Chapter Twenty-Eight

Then, as though someone had flipped a switch, the attack ended as quickly as it had begun. The aftermath was all that remained. Chairs and tables had been overturned in people’s haste to escape the flaming arrows. Food littered the floors, and now that the chaos had ended, the wolfhounds were busy taking advantage of their good fortune. But the air was still charged like the moments after a lightning strike, as though everyone were counting down the seconds until they heard the roar of thunder.

Irene helped Julia, Caitlin, and Ann search out and care for the wounded, while Logan, his father, and Grant made sure all the doors and windows were secure.

Julia’s words about traveling back to the thirteenth century rushed back again, this time with such force that Irene felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. Was that even possible? It wasn’t as though she hadn’t heard of the concept. The theory was as common in pop culture as whipped cream was on hot chocolate. The modern day genius, Dr. Stephen Hawkins, who’d made black holes his life’s work, once theorized that the laws of physics supported the possibility, no matter how unlikely.

A trumpet’s blare brought the Great Hall to silence. Breathing deeply, Irene turned toward the sound.

Lady Roselyn, flanked by Bridget and Fiona, climbed the three steps to the raised platform. The Great Hall settled into an unnatural quiet. The eldest sister wore a pasted-on smile. “Wasn’t that exciting?” Lady Roselyn announced. Her normal quiet, calm voice shook noticeably. “That is a taste of what those in the thirteenth century might have experienced on a day-to-day basis. Your enemy never takes a break, even during the Christmas season.” She forced a laugh. “We should give our actors a round of applause.” She waited for the crowd to comply with her suggestion. Only a few clapped, the effect half-hearted. “They put on a grand show,” she continued raising her voice. “Have no fear; there won’t be a repeat performance. One per tour, that’s our motto. Good news. We are right on schedule. Preparations are already underway for our big feast at midnight.”

Lady Roselyn, despite her positive spin, still looked shaken as she descended from the dais. Bridget followed closely, while Fiona stayed behind to talk with Caitlin. There was an awkward silence, and then activity resumed as people returned to the task of straightening up the Great Hall. Their haunted expressions spoke volumes.

Logan nodded to his father before heading toward Irene. He looked as worried as she felt. “Did you believe her?”

“Not a word. I think it’s time we learned the truth.”