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her move across a room. And her skin… he gripped the hilt of his sword and returned his men’s stares until they bent once more over their meal. They would not challenge him. Some out of loyalty, others from fear.
    A young serving girl with a tray of fruit pies sidestepped out of the way as Amber passed. Angus made a sweeping gesture with his arm for Amber to sit beside him at the table. His friend looked over at him and winked. Angus was a dead man.

Chapter 3
    A fish with bulging eyes lay on a pewter tray and stared back at Amber. She shifted on the bench and reached for a piece of white cheese. Lachlan sat beside her, engrossed in conversation with a man named Angus. Across from her sat the woman who was supposed to be such a great doctor. Angus had introduced her as Lady Marcail. She was dressed in a blue silk grown trimmed in white fur, with yards of pearls around her neck. Amber couldn’t stop looking at her. The woman’s costume was a truly brilliant reproduction of a court dress complete with matching headpiece. She looked as if she had about as much emotion as the fish on the platter and no doubt a bedside manner to match. Marcail had said she’d examined Gavin. She had pronounced him healed and that was the end of the discussion.
    Amber heard a child’s laughter and the excited barking of a dog. Gavin and MacDougal were playing tug-of-war with a torn piece of material. The dog pulled the cloth free, dropped it, and licked Gavin on the face. The boy certainly looked as if he’d recovered. Marcail ignored the commotion. Instead she was concentrating on cutting her food into grain-sized pieces with an oversized fork and a knife that resembled a small dagger. Amber realized Marcail never put one piece into her mouth, and the words “eating disorder” popped into Amber’s thoughts.
    Voices blended together in the Great Hall as everyone bent over their food and ate with their fingers. Amber looked around at the sea of tartan-dad men. Their clothes looked worn, lived in and comfortable. It was impossible to tell the tourists from the actors.
    Angus’ voice rang above the hum of chatter. He nodded toward Lachlan and pointed his tankard of ale in the direction of the young woman by the hearth.
    “Your sister seeks only the company of books.”
    Amber followed his gaze. Alone, in a corner by the fireplace, a young teenage girl sat with a book in her lap. She looked as detached from the people in this room as Amber felt.
    Lachlan nodded. “Aye, Elaenor’s thirst for knowledge shows signs of exceeding even Queen Elizabeth’s. Their correspondence keeps the messengers between London and Urquhart in constant business.”
    “Is Her Majesty, Queen Mary, in favor of the friendship?”
    Lachlan took a drink of ale. “She knows not, nor would it be of interest to her, so obsessed is she with her marriage to Lord Darnley. I have been informed that she is with child. That union will come to no good. We must take care the throne of Scotland falls not to Queen Elizabeth. For all her intelligence, I would keep these lands free of English rule.”
    Angus turned toward Amber, scratched his fire-red beard and smiled. “What think you of our Sovereign?”
    She looked from one to the other. They couldn’t be serious. She was pretty sure they were talking about Mary, Queen of Scots. Amber rested her arms on the table. These people were taking this reenactment business to the extreme. They had immersed themselves so deeply in their roles she doubted if they could climb out of the past long enough to carry on a normal conversation. She might as well play along. She took a deep breath and tried to sound serious.
    “I think if your Queen’s not careful, she’ll lose her head.”
    Angus’ laugh was almost deafening. He reached over and slapped Lachlan on the back. “Laird MacAlpin, the lass has wit.”
    The force of the blow knocked Lachlan forward and he spilled ale over the front of his tartan. He stood and pulled Angus to