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Well, yes, Hamish was much taller and stronger built than Irvin.
“Aye, aye, laugh. I shall see how ye laugh when I beat ye at cards when I’m back.”
He grabbed the birds, the bowl, and walked out of the tower.
Amy smiled at Hamish. “What’s your favorite dish? Maybe I can cook it for you next time.”
Hamish grinned. “I thank ye, mistress. Yer stew. ’Tis my favorite dish. Have never tasted anything as good. Swear to God.”
Amy shook her head. She was sorry she was about to trick him. “You’re so sweet to say that. Listen, I saw some salt pork downstairs, and I want to add that to the stew tomorrow. Why don’t you eat your dinner, and I’ll go and fetch it?”
Hamish’s face changed from a content smile to alarm. “Downstairs? But, mistress, the lord was clear, ye’re not allowed there at all.”
“You can come with me, if you don’t trust me. What am I going to do there? I just want to add some salt pork to the stew tomorrow. Wouldn’t it be delicious?”
He hesitated, studying her. Then she saw something flicker through his face—something like realization.
“Salt pork,” he said with a strange emphasis, as though it was a secret code only the two of them understood. “Ahh. Of course. Let’s go and see that salt pork, then.”
Amy frowned. Something was odd about that reaction, but she didn’t have the luxury of questioning it. He opened the door leading down the stairs and handed her the torch, then let her pass.
“Thank you,” she said and walked downstairs.
The familiar scent of wet stone and stored food enveloped her. Her heart beat faster with each step she took. Could this really be it? Would she be back in her time in just a few minutes?
In the storeroom, she looked around, bringing the torch closer to the barrels and casks, to the hanging slabs of dry meat.
“It’s not here,” she said. “I know I saw it somewhere. It must be in the back room.”
Hamish frowned at the door. “The back room…” he said. “Aye. Let’s take a look there.”
With a shaking hand, Amy opened the heavy door to the back storeroom. It was completely dark there, even compared to the semidarkness of the previous room. Pitch black. It was cold. Steam pumped out of her mouth as she breathed, her pulse pounding. The scent of wet stone and earth, and wood, and something slightly rotting reached her. There were the piles of firewood, the barrels, and the sacks.
The rock.
Hamish would see in a second that there was no salt pork here. She should hurry.
Quick steps pounded from behind. Quick! Amy rushed to the rock, fell on her knees.
The steps were closer.
Why did Hamish not do anything?
There was the carving of the river and of the road—and there was the handprint!
Amy glanced back. Hamish stared at her with an open mouth and wide eyes. And from the door, Irvin rushed in.
She laid her hand into the imprint. Her pulse beat like a small drum against her temples.
But the rock didn’t vibrate. It didn’t glow. Her hand didn’t sink.
It was just cold.
“What are ye doing here?” he growled behind her back.
Strong arms yanked her up and away from the rock.
Irvin glared at her. “The lord must learn of this. Let’s go.”
