Chapter 2
Chapter Two
F or a few moments nothing happened, and then the ripple and echoing flames around Ava vanished. Colder air crept around her ankles, rising to envelop her as more flickering light advanced toward her. Behind it she could see the silhouette of a very tall, broad-shouldered person carrying a torch and what looked like a long sword, of all things.
As the towering man tucked his torch into an empty wall bracket, she saw he’d nearly buried himself under a heavy amount of clothing. The brown, gray and gold plaid he’d draped over his upper torso appeared to be woven from thick wool, the same as the dark gray tunic under it. Dense dark brown trousers hugged his big, long, muscular legs, and he’d tucked the cuffs inside clunky-looking black boots trimmed in gray fur.
Is he some kind of castle guide in costume? Or just some crazy fella who thinks he’s a Scottish swordsman?
“Stop right there.” The shadows disguised his face, but as he halted she saw his body tense. “FBI. Don’t even think about coming at me, sir, because I will shoot you. Put down that blade for me now, nice and slow.”
For a moment Ava thought he’d ignore her warning. Instead, he bent over and placed the sword on the stone floor before taking a few steps back and holding up his empty hands.
Seemed he wasn’t all that crazy.
“Dinnae fear,” he said in a voice so deep it rumbled through her like a seismic wave. “You’re safe with me, my lady.”
Or maybe he was.
His thick accent suggested he was a very good actor, possibly hired by Beaumont to play the part of a man who used to live in a castle like this. What had they been called, those fellows from the mountains in Scotland? Highlanders. While Ava could appreciate all the fine work they’d done with dressing him up to look authentic, she wasn’t going to play along with their con. After she dealt with this big man she’d have to go to Sacramento and arrest the banker for interfering with a federal investigation.
“Face the wall and put your hands behind your neck.” When he did, she walked up to him, concealing her shock as she took in up close his incredible size, the bulk of which she’d attributed to his garments. The man had to be near to seven feet tall, with a build like a world champion heavyweight boxer. Just his hands looked as big as her face. His muscles appeared so well-defined and overdeveloped he must have devoted years to jacking up his body. Ava was strong and had extensive training in hand-to-hand fighting, yet if he challenged her, taking him down would be close to impossible.
Just do your job, Ava told herself as she holstered her weapon. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Tasgall McKeran.” He glanced over his shoulder. “May I ken yours, my lady?”
“Special Agent Ava Travars, FBI. I’m going to search you now, so stay where you are.” She began patting him down. “Why don’t you tell me your real name so I get it right on the arrest report? I doubt you’re named after this castle.”
“’Tis truly Tasgall McKeran. The stronghold, ’twas named for me.” He cleared his throat as she reached his sides. “What do you reckon I’m hiding, Mistress Travars?”
“Oh, I’ll find out. The medieval speak is a real nice touch, by the way, but you can stop addressing me as your lady and mistress. It’s Agent Travars.” She crouched down to check both legs and retrieved a dagger with a carved wooden hilt from his left boot. “I’ll keep this one for now, sir. Turn around please.”
As he did so the torchlight illuminated his face, and warmed bold features that should have been craggy and yet appeared oddly elegant, as if his parents had been a barroom brawler and a fairytale princess. As unlikely as his handsome mug appeared, his light blue deep-set eyes had a laser-beam directness and the clarity of highly polished aquamarines. The sight of his mouth, which was almost too full and sensual for a man, made her instantly envision pressing her lips to it.
Kissing on a perp armed with two blades and enough muscle to pound her into the floor? Yes, she needed to get on with dating again as soon as she got back to Dallas.
Tasgall returned her scrutiny, his pale eyes narrowing as he took in her dark hair, evergreen eyes and angular features. Ava was sure he liked what he saw, but then, most men found her attractive. He then lifted a hand toward her, which made her shift out of his reach.
“Forgive me, I didnae think, Agent Travars.” He dropped his hand. “You’ve come to another world, and ’twill serve as your new home. Rory, stay back.”
“Who’s Rory?” She pulled out her gun and turned, firing at the even bigger man rushing toward her. Her weapon simply clicked that time—and the three subsequent pulls she made—before the giant snatched it from her and tossed it to Tasgall.
Ava knew the two of them could easily beat her to death, and she wasn’t staying around to find out if they would. She turned and ran toward the end of the passage, but as soon as she reached the corner, she found herself back with the two men, as if she’d never moved.
“You can try again, Agent,” Tasgall said. “Only ken you’re in a spell trap, and cannae escape.”
Ava ignored him and tried again, and then made a third and fourth attempt. Every time she reached the end of the hall, she suddenly found herself standing with the two men, as if she’d never even tried to run. Rory sighed and whispered something to the other big man before going in the opposite direction. Tasgall offered her the Glock, which she took and pointed away from him and pulled the trigger. It wasn’t misfiring or jammed, it simply wouldn’t function. She checked it thoroughly before trying again with no success.
“What did you call this? A spell trap?” When he nodded, she holstered the weapon, and then tucked her badly shaking hands under her arms. “Tell me exactly what that is, please.”
O ver the centuries Tasgall McKeran had explained to outsiders that blundered into the spell trap the nature of their new prison, in which his clan and vassals lived for nearly a thousand years. Now looking upon this tall, raven-haired woman, he wished he could spare her those terrible truths. By entering this passage, she had permanently separated herself from the life she had known outside his castle. Thanks to the curse that kept all of them here, she could never again return to her world. He imagined like the others that would take some time for her to accept. Yet he knew he could do nothing about the shock and disbelief she would suffer and, like any hard blow, it was best delivered swiftly.
Even if Agent Travars did not wish to accept the reality of her new world, she would soon learn she could never escape it.
“Our clan, ’twas cursed in the twelfth century,” he told her. “That dark enchantment removed Dun Talamh, our stronghold, from the mortal realm and placed it in a Fae spell trap. Since then, time here doesnae exist as it does in the outside world. We relive the same four seasons before we were cursed and the events that occurred. Thus we’ve done for more than nine hundred years.”
“You’re telling me that you’ve been trapped inside this castle for nine centuries?” Her gaze shifted over him, direct and unconvinced. At the same time the light from the torches made her dark green eyes shimmer like sunlight on a deep loch. “I think someone would have noticed that by now, sir, especially when they tore down the place before they moved it from Scotland to America.”
For a moment he again became distracted by the effect of her voice on him, which warmed his flesh and stroked his insides as if by speaking she made music. The sensation, one he’d never experienced in the presence of a lady, troubled him almost as much as his growing desire to stare at her striking face.
She fashed him entirely. He had long held himself aloof from females. At the same time, he admired her calm confidence. Most women would be screeching with horror after learning where they had come; nearly all who had been caught by the trap had immediately fallen into hysterics. Ava had the kind of self-control that came with much experience with terrifying circumstances, as if she had regularly fought on her own battlefields. That, too, gladdened him. He always needed more level-headed allies to defend Dun Talamh, he told himself, knowing at the same time that wasn’t what he wanted from her.
Never desire what cannae be yours, my son, his màthair Tuirne would have said. Unlike other men, you must walk ever two paths.
She gave him a questioning look, reminding him of what she’d just said. “’Tis a reason naught here changes, Agent Travars, and no one from your world may notice us.”
“Mind telling me what that is, Mr. McKeran?” Ava asked.
“What happens beyond the boundaries of this world doesnae affect us or any aspect of the trap.” He tried to think of how to explain it in terms she could understand. “One of your people said ’tis like a snow globe here. ’Tis an everlasting constant, our world. The trap also prevents any detection of our presence, or that of Dun Talamh.”
“Doesn’t make much sense to me.” She said that politely, as if she didn’t wish to offend him. “You look very young and healthy for a man who’s been alive for nearly a thousand years. Also, if nothing changes here, wouldn’t you have run out of food a long time ago?”
Explaining why he and his clan didn’t age would only confuse her, so he opted to reveal the other side of the truth. “No living being grows old here, and naught else changes. The food we eat reappears in our stores every dawn. If a crock shatters, ’twill mend itself overnight. Even the wood we burn returns to the pile each morn.”
“Sounds pretty wonderful to me.” Her red lips curved. “You sure you’ve been cursed, Mr. McKeran?”
“Aye.” He chuckled in response, startling himself. When was the last time he’d laughed? “’Twould seem we enjoy much, but we cannae depart the stronghold. None of our females may give birth. ’Twas a blessing no small bairns became trapped with us, but the youngest among our vassals cannae mature.”
“You’ve got youngsters trapped in here?” When he nodded her smile vanished. “Why would they be cursed? They’re just kids.”
“’Twasnae deserved by anyone here,” Tasgall said. “Yet we must all endure the wretched events of the year before we were imprisoned in the spell trap.”
Ava’s eyes narrowed. “How wretched are we talking?”
“Several attacks on the stronghold, including a full siege of Dun Talamh,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t ask him for more details. She’d learn them soon enough as she lived through her first year in the trap. “The enchantment stops us from changing or preventing the events.”
“Why would someone force you to relive that year unless you did something to deserve it?” she asked, her voice growing cooler now.
“’Twas a misunderstanding.” Although he had always taken responsibility for what had happened to the clan and their vassals, he wished he could pass the blame onto another. “In our time, someone slew the MacBren, our king’s second and head of an important clan, as well as his lady wife, the daughter of another powerful laird. The murders were blamed on me and mine.”
She frowned. “Who blamed you?”
“Torra MacBren, daughter of the slain.” He also wished, not for the first time, that he had made different choices during that year. “On the same day of the killings, a storm came over the stronghold, and just as suddenly vanished. ’Twas when we came out that we found our world had shrunk to just our stronghold and the outer walls. Since that time anyone who wanders into the trap through the passage below cannae escape it, and so must share our fate.”
“You mean all the other people who came here before me are still here?” she suddenly demanded. “Would that include Dr. Benedict Miller, and Marianne and Ian James?”
Tasgall saw how she clenched her fists at her side, which made some thin, white scars that crisscrossed her knuckles stand out. “Ben became the clan’s healer, although none of us grow sick, and our injuries heal overnight. He occupies himself with building gadgetry and providing counsel to other outsiders. I dinnae ken the others you named. Shall I show you more of the place, then?”
Ava looked as if she wanted to ask another question, but then nodded without saying anything more.
He escorted her from the passage across the stronghold, aware that every clansman and vassal they passed gawked at her. It had been some years since the last woman to come into the trap had arrived. The men would all desire a look at Ava, and in time he expected many would compete for her attention, and a chance to become her lover. That prospect made his gut clench and his mood turn bleak. Yet one of the first rules he’d made after becoming trapped here was to permit all their females to do the choosing and refusing. Over the centuries their vassals had developed their own customs, like the binding ceremony that allowed them to obtain new partners each year.
She must make her life with us now, he thought. If ’tis in my power I shall assure whatever she wishes ’tis hers. As the laird he could do that much.
Farlan was the first to intercept them. Just as broad as Tasgall but a head shorter, he had the massive upper body of an experienced mason, a calling he’d shared with his adopted sire before joining the clan. With eyes like burnished bronze, a fetching countenance and easy warmth, the seneschal rarely had to sleep alone. Along with inheriting their sire’s earthy appeal to women, he genuinely cared for all females, and considered every male his friend. With but a few words he made easy nearly every outsider caught by the spell trap.
“Rory sent word of the new arrival, my lord.” He bowed before regarding Ava. “Fair day, my lady, and welcome to Dun Talamh. I’m the laird’s seneschal, Farlan.”
“Ava Travars, nice to meet you.” She seemed more amused than intrigued by him. “Is every fellow in this place a giant like you, Laird?”
“Near about, I reckon.” Tasgall wondered what she would make of the rest of his brothers, and when he would have to tell her that they weren’t entirely mortal like her and the other outsiders. “Farlan attends to all matters within the stronghold, including managing our vassals, stores and any squabbles that may arise with them.”
“Ah.” She smiled at the seneschal. “You’re the man who actually keeps this place running, then.”
“I do my best, my lady.” He grinned back at her.
From there Farlan tagged along with them. With his customary friendliness he told Ava about the stronghold, when their meals were served in the hall, and the necessities he could provide her from their stores.
“Just before the curse came over the clan we’d spun and loomed cloth from our wool stores, so we’ve ever all the makings of garments we need. Our wardrobe mistress and her maids shall happily make anything you wish.” He nodded toward a group of women working in a room as they passed it. “Some of the outsiders like our chatelaine have taught them to sew trews and skirts that suit females from your time. You neednae wear gowns as our lasses do.”
“Good to know, thank you, sir.” She stopped just inside the great hall and caught her breath. “Mercy, so this is how it looked when you lived here.”
Tasgall frowned. “You saw the hall in your world, Agent?”
“I did, Laird. I was searching the place when I walked into that passage.” She glanced at Farlan. “Something bothering you, sir?”
“Forgive me, Agent, I didnae ken your title.” He bowed to her, deeper than he had before as if to show respect and remorse. “Do you serve as a factor to your lord, then?”
“She’s no’ a land manager.” Of that much Tasgall was certain; Ben had told them a great deal about the changes that had occurred over the last nine centuries.
“I’m a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, gentlemen.” She took out a small book made of folded and sewn black leather and showed that it contained an oddly-shaped golden medallion and two black-printed rectangles of white. “The Bureau is the principal investigative arm of the Department of Justice, as well as an integral part of the intelligence community. We work on major crime cases throughout our country, and cooperate with all other national and international law-enforcement organizations.”
“Indeed.” It amazed him that females would be willing to serve such an important role in the future, but Tasgall already suspected Ava Travars to be an extraordinary woman.
“I’m sure you had officials and authorities responsible for enforcing laws and protecting people and property in your time,” she said to the seneschal, who looked confused. “That’s what I do.”
“Och, like the Breitheamh ,” Farlan said, his expression clearing. “In our time they hunted thieves and murderers, and helped end feuds and clan wars that grew too long and bloody.”
“That’s real close to my job description, too.” She turned her head as several men came into the hall and stopped to stare at her. “Would it be possible for me to speak with Dr. Miller?”
“I shall send for him.” Tasgall beckoned to a guard and told him to find the clan’s healer and bring him to his work chamber. To Ava he said, “We should take a walk outside before you meet with Ben, Agent Travars.”
Her brows rose. “What’s outside, Mr. McKeran?”
“Proof of what you dinnae yet believe.” He saw Alec appear on the opposite side of the hall and start striding toward them, which boded trouble. “Give me a moment to speak with one of my men, and I shall show you.”
He intercepted his most impatient brother some distance away from Farlan and Ava, blocking his path so he would not charge at the lady and begin interrogating her. “Hold.”
“Why?” Alec demanded.
The war master looked nothing like the other sons of Keran, thanks to his mother’s strong Dumnonii blood, which had gifted him with her pale skin, midnight hair and violet eyes, as well as features so refined and handsome he made all other men look unappealing by comparison. When Tasgall had first met him, his long limbs and slender build had made him question whether Keran had sired him, until Darro had noticed the hammer-shaped birthing mark on his inner forearm, which matched exactly the one their sire possessed in the same spot. He’d suffered most of his boyhood for his otherworldly looks, which captivated mortal females and enraged mortal males in the village where he had been born. Because he hadn’t inherited their sire’s brutish strength he’d been forced to endure regular beatings from jealous rivals along with the cruel torments his grandsire had constantly inflicted on him.
“She’s only just come into the trap,” he murmured, and caught his arm when Alec tried to go around him. “Give her some time, lad.”
Impatience burned in the war master’s flowery eyes. “Must you coddle every female that wanders into our nightmare?”
“You’d rather I beat them senseless and toss them in the dungeons?” When Alec made a disgusted sound, he held up a hand. “What the lady may ken of the trap she shallnae forget on the morrow. She doesnae quite fathom her predicament, so permit me some time with her.”
“On the morrow, then.” The war master turned on his heel and left.
When Tasgall rejoined Ava and Farlan he saw she was staring in the direction Alec had gone. She’d also put her hand inside her jacket where she wore the gun sheath under her arm.
“Dinnae fret, Agent Travars.” He told her who Alec was before he said, “Our war master ever seizes any chance he may learn more of the nature of the spell trap. Aside from archery, ’tis his constant obsession.”
“All right.” She drew her hand out of her jacket. “Not like I could shoot the man anyway.”
“Did you tell the agent about the dreams here?” the seneschal asked the laird, who shook his head. To her he said, “I dinnae wish to alarm you, my lady, but here when we sleep, our dreams, they seem as real as life. Others may share them as well. Indeed, some seem so genuine they may frighten you, but rest assured, they shall do you no harm.”
Ava nodded, but her gaze shifted behind Farlan, where a maid with a soot-splotched apron appeared. Tasgall noticed how quickly she tensed again, as if she always expected an attack—just as Alec did when anyone came near him. That suggested she had been subjected to similar if not the same terrors as the war master, and that notion made him angry.
After the maid murmured to him, Farlan said to Tasgall, “’Twould seem I’m needed again in the kitchens to sort out something for Doon. A pleasure, Agent Travars. My lord.” He bowed and departed.
“Are your realistic dreams part of the curse, too?” Ava asked, regarding him.
“An effect of the spell trap. When we sleep, it creates for us fancies of what we most desire,” Tasgall told her.
“So it’s a kind of extra torture. Laws. One thing I keep noticing is that you’re all very polite to each other,” Ava mentioned as he escorted her out of the hall. “Is that how it was in your time, or is there another reason for that?”
“’Tis how we keep from brawling, which ’twas our sire’s way of dealing with all matters. We’ve learned ’tis better to respect and listen to others.” He retrieved two cloaks from a rack in the passage, offering her one before wrapping the other over his thick wool garments. He then pulled on a pair of heavy gloves before he guided her down the passage to the garden entry door and opened it. “You’re controlled and courteous as well, more so than most other outsiders.”
“I try to avoid fighting, too.” Sadness flickered through her eyes for a moment, but as she stepped over the threshold her gaze widened and her lips parted to take in a sharp breath. “Well, I’ll be.”
P olly Carter spent most of the day collecting the last of the winter herbs from the gardens planted between the two outer walls surrounding Dun Talamh. The freezing cold and snow made working outside miserable, but if she complained no one would give her a new job. The clan didn’t care how uncomfortable she was. She also didn’t like getting the musty stink of the plants on her hands and would have dumped the baskets in the infirmary straight away. She didn’t because the clan’s healer had asked her to bunch and hang the herbs in the drying shed so they could use them next month when they cleared out the weeds they used to cover the floor in the big hall.
“Damn, damn, damn,” she swore as she peeled off her work mitts, and saw that despite wearing them she’d chipped three nails. She’d have to trim them all back now and wait two days before they grew back evenly.
Benedict Miller might be a stuck-up prig, but Polly made sure to do whatever he asked so he stayed happy with her. He’d promised to see if he could make some kind of nail polish for her if she’d collect the herbs for him. Although he’d come from the outside world like her, his gadgets and improvements to the castle had made him one of the important men at Dun Talamh. For now, she wanted to keep him on her side, at least until she married Big Hoss.
Yes, indeed, when she said ‘I do’ to the laird, a lot of things were going to change around here, Polly thought as she carried the last basket into the shed. First up would be her never having to do another lick of work again.
“Lass, heard you of the new outsider?” Rob, one of the teenage under gardeners, said as he followed her inside. Short and stout, he had a hang-dog face that reminded her of George, her second husband. “The guards call her dark and comely, and tall as a man. I reckon you were the last lady come through from the outside, eh?”
She nodded and warmed her hands over the lamp before she began sorting the leafy snippets into small piles. No one had been caught in the spell trap since she had been tricked into hiding in here, but other women were of no use to her.
“Eldrich claims the lady ’tis as pretty as our war master.” The boy sighed. “She must look the goddess, then.”
Even Polly regarded Alec as almost too beautiful for a man, although he was a picky, watchful priss who liked the dogs and cats in the trap but didn’t like her. The one and only time she’d flirted with him he’d ignored her completely, which straight men never did, so he had to be gay. Hearing Rob gush about this unwelcome bitch also made her wish she could mess up the new gal’s face. She’d mixed it up with one of the kitchen maids once after the snoopy slut had caught her sneaking some whiskey, but by the next morning the black eye and fat lip Polly had given her had disappeared.
He came closer. “Dinnae you wish talk with me?”
“Of course, I do, bubba. It’s just that you’ve always told me that I was as pretty as Alec.” She finished tying off the bundle of rosemary before hanging it on the drying rack. “Is she just better looking, or sexier than me?”
“Och, lass, I’ve no’ seen the wench.” He waddled up behind her, putting his pudgy hands on her waist. “I ken no female may outshine you, my comely beauty.”
Great, he wants to screw again. Smothering a sigh, she waggled her hips so that her bottom brushed his growing erection.
It amused Polly, how quickly the boy became aroused. Teens like Rob could always be led around by their tireless little cocks. She also didn’t mind a quick fuck, which was really all he could give her since his excitement always made him pop his cork right away. For the long term she had set her sights on Big Hoss, however, so she had to be discreet.
Taking her time to plan the right angle for seducing Tasgall had yielded nothing so far. From what she’d learned about the laird it seemed that he wouldn’t want another man’s sloppy seconds, so she’d had to be careful not to let on that she was doing Rob. Instead she cultivated a careful persona of a lonely yet chaste gal who was bravely waiting for true love to find her.
Polly certainly knew how to act that part.
As Rob started kissing her neck and hoisting up her skirts, she clutched her trimming knife tightly and fought off the urge to stick it in him. Any time a man slobbered over her, her first instinct was to attack him. It had all started when her boss at the supermarket had attacked her one night. The lecherous bastard had caught her alone in the back storage room after everyone else in the store had left and had raped her on top of a palette of adult diapers.
“I know you been wanting it, Polly,” the night manager panted in her ear as he pounded into and out of her. “I catch you watching me all the time. Don’t fight me, and I’ll let you keep working here.”
At the time she had almost yawned. Plenty of men, including a couple of neighbors and her sixth-grade homeroom teacher, had been using her for sex since she’d grown breasts. By the age of seventeen she’d been fucked hundreds of times, so nothing men did scared her anymore. The only reason she had been watching the night manager was to see when he went out of sight so she could steal a few packs of cigs. She carried a razor knife in her pocket she could use to cut off his balls, too, but using sex to control him from now on appealed more to her. She might even make him give her all the best shifts.
Yet before he could finish, her boss began groaning, wheezing and then made strangled sounds before he collapsed on top of her. During his final thrusts a dark pleasure had gripped her, and she’d given into it. A few minutes later the dead weight of him, and the fact that he’d stopped breathing, told her he was dead.
She’d never come so hard in her life as she had while pinned beneath him, listening to him die.
“Let me keep you warm inside,” the under gardener murmured against her ear.
Rob couldn’t get her pregnant in this place, and no one would interrupt them, so as the cool air touched her bare bottom Polly bent over and offered herself up. He made cooing noises like the bird brain he was as he worked his cock into her, and in return she let out a few moans to make him think she enjoyed it. What actually kept her wet and throbbing was thinking about doing the nasty with Tasgall. Big Hoss probably had a larger cock than the gardener, and definitely was a hundred times stronger. He also had a reputation as a gentle lover, but what woman would bitch about how the laird had treated her? In any case, Polly would let him do whatever he wanted to her, and he’d be on her constantly, but she would be his woman.
No one would expect the laird’s girl to do any work. Since she couldn’t kill anyone here—and that was a real shame—she’d see to it that the laird took real good care of her. A moment later Rob whined and jerked as he finished, and Polly simulated the movements and sounds of an orgasm lengthy enough to please him.
At least the kid was fast.
“My thanks, lass,” Rob said as he clumsily pressed a kerchief between her legs before tugging down her skirts. “Shall you come with me for the evening meal? The guard said the newcomer would likely dine with the laird and his men, as she’s a law woman or some such. I’d relish a look at her.”
Law woman was all Polly heard as she dug her nails into the surface of the table. She fought back her panic as she turned around and put her arms around him.
“I can’t tonight, but you should go. This girl, she sounds like a real humdinger,” she said, cooing the words. “Tell me what else he said about her.”
Rob looked puzzled as he repeated the conversation they’d had about Special Agent Ava Travars from the FBI. Polly felt her stomach knot as she slowly released him, and her thoughts began to run like little rats with their tails tied together. If the agent had come to the castle looking for evidence about her and her husband, she would have found nothing on the outside. Everyone here believed Polly was a housewife from Indiana who had gotten lost on the castle tour. If Tasgall found out who she really was, and what she’d done, he’d toss her in the dungeons and throw away the key.
This FBI bitch couldn’t ruin everything for her, not here. Polly could live forever looking young and beautiful, plus have the laird kissing her ass—and every other part of her—for all eternity.
“Listen, bubba, I do need you to do something for me,” she said as she helped him lace up the back of his trousers, and then handed him her trimming knife. “Cut my hair short. I want to dye it a prettier color, and it will be easier to manage.”
“You ken how fast ’twill grow long again, aye?” he warned before he began sawing at her ash-blonde locks. “You’ll need cut it again in a moon. What shade could be prettier?”
“I’m gorgeous as a brunette.” She’d also make some other changes to keep Agent Travars from guessing who she was. Through the open window of the shed she saw a butterfly with metallic silver wings flit by, and land in a thick bed of lavender, where it crawled out of sight. Since there were no insects in this prison world, that meant someone had come for a visit. Someone who couldn’t stay long; someone who owed her.
Maybe she could use this FBI agent to scare that someone enough that they’d kill Ava Travars or tell her how to. There had to be a way, and that was all she needed to know to get everything she wanted.
I could end up in charge of this place. Imagining what she’d do made her happier than a child molester running a day care.
“You look greatly pleased,” Rob said as he bent and kissed the top of her head. “I’m glad, lass.”
Polly, who had been Marianne James before coming into the spell trap, smiled. “Me, too, bubba.”