Page 15 of The Story of his Highland Bride
Lorraine chuckled. “Daenae tell the menfolk. They wouldn’ae like to hear it put so bluntly, whether or nae it’s true.” She took a pointed sip of her tea, and added, “But it is, so ye must have a wise head on yer shoulders. Either that, or ye’re of a noble family yerself.”
“I’m not. I’m just… a writer.” Eloise glanced toward the bedchamber door, terrified it would burst open again.
Lorraine must’ve followed Eloise’s line of sight, as she said, “Daenae fret, Lass. He willnae bother us again. He might be the Laird of this castle, but he’s a good lad—he’s always done what his grandmaither has told him to.”
“I thought he was going to hurt me. Throw me in a dungeon, at least,” Eloise murmured, warming her hands on the cup. “I knew he wouldn’t listen to what I had to say, but then… if I was the one listening, I don’t know if I’d believe it, either.”
Lorraine peered at her curiously. “Tell me, then. I’ve seen things ye wouldn’ae believe, but I trust in me eyes and me ears.”
“Another time,” Eloise replied, sighing wearily. “He’s just sapped whatever energy I had left, and I don’t think I can face another round of, “You’ve just hit your head and gone mad.” Honestly, I’m starting to wish it was as simple as that.”
The old woman nodded, surprisingly understanding. “Ye take all the time ye need, Lass. I willnae be sendin’ ye to nay dungeons and nor will me grandson. It’s an unsettlin’ month for him, and he’s never at his most sensible. Give him yer patience and, next time, I ken he’ll listen. Until then, me door is always open if ye need someone to talk to.”
“Thank you.” Eloise gulped down some of her tea, worried that if she didn’t distract herself, the tears would start falling again.
She’d left the broken parts of her phone in the corner of the room, and though she couldn’t bring herself to look over at the wrecked device, she felt the destruction keenly. But how could she blame Jackson for his outburst, when something like thatwouldhave seemed like witchcraft and wizardry to him?
I need to get out of here before he properly turns on me,she knew, focusing on Lorraine.One kind soul can’t keep me here, and I won’t be the danger he thinks I am.
“Would ye care to dine with us this evenin’?” Lorraine broke Eloise’s tense train of thought.
“Hmm?”
“Food, Lass. Would ye like to dine with us tonight? It’ll make ye feel better to be in good company, and I can promise ye that mine is the finest ye’ll find this side of the border. Och, when I’ve had a nip of spiced wine, there’s nae stoppin’ me from bein’ the merrymaker!”
Eloise laughed despite herself. “My grandma was the same. She’d be down at the pub… I mean, she’d be down at the inn on a Friday evening, drinking every man and woman under the table. Hollow legs—that’s what she used to say she had.”
“Hollow legs?” Lorraine erupted into bright, booming laughter. “Och, I’ll have to remember that one! So, will ye join us? Ye cannae let this unpleasantness fester, and I swear to ye, Jackson will have forgotten his ire by the time dinner comes around.”
Eloise wanted to; she really did. It would’ve been nice to get to know this funny woman better, and there was a part of her that remained curious about Jackson. There had to be a cheerier side to him, surely? He’d shown a softer side, at least, when he’d tried to comfort her. If they’d just stopped there, before the phone incident, maybe she’d have jumped at the chance to have dinner with him… but this wasn’t one of her novels, and a heartbroken writer didn’t fall madly in love with the ridiculously attractive, medieval Laird she’d been thrown into the path of.
In this tale, the medieval Laird was more likely to lock her up and throw away the key, leaving her to fade away in the 18thcentury, never to put a single word of her fantastical experience to paper, for anyone in her time to read.
If I don’t leave now,she decided,I’ll die here, one way or another.
And that was something she simply could not do.
9
As it turned out, escaping the castle was even easier than entering it had been, and Eloise had been unconscious for the latter. She’d pretended to be asleep when Kaitlyn had come to bring supper, and when the maid departed, Eloise had made her exit. The lock had been the only real challenge, but nothing that a few hair grips from her bag and the memory of some old research for a Victorian crime novel couldn’t overcome.
From there, wearing her boots, with her bag slung over her shoulder and hidden underneath a heavy cloak, she’d stolen away from the bedroom. It pained her to have to leave behind her favorite jeans and sweater, but she figured that if she got burned at the stake, it wasn’t like she’d be able to enjoy them anyway. Still, shehadtaken the two halves of her phone with her, just in case there was a phone shop in 2016 that could put it back together again… or download her precious photos, at least.
So far, so good,she mused, closing the door behind her.
She’d expected there to be guards outside in the hallway, but, apparently, they’d assumed the lock would be enough to keep her from escaping. The hallway stood empty, devoid of anyone who might attempt to stop her. And as a chilly draft whistled between the damp stone walls, she was all the more grateful for the cloak, and the coat she wore underneath, but the flickering torches did nothing to settle her racing heart as she took off toward the nearest staircase.
Down an endless spiral, Eloise hurried as fast as her legs would carry her. Every so often, the staircase paused at a landing with a door, where dull voices could be heard chattering beyond, but she pressed on, ever downward, seeking the bite of the cold evening air. She couldn’t think about how cozy it would be, to be sitting at dinner with Lorraine and Jackson, repairing the rift he’d caused. In truth, she didn’t dare to think about him at all.
If he’d been gentler, it wouldn’t have taken much to sway me,she admitted wryly, imagining his strong arms slipping around her, pulling her into an apologetic hug. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged her properly or told her that everything was going to be okay. In fact, that had created this entire problem, in the first place. If someone had just shown her some kindness and understanding, maybe she wouldn’t have had to venture off to the Highlands of Scotland.
Still daydreaming about Jackson, trying to forget the fury in his eyes when she’d showed him her phone, she reached the end of the staircase. One door lay ahead of her, and, by her reckoning, ithadto lead into the outside world. From there, though it wouldn’t be nearly as easy as picking a lock, all she had to do wasfind Clava Cairns and make those pesky stones do the reverse of what they’d already done to her.
“It was those bloody starlings,” she grumbled, as she turned the door’s iron ring and prayed it would budge.
Sure enough, the door swung open, an icy blast of wintry wind hitting Eloise squarely in the face. Her eyes began to stream as she bowed her head and strode out into the cold night, pulling her cloak tighter around herself.
She found herself in what appeared to be an inner courtyard. Cobbles prodded at the soles of her boots, while high walls surrounded her on every side. Up ahead, an archway revealed a second, larger courtyard. Beyond it, a portcullis, fortunately open, that yawned toward freedom.
