by Mariah Stone
“Aye, dearie, but you must seek justice at some point. You’re not a coward. How can you live on the run your whole life? What’s the point? You can’t have any friends. Can’t marry. Can’t have children. Always looking over your shoulder, seeing shadows.”
Amber fingered a white china flower at the base of the cup handle. She knew her aunt was right. Amber had joined the army because she wanted to see the world, fight for her country, and protect innocent people from the terrorists.
So why was she behaving like a coward now? She wasn’t the type to cower from a fight. Growing up, she hadn’t been afraid to take the blame for her three older brothers’ small sins, such as broken vases or scratches on the car. That had been her way of protecting them. But instead of appreciating her sacrifice, they’d treated her like a doormat.
“I know, Aunt Christel, you’re right. My mom raised me to be a good girl. To go to church. To live an honest life. Dad is probably turning in his grave watching me hide like this and not seek justice. Everything inside of me is screaming at me to stand up and fight and prove I didn’t commit that murder.”
“Aye. So why don’t you?”
Amber brought the cup to her mouth with a shaking hand, coffee threatening to spill on the tablecloth. She took a sip, her favorite drink tasteless against her tongue.
“I’d be a naive little girl if I trusted the system. Major Jackson is using me as a scapegoat to cover for his crimes. He managed to get the drugs from Afghanistan to America for years. So imagine how many people he must have in his pocket in the military. And now that he murdered a US officer, he’ll be even more ruthless.” She shook her head. “No. I cannot take him on alone.”
“Perhaps nae. But why don’t you ask your brothers to help? Jonathan was in the military, too. He knows people, doesn’t he?”
“Right.” Amber snorted. “Jonathan doesn’t want anything to do with me. He sold our house after Dad died, and everyone lives their own lives.”
Amber was still a teenager when their mom died, and the family had started to fall apart. After their dad’s death two years ago, they’d stopped meeting for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Kyle was a kick-ass lawyer in New York. Daniel was in San Francisco last time Amber had heard, still trying to sell his sculptures.
“But still,” Aunt Cristel said, “if you ask for help… Kin is kin.”
“Maybe that’s how it is in Scotland. And I can’t thank you enough for helping me. But if I went to Jonathan for help, he’d be the first to rat me out to the authorities.”
Aunt Christel covered Amber’s hand with her own, and Amber squeezed it back, her caramel skin looking even darker compared to her aunt’s pasty complexion.
“Surely, nae, dear?” Aunt Christel said.
Amber sighed. “He wouldn’t risk his ass for me. He has the right connections in the military, I’m sure, but he also has two kids and a wife and a beautiful house.”
“But—”
“Police! Police!” Rob cried.
Everything moved in slow motion. There was the distant rustle of car tires and engines. The front door swung wide, and Rob stood in the doorway, his silhouette black against the sun. “Police!” he shouted.
Amber jumped to her feet, jostling the table, and the coffee mugs and porridge flew off from the impact.
Aunt Christel cried, “Back door!”
Amber ran, her feet heavy, as though she were moving through a swamp. It was like she were trapped in one of those nightmares where she couldn’t get away from a killer.
The hallway flashed by, and she reached the old, mahogany door. Unlocked, thank God! She raced out past the barn, into a field of oats. Her ragged breathing was louder than anything in her ears. Where was she running? Where should she go?
Away. She’d wait for a while and then come back to Aunt Christel’s to get her things. Then she’d leave. Go to the woods. Somewhere. Anywhere.
She wouldn’t be punished for something she hadn’t done.
Behind her, cars revved. She glanced back. They were coming right through the field after her. Amber gasped, adrenalin spiking.
Before her was a grove. They wouldn’t be able to get through in their vehicles. She sped up. Thank God, she jogged every day and did combat training, but she still couldn’t win a footrace against cars.
She flew into the grove. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the shade of the tress after being in the sunny field. She ran through the trees before she had to stop and catch her breath, her lungs desperately expanding to get more air in. She looked around. Thirty feet or so in front of her, an asphalt road ran from the left to the right, and across it, farther away in the distance, something like a castle stood between trees. Right, the ruined castle her aunt had told her about. Behind it, was River Lochy.
The cars behind her turned. They’d need to take quite a detour to get on the road.
She ran again, across the empty road, then down the ditch on its other side, almost twisting her ankle.
Not today.
She made it past the trees and the bushes to an almost ruined wall of the castle that had two round towers on each side. There was an arched gate in the middle, and through the courtyard was another small gate. If she could just get there, maybe she could hide in the bushes behind it. The river was on the other side of the far gate. Although it was very broad, maybe she could swim across it. She was a good swimmer…
She ran inside the square courtyard. On every corner was a round tower. A red-haired woman stood in the middle, and the scent of lavender and freshly cut grass hit Amber. The woman wore a long green cloak and a medieval-looking, dark-green dress.
“Here, lass.” The woman gestured towards the black entrance at one of the towers. “They’ll have a hard time finding ye here.”
Amber stopped and bent forward. She put her hands on her knees and panted. Her lungs ached and burned, and a piercing pain pulsated in her side.
“Who are you?” she said.
“I’m Sìneag. I ken ye’re in trouble. Trust me. Ye dinna have much time. They’re coming.”
Tires screeched against the asphalt. Voices.
“Arghhh!!” Amber cried. She must be insane to trust a complete stranger, but there was no way she’d make it to the river in time. They could easily catch up to her on the other side anyway. “Come on! Show me.”
Sìneag nodded and ran first, showing the way. They raced through a doorway and into the tomb-like darkness of the tower. Sìneag went quickly down the crumbling stairs into a complete blackness. Amber clutched at the wall, barely seeing anything. Rocks rolled from under her feet. Her shoes slipped, and she almost fell several times. Finally, she slid to a stop when the stairs reached the uneven ground. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw Sìneag standing there, waiting for her.
“Come, lass, a little farther,” she said.
A heavy feeling settled in Amber’s stomach. She felt like Little Red Riding Hood being called deeper into the woods by the wolf. She looked up. Somewhere up there, people were looking for her, people who wanted her to be punished for a crime she didn’t commit. She supposed going farther under a ruined castle to save herself didn’t sound like such a bad idea compared to being caught by them.
She kept following Sìneag, and it got darker and darker. The scent of wet stone, earth, and mold enveloped her. Water dripped from somewhere.
Sìneag took Amber by the hand. The woman’s palm was cool and soft.
“Come here. I ken this place. We’ll sit here and wait. Sooner or later, they’ll be gone. Then ye go out. Aye?”
She tugged Amber a few steps to her left and down. Amber put out her hand and found a cold, rough stone wall. She slid her hand down as she sat on the ground. Her breath rushed in and out quickly, and she made an effort to slow it down.
“How do you know this place?” Amber whispered.
“Ah, I ken it well. Have been here many times. There’s a rock that interests me in the foundation.”
Amber almost a
sked about the rock, but adrenalin was pumping through her blood. Any minute, they could find her. She listened for the sound of any steps or voices, but so far, everything was quiet.
“Why did you help me?” Amber asked softly. “How do you know I didn’t escape from prison or haven’t stolen something? Are you not worried about why the police are after me? Did you see in my eyes that I have a heart of gold or something?”
Sìneag laughed a little. “Aye. Something like that. I supposed ye canna tell me what ye’re really running from?”
Amber sighed. “It’s probably in your best interest not to know. You may be an accomplice by hiding a criminal.”
“Oh, aye?” Sìneag sounded strangely excited.
“I’m not. But the government and the army think I am.”
“Poor lass. I may have an escape for ye, somewhere yer government will never reach ye.”
Amber grimaced, and she was glad that Sìneag couldn’t see her. This was getting weird. Who was this woman, and why was she trying to save a complete stranger from the police?
“I’m sorry, Sìneag, I’m grateful you’re helping me now, but don’t worry about my future. I’ll find a way.”
Sìneag was quiet for a moment. “Ye will.”
Amber didn’t answer. Water dripped from somewhere and the sound echoed off the rocky walls. Other than that, complete silence reigned here. Was this what it sounded like in a grave or a crypt?
No sounds came from outside, either. That meant the police weren’t looking for her in the ruins. Yet. They must think she was making a run for it.
“Do ye want to hear a story while we wait?” Sìneag said.
A story? It was an odd thing to do while waiting to be captured by the police, but maybe it would keep Sìneag from asking any personal questions. And it might help Amber relax a little.
“Yes, please,” Amber said.
“Well, ye canna see it, but we’re sitting right by that ancient rock I mentioned.”
As she said that, something began glowing to Amber’s left, and she jerked away.
Sìneag laughed. “Aye, that’s it. Do ye see the carving glowing?”
Amber watched in disbelief as the glow grew stronger. It was a picture resembling a child’s drawing—a circle made of three waves and a thick line. Next to the lines was a handprint etched right into the rock.
“What the hell is that?” Amber said. “Why is it glowing?”
“Ye wilna believe me. None of ye mortals do at first. But ’tis ancient Pictish magic. It opens a tunnel through time.”
Amber didn’t know whether to laugh or run? “A what?”
“A tunnel through time. Those who go through the tunnel, meet the person they’re destined to be with.”
The hell?
“And there’s someone for ye, too, Amber.”
Amber frowned. “How do you know my name?”
“If I told ye I’m a Highland faerie who loves matchmaking people, even if they’re separated by time, would ye believe me?”
This was sounding more and more ridiculous. “No.”
She laughed. “’Tis what I thought. But there is a man ye’re destined to be happy with, and he lives more than seven hundred years in the past.”
Feet pounded outside and neared the entrance. Cold crept down Amber’s spine.
Sìneag turned to her and took her hands. With the glow from the rock, Amber could distinguish her face. Sìneag’s eyes were wide and worried.
“Just remember, ye need to look for Owen Cambel.”
Someone was coming down the stairs. A man swore, something heavy fell, and more F-bombs followed.
“Go through the tunnel, Amber,” Sìneag insisted. “Either that, or prison.”
Go through a tunnel in time seven hundred years back? Someone was coming. Light from a flashlight moved across the wall.
“Don’t move!” a man called. “Police!”
Amber’s heart beat violently against her rib cage.
“Put yer hand in the print, and think of Owen,” Sìneag said.
A gun clicked. “I’m armed. Do not move.”
I must be crazy.
But this was it. Either she would be taken now, or she could try this one last thing. It was completely loony, but what could it hurt? Maybe it would open a revolving door or something that led into a secret room.
She turned and placed her palm in the handprint.
Owen, she thought, feeling foolish. Owen.
A vibration went through her, similar to the buzz of a hair clipper. Her hand fell through the rock as though it were empty air. Her body followed. She tumbled, headfirst, her body spinning. Her stomach flipped, bile rising. She waved her arms, trying to grab at something.
She screamed as she fell into darkness.
And then it consumed her.
Chapter 2
Inverlochy Castle, August 1308
* * *
The crack of wood breaking blasted the air and halted Owen in his tracks. The courtyard stilled. Archers on the walls stopped shooting. Assuming defensive positions, the warriors at the gates tensed and bent their knees.
Through the massive gates, the iron head of a battering ram protruded like a curious monster. Splinters and shards of wood decorated the hole around it. There were cheers and cries of victory from outside the gates.
Owen exchanged a look with Kenneth Mackenzie, the current constable of the castle appointed by Robert the Bruce. Kenneth’s eyebrows were knit together, and his mouth formed one thin line in his beard.
“Hold the gates!” Kenneth called. “Swordsmen, draw yer claymores! Every man to the gates!”
Owen and Kenneth elbowed their way to the front row of the warriors and stared the ram in the face. It moved back from the hole. Men shouldered the gates. More warriors descended from the towers, filling the courtyard. There were at least seven hundred English outside the castle walls, and inside, barely a hundred Scots.
“For the king of Scotland!” Kenneth cried. “For freedom! For yer wives and children! Hold the line! Dinna let a single Sassenach pass by!”
The Highlanders cheered back in a single roar.
“Cruachan!” Owen cried, but he was alone in calling the battle cry of clan Cambel, though many echoed battle cries of their own clans.
If Owen had Craig, Ian, and Domhnall by his side, and his father and uncle, it would have been different. His heart didn’t beat with the anticipation of a victory, and it didn’t jump with the eagerness of a battle to come.
No. This time, he had a dark, sinking premonition in his gut. There were too many Sassenachs. They had a battering ram and had been so strategic about the siege. The man who led them knew what he was doing.
While the Bruce was in the east dealing with the Comyns and Earl of Badenoch, the English had decided to regain positions they’d lost. They were right about it being a good time to attack. With the Bruce and so many men away, the castle’s defense was weak.
The second hit of the ram shattered another piece of the gate. Highlanders stepped back instinctively.
“Prepare!” Kenneth cried. “Shields! Hold!”
Moments later, the ram hit again, and the gates burst open.
The swarm of the English poured in with a victorious roar. They hit the first line of Scots with a teeth-shattering impact. Swords poked from above and in between the shields. The English pressed, and the Highlander lines drew back.
The first victims among the Highlanders fell as sharp blades found their marks.
“Hold!” Kenneth yelled. “Tulach Ard!” he called his clan’s war cry.
“Tulach Ard!” echoed his warriors.
But they couldn’t hold. The pressure was too great. Within moments, the Highlanders lines were scattered, and a wave of well-armed English cut through them.
Amber came to awareness slowly. Her body felt floaty and ached all over like from the flu. She lay on a cold surface, and the air smelled like wood, iron, and wet stone. It was quiet, but not as quiet as it ha
d been under the ruins. There was no sound of water dripping.
Were those the echoes of voices somewhere outside?
Amber opened her eyes. Light came from a single torch in a sconce on the far side of the space. Real fire, no electricity.
Hmm.
She pushed herself up and sat. Sìneag was nowhere to be seen.
“’Tis ancient Pictish magic. It opens a tunnel through time.”
Yeah, right. Pictish magic my ass. Though, she had experienced the strangest sensation of falling through the stone. But that could have been anything. Maybe Sìneag had hypnotized her or something.
Good news was there were no police here.
Amber looked around, and her body chilled. Thanks to the light, she could see she was in a large space that looked like a cave. It had rough stone walls and a vault-like ceiling. Wooden planks, crates, barrels, and sacks were lined along the walls. The floor was a mixture of rough rock and earth. Was it the same floor she and Sìneag had sat on in complete darkness?
The allegedly magical rock lay by her side. It wasn’t glowing now. Should she try to touch it again? No. The disorientating sensation of falling through a stone still pulled at her gut.
She stood up and looked around. The torch illuminated a massive door that looked more like a gate, with heavy iron hardware and hinges. Well, that was weird. She was pretty sure there’d been no doors of any kind under the ruins.
Weird but interesting. Amber had always loved adventure novels and stories, and she felt like she was in the middle of one—a terrifying one—now. She knew it might be dangerous to venture out, but she couldn’t cower down here forever. How long had she even been here?
She’d be careful, of course, and watch for the police, but so far, there was no sign of them. She walked slowly towards the door, her shoes thumping quietly against the ground. The door smelled faintly of tar and iron. She stood and listened at the door, but no sounds came from the other side. She gripped the heavy, round handle, as big as a saucer, and its coldness burned her skin. She pulled it, and the heavy door moved.