Page 44 of Edge of Yesterday

He’d definitely left the brew house and entered the main cooking area, but… Unlike every other restored and maintained medieval castle he’d ever visited, something was missing. The staff rooms. Where the hell were the headquarters for those responsible for the upkeep of all this ancient glory? He should have found at least one administrative office in the kitchen area. Were there other rooms that led to the kitchen? Dammit. If he didn’t find a phone in this area, he would be forced to search the upper floors. He inched forward while scanning the kitchen, then stopped at sight of a boy sleeping in front of the fire. Cailean nearly laughed. The lad looked every inch a real spit-boy.

No more than six or seven, the sprite had carrot-red hair and a sprinkling of freckles across his slumbering face. He wore a rumpled white, long-sleeved shirt and his bare feet stuck out from the bottom of the threadbare plaid he’d wrapped himself in. Nae matter, that, for a plump, clearly well-fed ginger cat slept across the lad’s ankles. Biting back a chuckle, Cailean crept to a narrow staircase to his right. Servants’ stairs. He mounted the steps two at a time.

On the second floor, he stopped, startled by the large tapestry that hung on the wall near the landing. He stepped closer and examined the fabric, rubbing an edge between his fingers. He studied the picture, a falconry scene showing resplendently dressed lords and ladies on equally resplendent steeds. A few of the men held falcons on their upraised arms. Two falcons flew free among the clouds, the whole depiction set against a fanciful woodland, with a fairytale castle on a hill in the background.

The tapestry’s threads were unfrayed, its jewel-toned colors untouched by time. Cailean scanned the fabric for damage but found none. He released a low whistle. In medieval days, this tapestry alone would be worth a fortune. At least the fantasy Val had thrown him into took place in a wealthy laird’s castle. Val could just as easily have tossed him into a hovel. No, Val probably figured Cailean would more willingly play along in a pleasant fantasy than a filthy one.

An idea struck. From any of the towers, he would be able to see the lights of Heatheredge. That, at least, would give him clarity. The Raghnall he’d visited had been a ruined shell. Only a portion of the walling stood, the upper floors gone. Long ago, however, there’d been a fine tower keep rising up five levels. There was also supposed to have been an arcaded passageway that encircled the inner courtyard. If this Raghnall was the same, he need only find and follow the arcade until he reached the first stair tower. Its arched entry would give it away. He hurried forward and, sure enough, a moment later, spotted the first tower entry up ahead.

Without waiting to see if anyone would bar his way, he nipped inside the dimly lit entry. The almost eye-stinging smell of wood-and-peat smoke greeted him. He detected the heavy scent of melted wax, along with a hint of stale ale, fresh bread and roasted meat. Cailean squinted at the dimness stretching beyond an open archway into what could only be a great hall. Looking about, he distinguished the forms of men slumped over long tables with their heads resting on their folded arms while others sprawled on the rush-strewn floor. A stuttered snore broke the silence and he bit back a laugh. Unbelievable. He backed up several paces, then turned and hurried up the turnpike stairs, cold, shadowy, and winding like a corkscrew.

Light flickered off the stone wall ahead. Cailean climbed several more steps, passing a sconce on the wall, then slowed. Every castle he’d seen, except at Orlando’s Disney World when Ginny talked him into a Florida vacation, had steps worn smooth by age, most with ‘dips’ in their centers, treads created by centuries of trampling feet. These stone steps were new. How— He shook off the question, hurried up the last few turns of the stairs and pulled open the top landing’s door.

He stepped outside, set the rushlight on the floor, and strode to the edge of the turret. Clouds hung low, hiding the moon, but he discerned the trees that stretched out as far as he could see. However, not a single light flickered in any direction. What about Heatheredge Tower? From this vantage point he should easily see light flickering in the tower.

How far had they taken him from Heatheredge? How far would they have to travel for the lights of Heatheredge not to be visible? Had they traversed a mountain without him realizing it? Wouldn’t there have been at least some slight smudge of light pollution in the sky? He would think so. What he found was total darkness of a kind he’d never before witnessed. He braced his hands on the wall of the battlements and drew a long, uneasy breath. Where was he?

Cailean took another, slower turn, searching for car headlights, a passing airplane, any sign of life, but no luck. He released a breath. There had to be some signs of modern civilization. He would have to find the administration office. The longer it took him to locate a phone, the harder he was going to make things on Val. Usually, the administration office bore a sign that said ‘No Admittance’ or was cordoned off with a velvet rope.

The castle was large, more like a sprawling medieval stronghold or fortress than a mere tower house. He needed to try another section. He grabbed the rushlight, then headed back inside and descended to the fourth floor. Once there, he hurried down the hallway to look for another set of stairs or passageway. The passage turned and he came upon another set of stairs going down. Moments later, he reached the third floor. There were four doors located in this section, none of which were marked as administrative. He started to turn back toward the stairs to go down another level when his attention caught on the stone wall.

Cailean ran a finger along the wall. The stone shone as if it had just been cleaned, which, if this were a true laird’s castle, would be the case. He’d been preoccupied when he began his search, but he realized now that all the stone walls were as whitewashed as this one. Raghnall’s very existence was in itself a feat. But to be in such phenomenal condition boggled his brain. When this reenactment ended, he wanted to see every inch of this castle.

First, however, he had to find a phone.

None of the doors in this corridor were marked for administrative use. “You sneaky devil, Val,” Cailean murmured.

He examined each door and finally stopped at one made of sturdier wood than the others. This room belonged to someone special. Val maybe? That would be almost as good as finding a phone. Cailean grasped the handle and eased open the door.

A fire burned in the wide fireplace opposite the door. The hearth’s elaborately carved stone lintel and the massive black-oak four-poster bed with its heavy damask curtains and sea of embroidered cushions left no doubt that this was the bedchamber of a very important soul, likely Baron Ravenstone. But the huge wall hangings made him feel as if he truly had fallen into an alternate universe. As pristine as the falconry tapestry he’d admired earlier, these were larger and boasted almost life-sized men, women and mythical beasts. Crafted to depict a fanciful woodland feast, the jewel-toned scenes extended from one tapestry into the other so that the room seemed to open into a legendary landscape.

The iron-strapped coffer at the foot of the bed hinted at riches within, while the highly polished table against the far wall held silver candlesticks and two wine chalices with gem-encrusted rims. Even the room’s floor set it apart, being waxed wooden planks polished to a high sheen and covered with a scattering of furred skins instead of rushes.

Cailean lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, half wondering if he was dreaming. This couldn’t be right. Such splendor belonged in a museum—or at least in a well-operated open-to-the-public site where no one could simply waltz inside as he’d done.

Yet, what bothered him more was what he didn’t see. Not a single electrical outlet. In fact, now that he thought of it, he hadn’t noticed any outlets in any of the hallways or rooms. The castle truly seemed to be a real medieval castle. That was a true accomplishment. The revenue from tours alone could potentially make the town wealthy. Why had Heatheredge kept Raghnall a secret?