by Katy Baker
Sophie winced inwardly. She had to tread carefully and guard her words. These people were not idiots and it would only take one slip for her story to unravel. “I grew up in England, but my family is Scottish.” Thinking quickly, she added, “In fact, that’s why I’m here. I hoped to trace my ancestry.” She paused, thinking through what to say. If she was to have any hope of getting home, she needed answers. “I’m looking for a woman called Irene MacAskill. I had hoped she could help me in my quest. Do you know her?”
Elspeth pursed her lips. “I canna say as I do. The MacAskills are a small clan and they live a long way from here.”
Sophie’s stomach sank. It was too much to hope that she would find what she needed so easily. Irene MacAskill had brought her here, she was sure of it, and it stood to reason that she could take her home again. She just had to survive long enough to find the woman. Sophie handed back the towel.
Taking it, Elspeth cocked her head. “Right. Let’s find ye something warmer and less fashionable. We dinna want people staring at ye all day do we?”
Sophie nodded. You don’t know the half of it, Elspeth.
She stripped off her wet clothes, cheeks flushing in embarrassment when Elspeth showed no signs of leaving or of even turning her back. It seemed there were different ideas about modesty in this time. The older woman handed over some dry undergarments, a pair of stockings and a shift to go over the top. Once Sophie had put these on, she chose a dress from the pile on the bed. It had a tight bodice, long skirts, bell sleeves, and was dyed a deep burgundy.
“It’s beautiful,” Sophie said. “But I’m not sure it will suit me.” Back home, Sophie wore dresses on exactly two occasions: weddings and funerals. She spent most of her time in messy overalls or jeans. Dresses weren’t exactly conducive to working outdoors all day.
“Nonsense,” Elspeth said, waving away Sophie’s concern. “The color will set off yer eyes perfectly.” She sighed, a wistful expression coming over her face. “These belonged to my daughter.”
“Oh? Then I’ll have to thank her.”
“I’m afraid ye canna do that,” Elspeth replied with a sad smile. “The lung fever took her last spring.”
A pang went through Sophie. Without thinking, she crossed the room and took Elspeth’s hands in hers. “I’m so sorry.”
Elspeth squeezed her hands. “I thank ye for that. Ye have a kind heart, Sophie. I’m sure Catherine would be pleased to know her dresses havenae gone to waste.”
Sophie wasn’t sure how she felt about wearing Elspeth’s daughter’s clothes but she realized she had no choice. If she wanted to fit in here until she found a way home, she’d have to look the part.
“I’m grateful for all you’ve done,” she said. “You’ve been really kind.”
Elspeth waved her thanks away. “Dinna fash, tis good to have someone to fuss over again.”
Getting into the dress turned out to be something of an ordeal and Sophie began to understand why women—or noblewomen at least—had help from their maids. She pulled the dress over her head and realized there was a whole host of complicated hooks on the back. She doubted she could have managed without Elspeth’s help.
But finally they got it done and she did a little twirl as Elspeth stepped back.
“Well? How do I look?”
“Pretty as a spring flower, my dear,” Elspeth said, smiling. “I knew that color would suit ye.” Then she frowned. “But we have to do something with yer hair. Come, sit.”
Sophie perched on the seat whilst Elspeth took the brush and began combing out Sophie’s wet tangles. It was oddly relaxing. When had she ever had somebody comb out her hair? She couldn’t think of a time.
As she worked, Elspeth chatted. It was small talk mostly, but Sophie was content to listen and absorb as much as she could. In short order she’d learned that a woman in the village was expecting twins—a rare occurrence if they both survived—that three of Laird MacKay’s guardsmen were currently in the stocks in the village square for being caught drunk on duty, and that there was unrest in the area due to some of the southern lords siding with the English.
But there was no mention of strange archways, journeys through time, or anyone who might be Irene MacAskill.
“How do you know Callum?” Sophie asked Elspeth.
“We’ve known him since he was a bairn,” she replied. “Murdoch and Callum’s father, Tavish, were friends since childhood. We’ve always thought of him as a member of the family and since Tavish’s death and Callum taking his place in the Order, that bond has only grown, especially now, with all the rumors.”
“Order?” Sophie asked. “What order?”
The brush stilled. Sophie glanced up to see Elspeth biting her lip. “Naught, my dear. I was only thinking out loud.”
She returned to brushing Sophie’s hair as if nothing had happened but Sophie hadn’t failed to notice the way Elspeth had paled, as if she’d said more than she meant to. What order? And what rumors?
Callum had told her very little about himself and in fact Sophie had learned more from Elspeth in a few moments than she had from Callum during the time she’d spent in his company.
She frowned to herself. Who was Callum Sutherland?
“HERE, IT WILL WARM ye up.” Murdoch held out a goblet of whisky and Callum took it gratefully, knocking it back in one go and then holding his goblet out for a refill.
“Seems ye’ve worked up a thirst on yer ride,” Murdoch said, pouring another dram.
“Aye. Ye could say that.” He walked over to the fire and stood in front of it, allowing the heat to begin thawing the ice that had settled into his veins—ice that came from more than just the cold weather.
He and Murdoch were alone in the laird’s solar in the north tower of the castle. Even so, Callum couldn’t help glancing warily at the door, as though spies might be listening.
Seeing this, Murdoch frowned. “What is it, lad? Ye are as jumpy as a spooked cat. What’s happened?”
Callum downed his drink and set the goblet on the table. Outside, the clouds were beginning to break, bathing the land in bright sunshine.
What’s happened? he thought. Where do I even begin? With our enemies moving against us? Or being accosted by the Fae?
Murdoch said nothing, waiting patiently. Callum blew out a breath and turned to face his old friend. “Alfred has gone missing. I went to the scheduled meeting place, but he wasnae there and there were signs of a struggle. I think he’s been taken.”
Murdoch’s expression tightened, a flash of anger in his eyes. Murdoch might be old and mellow now but once he’d been one of the most feared warriors in the Highlands.
“Ye think it’s the Disinherited?”
Callum nodded. “Who else could it be? Alfred must have discovered something.”
Murdoch let forth a string of curses. “Damn them! They skulk in the shadows like spiders!”
“Have ye heard aught?” Callum asked. “Any news come in from yer eyes-and-ears?”
Murdoch shook his head. “Only the usual. Discontent amongst the border lords. Rumors of some of them accepting English manors in exchange for fealty to Bolingbroke. None of it substantiated, of course.”
“And the Disinherited?”
“Naught that can be ascribed to them directly. There’s been tales of small bands of men asking strange questions in some of the villages, but no more than that.”
“I don’t like it,” Callum said, gripping the edge of the table. “Something is stirring. I can feel it.”
Murdoch laid a hand on Callum’s shoulder. “We’ll find Alfred. We’ll either rescue him or avenge him. We willnae leave one of our Order in their hands.”
Callum nodded. “Aye. I know it.” It was one of the founding tenets of their Order never to abandon one of their own, no matter how grave the risk. The tenet came second only to guarding the secret entrusted to them.
Murdoch watched him steadily. “There’s more isnae there?”
Images flashed through C
allum’s mind. Standing stones rising above him as he knelt and made his vow. His father laying the ceremonial sword on his shoulders as he spoke the words that admitted him into the Order.
And then Irene MacAskill’s dark gaze and her words ringing in his mind. Things are changing and I have come to warn ye. The balance is shifting and powers are stirring.
Callum shook his head. “Is that not enough?” He didn’t know why he didn’t tell Murdoch about his meeting with Irene. After all, Murdoch knew all about the Fae—as all of their Order did—but something stopped him.
Murdoch nodded, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll send out word, make discreet enquiries. We’ll find Alfred and get to the bottom of this.”
“I knew I could count on ye, my old friend.”
Murdoch raised an eyebrow. “Always. Did we not swear an oath together, ye and I?” He studied Callum for a moment and then smiled. “Tavish would be proud of ye, my boy.”
Callum said nothing. His father would be proud? Really? Callum doubted it. Under his leadership the Order had seen the Disinherited grow in strength, sowing discontent throughout the land and drawing ever closer to discovering the secrets the Order guarded. If his father had been here they would not be in the dire straits they found themselves in now.
But he isnae, Callum told himself. There is only ye. And ye must do yer best to live up to his example.
The weight of responsibility settled around his neck. Sometimes it felt so heavy that he was sure he would break. How had his father managed it? He’d been a better man than Callum could hope to be.
“I know that expression,” Murdoch said. “Ye are doubting yerself again.” He sighed. “Ye have to let it go. Ye have to be yer own man.”
Let it go? Callum thought. How can I? After all the mistakes I’ve made?
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Murdoch’s steward stuck his head through.
“Begging yer pardon, my lord,” the old man said. “But yer guest has just arrived. Shall I ask him to wait in the great hall?”
Murdoch’s shaggy gray eyebrows pulled into a frown. “He’s not supposed to be arriving until tomorrow.”
The steward shrugged, showing he had no explanation for this.
“Bah!” Murdoch waved a hand. “Show him straight up. It wouldnae do to keep him waiting.”
“Guest?” Callum said.
Murdoch shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Aye. Robert Rochford, the younger brother of Earl Rochford. Last year we were in negotiations for a marriage contract between the earl and Catherine. After...what happened... that all fell through of course but the earl seems keen to cement the alliance through other means. His brother was supposed to be arriving tomorrow to continue the talks.”
There was another knock on the door and the steward entered again, stepping aside to allow Murdoch’s guest to enter. A man of around Callum’s age walked in, smiling widely. Robert Rochford had blond hair, light gray eyes, and a white scar tracking its way down his cheek from below his eyes to his chin. He did not wear a plaid but instead sported a tunic ensemble made of expensive velvet that was no doubt all the rage at court. But for all his finery, the man carried himself like a warrior and had callouses on his hands that showed he was used to wielding a sword.
“Laird MacKay!” he exclaimed, giving Murdoch a bow. “An honor as always.” His accent was difficult to trace, half Scots, half English.
Murdoch inclined his head in a slight bow. “Well met, Robert. Although I have to say, I’m surprised by yer early arrival, especially with the bad weather we’ve been having.”
“What can I say?” Robert replied. “My brother is eager to cement alliances, especially with the rumors we hear of Bolingbroke stirring up trouble along the border.”
“Bolingbroke is always stirring up trouble along the border,” Murdoch growled. “The English kings have ever set their greedy eyes on Scotland. That never changes, no matter who sits on the throne.” He turned to Callum. “May I introduce my friend, Callum Sutherland.”
Robert’s eyes swept over Callum, taking in his mud-spattered clothing and bedraggled appearance, then gave the barest of nods in greeting.
“I hoped we could discuss the terms of our alliance,” he said to Murdoch. “In private.”
Callum bristled at his dismissive tone but before he could say anything, Murdoch replied, “Nay doubt ye are tired from yer journey. Our discussion can wait until later. Will ye join us for dinner in the great hall tonight?”
Rochford’s jaw clenched in annoyance. He seemed about to say something but then inclined his head in acquiescence. “Of course. I would be honored.”
Murdoch turned to his steward. “See that Lord Rochford is shown to a guest room and given whatever he needs.”
Rochford, thoroughly dismissed, walked to the door. He paused on the threshold and looked back, his eyes fixing on Callum. They narrowed for an instant, flashing with an instant dislike, then he turned and was gone.
“What charming friends ye have,” Callum said drily. “A more arrogant peacock I havenae seen in a long time.”
“Aye, but that arrogant peacock is the brother of one of the most powerful nobles in the region. Ye would do well not to antagonize him.”
“Noted. What’s he doing here? Why does Rochford want an alliance with the MacKay? I would have thought he was more inclined to join with the border lords. The Rochfords are more English than Scot, anyway.”
Murdoch shrugged. “The earl wants land on my southern borders. That land would have gone to him as part of Catherine’s dowry. Now he is seeking other means to acquire it.”
“Why? What’s so special about that land?”
“I havenae the faintest idea. It’s rocky mostly, not fit for farming, and I have no intention of granting what he wants anyway. I know how these things start: a bit of worthless land to begin with but then he’ll want more and more. He’ll get naught from me but I’ll pay lip service to Robert Rochford to keep him sweet whilst he’s here.” He fixed Callum with a stare. “And that means ye not causing any trouble.”
“Me?” Callum said, putting a hand to his breast in mock-outrage. “What makes ye think I’ll cause any trouble?”
Murdoch grunted. “Ye were like two tom-cats eyeballing each other the moment ye laid eyes on each other. I mean it, Callum. I dinna want any trouble.”
“I will be as polite as a courtier, I promise,” Callum said with a smile. Then he sighed. “Besides, I’ve got plenty enough trouble of my own. I dinna need any more.”
Chapter 5
Sophie’s stomach fluttered with nerves as she accompanied Elspeth to the great hall for dinner. She could hear the noise from within even before they reached the doorway and the sound of so many people—people so far removed from everything she knew—made her knees go weak.
You can do this, she told herself resolutely. You’re a medieval noblewoman who attends castle feasts all the time. Make sure you look the part!
They swept through the door and into the hall. Unlike when she’d seen the place earlier, it was now busy with people. It seemed every available spot on the benches was taken. Sophie spotted guardsmen, serving staff, and people dressed in the simple homespun garb of crofters and villagers. It seemed that everyone was welcome at the laird’s table. It was warm and stuffy with the smell of ale and food drowning out the scent of herbs from the rushes on the floor.
Despite her earlier resolution, Sophie stopped. How was she supposed to do this? How was she supposed to convince these people that she was one of them? She had the overwhelming urge to turn around and run back to her room.
But then she spotted the high table and found that Callum was already seated there, next to Laird MacKay. He was staring right at her.
The noise of the hall suddenly seemed to fall away. The heat and the smells disappeared. Callum’s gaze was clear and strong as he stared at her, although he did not smile. Her heart skipped and she found her fear dissipating a little.
“Sophie?”
Elspeth asked. “Is somewhat wrong?”
Sophie shook herself. “Sorry. No, I’m fine.”
“This way then.”
Elspeth led her around the edge of the hall to the high table. Both Callum and Laird MacKay rose to greet them, along with a blond-haired man who had been sitting to the laird’s right.
“Welcome, Lady MacCullough,” Laird MacKay boomed, giving her a bow. “May I introduce Lord Robert Rochford.” He indicated the blond man.
The man gave her an elegant bow, bending at the waist. He was extremely good-looking, Sophie noticed, with blond hair and clear gray eyes. The scar down his cheek only seemed to accentuate his looks. He took her hand and kissed it.
“An honor to meet ye, Lady MacCullough.”
“I...um...likewise,” Sophie floundered. She tried to pull her hand from the man’s grip but he held onto it longer than strictly necessary. He wore a tiny half-smile.
Callum, Sophie noticed, glared at Lord Rochford with undisguised hostility although the blond man affected not to notice.
“Sit!” Lord MacKay announced. “And eat!”
Elspeth took a seat by her husband and Sophie sank gratefully onto a chair next to Callum. From here she had a perfect view of the great hall and its occupants but it meant they had a perfect view of her as well. She caught more than one look of curiosity aimed her way and she was sure people were gossiping about this foreign woman who’d turned up in their midst.
It’s like being a goldfish in a bowl, she thought.
“They’re just curious,” Callum said, reading her wariness. “It isnae often we get visitors in these parts.”
Her eyebrows rose and Callum laughed. “Dinna look so shocked. One thing ye will soon learn is that in a castle like this, gossip spreads faster than a heathland fire on a summer’s day.”
Sophie blinked, unsure what to make of this. She was used to a quiet life and wasn’t sure she liked being the center of attention—or the fact that people were gossiping about her. Callum was still watching her, his hazel eyes never leaving her face.
