Page 35

“Excuse me. I’ve got to get back to the kitchens. I was just checking on my mother. She lives here at the castle, too.” With a quick curtsey, the cook was gone.

Gwen turned to Ellie, her hand still on the open chamber door.

“This is bizarre.” She craned her neck to watch the woman disappear around the corner and noticed the guards lined up against the wall.

She closed the door and frowned. “What kind of men dress like those guys out there? The weird kilt-like thing wrapped up all around a cottony shirt, and the shoes have no support in them at all. And their hair is so long! They tie it back with a piece of leather? I mean, come on. How difficult is that? Why not just use an elastic?”

“It’s definitely medieval.”

“I thought so, too! What years are they practicing for, I wonder? Is it some sort of epic miniseries? You know, my bed is made of straw.”

“As I’m currently sharing it with you, I know.”

“Should we try to leave now instead of tomorrow morning?”

Ellie shrugged helplessly. “It’s getting dark out there. Yesterday when we left the castle grounds, those men on horseback were rather scary. I don’t know how to get around them. And I don’t think they got the message that we’re not enrolled students.”

They’d left the castle, hoping to either find a phone or walk to a main road and flag down a car to take them to the nearest city, but they were waylaid by a trio of men on horses.

They didn’t speak any English, but they kept calling her Claire.

One of the men even went so far as to grab her arm, but Ellie got him off her.

Well, the MacWilliam guards who followed them from the castle did, but Ellie would have if she’d been given more of a chance.

The sword fight that ensued was entertaining, and was perfectly choreographed.

One of the trio actually had his léine split right down the front by one of the guards.

It was exhilarating to watch, but the whole time Ellie felt a little breathless.

What if one of them messed up? The swords were not fake—the sound of metal on metal was quite real, as were the sparks that sometimes flew.

But no one made any errors, and the three men fled on their horses, the thudding hooves fading as the riders galloped further away.

Reilly’s sword-fighting school was definitely the real deal.

Gwen snapped her fingers in Ellie’s line of vision. “Well, we’re safe enough, I guess. I mean, the woman who plays the cook knows Aidan and Emma, and everyone seems to know Reilly.”

“I wonder if he personally saw to their orientation to the castle,” Ellie mused.

“Come on, let’s go outside. I’ve had enough of these walls.” Gwen turned and stomped out of the chamber.

Ellie followed, though a bit slower. She ran her fingertips lightly over the stone of the wall, and an inexplicable chill raised goose bumps on her arms.

Why do I get the feeling that there’s more to this story? she wondered.

“Claire, do you know where we can find an umbrella?”

“A what?” The confusion in Claire’s deep gray eyes was the best acting Ellie had ever seen. The young woman’s performance was worthy of an Oscar—she almost had Ellie fully convinced that she’d never heard of such a thing.

“An umbrella. I know it’s still raining out there, but we’d like to take a walk around the garden,” Gwen whispered. “I know we’re supposed to stay in character, but I don’t want to ruin our costumes. It would also help with this.” She tugged at her long hair, her face twisting in irritation.

Claire took one look at Gwen’s frizzed hair and nodded.

“I see. Put aside your walk for a moment, and come with me.” She led them to her chamber, stopping only once, to call her lady’s maid.

“Your hair. You’ve gone too long without this.

” She pulled a small jar of cream from a drawer in the bedside table. “Come, sit. Let Barre do her magic.”

“The highest-end salon in New York City wasn’t able to fully tame this beast,” Gwen said wryly, “but she’s welcome to give it a go. Hi there, Barre.”

The young woman gave a quick curtsey, then sat Gwen down in a chair next to the fire. She gently began combing the long red strands.

“Reilly will come soon,” Claire said conversationally.

Ellie started. “Did he call you? We don’t get cell service here.”

“I’m unsure of your meaning.” Claire quickly got up and dropped the bar across her door. She gave a conspiratorial wink to Ellie, then reached under her mattress and pulled out a book.

The Encyclopedia of the World, Sixth Edition.

“That’s the first normal thing I’ve seen since we arrived,” Gwen remarked, peering through the hair Barre was systematically combing over her face. “I knew someone had to be stashing something, though I expected something a little more electronic than that.”

“I also have this—” Claire produced a handheld mirror “—and this.” She pulled out a jar of Nutella with a flourish.

“Bring to Mama!” Gwen exclaimed, reaching her hands out.

“You know what this is?” Claire exclaimed, excitement in her voice.

Gwen snorted. “Nectar of the gods? God’s gift to humanity? The list goes on.”

Claire’s face took on a rapturous look. “I agree! It’s divine. But I’m almost out…and Reilly always brings me a new one before it empties. He also brings me a lecture of some sort, bu t that’s easy enough to ignore. So take heart. He’ll be here soon.”

Ellie blinked. “A jar of Nutella? That’s our promise of his eventual return to the castle?”

Claire peered into the depths of the jar hungrily. “Aye.”

“Whoa,” Ellie exclaimed softly, looking up, as Barre, worked her fingers through Gwen’s tresses.

“What?” Gwen asked, alarmed. “Oh, God. It’s worse, isn’t it?”

Wordlessly, Ellie handed her the mirror, and Gwen stared at it for a moment. Then she turned it and studied the sides. She grasped her hair from the back of her neck and drew it over her shoulder, her eyes widening in shock. “What magic is this?”

Claire burst out laughing. “’Tis lanolin oil, made from the sheep. I adore it, for it makes my own untamable hair quite manageable.”

Gwen ran her hand over the silky curls. “So all it takes is a Hollywood stylist? Huh. Seriously, though, how is it not greasy?”

Ellie let out a breath. “You’ve always been beautiful, Gwennie. But with your hair like that, it looks like you’re wearing a crown, and the shine is just…wow.”

Barre was indeed a miracle worker. A smooth circlet of hair, neatly braided, wrapped around Gwen’s head, holding the loose locks back as a headband would. The thick, vibrant curls hung almost to her waist…and not a single hair was out of place.

“You look like a goddess,” Claire agreed. She cocked her head, then hurriedly began to gather her treasures. “I hear horses! I think my mother is home!”

The women quickly stashed the mirror, Nutella, and book in their original hiding places. Barre, ever quiet, simply stood to the side, waiting for them to finish, then followed them out of the chamber before Claire sent her on her way .

“What I wouldn’t give to have a lady’s maid all the time,” Gwen murmured, running her hand over her hair again.

A commotion outside had Claire grinning. “It is indeed my mother! My sire will be most pleased. She’s been visiting the Donovans, and Aunt Erin always sends back something for my brothers and me. Come, I’ll introduce you! My mother is one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet.”

The women had not quite made it all the way downstairs when Brianagh MacWilliam stepped into the castle. Her husband, Laird MacWilliam, was with her, having met her in the courtyard, and they were both smiling ear to ear as clansmen unloaded her trunks and the goods she’d brought back with her.

Claire hurried down the last of the steps to greet her mother, who opened her arms and hugged her tightly. They exchanged words, but Ellie couldn’t hear them; she was distracted by Gwen, who had frozen in place.

Gwen blinked, then rubbed her eyes and blinked again.

“Are you okay?” Ellie asked, concerned at the shade of white her friend’s face had turned. Gwen dropped to her bottom, plunking down on the cold step, her breathing shallow as she stared at Claire and her mother.

Ellie looked to see what was so disconcerting, but all she noticed was the lady of the house.

Brianagh MacWilliam looked to be in her mid-forties, possibly fifties, with an easy smile and inherent grace.

Her dark hair was pulled into a loose knot, and her gown was even more intricate than the one Ellie wore.

“Gwen, what’s wrong?” she asked again.

“But she’s dead,” Gwen whispered, her eyes meeting Ellie’s in confusion .

“Who?” Ellie asked, growing even more worried. She bent down and took Gwen’s icy hands in hers. “Who’s dead?”

Noticing their position, Claire and Brianagh hurried over to them.

“Oh, dear, you look to be having a…hard…” Brianagh’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in surprise, and she blindly groped for Claire’s arm. “Gwendolyn?”

Gwen stared at her in complete shock, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “But you’re dead,” she whispered. “I went to the service. Reilly was there. You’re so much older now—”

“How did you…?” Brianagh started at the same time. “We have much to discuss. Claire, bring these ladies to my solar.”

Claire gently released her mother’s arm and took Gwen’s. “This way, my lady. I’ll have refreshments brought up immediately. You look pale.”

“Because she’s dead,” Gwen managed to say, surprise and a bit of accusation in the whisper.

“I’ll meet you up there,” Brianagh said firmly, regaining her composure as Laird MacWilliam called to her from the doorway. She signaled to a guardsman, who moved to follow the three women back upstairs.

Gwen swallowed hard, then wordlessly followed Claire back up the stairs.

Brianagh offered a quick, sad smile to Ellie. “I’ll be along momentarily.” She turned and hurried back towards her husband, who was still directing the men unloading the cart.