She Owns the Knight by Diane Darcy

It had been unusual with its dips and curves. And up close she could check it against the picture to be sure.
    She sprang into action, shoved her camera in her pack, and shrugged it onto her shoulders. She headed for the stairs and pulled the strings tight on her backpack.
    “Do you need help going down the stairs, mistress?” asked Brown Eyes.
    “Hardly!”
    Big Nose sniffed. “A good riddance to ye, then. And don’t come back.”
    Gillian’s mouth twisted. “Don’t worry. If I have anything to say about it, I won’t.” Scrambling down the staircase, she hurried to the bottom and then around the corner. She was relieved when no one stopped her from leaving through the huge front gate. She’d go and get a look at that rock and settle her doubts, once and for all. And when she was done, she’d just keep on walking.

Chapter Eight
     

    Wearing a dress, and moving across the harsh terrain, it took Gillian about thirty minutes to go through the village, past the cemetery, up the rise, and over the field to the rock formations.
    Breathing hard as she neared them, fear constricted her chest. Because the closer she got, the more convinced she became that they were the same group of rocks.
    The gray stone, interspersed with green and black markings, the different shapes of the boulders, the way they were positioned, all looked remarkably familiar.
    Chills climbed the middle of her back, spread across her body, and had the hair on her arms standing on end. The rock she’d climbed before had vaguely resembled a mushroom, and there it was. Even from the ground she could see the dip in the front that looked suspiciously like the depression she’d been sitting in.
    Could a rock remain unchanged over a period of seven hundred years? Was that even possible?
    Gillian took off her backpack, retrieved the camera, and scrolled through the pictures until she found the rock. She skirted the boulder until she found the exact location from which she’d snapped the shot.
    Shivers raced up her spine as she compared the past and the present. Unless they had lookalike rocks strewn across England, then yes, this had to be the same rock. The shallow depression was there, even the ledge on which she’d set her pencils was right where it was supposed to be. She could even see the other rock formations in the background, both in the photo and in the present.
    Could this really be happening?
    Encumbered by her dress, she bunched the material in one fist, climbed the backside of the rock, and lowered herself into the hollow.
    Sitting in the exact indentation she’d occupied earlier, she looked toward the castle, took a few deep breaths to stave off dizziness, and scrolled through the pictures on her camera.
    Looking between the castle ruin on her camera, and the now pristine version of the castle with the village set out in front of it, Gillian’s breath caught. The same arch, towers, arrow slits, everything. Even the graveyard was in the correct location. There could be no doubt.
    Gillian felt the blood drain from her face and a whirling sensation had her dropping the camera in her lap and clutching at the rock as she took a few deep breaths, trying to get enough air into her lungs.
    This was unbelievable. How could this have happened? Why would this have happened? Somehow, she’d actually traveled through time? Had she stumbled through a wormhole without noticing? Or been snatched up by the hand of God and moved to prevent her murder by those boys?
    Did things like that happen?
    Gillian rubbed her fingers against the scratchy surface of the rock, making sure it was really there. That she was really there.
    She wasn’t unconscious or dreaming and this wasn’t some sort of elaborate set-up to trick her.
    Unsurprised, she watched as Lord Kellen Marshall crossed the field on horseback, a few of his men following. She stuffed her camera into her pack, closed it, and waited.
    He was without helmet or shield, and his black hair gleamed with