Chapter Twenty-Nine

Irene motioned for Logan to follow her, and together they ran after the sisters. Instinct told her that of the three, Fiona, although a romantic at heart, held the tightest grip on her secrets and was the least likely to share what was going on. Lady Roselyn was a peacemaker and a strict observer of rules and schedules, and Bridget’s first impulse was to try and help, even if it meant putting herself at risk. If Irene was to learn what was really going on, Bridget was her best bet.

She reached Bridget before she ducked into a chamber behind the Great Hall. “We’d like answers.”

Bridget didn’t look surprised; she looked tired, and there were dark smudges under her eyes. “My sister explained everything.”

“I found my mother’s portrait.”

Bridget pulled on a loose thread on her sleeve. “I thought we… Can we talk about this later?”

A blanket of silence descended, but Irene stood firm. She’d come here for answers. “Who’s Connor?”

A muscle by Bridget’s eye twitched as she let out a breath. “Come with me.”

Bridget ushered Irene and Logan into the massive chamber. A fire in the hearth sputtered and spit as it tried to blaze. Cubbyholes stuffed with scrolls of parchment lined the walls, reminding Irene of the library. But this wasn’t a cozy library in the heart of a mansion or castle. Despite the style of furnishing, the room reminded Irene of the corporate offices and boardrooms of a Fortune Five Hundred company.

Below a candlelit chandelier, Lady Roselyn sat writing with a quill pen, looking like a queen doling out judgments. Her expression was pinched, as though she blamed herself for the attack.

Logan took Irene’s hand. His presence made her feel less alone but did nothing to soothe her jangled nerves. Bridget’s reaction to Irene finding her mother’s portrait and the mention of Connor’s name hadn’t helped. It was as though she’d walked into a play in progress without knowing the plot, setting, or characters. If somehow Julia was correct and they’d traveled back in time, that possibility opened up more questions and concerns. Had her mother time traveled, as well? Her mother had been fascinated with Scotland in the thirteenth century. If what Julia said was true, that would explain a lot. But where did Connor fit in?

Bridget settled Irene and Logan on chairs, then approached Lady Roselyn. “What are we going to do?”

Lady Roselyn snatched off her glasses and pointed them toward Irene and Logan. “The real question is why did you bring them here?”

“Irene found her mother’s portrait.”

The eyeglasses Lady Roselyn held in her hand quivered. She lowered her voice. “I thought we took it down.”

“I thought so too.”

Lady Roselyn closed her eyes, rubbing the ridge of her nose. She breathed in and out, then lifted her chin and turned toward Irene. “From your reaction, it’s obvious that you didn’t know your mother also took one of our tours. We usually do a better job keeping track of our guests and protecting their secrets. I apologize. We should have taken down her portrait before you arrived.” Lady Roselyn’s voice sounded unnaturally calm, as though trying to coax someone off a ledge. Irene had the feeling the tone was not so much for Irene’s benefit but that of Lady Roselyn and her sister.

“Your portrait will be ready before you leave,” Lady Roselyn said. “Did you notice our painter when you arrived? Although he prefers to paint puppies and kittens—he says they’re more appreciative—we also commission him to paint portraits of all our guests.”

Lady Roselyn seemed to think that answered Irene’s question and turned to whisper to Bridget, but her voice carried as Irene allowed what the matchmaker had said to sink in. Lady Roselyn had confirmed that Irene’s mother had been here, despite her stepfather’s claim that she had never traveled to Europe.

“Where is Fiona?” Lady Roselyn said in a hushed tone, intruding into Irene’s thoughts. “We need everyone here.”

Bridget rolled her shoulders, rubbing her neck. “I’m not sure. All I know is that the wedding between Caitlin and Angus has been called off…indefinitely. I told you that if Fiona didn’t think the couple was ready…”

Lady Roselyn stood, slammed her palms on the table, and leaned forward. “And you’re just telling me this now? You are aware that if we don’t have a wedding, no one can leave.”

“We were under attack,” Bridget said evenly. “A bride who’d changed her mind seemed the least of our worries.”

Lady Roselyn tightened her grip on her glasses. She seemed to notice Irene and Logan again and cleared her throat. “You should not have to listen to the details of running a business. Smooth as glass one day and rocky seas the next. Bridget, will you please see our guests to the kitchens and offer them sweet cakes and tea? We shouldn’t bother them with our minor setbacks.”

Bridget crossed her arms over her chest. “We can drop the charade. They already know things are not as they seem. Last time I checked, most tours do not include their guests being wounded with flaming arrows. But aside from the fact Irene knows her mother was here, I found Irene and Logan by the gatehouse door. They saw the men responsible for the attack, the same men we locked in the dungeon but who managed to escape. How did that happen? Did someone help them?”

“Sam helped them,” Logan interrupted.

Both Bridget and Lady Roselyn snapped their attention toward him.

“He wanted to lock us in one of the dungeon cells, but we declined. I’m not a fan of cramped places, and Irene doesn’t like spiders. You people really take your reenactments seriously around here. The attack on the castle looked real.”

“It was real,” Bridget said.

Lady Roselyn gripped her glasses so tightly they snapped. “I’ll wager the villagers in Brigadoon never had this problem. There was always a wedding. No drama. No attacks. No…”

“A man was killed trying to escape Brigadoon. That was pretty dramatic, sister dear,” Bridget said.

Logan leaned in toward Irene and whispered. “What am I missing?”

Irene let out a shuddering breath. Julia had tried to tell her that their tour group had traveled to the thirteenth century. It had seemed crazy then. Now, not so much. And how was Brigadoon involved? That was in a made-up story where time stood still. A shiver chased over her skin.

When Logan repeated his question, she whispered. “Have you ever heard about an enchanted place called Brigadoon?”

Before he could answer, Lady Roselyn raised her voice and addressed Bridget.

“This is all your sister and Liam’s fault. I told them we needed to access a different door through time. We’ve been returning to this same century for too long. We have more doors, more options, and we should start using them. We should also make a rule that under no circumstances should we allow our guests to use the same tour over and over. That is what gets us into messes like this in the first place.”

“Stop trying to shift the blame,” Bridget said. “I’m not sure why Fiona keeps insisting on this century, but Liam is the reason the attack is contained. If it hadn’t been for him, the walls would have been breached. But the men who are responsible for the attack have to be captured.”

Both sisters leaned toward each other and started arguing back and forth until they sounded like a swarm of angry bees. The candle flames in the chandelier overhead quivered in response, and the flames in the hearth flickered as though they too felt the rise in tension in the room.

“Are they saying what I think they’re saying?” Logan whispered. “ ‘Doors through time’ just took this reenactment to a whole new level. Cool. These sisters have a vivid imagination. But what is this Brigadoon place they keep talking about?”

Irene had no idea how to spring time travel on him; she was having a hard enough time reconciling it herself. She concentrated on the Brigadoon topic. Keeping her voice low, she said, “It was the name of a movie in the 1960s, one of my mother’s favorites. Brigadoon was a story about a village priest who had protected his people from the evils of the outside world by his prayers and sacrifice. The villagers would sleep for one hundred years, and when they awoke only a day would have passed. My mother watched the movie so many times she knew the songs and dialogue by heart. I think Stirling Castle is under a similar enchantment.”

Irene stared at the candle flames in the chandelier until her vision blurred. If her mother had taken this tour, that had to be why she was so obsessed with the movie. Or was there another reason?

The muscles along Logan’s arm tightened. “Well, my favorite movie growing up was Star Wars because my father and I saw it together at least a dozen times. After we leave Scotland, we should hop on a spaceship to the planet Tatooine. You know, the home planet of Luke Skywalker, where…”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. She knew he was trying to lighten the mood again, something she was learning to appreciate about him. “I know about Tatooine, and I also know how crazy this sounds.”

He kissed her on the forehead. “Good. At least I’m not the only one freaking out. A lot of my friends believe Atlantis was a real place, and that a race of alien space travelers built the giant heads on Easter Island. All that stuff seems tame compared to an enchanted-castle theory, but at the end of the day, all this is just make believe.”

“But what if it isn’t?” Irene said. “I mean, you said it yourself. We might never know things like why the heads on Easter Island are larger than life size or if Atlantis existed.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as his mouth twitched in a smile. “Cool. The Death Star is real.”

Irene fought back a grin as she elbowed him gently. “And you said I was the one with the hidden nerd flag. I suppose you attend comic book conventions.”

“When we get back to reality, I’ll show you my costume.”

“You’re joking?”

He lifted an eyebrow.

Chairs scraped over the floor as the sisters stood. Lady Roselyn remained silent for a moment, as though making sure she had everyone’s attention, and then took a deep breath. “We have decided that you both deserve to know the truth. All of it.”