, it’ll be by growing wings.”

Beth tried once more to break free but more men appeared. She could only struggle as they dragged her kicking and screaming across the courtyard and into the keep. She fought them all the way up the stairs but it was no use. They went past the room she’d been in before and still they were going up.

At last they reached the top. She was pushed through a doorway into a half built room that was open to the elements, the wind blowing into it from two open sides. It was barely a room at all, lacking a roof and most of the walls. As Derek pulled the door closed, she hammered her fists upon it, demanding to be let out.

She was trapped once more and she no longer even had the comfort of thinking it was a game. It was real. She was really in 1190 and, like he’d said, unless she learned to fly, there was nothing she could do until someone came and let her out.

Once they did, she vowed never to let any of them near her again. She would run out of the castle gates and back to the hall. She held onto that idea like her mom would grip the locket when she was afraid.

If coming out of the hall had brought her back in time then it stood to reason that going back inside would return her  to the present. She’d get back to her mom and have the chance to tell her just what Andrew MacIntyre was really like. He was a brute and she wanted nothing at all to do with him.

His smoldering eyes, his taut muscles, those broad shoulders that would make her feel so safe if he wrapped her in his arms. No, she didn’t want anything to do with any of those things at all. Definitely not.