Chapter Seven

Irene held back as Logan disappeared into a mist filled with twinkling lights that danced like thousands of fireflies in time with the haunting notes of bagpipes. Logan had suggested that he’d thought the tour odd. She knew why he’d said that. How many tour directors asked people to dress in costume? Not many, was her guess, as they’d fear open rebellion. Most adults thought they were too grown up. The last one she’d worn was when she was a child in grammar school. Her mother had loved making costumes.

The gowns Lady Roselyn provided reminded her of the style and colors of dresses her mother had spent months sewing for the three of them. While most children dressed as ghosts or action heroes or heroines for Halloween, she and her sister had looked like they’d fit into the court of a medieval king or queen. Those were happy memories. Irene smoothed her hand over her sleeve. She loved the feel of the silk, but the dull color didn’t seem right. The dresses her mother had made were more vibrant, more alive.

The bagpipes grew louder, as though beckoning her to hurry. She picked up her skirts. She changed her mind. She didn’t think anything was odd. Quite to the contrary.

Irene quickened her steps as she plunged into the mist. She heard voices over the music, so at least the tour group hadn’t gone very far, but the mist was so thick it was like being caught in a blinding snowstorm. Visibility was near zero.

“Concentrate,” she said aloud. Her headdress prevented her from turning easily, and her gown was too long—or she was too short, which at five foot ten seemed unlikely. Yet another indication that she’d chosen incorrectly.

The first step caught her off guard. Irene wobbled back and forth, feeling disoriented. She thrust her arms out like a tightrope walker. The maneuver worked. She regained her balance and brought her breathing under control. Now all she’d have to worry about was tripping over the hem of her gown.

She gulped in air. Somewhere in her memory banks she remembered that stairs in medieval times were made uneven to slow down an enemy’s advance if they breached the walls. The whole notion had seemed glamorous until now, when she’d almost broken her neck.

She refocused on navigating down the stairs. They should have installed handrails or running lights. Then she reminded herself that this tour company wouldn’t be so foolish as to create a dangerous situation. If there was an accident, a law firm, like the one she worked for, would sue them out of existence.

Irene reached out for a wall to help guide her. The sudden movement caused her legs to get tangled in the fabric of her long gown. She twisted around, but that only made it worse. Her veil wound around her face. She screamed in frustration as she tried to peel it loose and lost her balance again.

Her feet landed on the lip of the next step with a jolt. She slipped and pitched forward into the darkness. Flapping her arms like a crazed baby bird learning how to fly, her eyes squeezed shut. She was going to break every bone in her body.

Strong arms wrapped around her. “Don’t worry,” Logan said. “I’ve got you.”

She clung to his neck as he gathered her closer. She could feel his heart beat against her chest, or was that hers? Random thoughts popped in and out. How had he reached her so fast? Did he think she was clumsy? Too heavy?

Pathetic. He’d saved her, and all she could think about was her weight. Still…

She squirmed in his arms. “Thank you, but you can put me down.”

“And blow my one chance to rescue a beautiful damsel in distress? Not a chance. Besides, we’re almost there.”

Although the bagpipes were louder and she could hear the haunting notes of a flute, the mist was as dense as ever. “How can you tell?” she said.

She felt a rumble of laughter rise in his chest. “It’s a guess. I haven’t a clue.”