Page 7 of Rory

“Whatever you say, Highlander.” She looked up at the green sky. “That’s a very odd choice for a sunset color. Is that projected? How are you covering everything up like that?” She glanced around again. “Or is this inside a dome like Epcot?”

Rory glanced down at her white-knuckled grip on his hand, and then saw Darro, the laird’s second, emerge from an archway and trot over to them. Part of him experienced a surge of relief, for he could pass the woman off to the chieftain. The rest of him wanted to hold onto her until he fathomed why she was his size, and how she made such a strange sensation run through him each time they touched.

“Chieftain shall explain all to you.” Rory tried to release her hand, but she wouldn’t let go of him. “You dinnae need me, lass.”

“Don’t you move,” she told him. To Darro she said, “I’m Harper Ensley from Fear-Faire. How about you go and find Renard Beaumont, and bring him here?”

Harper. Rory grew a little dizzy as her name echoed through his thoughts, over and again. Harper Ensley.

From the distant past in his memories his màthair’s voice said, Watch for a harper, my son. Such a creature appears in every portent I’ve divined for you. When the harper comes, you shall meet your destiny, or your destruction. ’Twill depend on you both.

The chieftain bowed before he said, “You’re no longer in that world, Mistress. You’ve become caught in a spell trap along with the McKeran Clan, our vassals and our stronghold. Others like you, they’re here as well, and shall reassure you. Might I take you to meet them?”

“Only if he comes with,” she said, tightening her grip on Rory’s hand.

Ashort time later Harper became torn between resisting the almost unbearable urge to run away screaming, and marveling over her newfound ability to hear what Ava Travars was telling her. By some miracle she could hear everything now, from the sound of footsteps echoing in the outer halls to the soft murmurs of some of the big men who had gathered around them. When she spoke, she heard her own voice, which sounded softer and deeper than she remembered. She could also hear equally fine on both sides, which she hadn’t ever been able to do in her memory. Her deafness had disappeared entirely, which could not possibly have happened. Yet somehow it had.

Maybe I’m hallucinating the sounds.

Harper turned her attention back to the former FBI agent, who had told her that she was now married to the laird of the McKeran Clan. Ava claimed she hadn’t died in the car accident in what everyone was referring to as the “outside world.” Instead she believed that Renard Beaumont, aka Bodach, aka a dark Fae whoseywhatsit, had evidently killed someone else, magically whammied the body to exactly replicate Ava’s, and staged the accident to explain her disappearance. Because of course that made as much sense as a twelfth-century castle being cast into another dimension where a curse or black magic or whatever made sure no one died (except lately), replenished at dawn everything they ate, used up or otherwise destroyed (except lately) and they couldn’t escape (still the deal.)

Fairly sure she was being treated to an extremely complicated, intricately planned snow job, or that she might be in the midst of a beautifully detailed psychotic break, Harper kept listening. If nothing else she’d have one heck of a story to tell her subscribers after she discovered the real truth.

“I know how it sounds,” Ava said. Tall and darkly striking, she definitely could have been imposing or even snotty, but instead projected compassion and a kind of sisterhood camaraderie. “It will take a little time for you to accept the situation.”

“Uh-huh.” Harper was still entranced by the other woman’s voice, with its endearing, faintly twangy Texas accent, but she wasn’t going to let her maybe audio hallucinations convince her to go along with whatever this was. “So, what if you’re wrong?”

The other woman frowned. “Wrong about what, exactly?”

One thing becoming a paranormal investigator had taught Harper was that no one liked having their beliefs challenged, especially people in positions of authority. She recalled one British constable who had tried to punch her after she’d suggested that the ghost of a white lady haunting his mother’s hotel might just be the backlit silhouette of a maid changing bed linens.

“This, the backstory, and them,” she said to Ava, and gestured at the big men around them. “You have to consider that you may have been hoodwinked by someone using drugs or brainwashing. It must be pretty good to make you accept this super meticulous and really cool-sounding medieval fantasy prison that makes you immortal, kind of, and takes care of you and puts things back while you’re conveniently asleep, only not so much lately. That kind of wrong.”

“Of course that’s possible.” Instead of getting huffy Ava glanced past Harper at the man standing across the hall away from everyone else. “I’m not sure how I can prove it to you. Maybe tomorrow morning we can go back to the spot where you came in, and see if you can go back out.”

“With all the stones that fell that’s going to take some time to clear out. Oh, right, the dawn reset thing. Got it.” Harper looked over as a tall, impossibly gorgeous man approached them. “Wowser. Hey, Rory, do you have a slightly shorter, way skinnier brother?”

He stood and went to intercept the beautiful man, spoke in a whisper to him for a moment, and then came back to do the same to Harper. “The passage, ’tis restored, if you wish attempt to leave, my lady.”

“So the dawn reset thing is screwed up too? Does anything in this place live up to its legend?” She got to her feet, gave a casual wave to the clansmen hovering around them, and regarded Ava. “Unless you want me to walk through McKeran Fight Club again to go in the back door, I need someone to guide me to the Hall of One-Way Doom.”

“I’ll show you the way. Rory, would you accompany us?” When he nodded the laird’s wife turned to her husband. “We can handle this.”

“My thanks. I shall finish with the patrol captains while you’re gone.” Tasgall McKeran, who was almost as handsome as Rory and looked far more intimidating, leaned over to kiss his wife’s brow. “I’ll await your return. Mistress Ensley.” He inclined his head.

“Mr. McKeran.” She nodded back, aware that she could have gone along with the con and addressed him as laird or my lord. It was like believing in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, none of which she ever had. “Ah, good luck and take care.”

Ava led her through a labyrinth of passages, many of which had dogs of different breeds who came to Harper wagging their tails. She stopped a few times to give them ear and back scratches, delighted by how friendly they were. They all looked uniformly healthy and well cared for, which was another point in favor of the people here. They might be crazy, but they weren’t taking it out on their pets.

“Your pups are amazing,” she told the laird’s wife, chuckling as a little black and brown dachshund emerged from one open doorway. As she crouched down to pet him, he tried to climb up her front to lick her chin. “They haven’t been here for a millennia, have they?”

“Most were strays that wandered inside the castle over the last century,” Ava said. “Dogs, cats and other small mammals seem to be drawn to the spell trap. A few like the terrier and this one are close to ninety, but you’d never guess it by looking at them.”

“Grandpa, you look great for your age,” she told the dachshund, who barked in return before hurrying back into the room. When Harper went over to glance inside she saw the little dog curl up at the feet of a middle-aged woman who was hand-stitching some linen.

“That one is devoted to our seamstress,” Ava told her. “Most of the dogs have a favorite among the clan or our vassals. Like us, they can’t die.”

“You’ve made dogs immortal, huh?” She didn’t believe a word the other woman had said, but the lie still charmed her. “I think I might really hate you and the clan now, Travars.”