The Secret of the Medallion

By Joy Inkwell

Daphne is a young girl fascinated by the Middle Ages and Scotland. She dreams of a love like in a novel, even though she hasn't had luck with men in reality. Growing up as an orphan without parental attention and love, she found an escape in books, trying to compensate for everything that was missing in her life. She always had a feeling that something was missing, but no one and nothing could fill that void.

Driven by the desire for adventure, Daphne and her best friend Karen travel to Scotland, and on the same day, they set off to explore the medieval castle of Balvar. Daphne separates from Karen and the group of tourists with the intention of independently exploring everything that interests her, and soon she discovers a golden medallion.

Not suspecting what would happen, Daphne loudly reads the inscription engraved on the medallion. Then, the ground beneath her feet collapses, and she falls into the core of the castle. Her adventure begins the moment she realizes that she is no longer in the 21st century but in the Middle Ages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joy Inkwell
• Release date: Apr 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224969081

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Year 1493

BALVAR CASTLE

If the court's oppressive silence had a color in the afterlife, it would surely be the black of the raven's wings, fluttering ominously over the fortresses, heralding some dire portent.

In a sudden fit of despair, King Stewart Montgomery cast aside his goblet, wine splashing unheeded. He had spent the night drowning in wine, seeking solace from his wife's ceaseless lamentations. Yet the drink did little to quell the inner turmoil that mercilessly shattered him.

Rising from the massive table, he began to pace nervously, back and forth, the echoes of his footsteps on the stone tiles attempting to drown out the frenzied beating of his heart. His broad shoulders, usually a symbol of strength, now slumped in defeat, and his face, etched with sleeplessness and worry, betrayed his inner turmoil.

The silence of the court was unbearable, the time since he last heard news of her stretching into an agonizing eternity. Compelled by a mix of fear and longing, he hastened to his chambers. Ascending the stairs two at a time, his heart raced, each step amplifying his anxiety, until he felt it lodged in his throat, leaving him gasping for air.

Great Odin, aid her! For her life, I'd forfeit my soul, Stewart prayed, yet no divine answer came.

At the royal chambers' threshold, Stewart paused, straining to hear any sign of life within. The absence of sound from within, which once would have signified relief, now filled him with dread. Once a man who cherished silence, Stewart now found it a torturous void, an invisible force that bound and weighed upon him like chains.

An icy chill pierced him at the thought that his wife might be gone. He immediately banished the thought, cursing himself for entertaining such negativity, fearing it might beckon actual misfortune. Surely, he reasoned, news would have reached him by now, for better or worse.

Upon opening the door, Stewart was met with the gaze of three women, their eyes wide with concern. In stark contrast, the queen lay in a peaceful slumber, the turmoil of her labor temporarily at bay. Sensing his presence, the women aligned themselves and offered a deep bow of respect. Stewart felt a lump dissolve in his throat, one that had formed from hours of worry and anticipation. The queen's visage, though serene in sleep, was marked by the laborious effort of the past two days—her skin pallid and glistening with sweat. Despite the time that had passed, their awaited child had yet to make an entrance into the world.

Still nothing? Stewart asked, anxiety lacing his voice.

The three maids exchanged somber glances, their heads bowed in unison.

Her pelvis is too narrow, my lord, and the child is large. We're at a loss on how to aid the queen, one of the women murmured, her gaze fixed on the floor.

Curse this! Fetch the druids at once! Bring me Ronin McGregor immediately! Stewart commanded, his voice booming like thunder.

We called for him, my king, just yesterday. You may recall, the maid explained. He gave us some herbs to prepare tea for her, to at least alleviate her pain a little. Thanks to the herbs, she can now rest and gather her strength for the ordeal to come.

Couldn't he do something more? King Stewart asked, his face a mask of disbelief.

Unfortunately, no, my lord, the second maid replied, her voice low, as she averted her gaze.

May I be cursed! May I be damned for the countless times I even considered siring a child with her. Damnation upon me, I should have seen she was but a delicate bloom. In my selfish yearning for an heir, I've gambled with her life, pushing her to death's precipice, he lamented inwardly, his hands wearily massaging his face.

After long deliberation, a solution finally dawned on him.

Send for the Gypsies! Immediately, without delay!

But, my lord, would you truly seek help from those cunning folk... Lorna began, hesitant.

Yes, Lorna, from them, from the devil himself, I'd seek aid to save my wife's life! Now, go—bring the Gypsies without delay! he commanded with force.

Indifferent to the nomads' notoriety as thieves, tricksters, and scoundrels, Stewart's resolve remained unshaken. Their infamy for consorting with every devil mattered little to him now. He would have bartered his kingdom in its entirety if it meant securing their aid, all to spare his wife the agony of childbirth.

As you command, my lord, a maid said, bowing deeply before departing the chambers to fulfill the king's urgent decree.

Allow me, Mary, he whispered as he approached the bed where his beloved wife lay sleeping.

He took a piece of fabric and dampened it with water, then gently pressed it against her forehead. The queen’s face no longer bore a trace of color, and the blood had vanished from her lips, making her resemble more a marble statue or a wax figure than a living being of flesh and blood.

My dear, please forgive me, he whispered, burying his face in her chest and inhaling her scent eagerly, as if he would never breathe it in again.

He placed his hand on her swollen belly and felt the faint movements of their child beneath his palm, as if it wanted to comfort him and assure him that it was still there, alive and well. He jumped when his beloved suddenly moaned and began writhing in the grip of labor pains. He rose from the bed and stepped aside, gesturing to the maids with his gaze to do something immediately. His queen opened her eyes, but they were clouded.

She was looking at him, but it seemed like she still couldn't see him. Some time passed, and then her pain finally subsided, and she became aware of her husband's presence.

Stewart... You're here... she reached out her hand towards him, and he eagerly took hold of it, holding it tighter than he intended, afraid that she might slip through his fingers like fine sand.

Alice, my only one... he kissed her hands and bathed them in his tears.

Only then, as she faded before his eyes like the flame of an almost burnt-out candle, did Stewart realize that life was meaningless without her, not even the heir he had eagerly awaited. But people usually realize too late. Stewart had unwittingly done harm that fatally wounded his beloved, and now he harbored vain regrets, for the deed was done and could not be undone.

My lord... he heard the voice of an unknown woman behind him.

When he turned around, Stewart saw two elderly Gypsy women at the door, evaluatively observing his wife. Both women had dark hair and unusual, lively black eyes that seemed to spark. Their clothing was also unusual: excessively colorful and adorned with various trinkets that jingled with every movement.

We can help her, one of the Gypsy women said, pointing towards the queen. Stewart ceased his appraisal of the two unusual women and redirected his gaze to his wife, nodding in agreement.

Allow me, my lord, the Gypsy woman said as she approached Alice. Stewart, however, quickly intercepted her, grasping her wrist firmly.

You are invited here because I need your help. I trust you, as I am entrusting you with the life of my wife. If you save her, I will reward you, but if you do anything to harm her, I swear by Odin... he said, then suddenly stopped. His threatening gaze, however, continued to speak volumes as it pierced the Gypsy women.

They understood and nodded. Stewart then moved aside once more, allowing the Gypsy woman to place her hands on Alice's firm stomach.

The baby hasn't turned properly, and on top of that, it has tucked its legs. We will try to turn it into the correct position, my lord, said one of the Gypsy women.

After these words from the Gypsy woman, Lorna tightly squeezed Mary's hand, believing that what the Gypsy woman intended to do to their queen was real devil's work.

Will it be painful for her? the king asked fearfully.

No, she won't feel anything, maybe just slight discomfort, the other Gypsy woman reassured.

If you want, you can step outside and wait, she suggested to the king.

No, I'll stay here. I'll stay by her side, he said, looking at his wife, who whispered the words: I'm scared.

While one Gypsy woman moved her hand over the queen's stomach, murmuring in an unknown language, the other was concocting a strange potion.

Drink this now, my queen, she said after finishing the preparation of the potion.

Alice first looked at Stewart, and as he nodded briefly, she forced herself to gulp down the unusual liquid with a bitter taste and quite an unpleasant smell.

Yuck! Just like frog slime! Alice thought.

At that moment, both Gypsy women looked at her simultaneously, and Alice realized that they were apparently capable of reading minds, which frightened her even more.

All right. We managed to turn the baby. She's fine, my queen. This potion should start your real contractions, and when that happens, just push with all your strength, and everything will be over quicker than you think, said the Gypsy woman who had prepared the potion.

After a few moments, Alice groaned and blushed as she began pushing as hard as she could.

Come on, come on! Once more! One more time! the Gypsy woman encouraged.

Alice took a deep breath and started pushing again.

The head is coming out! Ah, the shoulders too! Just one more push, my queen, the Gypsy woman said, and Alice complied. Instead of groans and moans, the room was filled with the joyful sound of a newborn's cry.

Stewart, who had been holding himself tightly in the corner, watching it all and biting his clenched fists, knelt down and wept with happiness and relief in front of everyone present.

My wife... She's fine, right? he anxiously asked after seeing Alice slump back into the pillows and close her eyes.

Yes, my lord, she's just exhausted, one of the Gypsy women explained.

The other woman swiftly wrapped the newborn in warm cotton fabric and handed her to the servant, Lorna.

You've got a beautiful baby girl, my lord, said Lorna, who had been whispering prayers to Odin throughout the ordeal.

Let me see her! he exclaimed, rushing toward his daughter.

At the same moment he saw her, he knew there would be no equal to her beauty. She had caused her mother great pain, but now both of his ladies were here with him, alive and well. Odin had carefully listened to his cries and granted all his wishes.

My dear... Stewart moved away from the baby and sat on the bed next to his wife, who half-opened her eyes and attempted a weak smile.

Shh... Rest, he whispered, gently stroking her sweat-drenched hair and kissing her damp forehead.

I'll be back soon, he informed Lorna and Mary, then quickly stood up with feline agility.

The two of you, he looked at the Gypsy women.

Follow me.

They heeded his command, and together they left the royal chambers.

I owe you the life of my queen. Ask me for anything you want, he told them excitedly, not considering the cost.

We only wish for our people to live peacefully in your land and for others not to regard us as descendants of the devil. No one wants to sell us food, so we are compelled to hunt or steal, one of the Gypsy women humbly stated.

I will solve this problem, I promise you. And this is a sign of my generosity, the king said, unhooking a bag full of gold coins from his belt and placing it into the hands of one of the Gypsy women.

Her eyes sparkled with surprise.

You are the only one who has ever been kind to us, my lord. If you ever need anything again, do not hesitate to send for us, she said, and both women bowed to show their respect to the king.

You can go now, he kindly told them, and after the Gypsy women left the castle, he returned to the royal chambers where the two most important women in his life were now waiting for him.

CHAPTER 1

PRESENT

––––––––

Tell me everything! How did the date go? Karen Cooper eagerly asked her best friend as soon as Daphne appeared at the bookstore door.

Hello to you too, Karen, Daphne replied dryly, as her friend bombarded her with questions right from the door.

Hello, Daphne. How did the date go? Karen repeated, watching an irresistible smile form on her friend’s face.

You’re impossible! Daphne exclaimed, rolling her eyes as she placed her umbrella by the door.

Look, the water is pouring off me, Daphne said, eyeing her tight jeans with disdain; they were wet and a bit muddy from the knees down to the hem.

Over there, around the corner, some careless driver splashed me as he sped by in his car, she complained.

Well, go over there, dry yourself by the radiator, and tell me everything. I’ll make us some tea to warm up a bit, Karen suggested.

After a short while, both girls held a cup of warm tea in their hands and watched the grayness of the Denver sky and streets through the bookstore window.

Well, there’s not much to talk about, actually. This guy was as boring as watching paint dry. Or like a lullaby, Daphne struggled to find an adequate description for a guy named Bradley, whom she had just gone out with half an hour ago.

He was boring like a lullaby? Aren’t lullabies supposed to be beautiful, relaxing, interesting...? Karen teased her.

Daphne chuckled and shook her head.

I would say that lullabies make you very, very sleepy, Daphne replied, and both of the girls burst into laughter at this unusual but incredibly funny comparison.

So, no more dates with Bradley The Lullaby? Karen narrowed her eyes.

No way, not even in a million years! Besides, what would we even talk about on the next date when he already told me everything about himself on this one? Daphne disdainfully blew air out of her lungs, then started imitating Bradley’s monotonous tone.

No woman has ever rejected me — because I’m rich. My parents are in Switzerland, and my sister is married, living in Italy with her family. Many American women dream of traveling to Europe, but I’m not naive. For example, my grandma was... Daphne babbled, altering her voice to a deeper, more masculine tone.

Karen giggled playfully.

Go on, Daphne! Please, continue! she urged, clapping her hands together and bouncing around like a child who had just received their desired ice cream.

That’s all there was, Daphne answered. I stopped listening. I pressed my invisible button and turned off my brain.

And him? Did he continue talking? Karen asked, her eyes widening in astonishment.

Of course, he blabbered on like a wind-up toy. I caught every tenth word, like: grandma, aunt, uncle... I don’t know how far he got with that, but I nodded along, feigning interest, Daphne said.

Oh, my dear sister! I wouldn’t wish such boredom on my worst enemy, except perhaps for that conceited Lucy, Karen said as she hugged her.

Oh, those two would be a perfect match. You know very well how much she talks, but trust me, even she wouldn’t manage to say more about herself than him. His entire story revolves around himself and nobody else but him and his family, Daphne rolled her eyes again.

Ah, if only I had been born in the Middle Ages... she added with a loud sigh.

I think you read too many romance novels, girl! Life isn’t like what’s written in books, Karen spoke up, trying to comfort her friend who had never been lucky with guys, or at least to suggest that it wouldn’t be so bad if Daphne lowered her standards a bit.

I know what you’re trying to do, Karen, but you won’t succeed! And do you know why? Because every writer of those romance novels has obviously experienced such intense love that it inspired them to write about it. Nobody writes about a kind of love they haven’t experienced, right? Daphne concluded.

Well, I partially agree, but I think those authors just love to use something called hyperbole. Now listen to this: he is perfect in every way, he is rich, handsome, built like a god, and he has a giant dick, like a stallion. He’s the king of Kamasutra and tantric poses, and she’s just an ordinary girl, not particularly attractive and with less than enviable curves, but for some reason, that guy falls for her and after teaching her everything he knows, he remains faithful to that girl for the rest of his life, even though he can have anyone he wants. Those stories, my dear, surpass even the fairy tales we read as children. In real life, you find a somewhat normal guy, marry him, and within the first year of marriage, he develops a beer belly that starts to hide his dick, he drinks beer from a can every night, he burps, he farts...

Karen, please, I’ll throw up! Daphne interrupted, her face contorted in horror.

This is the truth, my dear. It would be better for you to descend from that pink cloud and join us mortals. What was it I wanted to say...? Karen paused, scratching her forehead, then continued, Ah, yes! Sex is exhilarating at first, but later, the bed serves only to rest your weary bones after a day spent gathering his smelly socks scattered around the apartment. When you lie next to him, you’re no longer beside a man, but rather sharing the bed with a bear or a chainsaw—there’s little difference—because he growls, snores, and snorts, twitches, and monopolizes all the blankets. And every morning, you rise sleep-deprived and chilled to the bone, envied by penguins.

Thank you very much, Karen! You really try so hard to anchor me back to reality. But just so you know, not all men are like that! Daphne protested.

Well, not all of them, my dear, only the genuine ones. The men in those novels of yours are flawless incarnations of perfection, Karen said, unable to suppress a giggle upon seeing Daphne’s vexed expression.

I will get married, Karen, and it will be for love. My husband will be a real man in every sense of the word. The love that blossoms between us will herald the sunrise each morning, shift mountains and valleys, and stand the test of time. Like Jamie and Claire’s love, Daphne mused, her spirit drifting far away, through realms of imagination and dreams.

Your opinion is just a consequence of watching Outlander, you hear me? In this day and age, you won’t find a Jamie Fraser, because the streets are filled with Bradleys - jerks, Bradleys - idiots, Bradleys - fools... Karen sighed.

I will find him, Karen. I know I will. Oh, how I would have enjoyed being born in the Middle Ages. Did I tell you that? Daphne resumed a topic that had already been started and interrupted.

Oh, how could I forget! You tell me that all the time. I don’t understand how you can like an era where plagues, wars, and various infectious diseases reigned, and anyone who even got a small cut could easily die from infection. Not to mention surgeries, being stitched up without anesthesia, or even worse, the conditions in which those poor women gave birth, like mares, without epidural anesthesia... Karen shuddered, overcome with horror.

But at least they had a real man by their side, girl! A warrior. A man who truly means what he says and does everything he vowed to do. They truly valued their honor in those times, and a given word meant everything. Nowadays, they promise you the world, and you are going to get only...

Some crap! Karen chimed in, and both girls burst into laughter.

Their laughter was interrupted by a brown-haired little girl with bright blue eyes, who entered the bookstore at that moment.

Good afternoon, she greeted them kindly.

Good afternoon to you, too, sweetheart. What can I do for you? Karen asked.

I would like to buy a book for my mom. Something about love. It’s her birthday tomorrow, the little girl said shyly.

Then ask this young lady, Karen pointed her finger at Daphne, she knows everything about romance.

Daphne snapped out of her melancholic thoughts and then gazed at the shelf full of romance novels.

For your mom, I suggest... Hmm... Maybe this book? she showed the girl 'Wuthering Heights'.

No, we have it at home, the little girl said, shaking her head.

How about this one? This time, Daphne took down 'Pride and Prejudice' from the shelf.

Is that Mr. Darcy? the little girl asked.

Yes! Daphne exclaimed joyfully.

I’m sorry, but my mom and I have already read it.

What about this one, about Scots? Daphne took down the book from the shelf, its cover adorned with the muscular, tanned body of a magnificent Scottish warrior.

"'Love Beyond Time'? Sounds perfect. My mom will love it because she adores Scots," the girl exclaimed, her eyes brightening.

Wonderful. Just promise me something, Daphne addressed the little girl, exchanging amused glances with Karen.

The little girl nodded.

The book is written for slightly older readers, so you can’t read it now. Read it when you grow up a little more, when you become a woman. Okay?

Okay, I promise, the little girl agreed.

Daphne wrapped the book for her little customer and charged less than the usual price, because after all, it was a birthday gift, and the bookstore wouldn’t go under for a few dollars less.

Here you go, sweetheart. Daphne handed her the nicely wrapped book and smiled kindly at her.

Thank you. Oh, and there’s a fair in town. It’s really nice and fun. My mom and dad are taking me there tonight, the little girl said, her voice filled with excitement.

Oh, we could use that, a little fun! Karen clapped her hands.

Yes, we could go, too, Daphne agreed.

I hope we’ll meet tonight there. See you! the little girl shouted.

See you, sweetheart, Daphne and Karen replied, almost in unison, watching as she went outside, jumping over puddles and enjoying every little thing in life.

At that moment, both girls realized that every person is capable of drawing a smile on their own face or erasing it. Most importantly, they understood the importance of learning to enjoy the little things, just like children do.

CHAPTER 2

I can’t take it anymore, Karen, I feel dizzy! Daphne complained after the huge wheel finally stopped its rapid spin.

Then wait for me here, because I plan on going for another ride, Karen cheerfully swung her legs from her seat and watched as Daphne staggered away, unsteady on her feet.

I’ll be... Hey! Daphne exclaimed when she spotted a colorful tent emblazoned with ‘Fortune-Telling’ amidst the crowd.

I’ll be in that tent, she pointed toward the tent, but when she turned around, she realized Karen hadn’t heard her. The wheel had started spinning again, carrying Karen too high to hear.

Daphne froze, staring at the tent with confusion. She could swear it hadn’t been there moments ago. Yet, overcome by curiosity, she ran toward the tent, her doubts overshadowed by the thrill of the unknown. She slowly parted the tent’s fabric and tiptoed into the darkness within. It seemed empty, save for the light emanating from a round table at the center.

Daphne gathered her courage and approached the table. The allure of the undiscovered drew her in, as if she were a tiny piece of metal drawn to a magnet.

Hello! Is anyone here? she timidly called out, taking slow steps forward.

But when she bumped into something hard, she yelped, jumping back. Looking down, she saw a chair and breathed a sigh of relief; there was no other danger in sight. Despite feeling uneasy in this unfamiliar place, the adrenaline surging through her veins overpowered her nervousness, fueling her determination.

Her attention was drawn to the table, particularly an unusual magic ball surrounded by small, thick, white candles. A vibrant blue flame within the ball made it seem to float in midair.

Extraordinary illusion, Daphne thought. She sat down and gazed at the magical sphere, unable to look away, as though hypnotized.

At first, nothing happened. Then, as Daphne watched, clear images began to materialize in the sphere. She moved closer for a better view, entertained by what seemed like a short film crafted by illusionists. The worried face of a king appeared, standing motionless atop a citadel, watching warriors approach the castle at breakneck speed, their war cries piercing the air. That image faded into mist, soon replaced by another: the king conversing with a man he called Ronin, before both were enveloped in fog.

The next image revealed a little girl with an ethereal beauty, the likes of which Daphne had never seen. Shortly after, an older woman in vibrant, eclectic attire grasped the girl’s hand. Daphne’s heart raced, unsure if they were escaping peril or if the girl was being whisked away unwillingly.

The scene shifted abruptly, and the king reappeared, weeping inconsolably over the lifeless form of his queen, her body lying in a tragic crimson pool.

Please, protect my daughter, she’s all that remains, the king implored, his voice directed at a shadowy figure.

"My lord, we Gypsies have enchanted the locket you bestowed upon your child. The instant she dons it and recites the inscribed words, she will