by Annis Reid
She opened it anyway, and for some reason was surprised that her belongings were still in there. Credit cards, her driver’s license.
The latter, she slid from the protective sleeve. “In case you thought I might be making this up,” she said, handing it over.
“What is this?” He looked like he was afraid to touch it. He had probably swung a sword at dozens of men, had probably fired a musket or whatever it was men of his time and place fired, had probably seen things she could only imagine her worst nightmares. But he was afraid to touch a laminated card.
“It won’t hurt you,” she promised. “But it does have my date of birth.”
He held it like he was afraid it would burst into flame, his fingers barely touching the corners. “What does this mean? A driver’s license?” He tried the words out in his mouth, speaking slowly like he’d lapsed into another language.
“Right. See, this proves that I pass a test on how to drive a car.”
“A car?”
Right again. “Like a carriage, only it doesn’t need horses to pull it. There’s a motor inside, an engine that makes it run. I know, this is all way beyond you, just trust me. You can’t just get behind the wheel of one of them and drive it over the street. You have to pass a test first. That’s also a way of telling other people who you are, proving who you are. And how old you are.” She snickered, remembering trying to get a fake ID in high school. Maybe her only taste of the illegal in an otherwise good-girl life.
“Why do ye laugh?” he asked.
“I was remembering trying to drink before I was old enough to do it,” she explained with a wave of her hand. “Kid stuff.”
“Ye must be of a certain age to drink spirits?”
“That’s it. And beer and wine, too.”
He scowled like this was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “I suspect that were I to ask ye about your world, there would be far too much for me to understand in one sitting.” He handed the license back to her, looking troubled. “I wish to tell ye that I believed ye before you showed me the license. I admit, ‘tis beyond my ken, but I believe ye.”
“I wish I could tell you how much that means,” she whispered as she tucked the card back into its sleeve, running her fingers over the leather. Funny how special it all seemed now, when in her life it was nothing important. “I really do. I know I lucked out when you found me. I wish there was a way I could repay you.”
“But ye are repaying me, are ye not?” There was a hint of a grin the corners of his mouth, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
She leaned in, arms around her knees. “You actually think we’re going to be able to get away with it? That Flora’s father will accept your excuse and take your brother instead? What about your brother? Won’t he be furious with you?”
He shrugged, bearing his teeth in a grimace. “Perhaps, but I suppose he will come around in time. I know he finds Fiona MacNeil becoming Truly, she is a bonny sort, gentle of nature. Nothing like her older sister. They will be a good match, perhaps much better than he could expect otherwise. He is not the eldest son, ye ken, and as such the lairds of the neighboring clans will not be so keen to wed their daughters to him.”
He took note of the way she frowned as she considered this, watching closely. “Ye said before that such arrangements are not the way things are done in your time.”
“That’s right.”
“Ye mean, people truly marry for love alone?” He said it like it was most unbelievable thing. Even when she had described a car, he hadn’t looked so surprised.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure there are outlying cases where families pair off their sons and daughters. Big businesses, powerful families. But I’m sure people marry for love in this time, don’t they? The common people. The workers.”
He shrugged. “Aye, I suppose ye are correct. I had not considered them.”
How nice for him, not having to consider people who didn’t live in castles. Just when she thought she liked him, that he was a thoroughly decent guy in a messed-up situation, he went and said something like that. She pulled back, sitting up straight, her feelings chilling a bit.
“Even so,” he continued, unaware, “in some cases, the father arranges his daughter’s marriage that she might be taken care of. A man wishes to assure himself of his daughter’s safety before he goes on to his reward.”
“It’s definitely not like that now—or rather, in my time,” she corrected herself. It was so hard, trying to make sense of it. “Your parents will just nag you and criticize you and ask you when you think you’ll be settling down with somebody. The sentiment is the same,” she assured him, “but the means aren’t.”
“Did your parents urge ye to marry the man ye had planned to marry?”
She shrank from the very thought, then laughed. “Not at all. I don’t think they liked him. In fact, it seems like I’m the only person who ever did. Not that he’s a bad person, mind you. I can’t see myself ever being with somebody who was a bad person. But he was sort of… unreliable. I couldn’t depend on him. He always had a way of not being there for me when I really needed him. And his band was always more important than me. He’s a musician.”
“I see.”
“I told myself he was following his dream,” she shrugged, picking at the rough fabric of her new dress. Probably the most and least comfortable thing she’d ever worn, both at the same time. “Even when he played a show on our first anniversary.”
“I may not be of your time, lass, but I know that was a mistake on his part.”
“A huge mistake. But there I was, telling myself it was okay. We would have so many more anniversaries. What mattered was his dream, and I was not about to have him blame me for the rest of our lives together because he missed an opportunity. I wouldn’t be that person.”
“After you sacrificed for him, he could not remain faithful to ye.”
“That’s it, in a nutshell. No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough.” She let out a breathless little laugh, a hand over her chest. “Listen to me. Pouring my heart out like this. You have enough problems.”
“The man was a fool.”
“I don’t disagree.”
“Perhaps ‘tis for the best that hundreds of years separate us, or I might have no choice but to take him to task.” The thing was, she had no idea if he was joking or not—or whether she wanted him to be.
She laughed again, just as breathless. “Wow. Hearing it like that makes it all seems so much more real. Jimmy won’t be born for hundreds of years. His great-great-great-grandparents aren’t even born yet.” She touched her fingers to her temples, pressing in in an attempt to ward off the headache that was threatening to make an appearance. “I feel like my head could split open when I think about it.”
“Perhaps ye had best not to think about it, then.”
“Thanks for that.” She smirked. “This is my life. I can’t just stop thinking about it.”
A knock at the door startled them both, and only then did she remember hearing Leith mutter something to the innkeeper about supper. He unfolded his tall body from the floor and went to the door while she finished shoving her things into her bag and tucking it under the blankets. She didn’t know why, but it seemed incredibly important to keep the bag hidden.
“Forgive me for making ye wait,” the innkeeper said, carrying what looked like a bucket of stew, a wrapped loaf of bread, a jug of probably ale or wine. “We are quite busy this evening.”
Yeah, no kidding. She could hear the men downstairs, had heard them all throughout the time she’d spent in the room with her pretend husband. Laughing and having a great time, louder with every gulp of ale.
“Think nothing of it,” Leith assured the man with an easy smile. He had a way about him, this Leith guy. He could put somebody at ease without much effort, but he managed to maintain a sense of importance. Not that he thought himself important, but he carried himself like somebody who mattered. The leader.
And this
Flora person abused her servants. Melissa hadn’t asked any more about that point, but it rattled around in her brain just the same. She couldn’t imagine somebody like Leith married to the sort of person who would abuse anybody, especially somebody to afraid to defend themselves. Somebody who would probably do just about anything to keep their position.
Melissa thought she was starting to understand a little better.
Just as she was dreading meeting Flora in person.
“Do you think she’ll nasty with me?” She asked when they were alone again. “I mean, this is supposed to be her wedding. And you’re going to show up and tell her you’re married to somebody else. That’ll be embarrassing for her, and she could take it out on somebody. Probably me, but maybe her servants or her family.”
Leith poured himself a cup of what looked like wine and drank it in a hurry, like he was bolstering himself. “We shall have to face the problem when it presents itself. Remember, one problem at a time.”
“One problem at a time,” she echoed, eyeing up the selection of delicacies which had been brought to them. The current problem at hand? How she was supposed to stomach any of it.
Well, it was up to her to pretend to be a girl from this time. She might as well start from the beginning.
9
Leith stirred when the first rays of sunlight caressed his cheek, bright even while on the other side of his closed eyelids. Surprising, that. He could not recall the last time he’d slept past daybreak. In fact, he was normally up well before the sun, before his father and his brother.
Though never earlier than the servants, or those working in the kitchen. He asked himself at times whether they ever slept at all.
He had never been much for sleeping. There was too much to be done, too much to be seen. Many mornings, he had simply saddled Eoghan and set out riding. He told himself at these times that he was guarding the land, patrolling, watching for trespassers.
Had any trespassers shown themselves, they would certainly have felt his wrath. He had never encountered one, the guards whose duty it was to patrol the borders skilled and fierce enough to keep the land free from any who might bear ill intentions.
He knew now what he had not been willing to put to words at the time.
He had simply wished to be free. To see the world and all it offered. Having been born the eldest of the laird was a great responsibility. It was not lost upon him even in his darkest, most brooding moments that he was quite fortunate to live as he did, where he did. He would not have traded his lot in life with nearly anyone, aware of how difficult—even unbearable—life could be.
Still. There had been times when he’d wondered what it would be to set sail. Perhaps to see the New World, across the vast ocean. To carve out something for himself, something entirely his. While he would lay flat any man foolish enough to threaten him or his, and while his pride at being a MacManus was unmatched, he could not keep himself from wondering what else was out there.
Mornings were the best time for such riding. No one to ask where he went, no one to question his outlandish notions.
The floor of their room left him with a terrible ache in his back, though that was nothing new after having spent countless nights on much worse. At least the floor was smooth and firm and level. There was no shifting mud to contend with, no rocks poking him in a dozen places.
Though he might have done without the splinters.
Sitting up, he raised his arms over his head and stretched with a deep grunt, relishing the loosening of muscles gone stiff with sleep. Indeed, he had slept solidly, which surprised him a great deal.
His gaze lingered upon the blade with which he’d slept. Just in case any man had noticed a bonny young lass making her way up the stairs and believed himself to be worthy of attention after a few too many cups of ale. It had gone unused, thank the Lord.
The thought of her sent his head turning in her direction—
He yelped in surprise to find the lass staring at him, lying still on the bed.
Only when she blinked was he certain she had not died at some time during the night.
“Sorry,” she murmured, still staring. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Ye were silent. I thought ye were still sleeping.” He realized with slight amusement that his impulse was to cover himself, as though he were nothing more than a modest maid. It was not as though he were completely bare, either; he’d worn his linen undershirt for modesty’s sake.
“I didn’t sleep much,” she admitted. Indeed, there were dark circles beneath her eyes, a wan quality to her complexion. It would not do for her to appear so unhealthy and unhappy when they reached the keep, though he had the good sense to keep his thoughts to himself as he studied her.
Instinct warned him that in the hundreds of years which had passed leading up to her birth, women had more than likely not grown better suited to accepting opinions on their appearance.
“Was the bed not to your liking?” He settled the blanket he’d used to cover himself during the night over his lap, keenly aware of himself in a way he never had to consider when traveling with men. What would she think if she caught sight of the telltale bulge men sported first thing in the morning? She would be more than likely shocked, an unmarried lass such as herself.
Melissa looked about herself, at the bed with its straw tick—at least the straw was fresh, its fragrance a good sign as to its cleanliness. “Oh, no. It’s fine. I guess. I just have so much on my mind, you know? So many things to think about.”
“Ye know, ye might have woken me. If ye wished to speak of it, I mean. Dinna ye need to fear or fret on your own.”
He knew not where this sentiment came from. His heart, he supposed, though that did little to console him. Yet he spoke the truth, just the same. She did not need to suffer in silence so long as he was near.
The lass was doing him a terrible favor, and he felt he owed her something more than a bed and a dress.
Her soft smile was made softer by the hazy morning sunlight tracing the smooth curves of her face. “Thank you. You were sleeping so well, I didn’t have the heart. Did you know you talk in your sleep sometimes?”
It was not in his nature to blush, but there he was. Once again, the question of whether he’d become a shy maiden in the night occurred in the back of his mind. He felt the warmth traveling up his neck, spilling onto his cheeks. At least his beard covered some of it, a slight consolation. “What did I speak of?” he asked, hoping to sound casual and offhand.
“Nothing I could make out,” she admitted. “I don’t have the heart to tease you.”
“I suppose I ought to be grateful for that.” He did wish she would avert her eyes, that he might easily rise from the floor and prepare himself for his day. He had not considered this, sharing a room with the lass when the two of them were just waking. He knew not where to look, what to do or say.
It occurred to him then that she might feel the same way, hence her lying perfectly still beneath the linens. He was uncertain whether to speak of it, their mutual discomfort, or to simply go on as if nothing were amiss.
He chose to turn his back for the sake of her modesty. “I shall dress now and go about my business, leaving ye alone to do the same. If ye wish.”
There was no missing her soft sigh of relief. “All right. I’ll roll over and face the wall.” He could not help but grin to himself at both of them feeling their way around the other, the two of them strangers yet bound by something neither of them could have predicted.
Certainly, he would never have imagined meeting a woman from her time.
“Tell me something about yourself,” he invited as he dressed in haste. Anything would have been easier to bear than silence, wondering if she were listening carefully to his movements.
“There really isn’t much to tell. I work in a museum.”
“What is that? Ye must think me painfully ignorant,” he admitted as he slid into his trousers.
“I’m ignorant of much of your l
ife, so…”
“A fair point.” He glanced over his shoulder to find she was as good as her word, facing the wall with the linens pulled over her shoulder, tucked up to her neck. Her shyness touched him, especially when he considered what she’d worn when they first met. Quite a great deal had changed in the centuries separating them.
“A museum is where paintings and sculpture and other works of art are kept. They’re guarded, so nobody can ever hurt or destroy them.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why go to the trouble?”
She paused. “Are you really asking me that?”
“Aye, I am at that.”
She stammered at first before finding her voice. “Sorry. To me, it just seems natural. These works of art, they’re special. People believe they need to be preserved for the future. We have plenty of pieces created in this very time, treasured for hundreds of years.”
“With all the wonders of your world, you find paintings created in this time worthy of interest?”
“Of course! They’re a window into the past. They show us what life was like for people hundreds of years ago.” The passion in her voice came as a surprise which deepened his curiosity about this strange lass with her strange ways and even stranger concerns.
She laughed softly to herself. “People of now, rather, not hundreds of years ago. I wish I could make sense of this in my head, I really do.”
He put on his boots, watching her from the corner of his eye. It would have been nothing to tell her she might roll over now, that he was fully dressed and posed no threat to her modesty. Yet it was still easier to move about without her watching, without the sense of being studied. “Perhaps you ought not think much on it, then?” he suggested.
“How could I not? I thought about it all night long, all night. My brain wouldn’t stop. Do my parents know I’m here? Of course not. They don’t know anything about my trip, other than the fact that I was taking a trip in the first place because I had the credit from the canceled honeymoon. They’ll probably be worried when they don’t hear from me. I can’t stand thinking about them being worried.”
