by Amy McLean
It was much darker inside the castle than it was outside. A few candles were placed upon the walls, white pillars resting inside purpose-built stone pockets. They were already lit, just as the one on the ship had been. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim lighting.
Directly in front of her, against the castle's right wall, stood the bottom of a staircase, the steps embedded into the stone. She couldn't see what lay at the top of them as they spiralled out of sight. To her left was a small doorway, arched at the top. Leaving the stairs for the meantime, she crossed through the doorway and entered a long rectangular room. The floor was made of the same stone as the exterior of the castle; she was thankful at that moment for the protection Gráinne's boots provided her from the cold, coarse surface.
It shocked Grace to find that this room, aside from the several lit candles that were evenly spread out along the walls to allow her just enough light to see, was completely empty. She walked further into the room to where the arrow-slit window was on the back wall. It allowed a little trickle of the natural moonlight from outside to cast a faint silver glow onto a pile of jagged rocks that sat in the far corner. Grace bent down and picked one up.
She held the rock in her hand then gave it a gentle squeeze to confirm its physicality. "How can this be real?" she wondered aloud, her voice but a whisper. "How can I be here? I don't understand..."
She sighed, accepting that there was nobody there to respond to the desperation in her voice, and brushed away her frustration as she let the rock drop back onto the pile with the others. Straightening up, she walked back to the archway. The room resembled little more than a ruin. If it weren't for the candles, then she never would have guessed it was inhabited.
With nothing else to see on the ground floor she started up the stairs. Although her pathway was guided by the soft glow of the candles, she took caution as she felt out each step with the toes of the boots. The steps seemed to be secured quite well, but she could not afford to make a wrong move. If she slipped and fell, there would be nobody here to help her.
She followed the winding staircase, occasionally pressing her hands against the walls to balance herself in the narrow space, until she reached the first stopping point. As with the lower level, a few candles lined the walls to provide her with a source of light. However, much to Grace's disappointment, this floor was little improvement on the previous.
The space was much larger, with two archways dividing the floor into two square rooms. The floor, Grace noticed, was wooden, though not polished or even. It was pale and worn, as if it had stood the test of four centuries. Grace had expected to find the castle in the condition it had been in during Gráinne's lifetime. There was no way for her to work out whether or not it had looked this way in the sixteenth century, or if this is what it would look like if she visited it in her own time. Either way, she wasn't particularly fond of it. There was a strong draft in the room coming from the two square windows, one situated in each section, and it was starting to make her wish that she was back outside.
Thinking she'd not find much on the third floor either, Grace climbed the rest of the stairs. At first glance, everything was as she had expected: the floor was made from rugged wood, and the walls were bare, with the exception of the occasional lit candle. This room was also apparently divided; not all was visible at once. From where she stood she could make out another archway at the end of a narrow corridor, but she was unable to see what lay beyond. She proceeded through the corridor, her enthusiasm for the exploration of the castle dampened by the bleakness of the previous two floors, expecting to be just as disappointed by this room as she had been by the rest. It was only as she approached the archway that she noticed the light glowing in the room beyond it.
The light emitted the same soft glow as the other candles, except it couldn't be coming from just one candle—it was far too bright. She stood still, unable to see directly into the other room. Had the entire castle been lit this brightly then she would not have given it a second thought, but it seemed peculiar that the rest of the building remained in near darkness except for this one room. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes for a moment, giving herself a second or two to gather her thoughts. Whatever she might find in that room, she had to be ready for it.
Grace turned the corner and gasped as she stood under the stone archway: Gráinne's bedroom?!
Unlike the damp grey spaces she had previously witnessed, this room was a welcoming display of warmth and colour. Narrow and rectangular in shape, a window was situated almost directly opposite the archway, about eight feet away from where Grace stood. It was square and had nothing to protect it, just an open space in the wall. For some reason though, this room appeared much warmer than the others, and the breeze she had felt downstairs didn't seem to be as strong in this room. Grace didn't think that this would have had anything to do with the thin curtains that hung at either side of the window. The cream fabrics were the length of the window and no more, and peculiarly remained almost still, as if the entire room were at peace.
To the side of the window stood a desk of a fair size, made from a rich mahogany. Three deep drawers ran down one side, each with a golden sphere for a handle. A matching chair stood in front of the desk, with both its back and legs hand-crafted into curves. Grace was sure they weren't products of Ireland. Trade, she thought to herself. Or piracy...
A bed was situated to the left of the desk. It was made from the same dark wood as the rest of the furniture, with matching golden spheres on the end of each of the four bedposts. A bed sheet was draped over it, a silk the colour of blood, finished with gold stitching. Two pillows sat plump at the top of the bed, dressed in a cloth to match the cover. Still rooted to the spot in the archway, Grace paid particular attention to the size of the bed; it was smaller than the double bed she had at home, but considerably larger than any single bed she'd seen, and higher off the ground too. She couldn't help but admire it.
The desk and the bed seemed to take up most of the room; it was little more than a box at the top of the castle. Grace moved forward so that she stood at the centre of the room, and realised that she could move little further. There was a small space behind the desk, and just enough room between the furniture to move in front of the window, but it allowed for no other movement.
Grace turned her back on the bedroom for a moment as she crossed to the window. With the curtains already open she could see the ocean. Just a few metres away the waves ebbed away from her, the moonlight reflecting a silver shimmer onto the water's surface. The wind had softened. Everything looked peaceful. In the distance, the ship stood strong, still and silent. Lost in the beauty of the ocean, Grace momentarily forgot why she had entered the castle in the first place.
'Tibbott!' She startled herself with her own sudden outburst. She threw a hand in front of her mouth, worried that somebody outside might hear her. She looked below. Nobody was there. She slumped onto the chair in frustration.
"They think I'm Gráinne O'Malley. Grace O'Malley," she said, reminding herself of the connection. "But I'm not!" What did she really know about Gráinne? Aside from the Irish blood, which Grace was certain was just a coincidence, there seemed to be little they had in common.
She groaned, placed her elbows on the desk in front of her and rested her head in her hands. "Why am I here?" She worked her fingers through her hair and massaged her temples. She stifled a yawn as she tried to concentrate on coming up with a plan to rescue Tibbott, but her mind could think of nothing. She considered returning to the ship to go back home. But the door had closed behind her when she'd entered again, and there was no telling whether or not it would ever be open again.
Grace approached the window again. As she stuck her head out slightly the cool night air brushed against her pale cheeks. It was refreshing, but as soon as she had exposed her face to the outdoors, the wind began to increase. Grace drew her shawl tighter. As she took a step back from the window, as if on cue, the rain started to fall. It was heavy en
ough to be heard as it collided with the stone walls of the castle. The sea crashed unnervingly in the distance.
With nowhere else to go, she would have to sleep in the bed in the castle. Grace turned to face it, studied it. It looked comfortable enough, but there was something playing on her mind. This bed belonged to Gráinne O'Malley. No matter what Cathleen or Donal thought, she knew this wasn't her bed, and she wasn't sure she'd feel right sleeping in it.
Understanding that she had little choice, she took hold of a corner at the top of the bed cover and pulled it back a little to discover that the mattress was covered with a thin sheet. I wonder if it's one she slept on, Grace thought to herself. Could the furniture around her possibly be from Gráinne's time? She promised herself she'd do whatever she could to find out in the morning, but right now, she needed to sleep.
Just as she was about to lie down, she noticed that something was sticking out from underneath the pillow. She lifted it to reveal a cotton nightdress. Holding it in front of her with a hand on either sleeve, she inspected the material. There was little shape to the nightdress, rendering it little more than a long white sheet. The neck of the garment was high, and its sleeves were narrow at the cuffs. Grace observed its length as she pulled it toward her body. It draped down to the same length as her skirt, settling around her ankles. While Grace knew the garment would keep her warm, she wasn't sure how comfortable it would feel.
Assuming the nightdress had been provided for her, she began to pull Gráinne's boots off her feet. She wiggled her toes as she removed each boot, before standing the pair at the foot of the bed. She took off her shawl, before allowing her fingers to work at the lace on her bodice, pulling and untying until she was completely free. It was only when she'd slipped it off that she realised just how tight it had been.
The chemise followed the bodice, and she folded them both into a neat pile on the desk chair alongside the shawl. She slipped out of the skirt and stood at the centre of the room, wearing only an undergarment smock. The chill of the room started to encircle her bare legs even beneath the fabric. She reached for the nightdress and pulled it over her head to escape the draft. It took her a moment to adjust to the long neck as the itchy material scratched at her skin.
Glancing around, she made sure that everything appeared to be in order before she settled down for the night.
"I'm not sure I should feel this relaxed in a stranger's bedroom," she said, with a smile spreading across her face. But she had to admit that she was actually starting to enjoy this adventure. It was a refreshing change from her mundane life, and now that she was no longer terrified, she was able to look at everything in a new light. Her thoughts and actions were now driven by three things: natural curiosity, a desire to succeed, and a mother's love for her son. People were counting on her to save Tibbott, and she wasn't prepared to let anybody down, especially not Gráinne.
Grace drew the curtains closed. The rain was still falling and the wind still licked at the curtains, but she hoped it would be enough to keep most of the chill from engulfing the room throughout the night.
She turned to face the candles on the desk. They still flickered. She cupped a hand behind the first one and blew. The flame went out with a puff. She moved to the second one and repeated the motion. It extinguished. Now the room was in total darkness.
Sliding her feet along the bare wood, she made her way toward the bed. She used her hands to guide her to the mattress as she sidled along near the back wall, manoeuvring through the narrow gap. When she reached the top of the bed, she shuffled herself under the covers and lay down on her side, pulling the cover up to her chin. It was much softer than she had expected it to be, the blanket warm and comforting. She placed her head on the pillow and closed her eyes.
As she slipped into sleep, she didn't consider the strange surroundings in which she lay. She didn't think about how far away she was from her home in England. She didn't need to acknowledge that she was in a different century to that which she was accustomed. It didn't matter what her name was. It didn't matter where she was from or how she had arrived here. If only for a moment, as she escaped into her dreams, she had completely forgotten all about Grace Byrne.
11
A young girl twirled across the deck of a ship, her dark auburn hair wild and free and tangled hopelessly by the sea breeze. She bounded over to the side of the vessel and gripped onto the rail, before tilting her body so that she could look down onto the water. She inhaled deeply, the fresh smell of the sea filling her nostrils. She had never felt more alive.
"Gráinne O'Malley!" said a voice from behind her, "how many times do I have to tell you?"
The child turned to see her father standing with his hands on his hips and a scowl upon his face. He wasn't really mad at his daughter. How could he be? Anybody with a passion for the sea as strong as hers, and at such an early age as well, must be sound of mind. But he knew he couldn't let her come with them. It was much too dangerous for her.
"But—"
"No buts, young lady. You know the rules!"
"Please let me come with you, just this once," she pleaded desperately. There was an unmistakable maturity to her young voice.
"You know I can't allow it, Gráinne. As I've explained to you before, I do not have a problem with taking you out for a quick sail when I return, but voyages like these are not suitable for—"
"A little girl, I know." She crossed her arms and bowed her head.
"And I did tell you that as soon as I returned from Belclare it was very important that we were ready to leave again immediately. I'm afraid I just don't have time to take you anywhere just now." His words were firm but soft as he gestured for his daughter to leave the ship.
"Captain, we are ready." A young man emerged beside him. He was fresh and, as yet, untarnished by the sea.
"Thank you, Michael," the captain replied. "I will be along in a minute."
He bent down to his daughter's height.
"What's so wrong with me being a girl?" she questioned.
"Gráinne, it's just that the sea is no place for—"
"What if I shave my head? Pretend to be a boy? Then would you let me come with you?"
"I would rather you did not do that, my child! Perhaps you will be able to come with us one day."
"When will you let me?" she sighed.
"Soon, I promise."
"How soon?"
She showed no sign of giving up. She already knew that the ship was her destiny.
The father sighed. How could he deny her anything? She was the apple of his eye. "How about if we discuss this when I return, and we shall see if we can come to an agreement?" The child's face lit up. She beamed at her father. He leaned forward and embraced her in a hug, his ritual before leaving the island. "Go on now, Gráinne. I'll see you when we return."
She skipped off the ship, her head swimming with fantasies about the adventures she would soon be having on board with her father.
And he watched as she moved out of sight, knowing she would not forget his promise, and knowing too that she was indeed born for the sea.
Grace bolted upright in a sweat. She was certain she had been falling. She steadied her breathing, regained her balance. The low sun bled through a gap in the curtains, forcing her to adjust to the brightness. Her head still full with scenes of young Gráinne. She may nearly have slipped through the cracks in history, but to Grace she was very much alive.
But something was different. Something had changed. When she was finally fully awake, she sprang out of bed, flung back the curtains, and raced out of the room.
How could this have happened? She was back in her own bedroom. She had fallen asleep in Gráinne's bed in the castle, in a completely different country four hundred years in the past, and yet somehow she had managed to wake up in her own bed.
She paused outside the door at the top of the stairs. It was shut. She grabbed onto the handle and turned it, twisting and pulling, but it refused to budge. She banged her hands ag
ainst the door. "Cathleen! Donal! Can anybody hear me?"
It was no use.
She wondered if Harriet was home. Surely she would have been alarmed to hear Grace banging on the door. She didn't even know what time it was. She turned to find that Harriet's bedroom door was open, with Bella visibly curled up on the tidy bed. Harriet definitely wasn't in her room.
"Harriet?" she called down the stairs. She waited a few seconds. There was no response. She must have left for work already.
Grace rested her head on the door, both relieved that she didn't have to explain her outburst to anybody. It had become apparent to Grace that she had little control over when it was that she could and couldn't cross to the other side of the door. She tried to remember her thoughts and actions just prior to the last time it opened.
"Research?" she questioned, thinking back to all she'd discovered while reading through articles on the Internet. "I'd been reading about Tibbott, and then...yes! And then Tibbott's capture was revealed when I went back!" Her frustration had been replaced with excitement as she took a step away from the door. "Perhaps I simply need to read more about Gráinne before I'm allowed back through. That has to be it!" She grinned, satisfied with her revelation, and not bothered about the fact that she seemed to be talking to herself more than usual. Until she'd worked out a plan to save Tibbott, it didn't look like she would be allowed back through the portal.
Existing simultaneously in two different centuries seemed to make the week go by extremely slowly. How it was only Tuesday, Grace had no idea. She was struggling through exhaustion as her body fought against the strain of living two lives. She dragged herself out of the seat and headed over to the kettle.
"Would anybody care for coffee?" she asked. She looked up to realise only James was in the office. Everybody else had gone out to work on assignments.
"Thanks, Grace; that'd hit the spot," James called from his desk. "If one more person hangs up the phone on me..."
