“Well, Avery, you survived day one,” she whispered to herself, and after walking as far as she had, drifted to sleep with no trouble whatsoever.
In the morning, she was amazed that she’d slept through the night again. After weeks of insomnia at Mistwood, two nights of perfect rest were a blessing. She dusted herself off, ate some nuts she had in her bag, and started walking again. It was late afternoon when she saw a curl of smoke rising from a chimney above the tree line.
“Thank God.” The stream had provided water, but she was down to her last two protein bars, the bottoms of her feet ached, and the sun had begun its descent, its light casting long shadows across the village streets. She needed to find a place to spend the night. Although she’d slept well enough outside last evening, she was desperate for a hot meal and a bath.
The forest opened and she had to smile. It was like walking onto a movie set. The packed dirt street was lined with two rows of stone buildings. It wasn’t hard to find the village inn. Vibrant conversation and candlelight poured into the street through the windows of a large stone building with a wooden sign painted with a lion and a rabbit, The Lion and the Hare.
She was about to walk inside when a bell rang behind her. A man in a kilt passed her on a bicycle. She stared after him, blinking. Did they have bikes in 1745? She honestly didn’t know, but then she had to remind herself that it was 2018 here just like it was on the outside, simply a 2018 that had evolved on its own, cut off from the modern world. She frowned. She couldn’t wait to reach Xavier and get out of here. Thinking about this place gave her the creeps. It was almost like she’d gone to another planet.
Which reminded her… She dug in her bag and pulled out Nathaniel’s box, pressing the small black mole to her throat. Now she’d speak and understand the language no matter what that might be.
Avery smoothed her hair and her skirts and entered. Inside, the stuffy air crowded around her. Smoke from the large fire along the far wall mingled with the scent of unwashed bodies and spilled ale. All of it was made worse by the faint floral scent of something that wanted to be perfume but wasn’t strong enough to do anything but add cloying sweetness to the mix. She breathed through her mouth and took a seat at one of the tables, ignoring the stares of the women and men who were obviously curious about her.
“Can I help ye, lass?” A woman stood before her, her ample bosom almost spilling out of her tight dress. I bet she makes great tips. Avery was too tired and hungry to think any more of it.
“I’d like something to eat and a room please.”
“We dinna serve lasses here, ye ken?” The woman lowered her chin.
Avery gave her a hard look-over and then eyed the other women in the pub. They were in various stages of undress, sitting on laps, running fingers through their gentleman’s hair, all while the men played cards or sipped drinks. Oh. This wasn’t an inn; it was a brothel.
“Unless yer looking for work yerself?” That the woman said a bit softer, eyeing her hair, her throat, and her chest as if sizing up her earning potential.
“Uh, no. I don’t need work… or company. I just need a room and some food. I can pay you for it.” Avery began to dig in her bag. She’d much rather spend the night in a brothel than beside a tree.
The woman shook her head and placed a firm hand on her arm. “Nay, lass. I canna allow ye to stay here. I won’t be part of ruining yer reputation. Take my advice and go home to your father or husband where ye belong. This is not the place for a wee thing like you.”
“I’m not…” What could she say? She didn’t think it would be a good idea to yell that she didn’t care about her reputation or that she didn’t have a man at home waiting for her. Would she even be safe in this place if the wrong person thought so?
Avery considered leaving and trying somewhere else, but she didn’t know where else to go, and she was too exhausted to move. For all she knew, all inns in the builgean were houses of ill repute. She sighed heavily. This wouldn’t do. She could not spend another night outdoors, and she needed a hot meal to quell the protests of her hungry belly. She stared at the woman, who raised an expectant eyebrow. Clearly she was a woman who did what she had to in order to survive. A woman not unlike herself.
“What’s your name?”
“Evangeline. I’m the madam of the house.”
“I’m Avery.” She held out her hand, and Evangeline took it reluctantly. “Would you consider a wager?”
“What kind o’ wager?” Evangeline gave her a shrewd stare.
She reached into her bag and pulled out one of the larger silver coins, pushing it across the table toward the woman. “I’ll bet you that I can turn water into whisky and whisky into water.”
Evangeline scoffed and looked at her like she belonged locked up somewhere safely away from the public. Her eyes flicked to a large Scot at the door, who placed a hand on the dirk at his hip and frowned.
“If I can’t do it”—Avery spoke loudly, noticing a few men around her table had taken interest—“you keep the coin and I leave. If I can, you sell me dinner and a room, no questions asked.”
The woman’s eyes fell on the coin, and then she glanced around the room at the patrons who’d taken interest. Avery couldn’t remember what the coin was worth, but it was clear it provided some temptation, as did the idea of Avery providing some free entertainment.
“Aye. It’s a wager.” The woman offered her hand, and Avery shook it.
“I’ll need a shot of whisky and a shot of water,” Avery said.
“A what?” The woman looked at her in confusion.
Oh shit. When the fuck was the shot glass invented? Avery’s eyes locked on a small glass in a nearby man’s hand. He was sipping something that looked like wine out of it. “In a glass like that,” she said. “One whisky. One water. Filled to the top. You have to be able to see the miracle take place.”
Avery rubbed her hands together, trying to psyche herself up.
“This is crazy,” she whispered under her breath. She turned to the men, now watching her curiously. “May I borrow one of your playing cards?”
Three men produced cards, and Avery selected one from the man who looked least likely to kill her. The woman returned with the glasses and placed them on the table before her.
“Thank you. Now, watch closely,” Avery said, thrusting her arms into the air and loosening up her hands. She’d performed this bar trick a million times in the Three Sisters, but there were so many things that could go wrong in this environment. She said a silent prayer that her guardian angel was still with her and placed the card over the water. Holding it in place, she flipped the glass over and placed it on top of the glass of whisky.
The Lion and the Hare become eerily silent as both men and women circled to watch what came next. Some in the back stood on chairs so they could see. This was the hard part. The key was creating the smallest possible opening. She pinched the card lightly and gave it a gentle tug.
Like magic, the whisky rose into the upper glass and the water sank into the lower one until the two liquids had completely switched places. There was an audible gasp from her audience. With practiced hands, she nudged the card back into place, held it to the top glass, and flipped it over. Removing the card, she handed the glass to Evangeline, whose mouth gaped in wonder.
“Go ahead, taste it,” Avery offered, giving her the friendliest smile she could muster.
She did and then held it up above her head. “Whisky!”
Everyone erupted in cheers. Avery took a bow.
“Are ye a witch, woman?” The man near the door asked, his hand still on his dirk.
Avery laughed but thought she’d best put that idea to rest right away considering the history of witches in this part of the world. “No. Water is heavier than whisky. It’s a trick. The liquids switch places. I can teach you how to do it”—she turned back to Evangeline—“if you bring me something to eat and I can have a room. If not, I’ll have to go.”
Evangeline smiled war
mly and swiped a hand through the air. “Sit down, lassie. I’ll bring ye some stew and have one of the girls fix a room for ye.”
Avery fell back into her chair and clapped her hands together. “Well then, let the water-to-whisky lessons commence!”
An hour later, her stomach was full, she was very tipsy, and she’d demonstrated the trick three more times until the man by the door whose name she learned was Aeden was able to replicate it to the cheers of onlookers. To her relief, the patrons lost interest when a bard arrived with a lute and set up in the corner of the room. At the same time, several men disappeared up the stairs with their chosen woman, no doubt to complete their transaction.
Avery decided to have another pint and watch the show. She leaned back, turning her body toward the bard. He was a slight man whose lute was only marginally smaller than his torso. His voice, however, left nothing to be desired, and Avery found herself enjoying his song as she sipped the most delicious ale she’d ever tasted.
She’d just asked Aeden for the key to her room when the bard started singing another number. This one was called “How Lachlan Slew the Dragon.” It was all about a man who killed a dragon king and took the throne for himself. Avery frowned.
“That’s a strange song to be singing around here,” she mumbled.
“Why ye say so?” Aeden asked. He’d brought her key and set it on the table.
“Because, you know, Xavier is the laird,” Avery mumbled. “That’s who I’ve come to see.”
Aeden frowned. “Xavier? Who’s Xavier?” He laughed. “I think ye best be headin’ to bed, eh? Ye’re in yer cups.”
That was strange. He acted like he’d never heard the name. But as she swayed in her seat, it dawned on her that dragons must change their names over the years, being immortal and such. Perhaps he went by another name now. She decided then and there that when she reached the castle, she’d ask to see the laird instead of specifying Xavier. That way she’d be sure to be taken to him.
“Why are ye goin’ to see the laird anyway?” Aeden asked. Before she could come up with something, he answered for her. “Ye must be vying for that kitchen position. Na wonder I’ve never seen ye in the village. Ye must be from the mountain?”
“Born and raised.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, looking for work.”
“Aye. Ye don’t need to speak to the laird for that. Ask for ol’ Mistress Abernathy. The woman’s been runnin’ the show up there for damn near thirty years.” He chuckled.
“Right.” Avery stood, bumping the table with her hip. “Can you show me to my room?”
“Nay. I’m not allowed upstairs. No matter—it’s the third door on yer left.” He raised a hand and gestured toward the stairs to the second floor.
Avery gripped her key and made her way to the room. Outside her door there was a portrait of a platinum-haired man hanging on the wall with his sword buried in a dead dragon. Engraved in brass at the bottom was Lachlan Slays the Dragon. Weird.
She unlocked her door, peeled herself out of her clothes, and passed out a minute after using the chamber pot.
Chapter Nine
Avery woke with a pounding headache and thanked the stars above she’d smuggled pain relievers in her leather bag. She washed herself using a deep basin of warm water Evangeline brought her and shared a simple porridge breakfast with a few of the women before setting off for the castle. Aeden pointed her in the right direction and suggested it was only a two-kilometer walk from the village. She might have seen the top of the keep last night if not for the trees and the dark.
When she reached the gatehouse, a man in a kilt stopped her at the door. “Whit’s yer business here, lass?”
“I am here to see the laird.” Her mind flashed back to the handsome face in the portrait she’d seen at Nathaniel’s. She was looking forward to meeting Xavier.
The guard gave her a once-over and then took her by the elbow and led her into the castle. He guided her along narrow stone corridors and up a winding flight of stairs. When they reached a room with a heavy-looking desk and a fire in the hearth, he gave her a little shove through the door.
Now inside, a few more things caught her eye. There was a rabbit in a cage near the fire that looked too thin, as if it was starving to death. Her gaze flicked to a birdcage on the desk. The bird inside was clearly dead. And another cage hanging from a stand in the corner held the remains of what might have been a squirrel once. She swallowed down a wave of nausea.
“This lassie says she’s here to see ya,” the guard said from behind her.
On the other side of the desk, a high-backed chair faced the window. She hadn’t even noticed anyone was in it until long legs shifted to the side of the chair, followed by a lanky body and platinum-blond hair. The man was extremely pale to the point Avery wondered if he was ill. Avery swallowed hard, her stomach twisting as she was hit with intense disorientation. The man in front of her was the one in the portrait outside her room at the brothel. The Lachlan who purportedly slew the dragon. She blinked.
The laird was not Xavier but Lachlan. So where was Xavier? Her heart pounded and panic threatened to make her knees give out.
“Who are ye?” the pale man demanded, harsh lines forming around his mouth.
“My name is Avery… Campbell,” she said, thinking quickly. Wasn’t the population of this bubble predominantly Campbells?
“Very weel, Avery, whit can I do for ye?” He strode around the desk to approach her. The man was eerily slender, like something out of a nightmare.
For a moment Avery couldn’t speak. Her brain was so overwhelmed with terror at the turn of events that she had a strong desire to make a run for it. But running wouldn’t do a lick of good in this scenario. The two men in the room could easily overpower her. She had no recourse if they hurt her. All she had was her wits and the weapons God gave her. So she did the only thing she could do given the situation. She coughed into her hand and lied.
“I was told you might need kitchen staff.” She fluttered her eyelashes and stood up taller to make full use of her figure.
Lachlan scowled. “Ya dinna need to be seein’ me for such a thing.” He stepped toward her, his gaze raking down her body. His eyes were so dark as to be almost black, and the look sent a distinct chill through her. It wasn’t the male gaze she expected, so often laden with sexual energy. No, Lachlan looked at her like a pig he’d like to roast over a spit. “I suppose ye are a bonny lass. Were ye hopin’ I’d take an interest?”
“I need work.”
His icy stare bore into her as if he were trying to rip the truth from her gullet. Several tense moments passed.
“I donna recognize ye from around here.”
“Not surprising. I never left my parents farm before now. I’m from… the mountains.”
“Take my hand,” he ordered. “I’ll warn ye—I can tell if ye’re lyin’ if ye do.”
Tentatively, she placed her fingers into his. What choice did she have? Almost immediately, her hand tingled where their palms touched. He was squeezing too hard, cutting off the flow of blood to her fingers. She didn’t pull away though. This was a test, and she was determined to pass.
“Now why’re ye really here?”
The secret to telling a lie, Avery knew, was to tell a half truth. If your brain registered your exact words as true, your body wouldn’t give you away. Only, her palm was drenched with sweat and her body was growing alternately hot and cold as her mind scratched the surface of what kind of trouble she was in. She looked him straight in the eye. “My father is no longer able to provide for me. My mother is gone. I can’t survive on my own. I was told to seek out the laird and throw myself on his mercy.” She sagged her head and lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t do this the right way or talk to the right person. I’ve never been away from home before.”
Another moment passed, Lachlan raking her with his dark, probing gaze. “She tells the truth,” he said to the guard. His eyes narrowed as he removed his hand. He seemed as surprise
d as Avery was that he believed her. “Take her down to Mistress Abernathy. See if she has a place for her.”
“Aye, sir.” The guard bowed, then took Avery’s elbow, meaning to lead her from the room.
“Wait!” Lachlan said, raising his hand again. He approached her again and took her face into his narrow, bony fingers. It was like being touched by a corpse, but Avery held her practiced smile. “You are a lovely wee thing.” His eyes flicked to the guard. “Tell Mistress Abernathy it would please me if she hired this lass.”
“Aye.”
He released her face, and Avery didn’t breathe again until they were in the hall and the guard was leading her into the bowels of the castle. The walk gave her a moment to process what she’d just learned. Xavier was no longer in control of Castle Dunchridhe. A man named Lachlan was. And if the song and the painting were any indication of what had happened to Xavier, Lachlan had killed him.
“Ye all right, lass? Yer trembling like a newborn colt,” the guard said kindly.
All she could do was nod and say, “I’m all right.” Although she was far from it. If Xavier was dead, she had no way to get back home and no way to get a message to Nathaniel. She owned three skirts, one top, and a leather bag with money meant to last her only a few days. What was she going to do? How was she going to survive?
She’d thought of all those things when she’d lied to Lachlan. That was why her words had registered as true. She did need a job. As of right now, she might be in the builgean for a very long time. And as for her parents, they were gone, or as good as in her current situation. As for coming from the mountain, she did drop into the builgean from one.
They reached the kitchen, and a stout woman with graying brown curls wiped her hands on a cloth of questionable cleanliness before greeting them. “What ’ave ye got there, William?”
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