"You must marry that lass. No other. No other!" Lunn howled.
Cripes, everyone here had an obsession about her marrying Gavin. Why did they consider her so all-fired special?
"Marry that lass. Marry that lass," Lunn chanted.
"Indeed. Calm yourself." Gavin patted his father's shoulder. "She has agreed to marry me."
"Now, Gavin. For… sake of the clan. Must not waste any time."
"Why?" she blurted.
The two men stared at her as if she'd lost her mind.
"I know. I know. The curse." She released a long-suffering breath. If she heard the wordcurseone more time, she might curse a blue streak.
With a sudden yearning for freedom and the twenty-first century, she glanced around at the heavy dark furniture—a table, two chairs, a chest. Now, where could she find the magical sword? Not in this room, of course. They would be wise to keep all weapons away from his unstable father. Still, she felt sad the older gentleman suffered from a severe mental illness.
"Ewan has gone to fetch the priest," Gavin said.
"Hope he will hurry. Hope he will hurry," Lunn repeated over and over in a breathy whisper, his eyes wide and unfocused now.
Crocker rushed into the room, carrying a tray of food and drink.
"I'm glad you're here," Gavin said. "See if you can calm him."
"Aye, m'laird. I have his tisane."
Gavin motioned for her to precede him from the room.
She started to turn back and tell his father it had been nice meeting him, but the older man stared up at the canopy. No doubt she would talk to him again soon. Maybe she could help calm him next time.
She proceeded down the corridor beside Gavin, realizing his full-blown misery at seeing his father in such a terrible state. She would love to help them. If she did, could she then time travel back to her regular life?
What if she had to choose one or the other?
The thoughts overwhelmed her. For now, she would pretend to go along with their plan until she could find a way back to the twenty-first century. What other choice did she have? She wouldn't be able to get her hands on Gavin's sword anytime soon.
How could she ask the staff about the weapon without looking suspicious?By the way, Crocker, where's the armory?No, anyone she asked would tattle on her. Only a handful of people lived here anyway, all men. And all loyal to Gavin.
In the great hall, Finch used a wooden pitchfork to rake the rushes into piles. She coughed against the thick dust floating through the air. She was glad to see a man doing his fair share of cleaning, but still, she wondered about the maids.
"What drove the women away?" she asked.
Gavin blinked hard and frowned. "Come, I'll show you." After tucking her hand around his elbow, he headed for the door leading outside.
As they descended the slippery wooden steps again, she was pleased to see the rain had stopped, and the moon gleamed through the sheer clouds. A few torches lit the bailey. Gavin retrieved one of them from the stone wall, led her around the side of the castle to a four-foot-tall boulder, and motioned to it, holding the torch aloft.
When he didn't elaborate as to why he'd brought her here, she placed her hands on her hips and pretended to be viewing an art nouveau piece. "Hmm. Interesting. Is it abstract?"
Lifting a brow, he observed her as if she'd lost all sense. "'Tis a rock."
She narrowed her eyes, annoyed he considered her stupid. "I can see that, Einstein. What's the significance?"
"They all think it used to be a woman."
"What?" The grimace she sent him probably made her look a hag.
"Aye. Marilee was the last woman to warm my bed. Two women said they witnessed her turning to stone as she left the morn after we—" He cleared his throat. "Because, 'tis said, she displeased me."
