Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
I take in her rumpled period clothing, and something clicks into place.
“Is this part of that historical reenactment thing? Because wow, you really take yourself seriously.”
I edge toward the door. “But that’s awesome. Good for you.” Shuffle an inch closer. “Those Highland Games look cool.”
“This is no game.”
Donag leans in, blocking the light, until all I can see are her eyes glinting in the dark. “You have traveled far. Into the past.”
“Uh-huh. I see that.” I risk a full step sideways, my entire focus on the exit. She’s messing with me. She has to be. “Your little hut is very realistic, but I—”
She snatches my ear and twists. Pain flashes white behind my eyes.
“The year is 1622. This is where you live now. Where you will live, where you will toil, and where one day you will die.”
Terror explodes through me, and instinct takes over. I lunge past her, fling my body at that giant wooden bolt, and yank. But it’s stuck, the metal track choked with rust.
A chair crashes behind me, and my scalp breaks out in a cold sweat.
Hands and legs shaking, I brace myself, grip the bar, and shove with everything I have. Splinters bite into my fingers, metal slices through my palms. But finally, it starts to slide.
Callum appears at my back.
My heart revs like Poppa’s tractor, punching my ribcage.
I wrench at the door. It opens a crack, but he slams a hand against it, shutting me in.
“It’s nae safe outside.”
I stare at that hand. Big. Scarred. A thick line cuts clean across his knuckles, like he’s been slashed by a blade.
This is the kind of man who gets in knife fights.
I tuck my chin, stealing a look back into the room. Like, really look.
Baseboards, walls, ceiling. It’s all wrong.
I thought the lights were out. But there are no lights.
No outlets.
No phone.
I swallow hard. “I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go.”
I hate how my voice cracks.
“There’s nowhere to go. You must trust me,” he pleads in a whisper. “I swear what Donag says is true. The year is 1622. Aye, it sounds mad. I barely believe it myself.”
His lulling tone, that gentle whisper—it’s just wrong.
Animal instinct claws through me, my body moving before my brain can think. I rip at the door. “Let me out!”
My hands tremble, my breath coming in shallow, sharp bursts.
I’m trapped. Callum is an unyielding wall of granite at my back.
“You’re safest here. I’d never hurt you. I swear it.”
My knees buckle, but Callum is there, his body curling around mine. His arm anchoring my arm. His leg bracing my leg.
I shiver at the warmth of it. At the unexpected flash of comfort.
Wrong.
A shriek rips from deep in my gut. I give one last, desperate tug, jerking so hard I think my elbows might dislocate.
He braces harder. “Be calm,” he says, reaching a hand around me.
His palm settles low on my belly, gently pulling me from the door. The touch is so intimate, so unexpected, for a moment, my vision wavers.
No.
My will surges back, stronger than ever.
“Get off me.”
I release a guttural cry, snapping my hips back.
The oof sound he makes fills me with a flash of satisfaction—but he only wraps his arm more fully around me.
Spooning me against him.
I go still.
For the barest half second, I consider giving up. Surely, there’s an explanation for this insanity. Surely, this isn’t happening.
I could just let go. Sag into him.
Maybe he’d catch me.
But Donag says, “Let her leave.”
Then, louder: “Release her.”
Callum hesitates.
“Please,” he whispers, so piteously. “I only want to help you.”
The moment his grip loosens, I tear free. The door flies open. I stumble through.
And I run.
Donag calls into the darkness, “You’ll be back.”
It’s late, and pouring, and pitch black, but that doesn’t stop me.
I race through the trees, hands raised to protect my eyes from the branches whipping at my skin. My bare feet skid and slide, wet leaves slick beneath me. The ground is uneven, treacherous, but I don’t care. I have to get away.
But I have no idea where I am.
No plan. No path.
Only pure, desperate instinct.
The underbrush is thick. Too thick. Whatever path I was once on is gone now, lost beneath tangled ferns and clawing branches.
I veer wildly. My heart hammers at my ribs. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I have to keep moving.
Then—a break in the trees.
A glimmer of open space.
I bolt for it, lifting my knees high over the snarled brush. My ankle screams as I land wrong, rolling sideways. Pain shoots up my leg. I hit the ground hard.
But I’m out of the woods.
The rain lashes down, drenching me instantly. Cold rivulets spill down my spine and between my breasts.
I wipe my face. It’s warm.
Tears.
I’m sobbing. Kneeling in the mud, in the dark, lost and alone.
My chest burns. I can’t catch my breath.
Calm. Down.
Poppa’s voice in my head grounds me. Ain’t no sense in cryin’ when your boots are already wet.
I’m alive. I escaped.
The cottage is behind me. No one is chasing me.
I open my senses, expecting—what? The glint of torchlight? Snarling hounds?
But there’s nothing.
Only forest sounds. Water pattering on leaves. Wind rustling branches. The moon is faint, lifeless—like the coin of ash from a dead cigarette. The same as yesterday.
A new moon.
In any other world, this would be calming.
I force air into my lungs. I need to keep it together. Another slow inhale. Then another.
I was here earlier this afternoon. Right here. Nothing was menacing about this place then. Just because it’s nighttime doesn’t mean that’s changed.
Slowly, my vision adjusts. A gust of wind splits the clouds, and faint starlight spills across the valley, soft and silver. A shadow emerges from the dark.
A road, maybe.
It’s my only option.
Ignoring my aching ankle and raw, frozen feet, I push forward. One step. Then another.
I tell myself this will be over soon. That my life will go back to normal. Back to the farm—and Poppa.
A sharp pain twists my chest. I miss him. His steadiness. His warmth.
I just want to be home.
Before I know it, the path looks familiar. Relief pours through me, so overwhelming it nearly buckles my knees.
But as the adrenaline drains from my body, exhaustion takes over, sudden and brutal.
I stagger. My body feels insubstantial, like my organs are made of air, not flesh.
I need to stop. Just for a minute. Before I pass out.
Everything is crashing down now. The fear. The confusion. The cold, hunger, shock, pain. Legs quivering, I brace my hands on my knees, trying to pull in a breath, but my chest is too tight, and my vision swimming.
Is this shock?
I clench and release my hands, but my fingers are numb. I stumble toward a lone pine, its branches dense with needles, sheltering the ground beneath.
I make it two more steps, then crumple.
By the time I collapse onto the semi-dry patch of earth, I’m shaking all over. I curl into myself, rubbing my arms.
They took my sweater. My shoes. And I’m freezing.
I scrub my face with my hands. When I pull them away—
There’s a girl standing over me.
I scream and scramble back, lungs burning with tight, painful gasps.
Where did she come from? How did she sneak up on me? I am so vulnerable. So exposed.
“Wh-who—?” I stammer, words catching in my throat.
I dart a frantic look around.
There’s no sign of her approach. No broken branches, no footsteps in the mud.
I force my gaze back to her—
A fresh jolt of horror slams through me.
She looks like me.
Exactly like me.
I scan her from head to toe, my gut knotting tighter with every second.
She’s dressed like me. Or rather, how I was dressed earlier today. She’s still wearing my shoes. My sweater.
And yet, she just stands there.
Still. Silent.
I just stand there.
A keening sound tears from my throat. I slam my hands over my face, grinding my fists into my eyes.
No. No no no.
I dig my nails into my forehead, willing myself to wake up.
And when I open my eyes—
She’s gone.
I slowly catch my breath. “Get a grip,” I mutter, my voice shaking. “Get a grip.”
I’m hallucinating. That’s all this is. My brain is fried from shock. From exhaustion.
But logic doesn’t calm the quake in my limbs.
I rub my arms, trying to chase away the cold, but my body won’t stop shaking. I need warmth. Rest. If I don’t get it, I won’t make it through the night.
Survival mode kicks in.
I shift onto my side and drag several fallen branches toward me. They’re damp and rotting, but they hold my body heat.
My eyelids droop. My body aches.
I can’t keep my eyes open. Just a quick sleep. A few minutes. That’s all I need. With one last shiver, I let go.
Sunlight slashes through the dense branches.
I jolt upright. For a terrifying instant, I don’t know where I am.
Then it rushes back.
Callum. Donag. That freaky cabin.
I push to my feet, wincing as pain arcs up my ankle. My throat aches with thirst, my body weak with hunger. My muscles lock, stiff from the cold.
I need to get back—now—while I still can.
The inn, blankets, dry clothes, the way my bed smelled faintly of lavender and dust…I just have to get there.
Maybe I’ll call the cops. Or maybe I’ll just find Janet and leave.
For a delicious instant, I consider abandoning my mother here. She’s the one who ran off. The one with the secret past and the enemies scarier than she is. It’d serve her right to deal with that Donag woman herself.
But it’s all moot. The only thing that matters now is surviving.
I force one foot in front of the other, slipping into the quiet place in my head. The one that doesn’t overthink, just acts.
Then I skid to a stop, every hair on my body standing on end. “What the hell?”
There’s a castle in the distance, and I know—I know—there wasn’t one here yesterday.
Now, a massive gray hulk of stone rises from the earth, a turret clinging to one corner like an afterthought. It’s looming, unfamiliar. Except it’s not.
I spin, scanning the landscape, desperate for landmarks that make sense. I thought I was on the right trail, but now I don’t know.