"When can I get out of here?" She rushed forward.
"I was ordered to nay answer any questions, m'lady."
"Tell your boss I want to speak to him!" she yelled as he slammed the heavy door. "Has he forgotten I'm down here?"
The lock clicked, and the man clomped away.
"Jerk."
Noticing the pungent stench of fish, she glared down at the tray he'd left. On it sat a dish of whole smoked kippers. "Yuck!" How anyone could eat that sort of fish for breakfast was beyond her.
Beside it sat a bowl of thick oatmeal and a cup with dark liquid. Imagining a delicious cup of hot coffee, she knelt, picked up the cup, and sniffed. The smell of strong ale almost knocked her sideways.
She set it down with a clunk. "Ugh!" What a mean trick! But she'd known people drank ale for breakfast during medieval times and after. If the year was actually 1630, coffee had not yet made it to Scotland. "Dammit!" She was going to have caffeine withdrawals.
Centuries of use had worn down the wooden bowl, cup, and spoon. With every clue and piece of evidence that she'd been transported to the 17thcentury, her stomach dropped.
"I couldn't have time traveled," she muttered. "Such a thing is impossible." The stuff of entertaining fiction, but not real life.
Hunger overcame reason, and she picked up the spoon to try a tiny bite. The oatmeal was still warm, but no salt, butter, or sugar had come near it. She choked down a few bites of the sticky, tasteless goo, cringing each time, hoping they would be enough to keep her from starving.
More hours ticked by. What the hell was Gavin doing? Why wouldn't he at least come down here and tell her something? Why would he hold her hostage for so long? She paced, grinding her teeth and wishing she had a rock to throw at the door. Several minutes later, her anger spent, she grew tired and plopped onto the wooden bench.
"Argh!" Her exhaustion felt like the worst case of jetlag ever. Propping her head onto her hand to rest, she dropped off to sleep and almost toppled to the floor. Acknowledging the bench was hard but cleaner than the floor, she lay on it, covered up with the blankets, and drifted off to sleep.
The door's lock rattled, waking her. Not knowing how much time had passed, she sprang to her feet.
The same guard opened the creaking cell door and shoved another tray in beside the first.
"You're nay eating, m'lady?" He picked up the breakfast tray. "The chief will be displeased."
"Do you think I care what the damned chief thinks?" she snapped. "Where is he anyway? Tell him I want to talk to him." When the guard remained silent and withdrew, she dashed toward him. "What's your name?"
The door slammed in her face.
"Guard!" She beat on the door, calling him a few choice names. "You send Gavin down here now!"
Even though they called herlady, she had no authority. They treated her like a peon.
Clenching her jaw, she glared down at the new tray of food. It didn't look any more appetizing than the first. One thing looked like a dark brown chunk of bread. She picked it up and sniffed. Yep, some sort of strange bread. Since it didn't smell moldy, she took a small bite but found the top and bottom crusts as hard as tree bark. The taste wasn't half bad, once she got it chewed. She puzzled over the other food item—maybe ground meat. She scooped some onto the spoon and sniffed it, detecting spices and a liver scent.
"Haggis." She cringed, not quite brave enough to try it, and put the spoon down. Her grandma had served haggis one time at Thanksgiving. When no one ate it except Grandma, she gave up on making it as a side dish. Even Dani's father had shied away from it.
Dani picked up the cup, this one also filled with ale. Why didn't they bring her water? Perhaps they had no clean water.
Thirsty, she took a tentative sip of the ale, then coughed. Goodness, how strong and bitter! Maybe Gavin wanted to get her drunk. Considering how empty her stomach was, intoxication wouldn't take long.
She chewed more of the crusty bread, trying to appreciate the bland, wholesome flavor. Couldn't they give her some butter, at least? Jam or honey? Hey, maybe she would lose a few pounds.
On the tray lay another candle, thank goodness. Not wanting to be in this hell-hole in total darkness, she lit it before the first one guttered out. With no window, she couldn't even tell when daytime came and went.
She glanced at all the near-medieval stuff around her—the old wooden bench, the wooden tray and cup, the small tarnished silver candleholder. Could this be a grand prank someone had played on her? Who? She didn't know anyone who enjoyed practical jokes. And unfortunately, she hadn't spotted anything modern in this cell to hint at a prank. Just plenty of spider webs and wet green slime growing on the walls. And the strange garderobe privy in the corner looked as if it hadn't been scrubbed down in centuries.
"Definitely not a fantasy, Gavin!" She pushed at the cell door, kicked it, but it wouldn't budge.
Stomping across the stone floor, she growled. "If I ever get out of here, I'm going to strangle him."
A whole day must have passed. Sighing, she dropped to the hard bench again.
