Breath of Yesterday (The Curse Series)

CHAPTER 21

 

The castle gates were open. Several people who were out and about on the streets greeted us as we approached on the 

 

narrow path leading up to Castle Burragh. That day’s sun had not dissipated the thin veil of mist, so with every yard 

 

that we advanced, we saw the dark and gloomy stronghold rise, bit by bit, through the fog. The oxcart rattled through 

 

the open portcullis whose sharp iron tips loomed menacingly overhead. The horses’ hooves clattered over the dry, 

 

trampled-down clay ground, and a handful of chickens scattered when the oxen politely offered to stomp right over them.

 

Ross directed the cart toward the castle keep, which—contrary to the outer walls whose only openings were the narrow 

 

arrow loops—offered a number of neat-looking stained-glass windows. Wooden wall-walks encircled the castle two rows 

 

deep so the building could easily be defended in every direction.

 

To my left, I saw a pointed archway leading into another courtyard, where a horse was just being shod. A young 

 

apprentice held the horse’s foot while an overweight, grunting blacksmith fitted the iron shoe.

 

Even though I had been to this place before, everything seemed strange and unfamiliar. The castle yard seemed bigger 

 

than on the day the taxicab had brought me here. The hustle and bustle took away the dreariness of the gray stone walls 

 

and distracted from some corners that, in my present-day life, I would have found unpleasant and fairly run-down.

 

Still, it was like coming home, probably because we had finally come to the end of this long and rain-soaked journey. 

 

And perhaps it also had something to do with the handsome Scot who was just then walking down the stairs.

 

I had been missing his company all day. Since Payton and Blair hadn’t returned to our posse, Sean had taken that to 

 

mean that the English redcoats posed no threat. This in turn had meant that we could take the direct route and reach the 

 

castle faster.

 

As Payton walked toward us, I felt like a groupie at a rock concert unable to take my eyes off my idol for even a 

 

second. He must have taken a nice long bath, because his hair was wet and his skin was slightly reddened from a shave.

 

He called for a stable boy, handing him the bridle and ordering him to unyoke and take care of the oxen. Then he walked 

 

around to the back of the cart to help me off before offering his father a hand. Fingal was unwilling to show any signs 

 

of weakness in front of his people, so he climbed down and walked over to the castle keep by himself, with his head held 

 

high and his teeth clenched.

 

“You seem to have worked miracles with Father. He is as grumpy as he’s ever been,” Payton noted. He led me to the 

 

courtyard and, in the opposite direction, halfway around the castle keep.

 

“Yes, he’s doing much better today. I redressed his wound earlier. The inflammation is going down, and the edges have 

 

started closing up,” I reported. He led me through several stone arches and down several steps. The smell of garbage 

 

and wastewater was getting stronger.

 

Besides the two of us, nobody else was around in this part of the castle. The outer wall ran very close along the living 

 

area and just about blocked out the sky and the sun.

 

“Where are we going?” I asked. My voice echoed against the walls and sounded ghostly.

 

Payton didn’t say a word, and I assumed that he hadn’t heard me, which was why I repeated my question.

 

“Listen, Sam. This wasn’t my decision. I even put in a good word for you, but I couldn’t get Blair to change his 

 

mind.”

 

He looked at me, visibly embarrassed and obviously unhappy about his task.

 

“Where are we going?” I whispered, suddenly feeling very cold.

 

“It’s not going to be for long, and I promise you will want for nothing.”

 

“Where are you taking me?” I screamed, backing away from him. He was scaring me, but there was no possibility of 

 

escape after he grabbed my lower arm with a vise-like grip.

 

“To the dungeon, Sam. I’m taking you to the dungeon.”

 

“No!”

 

Desperately, I tried to tear away from him, to free myself from his grip.

 

The dungeon! The word alone triggered a panic attack. The dread was suffocating me, and I could barely breathe. I lashed 

 

out, flailing my arms, with everything that I had.

 

“Sam! Stop! Calm down, please. I will do what I can so you can get out of here as quickly as possible, but right now 

 

you have to obey,” he implored. “If the guards see you resisting, they will put you in chains. So please, in the name 

 

of God, calm down and trust me!”

 

He pressed to his chest so there wasn’t enough room for me to punch him.

 

“No! No, I can’t! Payton, please,” I pleaded. “Please, Payton, I beg of you, let me go. I’m not your enemy! I love 

 

you! I’m only here so I can save you! But I can’t save your life if you lock me up. This is not making any sense right 

 

now, I know, I know, but…please, for the love that I feel for you, just let me go. Please, please, don’t do this to 

 

me.”

 

My words were gushing out of my mouth so fast that I could barely understand them. I sounded choked, tearful. And I was 

 

very close to seizing up in a panicked fit. Rats, rusty chains hanging from walls, rigid iron bars, and torture. Those 

 

were the things I associated with a dungeon. I was painting them all in vivid detail before my mind’s eye.

 

I already felt the cold, unyielding chains on my wrists, chafing my skin and making me easy prey for all the rats that 

 

would come out during the deepest, darkest hours of the night to finish me off. It was a nightmare. The garish images in 

 

my mind wouldn’t go away, and Payton’s reassurances did nothing to lessen my horror.

 

No light, no air, and no means of escape. I fought relentlessly. Payton would have to knock me out cold to get me to 

 

come with him. Nothing could make me go with him, nothing!

 

“Please, Payton, please! Let go of me, please.”

 

As if he hadn’t heard me, he said, “Sam! Stop! You’re making no sense, and you’re only making it worse!”

 

He shook me and turned his head, surprised to hear the sound of boots coming nearer.

 

“Great! You’ve alerted the guards! There’s nothing I can do for you now,” he railed, expertly avoiding my attempts 

 

to kick him in the shins.

 

Two men, real giants, filled the narrow passageway almost entirely with their bodies as they stormed toward us. While 

 

still holding on to me, Payton pushed me behind his back and lifted a hand in greeting.

 

“Is that woman troubling you?” the guards asked as they drew closer. They seemed prepared to bend me to their will by 

 

force, if necessary. I realized the hopelessness of my situation and gave up. There was only one thing worse than ending 

 

up in the dungeon, and that was ending up injured in the dungeon.

 

“No, she’s not. I don’t need you. Go back to your posts,” Payton said.

 

The sentry with the bulky neck of a bull shook his head and said, “Not possible.”

 

“We have orders to come and get the prisoner,” the other explained. His breath stunk, and I inched closer to Payton. 

 

The dungeon almost lost its horror as I tried to imagine the kinds of awful surprises that might await me in the 

 

presence of those two monsters.

 

“Says who?” Payton barked.

 

“McLean. He wants to see her in his study,” Mr. Stinky-Mouth replied.

 

I raised my head and got up on tiptoes to get a better look.

 

“McLean? Who, Fingal? I mean, the laird?” I asked.

 

The men didn’t seem in the habit of answering to a woman, and they stared at me in disbelief. Even Payton turned around 

 

to me, eyebrows flared.

 

“Of course my father. Who else do you think would be authorized to revoke Blair’s orders?”

 

“I don’t give a hoot who has what authorization, and why. As long as you take me away from here as quickly as 

 

possible,” I replied, wresting my arm free.

 

The sentries pulled out their broadswords.

 

“Leave it, men. I am the laird’s son, and I will deliver her personally.”

 

The guards gave a doubtful nod, but they obediently put away their swords and turned back. Payton waited only for a 

 

short while after their footsteps faded away before turning to me and snarling. “You stupid, stupid woman! Are you out 

 

of your mind? Don’t you know what men such as these do to prisoners who resist? They won’t ask a lot of questions 

 

before kicking your teeth in! Is that what you want? I’m sure your smile won’t be half as bewitching without those 

 

pretty teeth of yours.”

 

His words made me flinch. He was truly furious. I couldn’t tell whether it was because of my behavior or because he had 

 

been worried about me. My money was on the latter, though. In a pacifying gesture, I reached for his hand.

 

“That’s not what I wanted. But I can’t go to the dungeon. I just can’t. Please, you can’t allow it.”

 

“It’s not up to me,” he replied brusquely.

 

“Payton, please. Be honest with yourself. You kissed me, you took me with you on your horse, and you just defended me 

 

in front of those guys. You care about me, I can see that. So please, don’t allow them to lock me up in the dungeon.”

 

He took a step back.

 

“You are mistaken about the things you seem to believe. Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway. On my honor, Sam, I swore 

 

an oath to my father when I was twelve years old, to follow him and to accept his word as the law. Nobody cares about 

 

what I want when it comes to important issues. So you see, you can stop your false declarations of love, because I 

 

really can’t help you.”

 

And with that, he started walking, pushing me ahead of him. We went back the same way we had come and back into the 

 

castle yard. Past the blacksmith whose anvil was now deserted, and back into the castle keep. We traversed a dark 

 

hallway and made straight for a set of double doors. The standoffish expression on Payton’s face stopped me from saying 

 

anything. Because he wasn’t in the mood to hear the only thing that I could have said. No, I wasn’t wrong. He had felt 

 

something!

 

 

 

We knocked, Fingal’s voice asked us to come in, and we entered his chambers.

 

“Father, you sent for the prisoner?”

 

Fingal was leaning against the open stained-glass windows, looking down into the castle yard. Slowly, he turned around 

 

to face us.

 

“That’s right, mo bailaich. Blair wanted to make provisions, but he’s not acquainted with what I want. So before I 

 

decide what”—he nodded in my direction—“we’re going to do with you before Cathal’s arrival, I wish to find out a 

 

bit more. I find ye intriguing, lassie. Which is why I suggest we all wash the travel dust off our bodies, sit down to a 

 

nice meal in the Great Hall, and afterward you will take a look at my injury together with Nanny MacMillan.”

 

Fingal walked over to his desk, reached for a thick, leather-bound book, and slid it into an empty space on the 

 

bookshelf behind his desk. “Two healers are better than one. It is thanks to you that I’m on the path to recovery. 

 

Which is why I might not allow you to walk around unattended. But I will treat you as a—shall we say—special guest. 

 

You will take care of my injury, and in return I will allow you to move around freely.”

 

He studied my face. “Do you accept?”

 

I could barely believe what he had proposed. Quickly, so as to not give him enough time to reconsider, I nodded.

 

“Yes, sure, I—”

 

“Very well,” he said, and walked around the desk toward us. “Payton, leave us alone for a moment, if you would.”

 

With that, he shooed his son from the study and closed the door behind him before turning his full attention to me.

 

“What—?”

 

“Silence! I have just made it very clear that everyone here is to treat you like a guest in my home. This means much 

 

more than merely my protection. In return you will swear an oath to me, because I do not want a traitor living under my 

 

roof.”

 

He planted himself in front of me, as tall as his sons and towering above me. I only reached up to his chin, and so I 

 

was forced to tilt my head back so I could look him in the eye. He grabbed my hand.

 

“Will you swear this oath to me?”

 

I swallowed hard. An oath? What exactly was that, an oath? Like a promise? A contract? Whatever it was, I was ready to 

 

swear it just so I wouldn’t have to turn on my heel and return to the dungeon.

 

“What kind of an oath?” I croaked, because it’s all fun and games until you have to sell your soul.

 

“You swear by your blood to not raise a weapon against me and mine. You swear to not betray me and mine, and to not 

 

bring malice onto my house. You swear on your life to follow my orders for as long as this agreement shall be in effect,

 

” he demanded. And it felt like he could see all the way to the bottom of my soul.

 

I was afraid he would see how little importance I attached to this oath and how quickly I might be ready to break such a 

 

vow and defy his orders just so I could get back to my own century. I closed my eyes to keep my deep, dark secrets to 

 

myself, and licked my lips so the lie would pass with greater ease.

 

“I swear,” I whispered, only to cringe half a moment later. I pulled back my arm and stared at the blood collecting in 

 

the palm of my hand. A straight cut ran from there to my wrist.

 

In horror I stared at the dagger in Fingal’s hand. He dipped the blood-smeared tip into a goblet of wine. He pulled the 

 

knife out clean and stuck it back in his belt. Then he took a sip from the goblet.

 

“To blood, sweet and red as this wine. Slàinte mhath.”

 

He handed the goblet to me with a white linen cloth that reminded me of the napkin in Alison’s kitchen. Carefully, he 

 

draped the cloth over the throbbing slash on my hand. Tiny, delicate flowers were embroidered on the napkin’s edges. 

 

And just like at the Learys’ home, I couldn’t stop myself from running my finger over the embroidery. My finger 

 

followed the most conspicuous thread. It was a bold and vibrant red and the highlight of the entire image, outshining 

 

the prettiest of all the flowers with its intense radiance. I blinked and gasped when I spotted it: a faulty stitch. I 

 

almost dropped the cloth.

 

Fingal looked at me expectantly. Quickly, I closed my fist around the linen cloth, reached for the silver goblet with a 

 

trembling hand, and raised it to my lips.

 

 

 

A short while later, I came to on the way to my newly assigned bedchamber. Payton was talking, but I wasn’t really 

 

listening. Why wouldn’t that metallic taste of blood in my mouth go away? It was as if I were holding a penny under my 

 

tongue with its coppery taste overpowering all other senses. My hand burned, even though the cut had stopped bleeding by 

 

now.

 

“You were just frightened. But at least I don’t have to take you down to the dungeon with you screaming bloody murder. 

 

Instead, I can take you to a nice bedchamber. Now that was worth a little bit of blood, wasn’t it?”

 

I had to agree. The cut wasn’t all that deep. Also, ever since I had started taking care of Fingal’s injury, nobody 

 

would dare to refer to me as someone with a delicate disposition who got squeamish at the sight of blood. My reaction to 

 

this whole situation, therefore, seemed somewhat unreasonable. My nerves were raw, that was all. But I could finally 

 

breathe easy. I was under Fingal McLean’s protection. All I needed now was the help and support of his son. And so it 

 

suited me just fine that the latter was opening the door to my new bedchamber.

 

“So, what do you think?” he asked as he stepped aside to let me enter first.

 

The room was spacious and bright, and the simple bed with its blue canopy and blue coverlet went very well with the dark 

 

blue tapestries. To the left and right of the door, hunting trophies—antlers—adorned the walls, and the large wardrobe 

 

was painted with hunting scenes.

 

Payton entered behind me, closed the door, and traversed the room. He opened the window wide to allow fresh air to 

 

stream in.

 

“Beautiful, truly beautiful. Please give my thanks to your father.”

 

I ran my hand over the coverlet and sat down on the edge of the bed. I could not allow myself to get into another 

 

situation like earlier, that much I knew. I needed to enlist Payton’s help.

 

“Sam? Why did you say that thing earlier?”

 

He was leaning against the windowsill and gave me a piercing look.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You said you loved me. What made you say that?”

 

“Payton, I have to tell you something. It is really, really important. But when I tell you, you’re not going to 

 

believe me. You will turn away, you will probably think I’m crazy, and…”

 

In a panic, I got up and started pacing the bedroom—because I didn’t dare get too close to him.

 

“Why don’t you try me. I am here now, and I am listening. No more, no less.”

 

“It’s not that easy. What I have to tell you is something you can’t even imagine in your wildest dreams. It’s so…

 

crazy. You noticed yourself that I’m different. This whole time I’ve been trying to find the right words to explain 

 

this to you. Would you believe me if I told you that one day you’re going to love me?”

 

He didn’t reply but kept looking at me with interest.

 

“Would you believe me if I told you that I know the future? That your life in that future is in danger, and that it is 

 

my job to save you?”

 

With each word, my voice got louder. I realized how muddled and confused I sounded. I had no hope that this down-to-

 

earth Highlander would ever believe me. Which was why my next few words came only as a whisper: “I love you, but I can 

 

only save you if you trust me, Payton.”

 

Payton walked over to me. As he had done so many times, he grabbed my chin so I could look him in the eyes. He was so 

 

close, I was shaking all over.

 

“My life is in danger? And you are the only one who can save me, Sam?”

 

I nodded weakly.

 

“The Fates are not exactly in our favor if they’re sending an oaf such as you to save me,” he said airily. “And 

 

besides, you are mistaken. There will not come a day that I fall in love with you.”

 

I closed my eyes, unable to bear looking at him when he said things like that. I couldn’t stand that he dragged me and 

 

my feelings and my overwhelming fear for his life through the mud with a few careless words.

 

“Sam, look at me!” he demanded, grabbing my chin tighter. “That day, Sam, that you mentioned, is already here. I’ve 

 

been trying to fight it. I have told myself that I didn’t feel what I feel, but it was all for naught. And now tell me, 

 

mo luaidh, do you truly love me?”

 

His lips grazed mine—a silent question that I was more than happy to answer. I lifted myself up on tiptoes to return 

 

his soft and gentle kiss, and allowed myself to sink into his arms. I allowed my emotions to take me away, abandoning 

 

myself completely to his kiss. Too glorious was that feeling of being exactly where I belonged, of being where I had 

 

always wanted to be, and in all that bliss I completely forgot about being worried for his life and the fact that his 

 

time was slowly running out.