Chapter Nine
Joey
Kieran MacTaggart hoists me off my feet and leaves me dangling in midair. He also scowls at me while snarling words between his teeth. "I should ne'er have allowed you to remain with us, much less remain alive. Whatever foul spells you have invoked caused pain for Lachina. And ye no doubt bespelled my daughter too. Why shouldnae I kill you this instant?"
"Uh, because I didn't do anything to Rachel or Lachina. You'd be murdering an innocent man." My voice is hoarse thanks to Kieran's iron grip on my throat.
His eyes narrow to slits. "Innocent? Ye appeared through the mists on our sacred ground. Naught but dark magic could have brought ye there."
"I didn't 'appear through the mist,' sir. I was ejected from a twister and plunged into the moat. I would've drowned if Rachel hadn't saved me."
I try to twist free, but it's like wrestling with a granite statue. My lungs burn for air, and black spots dance at the edges of my vision. Great . I can see the headlines now. Joey Finnegan, dead in medieval Scotland, strangled by an angry Highlander with trust issues.
"Father, stop!" Rachel's voice cuts through the tension like a blade.
Kieran's grip loosens just enough for me to gulp down precious oxygen. I catch sight of Rachel rushing toward us, her hair flying behind her like streamers of gold and bronze.
"He's telling the truth," she insists. "Joey didnae hurt Lachina. I was with him when it happened. We all were."
"Then who conjured the portal?" Kieran's voice rumbles like thunder. His gaze bores into mine with such intensity I swear he's trying to drill into my soul. "If not you, then whom?"
"I don't know," I wheeze. "I know nothing about portals or magic or whatever's happening here. One minute I was running from---" I catch myself before mentioning the mafia goons who'd chased me to Dùndubhan. Something tells me explaining modern organized crime to a medieval Scottish warrior might not help my case. "---from trouble. Next thing I knew, I was drowning in your moat. Until your daughter saved me."
Kieran's massive hand tightens again, almost choking me. "Ye expect me to believe ye simply materialized? A stranger with peculiar clothes and even more peculiar speech who appeared on the very day when Lachina fell ill?"
"Great-Aunt Lachina is not ill, Father," Rachel explains. "Not in the manner you suggest. Please dinnae blame Joey for an inexplicable event none of us understand. Instead of harassing him, try listening to him."
Kieran's grip wavers, but he doesn't release me. I swear I can see his internal struggle in those golden eyes.
"Father," Rachel says, her voice softer now, but no less determined. "Do ye remember what Great-Aunt Lachina herself said about strangers? 'Not all who come unbidden bring disaster.'"
Something flickers in Kieran's golden eyes---recognition, perhaps, or memory. His jaw works beneath his beard as he considers his daughter's words.
"Aye," he finally mutters. "She did say that."
He drops me unceremoniously, and I collapse to my knees, gasping like a fish tossed onto the land. My throat feels raw, as if I've swallowed broken glass.
Alyssa steps up beside her husband and lays a steading hand on his arm. "You didn't trust me either when we first met. Why not give Joey a chance?"
"Cannae do that, not with our precious daughter." Kieran straightens his clothing and lifts his chin. "Mayhap what Lachina said was true. But this man who looks like a fiend from Hell will get nowhere near you, Rachel. Not until I'm satisfied 'tis safe."
Rachel's eyes flash with a defiance that matches her father's intensity. "Father, I am not a wee bairn to be sheltered. I have dà-shealladh , same as Great-Aunt Lachina. If Joey meant harm, don't ye think I would ken it?"
Kieran grumbles. "Your second sight is not as strong as Lachina's."
"Not yet."
I push myself to my feet, still massaging my throat. "Look, I understand your suspicion. I'd be suspicious too if some strange guy fell into my..." I gesture vaguely at the castle surroundings, "...medieval fortress. But I swear on whatever you hold sacred, I mean no harm to your family."
Kieran's massive frame looms over me like a mountain ready to avalanche. "Ye speak of our ways as if they're foreign to ye. Another reason to distrust ye."
"Because they are foreign to me," I blurt out before I can stop myself. "Where I come from, we don't have castles and moats and people wearing..." I gesture at his kilt. "Whatever that's called."
Kieran's nostrils flare. "Ye mock our dress now?"
"No, no, I'm not mocking anything. I'm just trying to explain that I'm...not from around here. The kilts I saw back in the twenty-first century were shorter and, well, just different."
Rachel steps between us. "Father, Joey isnae only from another land. I believe he's from another time."
Wasn't I just explaining that? Nobody listens to me.
And now I'm whining in my head. Terrific .
The silence that follows is so complete I can hear the wind whistling through the stone battlements above us. Kieran's face darkens like storm clouds gathering over the mountains.
"Witchcraft," he spits. "Time magic is forbidden. Ye know that, Rachel. And yet ye engaged in such witchery."
"I didnae intend to, Father. But I wished for---well, it doesnae matter."
"Tell me what ye wished for, mo nighean ."
She bows her head and bites her lip.
Kieran's nostrils flare. "I see. My daughter yearned for a strange man from the future to whisk her away to...who knows where. Fairyland, mayhap." A sigh blusters out of him. "I thought ye were more intelligent than that. Now I must do what is necessary to separate you from this fiend until I have proof that he's no threat to us."
Uh-oh . I'm getting a bad feeling about Big Daddy's intentions. He wants to "seperate" me from Rachel. That doesn't sound like an invitation to dinner tonight.
The laird swivels his head toward me, his eyes mere slits. Then he marches over to a chest and brings out a small sword, returning to stand in front of me. "This dirk could slice ye in half, laddie. Best be careful with your words and actions."
"Uh, okay."
He seizes my arm. "Yer going to spend the night in the tower bedroom. Alone. In the morn, we'll discuss the situation again."
"Tower bedroom?" I choke out. "That sounds...homey."
Actually, it sounds like a torture chamber.
Kieran's grip tightens like a vise. "Tis more than ye deserve."
As he drags me out of the solar, Rachel follows tries to follow. But Big Daddy gives her a hard look, and she backs away. "Father, there's no need for this. Joey has done nothing wrong!"
"Silence!" Kieran's voice booms throughout the castle. "Ye've been bewitched by this man, and I'll not hear another word on it." He frowns. "Until I've made my decision, that is."
We climb a narrow spiral staircase, going up, up, and up while my legs begin to burn with every step. Kieran shoves me forward, seemingly unbothered by the endless climb. Medieval Scots must have thighs of steel.
"Here," he finally announces, pushing open a heavy wooden door that groans in protest. "Yer quarters for the night."
The "tower bedroom" turns out to be a chamber that's about as welcoming as a prison cell. A narrow cot sits beneath an arrow-slit window, and a rickety table holds a single stub of candle. A threadbare rug covers part of the stone floor, and the whole place smells of mildew and despair.
"Cozy," I mumble.
Kieran grunts. "Be grateful ye have a roof. I considered dropping you down the garderobe shaft."
Do I want to know what a garderobe is? Doubtful.
I lean forward, glancing around the room. "This isn't the dungeon?"
The laird's massive hand shoves me further into the room. "Dinnae test my patience, laddie. The door will be barred from the outside. If ye attempt to escape..."
He pats the dirk at his side meaningfully.
"Got it. Stay put or get skewered."
"Ye mock our ways again."
I wait a moment, allowing myself time to get over the initial shock and disappointment. So what if Big Daddy hates me? He couldn't hurt me any worse than my foster moms had. A nine-year-old on the streets, alone, hungry, treated like a mongrel dog...yeah, the tower room will do just fine.
"Not mocking anything," I say, my voice stronger now. "Go ahead and lock me in. I'll see you in the morning."
Kieran studies me for a moment, tipping his head to the side. Then he walks out the door, hesitating on the threshold, and finally shuts the door.
I hear the heavy wooden bar slide into place, and Kieran's footsteps fade away as tromps down the staircase. The silence that follows feels like a physical presence in the room.
"Well, Finnegan," I say to myself, "you've really done it this time."
I slump onto the cot, wincing as something that feels suspiciously like a rock digs into my back through the thin mattress. The last rays of sunset filter through the arrow-slit, casting long shadows across the stone floor. My throat still burns from Kieran's grip, and I gingerly touch the tender skin, wondering if I'll have a necklace of bruises by morning.
If I live to see morning.
Shortly after Kieran's footfalls fade away, I hear someone removing the wooden bar that keeps me in. I glance around for anything I might use as a weapon, but of course, I find nothing.
The door swings open---and Alyssa hurries inside. She makes a shushing motion with her finger.
If she's trying to seduce me... yeah, sure, Finnegan, that's what she wants. What a moron.
The lady of the house approaches me. She speaks in a half whisper. "I'm going out that door to grab a few things for you."
"No offense, ma'am, but your husband will slice and dice me if you do that."
She shakes her head. "Not that door. The one behind you."
Turning in that direction, I suddenly understand. "A secret door?"
"Yes. Now wait here."
Alyssa disappears through the hidden doorway.
I stand and pace the small room, five steps one way, five steps back. Medieval prison cells aren't known for their spaciousness, I guess. The stone walls seem to close in, but I take slow, deep breaths to calm myself.
The secret door swings open. Alyssa gently pushes it shut with one foot while clinging to the large bundle in her arms.
I move to help with her burden.
She shakes her head again.
All I can do is lean against the wall while she does...whatever. As she unfolds her bundle, things become clearer. I whisper, "Is that a different mattress?"
She nods.
"And decent sheets?"
She nods again.
Alyssa swiftly replaces the mattress, then changes the linens. Once she's done, she points toward the far corner. Still speaking softly, she tells me, "That chamber pot in the corner is for relieving yourself. The jug on the table is full of water."
"How did you sneak that in here?"
"I didn't. Lachina sometimes comes up here to be alone and think. She left the water and chamber pot here." Alyssa tiptoes to the door but pauses with her hand on the knob. "Sleep tight, Joey."
"Why on earth would you help me?"
"Because Kieran is freaking out for no reason, and he'll figure that out in the morning." She gives me a tight smile. "Rachel was very upset about the situation, but she'll be fine, don't worry. MacTaggart women are tough."
Alyssa walks out, shutting the door and sliding the wooden bar into place.
Shuffling over to the cot, I settle onto it and grab the water jug, sipping the contents. It tastes like water. No obvious poison. So, I'll probably live to see another day in medieval Scotland.
Woo-hoo.