Chapter Thirty-Three

A half hour later, Irene and Logan’s announcement was met with relief. But quicker than she could say, “Haggis is gross, no matter how much gravy is slathered over the top,” the sisters had switched topics and devised a plan to find Sam and his friends.

And Irene hated every aspect of their plan.

“The sisters’ reasoning is medieval,” Irene said, mumbling to herself. Temper flashed through her as she paced in front of the hearth in the Great Hall. “The men are searching for the bad guys while we are stuck here.”

Lady Roselyn had cancelled all the celebrations. But since the castle lacked central heating, a fire had to be maintained. And this one roared and attacked the wood with angry flames, which matched Irene’s mood perfectly. The men had metaphorically patted her, Ann, Julia, and Caitlin on the head and announced they were going out to save the day.

To make matters worse, Lady Roselyn had suggested the women occupy their time feeding the fire and doing needlework. Seriously?

Ann and Julia had their heads bent together over a square of embroidery, while Caitlin was adding another log to the fire. She hadn’t said very much except that she and Julia had bonded over their shared belief that Angus was a world-class loser. Caitlin was the only one amongst them who was from the thirteenth century, so maybe she’d think Irene was overreacting to being left behind.

Irene gritted her teeth. She was through with caring about what people thought.

She spun around. “Am I the only one who’s spitting mad? The men are outside hunting that trio of cave dwellers while we’re sewing. I hate sewing.”

“Lady Roselyn said we should stay here.” Julia stabbed a needle into a section of cloth she’d been embroidering. She grimaced as the needle pricked her finger. “Finding the troublemakers is man’s work.”

“Please tell me Lady Roselyn didn’t actually say that?”

Julia sucked the blood off her finger. “Lady Roselyn said the first part. Grant added the second. He’s in character, and he believed it made him sound like a knight protecting his damsel in distress. I have my own thoughts on the subject.”

Irene crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know about you, but I’m as angry as a nest of hornets. We may be stuck in the thirteenth century, but we’re twenty-first-century women. We can help.”

Ann muttered a colorful oath under her breath as she threaded a needle. Julia and Caitlin turned toward her with conflicting expressions of shock and humor. Irene wasn’t surprised. Although Ann looked the part of the wise, beautiful, and refined duchess in a Regency novel rather than a curse-wielding mercenary in an action movie, there was a quiet strength about her.

Ann laced her fingers together in her lap. Outwardly, the way she held her hands looked innocent enough, except the knuckles shone as white as ivory piano keys. “Women in the thirteenth century were pretty fierce themselves. Who do you think defended the castles when the men folk trundled off on their grand adventures? What is more, who do you think made sure there was food on the table, and the sick were cared for? I know my husband and son. They’ll find these men eventually. That’s one of their strengths. But our intruders are hiding, and as the sisters said, we don’t have the luxury of time.”

The clarity of Ann’s thought process was exciting. It was also spot on. Irene brought her chair closer to Ann’s and motioned for Julia and Caitlin to do the same. “We keep referring to the intruders as Neanderthals, me included. We’ve underestimated our enemy. They’re not as dumb as everyone seems to think. After all, they escaped a dungeon and somehow managed to persuade the clans in the area to launch a surprise attack. They’ll suspect that the sisters have ordered their capture and of course go into hiding.”

“I’m not so sure about the last part,” Caitlin said. “They wanted to come on this tour. The attack could be their way of proving to the sisters that they belong here. I think I know where they are. One of the kitchen staff said he saw them hanging around outside when he went for wood.”

“We could lure them to us,” Ann suggested.

Julia’s eyes widened. “Have you forgotten that they tried to kill us? I may not like sitting here turning my fingers into pincushions, but I know my strengths, and chasing after armed men is not one of them. Let Ann’s son and husband and the others do their job. I just want to get back to civilization. After this, if Grant even suggests a reenactment festival, we’re so over.”

Ann leaned against the back of her chair. “Maybe Julia’s right.”

“Except we’re running up against a deadline,” Irene said. “Everything is on hold until they’re captured. No celebrations and, more importantly, no wedding. Without a wedding, we won’t be going back. We’re stuck in this century. I don’t like the idea of luring them here any more than you do, but we have to do something.”

Ann shook her head slowly. “Sun Tzu, who wrote The Art of War, had a famous saying: ‘Know your enemy.’ Do we know their names, or why they came here in the first place, or why they’ve attacked us?”

Caitlin poked the logs in the hearth with a fire iron. “Their names are Cory, Dave, and Alex. They are foulmouthed braggarts who do not understand the first thing about chivalry.” She gave the logs another shove.

Julia set her needlework aside. “I know those names. They were on the same tour I was on before. They’re computer programmers from a tech company in the States. They are not, however, the shy, nerdy types that turn out to be interesting and nice and even sexy once you get to know them. They’re the creepy stalker kind, more interested in getting drunk, picking fights, and grabbing your…well, you get the idea. Sam said he had meant to meet some gamers here that he’d met online, but they’d been turned away. I should have connected the dots sooner.”

Irene turned toward the hearth. The fire crackled, spitting embers and casting a glow over the crossed swords and shield hanging over the mantel. She reached up and touched the shield as an idea formed.

“It sounds as though they are here for revenge or, as Caitlin suggested, a second chance,” Ann said.

Irene nodded, bringing her attention back to the group. “I agree. They’ve been denied their fantasy world and must be feeling pretty frustrated by now. Instead of cancelling the celebrations, we need to take them to the next level. Make it a party they can’t resist. If they’re convinced that our men are outside on a wild goose chase, they might risk coming inside. When they do, we’ll be ready. Ann, do you think you can convince Lady Roselyn to resume the celebrations?”

Ann stood, so excited her eyes sparkled. “That might just work. When I’m done, she’ll think it was her idea.”

“Good. Now all we’ll need is a way to invite them that won’t draw their suspicions.”

“I’ll go,” Caitlin offered. “All four of them tried to get me alone. Angus came to my rescue. He might not be the one-woman type, but he takes protecting women seriously. Despite my protests, and Angus’ intervention, they are deluded into believing I’m interested in them.” Her expression puckered as though she’d bitten into a sour lemon. She shuddered. “I’ll tell them we’ve convinced the sisters to give them a second chance.”

“Do you think they’ll believe you?” Irene said.

Caitlin shrugged. “Cory, Dave, and Alex will want to believe it’s true, and Sam’s ego matches the size of his big head. They don’t see themselves as bad guys. I’m sure they think this has all been a big misunderstanding.”

“We’ll both go,” Julia said. “I don’t want you facing those creeps alone.”

Irene liked the way the plan was developing. They were all working together. “And I’ll ask Fiona and Bridget to follow you in case there’s any trouble. Meanwhile, I’ll set our trap in motion. We’ll all meet back here in an hour.”