“I’m unfamiliar with this ‘Texas’ that ye speak of, miss. I live in the MacChristy keep, with my father, Donal. It’s a three-day journey from here.”
Adelle stopped trying to pull at her daughter’s arm and turned to face her straight on. She had to be Bri. There was absolutely no question this was her daughter. But the accent? And the clothes? And she knew she’d tried to teach Bri some about the castle’s history, but she found herself surprised that Bri was able to remember such names. Adelle stood there unmoving, trying to think of some sure way to confirm she was looking at her daughter, and that they were both on the receiving end of some powerful mind-altering drug. Whatever was going on, something was very wrong.
A sudden itch in her lower back caused her to jerk her arm around and scratch, and instantly she knew what she needed to look for.
Instinctively she crouched down low and began to lift up the young woman’s dress, digging her way through the layers of fabric until she grabbed the bottom layer. The girl squirmed and protested, but Adelle kept her grip and, giving a hard tug, spun Bri around so that her back was facing her and she could lift the dress above her bottom.
“What do ye think ye are doing? Let go of me. I can undress myself if ye insist that I change my clothes.”
“Just hold still. I need to check something.” She hiked the bottom of the dress up until the skin of her lower back was clearly visible. “Sweet Mary, Moses, and Joseph! You don’t have the tattoo. You’re not Bri, are you?”
The girl stepped away so that the fabric fell loose from Adelle’s grip and in frustration faced her. “That’s what I’ve been tryin to tell ye, no? No, I’m not this Bri. And what is a ‘tatoo’?”
“It’s this.” Adelle turned halfway and hiked up the back of her own shirt where the words we shall never part were delicately tattooed across her lower back. “Bri has one as well. We got them shortly after her eighteenth birthday.”
Adelle watched as the stranger, whose face was so much like her daughter’s, slowly turned ashen, obviously remembering something she hadn’t thought of before.
“What’s yer name, miss?”
“Adelle Montgomery. I’m an archaeologist working on the ruins of Conall Castle. What did you say your name was, since although I have no idea what the hell is going on, I know that you aren’t Bri?”
“Ye may call me Blaire. The ruins of Conall Castle? What year is this?”
“What year is it? You really don’t know the answer to that? Why, it’s 2013.”
Blaire slowly backed away until she steadied herself against the wall behind her. “I canna believe it. I knew they’d said she’d been a witch, but I’d never believed it was true. She left the portrait. It was her words I read.”
At Blaire’s mention of a witch, an inkling of her prior research on the Conalls nudged at the edge of her brain, but it stayed just out of reach as fear coursed through her.
“Slow down, sugar. I think it would be best if we made our way outside. Get some fresh air, maybe? I think we both need to figure out what’s going on.”
Color filled Blaire’s face as the pitch of her voice rose. “I already know. It was the Conalls’ aunt, Morna. She was a witch, and I stumbled upon her spell room by chance. I found it just moments ago, although I dinna understand what I was seeing. I read the words on the plaque, and then I ended up in front of ye.”
“Okay.” Adelle nodded obligingly. It was best to agree if she wanted the woman to help her find Bri, until she could remember what she needed so desperately to recall. “Well, why don’t you tell me about where you were before you ended up here?”
“I was in this same room. But it was different, ye see? I was supposed to marry the laird of Conall Castle, Eoin, and I fled down here. I could no marry him. I’d only just been wishing I could disappear when I saw the portrait and sounded out the words.”
Adelle’s eyes widened, disbelieving but fascinated. “Eoin. As in Eoin Conall, son of Alasdair Conall? Laird after his father died in 1645, for only a few short months until the infamous massacre?” The research came back to her in snippets. Her mind started to grasp the facts one-by-one as they presented themselves.
Blaire’s face drained of color once again, “massacre?”
“Yes. The entire Conall clan was murdered in late December of 1645. As to why, or who was responsible, no one has ever been able to find out. That’s why my daughter and I were here actually. We were searching for documents or evidence that could help solve the mystery.”
“That’s why she did it, doona ye see?” Blaire moved forward suddenly, grabbing Adelle’s arms and shaking them.
“Who? Did what?”