Behind the Plaid (4 page)

Part of me want
ed to let them pass. To run back up the stairs and bury myself inside one of those wenches. To forget the powerful weight of my duty to the crown. The responsibility that had been heaped on my shoulders at birth. A pact forged in blood.

I
turned around and glanced at Ewan by the closed door. “Alert the men.” Glanced back out the window, watching as the trees swayed with the wind. The sky had turned from orange to grey. “Looks like a storm is brewing. All are to be prepared. Our guests could arrive in the next few hours.”

Given the storm, the strong winds would push their sails, making the
galleons arrival sooner than expected. Littering our sandy beaches with the filth and stench of their betrayal. Who the hell was it now? Who would dare?

Unfortunately, the answer to that question was too many…

No matter. I was prepared to keep Gealach, and to safeguard its secrets from all who wished to plunder her.

Chapter Three

Emma

I
blinked open my eyes, staring down at my hands laced in the green grass. Splatters of mud caked and dried between the folds of my knuckles and in-between my fingers. The rain had ceased and the ground itself was dry. A cold fall wind swept through my unpinned hair and down the neck of my blouse to chill my spine. Daylight had come.

How l
ong had I been passed out? Didn’t feel like long. Seconds maybe. Why hadn’t my driver ever come to fetch me?

Pushing up onto my knees, I
glanced over my shoulder at what had been a rather modern bridge, to find the iron handrails replaced with wood. The once empty moat was now filled with water. The hill leading down to where the road had once been, and the city… It was gone. Only medieval-looking cottages and fields covered the small Scottish town. No taxi. No driver. Not even my suitcase. The only thing I had was myself and my purse.

I’d curse the
driver for leaving me, but judging from my surroundings, he didn’t exist. Or he’d somehow disappeared—along with the asphalt road.

I stared, unthinking, numb. Slowly turning back around
, I gazed up at Gealach Castle, my eyes widening. The castle looked different. Stones that had been crumbling were magically back in place. Birds could no longer swoop into the openness of the decaying keep as a thick wooden shingled roof kept them out.

Gealach was no longer in ruin. How could that be? I’d visited just a couple days ago and stood in the great hall
looking up at the sky covered with greying clouds, marveling at how the structure had remained and weather was free to enter as it pleased.

A
n eerie silence hushed over the deserted grounds. As if time stood still.

I must have hit my head on something as I fell.
I desperately looked down for a rock or log. That was the only explanation. I was either hallucinating or in a dream. Except…my explanation nagged at me. The heat of the sun warmed my skin. The dirt on my hands that I flaked off with my nails felt real. There was nothing but soft grass below me. Nothing to knock me out.

Perhaps I’d been struck by lightning?

My head ached. I must have injured myself somehow. But there was no particular spot of pain—it hurt all over like a migraine. I sat dejectedly, legs tucked and rummaged through my purse for a small bottle of ibuprofen. Popping them into my mouth, I swallowed them dry. The pills lodged in my throat and I coughed, trying hard with whatever saliva was left in my mouth to swallow the damn things. I just wanted to cease the pounding in my head. The bitter taste of the pills’ coating rose up my throat and I shivered.

What the hell was going on?

Well, I couldn’t just sit here. I couldn’t wrap my head around any of what was happening. Couldn’t fathom the conclusions I’d started to come too. There had to be another, more believable, explanation. Perhaps in the dark and rain I’d mistaken this place for Gealach. My driver had gotten irritated and left. I’d just have to walk down into the village at the bottom of the hill, find out where I was and call another taxi. I’d have to hurry, too.

No doubt Steven and his family had begun a search and had hours of lead time. A sudden fear snaked around my spine, gripping it, nearly making me fall over as though it’d snapped.

What if he was in the village already? Waiting for me?

I shook my head. I couldn’t go to the village. Turning around, I did the next logical thing. I would find the visitor’s desk inside the castle and use their phone to call a cab.
I felt inside my pocket, McBurns’ card was still there. I could hide out inside until the driver arrived and then make my escape.

As I turned to head toward the castle, a cacopho
ny of noise trumpeted in my ears—but only for a split second. The air around me shifted, visibly, making me dizzy. It appeared to warp, swirl. Then there was nothing. No sounds, no wavering air. I put my hands out in front of me, completely unsteady.

I was beginning to worry. What was happening to me? Was I having a complete mental breakdown? I just needed to get a cab. Be on my way to the train station. Taking a few more hurried steps, I made it to the center of the
courtyard when the racket sounded again, catching me completely off guard. It was loud—hammering, shouting, clanging. Then gone.

I closed my eyes as the air once more shifted in and out, like a strange warping, a black hole.

“Inside. Inside. Inside,” I chanted, forcing my feet to move quickly. The sounds and shifts of space came quicker and quicker. A buzzing, then silence, again and again. I crawled up the stone steps, unable to stay upright, my eyes feeling as though they’d pop from head, so much pressure built up behind them.

On my knees I reached up, hands shaking, fingers unable to connect with the large rings of the front door.
They kept missing, scratching down what should have been ancient oak, but instead was strong and newly polished. Finally catching hold, the cold metal bit into my fingers as though covered in ice, and I flinched, yanking. Nothing happened. Tears of frustration stung my eyes.

I tried again. Hit at the door with my fists—creating a dull thud
. The wood was so thick. Perhaps if I stood, I could put my weight behind it as I yanked. The doors were at least twelve feet high. Somehow, I managed to pull myself up, grasping the metal rings and preparing to yank as hard as I could.

Just as swiftly, the door flung open and I was knocked backward. Unable to catch my balance, I fell down the wide stone steps. My hip hit particularly hard. Landing flat on my back, my eyes glazed with pain and shock, I stared up into the black eyes of a giant.

Tall, wide with muscle, the man wore a green and red kilt, pleated and wrapped about his hips. A linen shirt covered his thick, muscled arms and the end of his plaid was tossed and pinned to one of his broad shoulders. His dark hair was pulled back, tied at the nape of his neck by a bit of leather. Chiseled, hard features, thick square jaw, and a mouth that made me blush.

A raw sensuality emanated from his gaze, sparking something dangerous, carnal and forbidden within me. The feelings were overwhelming, urgent and unknown.

Steven had never made me feel that way. And never from something so normal as a pair of eyes connecting. But there was nothing normal about this man. He was intense, compelling… I felt myself being drawn inside.

He said something in
a bizarre language I didn’t understand. Gaelic maybe? I shook my head, swallowing hard and trying to break my stare. But there was no use, I couldn’t stop looking. He walked down the stairs toward me. On closer inspection I could see his eyes weren’t black but an intense, dark blue.

“What are ye doing
here?” he asked, his Scottish burr strong.

He spoke English too? Thank goodness…
I opened my mouth but no words came out.

He held out his hand, his lips thin
ned into a grimace as our flesh touched. My small palm fit inside his larger one, sending a fresh batch of shivers up my arm. He was warm, in great contrast to my frigid digits. With no effort at all, he pulled me upright, and I noted how the top of my head barely reached the middle of his chest. The man had to be at least six and a half feet tall.

“I… I need to make a phone call,” I finally stammered.

“Phone call?” he asked, slashed brows narrowing in suspicion and question.

But before I could respond, his men shouted all around us, overwhelming my senses once more. The pounding in my head had dissipated some when I concentrated on the giant who’d knocked me down the stairs, but with fresh shouts and clangs of metal the pounding returned tenfold.

“Lower the portcullis! Shut the gates!” the giant ordered.

Men ran
here and there, obeying his orders. Flashes of plaid and weaponry.

“Ye, get inside,” he ordered, his eyes on me.
“Stay hidden.”

On timid feet I rushed up the stairs, ignoring the bru
ised and tender aches on my hips, legs, back and arms. I didn’t know what was happening, but the demand in his voice, the rush of danger, all had me running. Could be a terrorist attack, or a bear or some such. I didn’t know, and I wasn’t willing to find out.

The inside of the castle was dark, dank. A draft blew around my ankles as the heavy door closed with a quiet hush, finishing with a
n echoing bang that reverberated off the stones and rafters. I waited a few moments until my eyes adjusted, then headed straight across the foyer down a few stairs into the great hall. The place greatly resembled Gealach, even though I knew it couldn’t be. There must be plenty of Scottish castles that looked alike.

My ballet flats made no sound as I walked deeper into the empty great hall. The walls were covered in tapestries of battles past and massive displays of weaponry, stuffed wildcats, bears and various other
animals.

The hall smelled… odd. Old. Like peat, stale beer and an underlying earthiness. Hands on my hips I turned in a circle, not seeing a phone or a reception desk, nor anyone to ask. Seemed everyone had run out when the handsome and commanding man had knocked me down. Just thinking about his strong hand as he lifted me sent fresh, enticing chills to cover my flesh. Both exhilarating and frightening, waking some dormant side of myself that had lai
n silent since marrying Steven.

As much as I sensed I could sit and muse on the darkness of his eyes, or the raw power that came off of him in waves, or the fact that it made me feel wholly unlike myself, I couldn’t think about the man now. I needed to find a phone.

I walked back toward the main door, a particularly bruised spot on my hip aching with each step. I grimaced up the three foyer stairs and stopped dead in my tracks.

Through the doors I could hear shouts of pain, screams, horrid noises that had me covering my ears and ducking. Something was horribly wrong. The castle was under attack. But by whom? What would anyone gain from attacking an old tourist trap?

Not knowing where else to go, refusing to accept what appeared to be the truth—that somehow I’d traveled through time—I turned to the right and ran up the circular stone stairs, feeling as though I was climbing high in the sky. The metal handrail was gone from here, too. Round and round I went, tripping over my feet and slipping on the smooth stone. I went down hard on one knee, wincing, crying out. My hand caught against the damp stone wall, rock slicing into my fingertips. Light shone through an arrow slit, and I pulled up on the ledge to look outside. The ledge was about a foot and a half wide, a few feet tall and four feet deep. Big enough for me to climb inside to peek out the long gap in the stone.

I hoisted myself into the alcove, the sounds of whatever horrid fight waged outside, echoing off the stones. What I saw shocked me.

A full battle. It looked so real, sounded even worse. Swords, axes, bows, maces, daggers, shields. The men flung their weapons with ease and skill. Clangs and clashes vibrated the very air. A shock of terror passed through me, my palms sweated and my heart skipped a beat. There was blood. Lots of it. Staining white linen shirts, staining flesh, staining the ground.

The shouts of pain, streams of blood,
were all too real. There was no denying any longer what had happened. I was no longer in my own era… I watched with dawning horror as the battle raged on.