Page 16 of Stay with Me

As she headed down the driveway over a bridge that spanned a meandering river, a single sob escaped. The sound was too loud in the silence, and she cupped her hand over her mouth to keep the rest at bay.

She rarely allowed herself to display emotion, especially cry. And she couldn’t now either.

As she rolled under a crumbling arched gateway, the bailey came into view with its broken walls. The grass was long and green with wildflowers growing in clusters. Except for a butterfly, the place was deserted with no signs of life. Only Isaac’s car remained parked to the side of the castle among the weeds.

She brought her car to a halt next to Isaac’s and killed the ignition. With her hand still cupped over her mouth, she stared ahead at the barren yard. Loneliness and despair rose swiftly within her, and she could no longer contain her sobs.

Dawson didn’t want her in his life. He loathed her and told her not to visit him anymore. And worst of all... he wished she’d gone missing instead of Mum.

Hot tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Why?” She choked out the word. “I’ve given you everything I have. I’ve loved you unconditionally, even when you treated me like rubbish. After all that,youloatheme?”

She slapped her hands against the steering wheel. “How dare you!” Her anguished cry echoed against the closed windows. “You selfish narcissist! You’re not the only one who was hurt when Mum disappeared! I lost my anchor too!”

More tears spilled over, but she rapidly wiped them away. She wouldn’t grieve over Dawson, not when he’d so callously cast her aside.

Brushing at her cheeks again, she checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were red, her face flushed, and the gash on her chin was the glaring reminder that Dawson didn’t love her anymore.

As the pressure of more sobs welled up, she pushed open the car door and climbed out. She took a deep breath of the damp air, the clouds hinting at rain. Then she slammed the door shut and started toward the side entrance that led to the ground floor.

Maybe before doing anything else, she needed to head to the gym and release her pent-up emotion on a punching bag. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind to focus on the investigation.

She halted. In the same instant, a raspy whispering swirled near her ear and the faint words “whip him.”

~ 8 ~

Sybil stilled her breathingand strained to hear more. But this time the only rasp was the wind blowing through the tall grass.

Had she just heard someone speak about whipping Nicholas again? Maybe the person was at this moment—in the past—heading down to the dungeon.

Her nerves tensed. Did she have enough time to free Nicholas before anyone reached him?

Pushing herself to a jog, she headed to the side door. She had to extract the last residue in the test tube and create another overlap with Nicholas. But before she did so, she had to make sure she positioned herself correctly for the crossover. She didn’t want to end up in his locked cell. She needed to be outside of it to find the keys.

If she situated herself near the dungeon stairs, then when she time traveled, she’d have to face the two guards Nicholas mentioned, and they would be armed. Since objects she carried seemed to travel with her during the overlaps, she would have her knife, but she’d have an easier time if she had two.

She’d seen several on the wall in a ground-floor room that had been converted into a study. The current owner of the castle didn’t live on the premises, and most of the furniture was covered with sheets. However, the wall hangings were still visible, including old knives and swords that had been artfully arranged as decorations above a mantel. Upon seeing them for the first time, she’d been impressed by their quality and sharpness.

The guards of 1382 would have swords, but she’d never wielded a sword and would only put herself at a disadvantage by carrying a weapon she didn’t know how to use expertly. She’d be better off having two knives that she could brandish with deadly precision. Besides, she had her kickboxing skills. Hopefully, she’d be prepared enough to disable two guards and wrest the keys from them.

She made short work of taking one of the knives from its mount on the study wall. The pommel was encrusted with a blue jewel, the grip was engraved with a rose, and the double-edged blade of about twenty centimeters tapered to a deadly pointed tip.

She wished she had a sheath for the weapon but guessed any leather casings had disintegrated long ago. She laid it at the base of the stairwell instead of carrying it with her and frightening Isaac and garnering his questions.

As she entered the lab, she crossed to the spot in the wall that contained the test tube, trying to act as normal as possible. The last thing she needed was for him to suspect she was up to something. He was used to her comings and goings, but he also saw more than he let on—a trait of a good investigator, but one that didn’t allow for much secrecy.

She was counting on him being miffed from her rejection earlier and not talking to her for a few hours, but as she extricated the tube, he spoke. “You’ve been crying. What’s amiss?”

Making sure her body was still blocking the spot in the wall, she slipped the tube into her coat pocket. Then she turned as casually as she could.

His attention hadn’t wavered from the screen, and his fingers hadn’t slowed in their tapping of the keyboard. How was it possible that even when Isaac—her ex-boyfriend—was busy and focused on work, he still cared about her? But Dawson—who washer flesh and blood—never asked about her life, never showed any concern, never reached out about anything, not even to wish her well on her birthday last month.

Anger sparked inside, hard and abrasive like the flint she’d struck against the fire-steel. Dawson was a horrible brother. The worst. And she’d be better off separating from him and his negativity instead of always letting him drag her down.

Isaac paused and swiveled his chair so that he was facing her. “How are you getting on?”

Her first reaction was to tell him this was none of his business. But his eyes were kind and filled with genuine concern. She owed him the courtesy of kindness in return. “Dawson’s got to me.”

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