As the horse’s hooves ate up the distance, he spoke not a word, leaving Beth to hear nothing but the pounding of her own heartbeat mingling with his. A strong, steady drumbeat that had her own pulse speeding up.
At last they arrived in some sort of courtyard. A dozen hounds swarmed around the horse, setting up a chorus of baying until the man gave a single command. At once they dropped to their haunches and remained still as statues, tongues lolling. He dismounted, still holding Beth in his arms as easily as if she weighed no more than a feather.
In the blink of an eye the hounds disappeared, to be replaced by a cluster of men, all dressed in similar fashion to her rescuer, in rough woolen cloaks, hair and beards long and unkempt.
A stooped, furry groundhog, a twin of the one in the chef’s hat and apron, caught the reins and led the horse away. The men formed a circle around the man holding Beth.
“What have ye here?” one of them asked.
“A Campbell. She seems ill or wounded. Possibly demented, by the odd way she speaks. I’ll have Maura see to her.”
Her rescuer carried her through a doorway and into a cavernous room lit only by the roaring flames of an enormous stone fireplace. The log ablaze on the grate was as big as a tree trunk.
The man lowered her to a fur-covered chaise set in front of the fire.
A plump gray rabbit hurried toward them. “Ye’ve need of me, m’laird?”
“Aye. This female seems to be in distress. See if she is injured, and minister to her needs.”
“Aye, m’laird. Will ye have ale?”
“I will, Maura. It’s been a long journey.”
The rabbit hopped away.
Minutes later Beth felt a cool, damp cloth on her forehead. She opened her eyes to see an old woman kneeling beside her, holding a bowl of steaming broth and a goblet of something warm and red.
“Are ye strong enough to drink this, lass?”
“What is it?”
“A bit of broth and some mead, lass. They’ll ease yer pain and give ye strength.”
Beth managed to sit up, taking several sips of broth before tasting the sweet, pungent, fermented mead. She managed only a few swallows before setting it on a side table. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be all right. My car’s engine died, and I started walking when suddenly I tripped and fell down some kind of black hole.”
The woman was staring at her as though she’d just spoken gibberish.
“Could you contact someone at Stag’s Head Lodge and ask them to send a driver to fetch me?”
The woman began to press her backward against the chaise. “You lie down now, lass, and rest a bit until yer mind clears.”
“My mind is clear. My name is—”
The old woman gave a quick shake of her head. “The laird told us yer name. Ye’d be wise not to speak the name Campbell here at Stag’s Head Lodge.”
“This is Stag’s Head?” Beth was up and on her feet, visibly swaying. “Then they’re expecting me. I phoned and told them I was on my way.”
The old woman glanced across the room. “Ye can see she’s not herself yet, m’laird.”
Beth turned and saw the man who’d carried her standing in front of the massive fireplace, holding a tankard of ale.
The men standing in a cluster around him were talking in low tones until he waved a hand, dismissing them. They walked to the far end of the room, where they stood watching and listening.
The man had shed his cloak and now wore a length of plaid tossed over his shoulder in a rakish manner and tied around his waist like a kilt. On his feet were leather boots. Other than that, his legs and chest were naked.
On any other man this whole pose of an ancient warrior would look phony. Like some cover model or actor hoping for his fifteen seconds of fame. But there was something about this man. Something dark and rough and dangerous that had him looking like the real thing, and had Beth’s breath backing up in her throat.
He shot her an angry look. “Now you’ll tell me what a Campbell is doing on Gordon soil.”
“I have an appointment with Colin Gordon.”
He set down his tankard with enough temper to have the ale sloshing over the rim. “I am Laird Colin Gordon, woman. And I’ve never before met you.”
Beth swallowed and decided to try a reasonable approach. “I can see that I’ve crashed your masquerade party. I’m truly sorry. But my firm arranged this meeting, and nobody told me about the party.” She tried a tentative smile. “If you’d rather, we can certainly postpone our meeting until tomorrow, at your convenience.”
The man looked beyond her to the old woman. “It’s as I feared. Demented, she is. Take her above stairs and see that she’s made comfortable until I figure out what’s to be done with her.”
“Aye, m’laird.”
As the old woman began to lead Beth away, the man added, “And, Maura, see that she’s not left alone.”
“Aye. I’ll see to it, m’laird.”
Stung by his insults, it was on the tip of Beth’s tongue to protest, but she realized she didn’t have enough energy for even that small effort.
As she began to sway and drop to the floor, she was once again lifted in those strong arms. She heard the man’s muttered oath as she was carried up a rough, winding staircase and into a room with massive wooden beams overhead and a long balcony offering a view of a midnight sky sprinkled with millions of stars.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her voice sounded strange in her ears, like a child whispering down a long, hollow tube. “I’ve never fainted before.”
“’Tis the bump on her head, m’laird.”
“Let’s hope so. More likely, she’s escaped from some poor fool’s tower, where she’s been hidden away because of her affliction.”
“I’m not mad.” Beth wanted to stomp her foot, but being in the man’s arms, all she could do was thump her fist against his shoulder.
He looked down at her, and she could see a glint of humor in his eyes.
Was he laughing at her? That thought only added to her fury.
“Ah, Glenna.” The man spoke to an orange-and-white kitten who was busy setting a fire on the grate. “Fetch a nightdress for my . . . guest.”
“Aye, m’laird.” The kitten hurried away and a young, red-haired serving lass returned with a soft woolen gown with a high, prim neckline, long, tapered sleeves, and a skirt that fell to Beth’s toes.
The man stood facing the fire, allowing the lass and housekeeper to minister to Beth until she was settled into a soft pallet. Then he walked to her side.
His tone was gentler than before. As though he’d decided upon a temporary truce. “Sleep now. Tomorrow will be soon enough to explain your reason for being here.”
She could feel his eyes, dark and fierce, pinning her with that look that seemed to see clear through to her soul.
Her own eyes felt heavy. And though she had a hundred questions still unanswered, she was too weary to ask them. Where had she landed? What sort of place had rabbits and kittens that turned into human form? Why was everyone here treating her as the odd one, when it was clear that she was the only sane one among them? Or could it be that this castle was in some other dimension? An alternate universe? Could she be suffering some sort of mental breakdown?
Snug and warm, her head still pounding from the fall, she drifted into a restless, dream-filled sleep in which the apron-clad groundhog was offering her tea and scones and telling her to beware, and a plump gray rabbit was sponging the blood from her head and pouring it into a tankard for her to drink, insisting it was good for her.
The whole world had gone mad.