by Pam Binder
“I doubt Sam will show his face,” Logan said.
“Sam’s part of the problem,” Irene added.
Julia slid an accusatory glance toward Fiona. “Have you lost control over the story?”
Taking a breath, Fiona let her arms drop to her sides and moved to join the group. Her lips thinned as she nodded slowly. “You are right to be concerned.” She briefly retold the story of Brigadoon, explained how a similar enchantment surrounded Stirling Castle, and then filled them in on the three men they’d locked in the dungeon only to have them freed by Sam. After answering a few questions, she continued, failing to keep the trembling from her voice. “To satisfy the rules of the enchantment, a wedding must take place. Until this tour, we’ve never failed. Caitlin and Angus…well, if they do reconcile, it will take more than a few hours, and we don’t have the luxury of time.”
Grant shuffled his feet. “If a wedding doesn’t take place, what is the big deal?”
Julia’s voice was a dry whisper. “Angus told me that if there isn’t a wedding, all of us will remain in the thirteenth century.”
Shock robbed everyone of a response, plunging them into silence.
Fiona held up her hand. “That is only part of the problem. We chose this short window in Scotland’s history because it is peaceful. We’re pretty sure we know who is behind the attack. The troubling piece is how they were able to accomplish an attack of this scale.”
Grant shook his head. “Sam used to say he was related to a member of the Douglas clan and planned to visit them when he arrived. I thought he was bragging.”
Fiona took a deep breath, her face going pale. “Suspecting the Douglas clans are involved is troubling. If Sam and his friends knew the identity of the leaders of the clans in this area and the weaknesses in the castle, they might have been able to incite them to violence. We have to find a way to stop them.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The meeting left an unsettled taste in everyone’s mouth. The only conclusion was that Sam and his friends had to be stopped. What was left unsaid was what to do about a wedding.
The sisters had left Irene and Logan alone after they’d made one more plea for them to wed. Irene sat beside Logan in silence in their balcony overlooking the Great Hall. Irene had come to think of this spot as theirs. Fresh-cut tree boughs were draped over the rim of the balcony’s railing. Their pine scent created a forest-like retreat that shielded them from the frantic hum below.
Logan took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb gently across it.
She knew Logan must be thinking about the consequences to his mother. No one could deny that she was getting better, but if there wasn’t a wedding, would all that change? What would Irene have done if she had thought there was a way to reverse her mother’s cancer? Just about anything, was the swift response.
She turned toward him. “There are only a few hours left until midnight…”
He let go of her hand and leaned his elbows against the railing. The boughs crushed under his touch and sent the fragrance of a forest wafting toward her. The smell was crisp and clean and clear. She edged toward him, knowing in that moment what must be done.
“What if Bridget is right, and this place is healing your mother? And if that weren’t enough, there’s a real chance all of us will be stuck here in the thirteenth century. I know that last part sounds very romantic. You’ll get to learn how to use a sword. I’ll get to wear long flowy dresses. Of course, there aren’t any bathrooms or showers.” She paused, going for Logan-style humor. “On the bright side, maybe you’re the one who’ll invent rugby. You could name it Logan.”
He tilted his head toward her and laughed under his breath. “Wouldn’t that be something? Very tempting. I’m not sure where the name originated, but men and women have been playing ball games long before Greek and Roman times. I think the first official rugby match was in Scotland in the 1850s. If I was stuck here forever, a rugby team would be top priority for sure. Who knows? It might take over as the national sport, knocking out European football. But you didn’t want a history lesson on the sport. You were about to make a point.”
She swallowed, gathering her courage. “The only solution is for us to get married.”
He laced his hands together, and glanced toward the activity below. “Are you always this logical?”
“I know you’ve reached the same conclusion.” She allowed the words to settle around them. She’d opened up the idea for discussion. Some might say they’d be marrying for all the wrong reasons. But how could that be the case, if the reason was unselfish? And then another argument broke through. “But you heard the sisters. It has to be true love, the kind that will last forever.”
“One of my friends is in an arranged marriage,” Logan said, still focused on what was happening in the Great Hall. “He’s from India, and his family is very traditional. He’s a neurosurgeon, and all he asked was that his bride have a similar family background and education level. He got his wish. She’s a pediatrician, and he looks at her in the same way my dad looks at my mom. I know not all arranged marriages are successful, but neither are the other kinds. To love someone is to take a leap of faith.”
His words settled around her like a warm cloak, shutting out the clamor of activity below. She didn’t know how her mother had felt about her biological father. Her mother never mentioned him other than to say he’d died before Irene and Louise were born. Irene, however, had seen firsthand the relationship between her mother and stepfather. It was comfortable, companionable. Her mother had seemed content, and her stepfather had spoken only loving words about her. Movies and books spoke of opposites attracting or passions generated by volatile relationships, but that was the movies; this was real life. As it had for Logan’s friend, love bloomed in many ways.
Feeling it was time he knew more about her, she let her words tumble out in a rush. “I knew my fiancé five years before we got engaged, but I don’t think I ever really knew him or what he wanted out of life. I broke it off with him a few weeks before this trip.”
“My wife and I were high school and college sweethearts. The marriage lasted a whole nine weeks.” His mouth tugged at the corner in a bitter smile. “It looks like we’ve blown out of the water the theory that long courtships make for successful relationships.”
Laughter erupted between them, easing the tension, but it dissipated as quickly as it had begun. Silence weaved around them until the lack of sound was deafening.
Logan glanced over at her, his gaze intent. “Will you marry me?”
Irene drew in a breath. “Yes.” Then shook her head. “Whoa, that came out fast. When Chad asked me, I didn’t give him an answer for two weeks.”
Logan squeezed her hand. “Since you answered me right away, I’m guessing that’s a good sign.”
“What about your parents? What will they say?”
“They already think you’re perfect and gave me strict instructions not to mess things up. They’ll be thrilled.”
Irene leaned against his shoulder as silence descended around them again. “What if this doesn’t work?”
He didn’t respond.
Chapter Thirty-Three
A half hour later, Irene and Logan’s announcement was met with relief. But quicker than she could say, “Haggis is gross, no matter how much gravy is slathered over the top,” the sisters had switched topics and devised a plan to find Sam and his friends.
And Irene hated every aspect of their plan.
“The sisters’ reasoning is medieval,” Irene said, mumbling to herself. Temper flashed through her as she paced in front of the hearth in the Great Hall. “The men are searching for the bad guys while we are stuck here.”
Lady Roselyn had cancelled all the celebrations. But since the castle lacked central heating, a fire had to be maintained. And this one roared and attacked the wood with angry flames, which matched Irene’s mood perfectly. The men had metaphorically patted her, Ann, Julia, and Caitlin on the head and announced they w
ere going out to save the day.
To make matters worse, Lady Roselyn had suggested the women occupy their time feeding the fire and doing needlework. Seriously?
Ann and Julia had their heads bent together over a square of embroidery, while Caitlin was adding another log to the fire. She hadn’t said very much except that she and Julia had bonded over their shared belief that Angus was a world-class loser. Caitlin was the only one amongst them who was from the thirteenth century, so maybe she’d think Irene was overreacting to being left behind.
Irene gritted her teeth. She was through with caring about what people thought.
She spun around. “Am I the only one who’s spitting mad? The men are outside hunting that trio of cave dwellers while we’re sewing. I hate sewing.”
“Lady Roselyn said we should stay here.” Julia stabbed a needle into a section of cloth she’d been embroidering. She grimaced as the needle pricked her finger. “Finding the troublemakers is man’s work.”
“Please tell me Lady Roselyn didn’t actually say that?”
Julia sucked the blood off her finger. “Lady Roselyn said the first part. Grant added the second. He’s in character, and he believed it made him sound like a knight protecting his damsel in distress. I have my own thoughts on the subject.”
Irene crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know about you, but I’m as angry as a nest of hornets. We may be stuck in the thirteenth century, but we’re twenty-first-century women. We can help.”
Ann muttered a colorful oath under her breath as she threaded a needle. Julia and Caitlin turned toward her with conflicting expressions of shock and humor. Irene wasn’t surprised. Although Ann looked the part of the wise, beautiful, and refined duchess in a Regency novel rather than a curse-wielding mercenary in an action movie, there was a quiet strength about her.
Ann laced her fingers together in her lap. Outwardly, the way she held her hands looked innocent enough, except the knuckles shone as white as ivory piano keys. “Women in the thirteenth century were pretty fierce themselves. Who do you think defended the castles when the men folk trundled off on their grand adventures? What is more, who do you think made sure there was food on the table, and the sick were cared for? I know my husband and son. They’ll find these men eventually. That’s one of their strengths. But our intruders are hiding, and as the sisters said, we don’t have the luxury of time.”
The clarity of Ann’s thought process was exciting. It was also spot on. Irene brought her chair closer to Ann’s and motioned for Julia and Caitlin to do the same. “We keep referring to the intruders as Neanderthals, me included. We’ve underestimated our enemy. They’re not as dumb as everyone seems to think. After all, they escaped a dungeon and somehow managed to persuade the clans in the area to launch a surprise attack. They’ll suspect that the sisters have ordered their capture and of course go into hiding.”
“I’m not so sure about the last part,” Caitlin said. “They wanted to come on this tour. The attack could be their way of proving to the sisters that they belong here. I think I know where they are. One of the kitchen staff said he saw them hanging around outside when he went for wood.”
“We could lure them to us,” Ann suggested.
Julia’s eyes widened. “Have you forgotten that they tried to kill us? I may not like sitting here turning my fingers into pincushions, but I know my strengths, and chasing after armed men is not one of them. Let Ann’s son and husband and the others do their job. I just want to get back to civilization. After this, if Grant even suggests a reenactment festival, we’re so over.”
Ann leaned against the back of her chair. “Maybe Julia’s right.”
“Except we’re running up against a deadline,” Irene said. “Everything is on hold until they’re captured. No celebrations and, more importantly, no wedding. Without a wedding, we won’t be going back. We’re stuck in this century. I don’t like the idea of luring them here any more than you do, but we have to do something.”
Ann shook her head slowly. “Sun Tzu, who wrote The Art of War, had a famous saying: ‘Know your enemy.’ Do we know their names, or why they came here in the first place, or why they’ve attacked us?”
Caitlin poked the logs in the hearth with a fire iron. “Their names are Cory, Dave, and Alex. They are foulmouthed braggarts who do not understand the first thing about chivalry.” She gave the logs another shove.
Julia set her needlework aside. “I know those names. They were on the same tour I was on before. They’re computer programmers from a tech company in the States. They are not, however, the shy, nerdy types that turn out to be interesting and nice and even sexy once you get to know them. They’re the creepy stalker kind, more interested in getting drunk, picking fights, and grabbing your…well, you get the idea. Sam said he had meant to meet some gamers here that he’d met online, but they’d been turned away. I should have connected the dots sooner.”
Irene turned toward the hearth. The fire crackled, spitting embers and casting a glow over the crossed swords and shield hanging over the mantel. She reached up and touched the shield as an idea formed.
“It sounds as though they are here for revenge or, as Caitlin suggested, a second chance,” Ann said.
Irene nodded, bringing her attention back to the group. “I agree. They’ve been denied their fantasy world and must be feeling pretty frustrated by now. Instead of cancelling the celebrations, we need to take them to the next level. Make it a party they can’t resist. If they’re convinced that our men are outside on a wild goose chase, they might risk coming inside. When they do, we’ll be ready. Ann, do you think you can convince Lady Roselyn to resume the celebrations?”
Ann stood, so excited her eyes sparkled. “That might just work. When I’m done, she’ll think it was her idea.”
“Good. Now all we’ll need is a way to invite them that won’t draw their suspicions.”
“I’ll go,” Caitlin offered. “All four of them tried to get me alone. Angus came to my rescue. He might not be the one-woman type, but he takes protecting women seriously. Despite my protests, and Angus’ intervention, they are deluded into believing I’m interested in them.” Her expression puckered as though she’d bitten into a sour lemon. She shuddered. “I’ll tell them we’ve convinced the sisters to give them a second chance.”
“Do you think they’ll believe you?” Irene said.
Caitlin shrugged. “Cory, Dave, and Alex will want to believe it’s true, and Sam’s ego matches the size of his big head. They don’t see themselves as bad guys. I’m sure they think this has all been a big misunderstanding.”
“We’ll both go,” Julia said. “I don’t want you facing those creeps alone.”
Irene liked the way the plan was developing. They were all working together. “And I’ll ask Fiona and Bridget to follow you in case there’s any trouble. Meanwhile, I’ll set our trap in motion. We’ll all meet back here in an hour.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The ambush was in place, the invitation sent, received, and accepted. Weapons were hidden and a rope tied to a nearby pillar. They were ready. Irene pressed her hand against her stomach. She felt like her first time in court. She’d thrown up her breakfast and lunch, then.
The man who’d first seen Cory, Dave, Alex, and Sam outside the kitchens confirmed they were advancing toward the Great Hall. She’d asked him if he could get word to Logan about their ambush plans, but she hadn’t heard back from him.
Ice-cold panic flashed over her skin. Getting the men here was only part of the problem. Distracting them long enough for the plan to unfold was the bigger challenge.
Throughout the last hour she’d been so busy with the preparations—gathering weapons, rope, and linking together sheets of chainmail until her fingers felt raw—that she hadn’t had time to worry. Waiting was the worst part. A chill rushed over her as though she were standing in a blizzard in a bathing suit. The sisters had made it clear. If they failed, everyone would not only be stuck in the thirtee
nth century for the rest of their lives, they’d be under constant attack by neighboring clans or the English. Not a cheery thought.
She glanced toward the balcony overhead. A couple of hours ago it had been the place where Logan proposed. Now it would play a pivotal role in the ambush. Julia, Caitlin, and Ann had helped Irene link together suits of chainmail that Lady Roselyn had provided, plus the ones Irene had taken from the knights’ statues near the library. They’d sewn the pieces together into a solid panel and attached one end of it to the railing on hooks. Their plan should work…in theory.
Ann rushed forward, out of breath. “The man from the kitchens says they are close.”
“Did he hear from Logan?” Irene asked, her pulse racing.
Ann shook her head. “He saw Logan and his men heading away from the castle, but they were too far away for him to reach them without alerting our targets.”
Footfalls echoed through the corridor, announcing the intruders more effectively than the screech of trumpets.
Irene ignored her churning stomach as she waved to Fiona, Bridget, and Ann on the balcony and then signaled for the musicians to begin. The sisters had proven to be very helpful and had enlisted the kitchen and castle staff to participate in the deception.
The Great Hall transformed as people took their positions near the hearth. They pretended to play board games or gathered in the center of the room to dance. Ann moved amongst them, helping to keep everyone calm and on task. To the casual observer, the hall looked like a postcard image of the perfect Christmas Eve celebration.
The men’s footfalls grew louder. One of the fiddlers struck the wrong note. Irene’s heart raced. Obviously she wasn’t the only one on edge.
Julia grabbed Irene’s arm. “They must know they’re walking into a trap.”
Caitlin shook her head. “I don’t think so. They were so excited we extended the invitation, and even congratulated each other on accomplishing their goal.” She frowned. “They want to play Fiona’s version of blind man’s bluff. I almost gagged.”
