by Sarah Hegger
“There you go then.” She leaned against him. Strong and warm, he provided the stable point in her shifting world. You could live your whole life without something and never know what you were missing until you had that thing. She would go home and Oliver would stay here. “What happens now?”
Oliver chuckled. “I have no bloody idea.”
For the second morning in a row, Laura woke with Elewys doing her creepy looming thing. This time, she looked even more wound up than before.
“Wake up.” Elewys shook Oliver’s shoulder. “You have to go.”
“Go where?” Oliver came awake instantly. “What are you talking about?”
“De Wolfe comes.” Elewys ran around the cottage gathering things. “He recognized you from before, and he saw you on the wall the other day. He comes.”
“Shit!” Laura jumped out of bed, and with no idea of what to do next, stood there. “Shit! I don’t suppose he’s coming here to talk this through.”
Oliver looked at her.
“No, I suppose not.”
“You must go.” Elewys shoved clothing and food in a pack-type thing. “He remembers you as the man who nearly cut him down.”
Oliver ran to the casement. “How long have we got?”
“No time.” Elewys shoved the pack in his arms. “He comes.”
A cloud of dust hovered over the horizon.
“Horses.” Oliver frowned. “We can hide in the woods and slip away after he leaves.”
“No.” Elewys snatched up the sword and pushed it into his arms. “Use it. Use the sword and get away from here.”
“Not without me.” Laura scrambled over to Oliver and held on tight.
“But it’s not reliable.” Oliver stared at the sword as if he had a snake in his hands. “I can never be sure where we will end up.”
“Think about what you wish for.” Laura wrapped her arms around his waist. “Just think about it fast.”
The rumble of hooves shuddered through the ground. How many bloody horses did de Wolfe have with him? Men shouted from outside.
“De Wolfe rides at the head.” Elewys clutched her hair.
Harnesses jingled, and a man shouted. “Oliver, son on Elewys!”
Oliver turned for the door, sword in hand, his jaw hard and set.
“Don’t you dare.” Laura gripped his biceps. “Don’t you dare go out there. I need you.”
His gaze locked on her. A battle waged across the tense lines of his face. “I must. I cannot risk you again with the sword.”
“That’s right, my son.” Spit flew from Elewys. “Stay. Take up your sword and run him through.”
“Oliver!” A man shouted from outside. “Show yourself.”
“You don’t have to.” Holding his arms, Laura could not let him go out there. De Wolfe would kill him. This was not a time in which reason prevailed.
Oliver gazed at her sweetly, and kissed her forehead. “This has to end.”
“Aye.” Gaze darting, licking her lips, Elewys capered between them and the door. “End it, Oliver. Do it now. For me.”
“I must speak with him.”
“No.” Laura tried to shake some sense into him. “You don’t have to speak to him at all. We can just run away.”
“That is not my way.” Oliver disengaged her hold on his arms. “I am a man of this time and we do not run away.”
“Yes, you do.” Holding onto his tunic, Laura dragged after him. “Richard. Richard the third. He tried to run away. ‘My kingdom for a horse’ and all that.”
Oliver laughed, opened the door and stepped outside.
Fucking hell. She was not heroic. She was a complete and utter wuss. Why the hell did she keep having to sac up and be brave? If Oliver was going out there to confront a medieval knight, then so was she.
11
Oliver’s knees felt like water as he faced his lifelong enemy, the man he had been raised to kill.
Astride his destrier, de Wolfe removed his helm. “Oliver?” His strange gold eyes fixed on Oliver with the intensity of the animal from which he drew his name. “It is my understanding that you have tried to kill me.”
“About that.” Laura rushed out of the cottage.
De Wolfe’s destrier took exception to her flapping arms and tossed his head.
Bloody hell! Why had he thought, for a moment, that she would stay where he bade her? As she tried to dash past him, Olive caught her and held on tight.
“It’s all a misunderstanding.” Laura’s voice rose. Panting she struggled to free herself. “He thought you were his father, and that you tried to kill him as baby. Elewys has been indoctrinating him all his life.”
“Kill him!” Elewys rushed out of the cottage, dragging the heavy sword through the dust. “Kill the whoreson.”
Raising a brow, de Wolfe stared at Elewys. “This is Elewys.”
“Aye.” De Wolfe did not appear about to cut him down. “I thought she was my mother.”
“You have my sympathies,” de Wolfe said.
“Actually, you have mine.” Oliver took the sword from Elewys. “I believe she may be your aunt.”
“Mother!” Behind de Wolfe, a rider flung himself off a bay gelding. “You thought that hag was your mother?”
The yard lurched around Oliver and his knees buckled. It was the man from that day at Questing. The day he had tried to kill William de Wolfe. This man had been there and tried to stop him.
“Easy now, Da.” A younger man joined the first.
The sense of disorientation grew, as Oliver stared right into a mirror image of himself. “Who are you?”
“A good question.” De Wolfe dismounted. Motioning to Elewys, he said to his men, “Someone keep hold of her. She’s got a lot to answer for.”
“Aye.” The older man took a step toward Elewys. “I could wring your scrawny neck. You evil old baggage.”
“As tempting as that sounds, I must ask you to resist.” With a look of distaste, de Wolfe turned his back on Elewys. He motioned the older man. “This man came to me at dawn with quite a story. He claims he is your father and that you were stolen.”
Jesu! He might disgrace himself and puke.
“I can prove it,” the older man said. “My name is Dylan, husband of Carys and we hail from Penarth.” He jabbed his finger at Oliver. “And that is my second son, Ciaran. Stolen from us when he were barely walking. We have never stopped looking for him.”
Struggling against the knight holding her captive, Elewys screamed, “You did not deserve him. You had so many. He was my son. My revenge.”
“I am Rhys.” The younger man stepped forward. “His older brother and you have but to look at us to see the truth. If that were not enough for you, you are holding Teithiwr our family sword. If you look on the pommel you will see the dragon of Penarth wrought through the pommel.”
“Is there such a design on the pommel?” De Wolfe looked at the sword in Oliver’s hand.
Somehow Oliver dragged enough wits together to nod. He stepped closer to Rhys. On closer scrutiny, Rhys’s eyes were lighter and his face rounder, but the resemblance still made his gut roil. “My brother?”
“Aye, Ciaran.” Face gentling, Rhys clapped his shoulder. “Barely a year separates us. There are others as well. You have a mother.” Glancing at Elewys, he spat. “A real mother. Then there is Gareth, Caerwyn, and Eian. You have sisters too, Gladys and Branwen.”
Laura slid her hand in his and squeezed. Thank God, because she was his only firm point in his shifting world. “Why?”
So many whys, he knew not how to speak them all. Why did Elewys take him? What brought them here now? Why did they not look for him and find him?
Dylan raised his hand.
Not able to accept the contact, Oliver stepped back.
Dropping his arm, Dylan sighed. “We looked or you, son. Not since she took you have we stopped looking for you.”
Rising hot and swift, his anger lacked reason, but still it simmered beneath his skin. Because of Elew
ys, because of them, he had been raised as nothing more than a weapon. No use other than the strength of his sword hand and the implacability of his will.
“Are you satisfied that this is your son?” De Wolfe stepped forward.
“Aye.” Tears shimmered in Dylan’s eyes. “My wife will rediscover her smile again.”
Laura slid her arm about his waist, and whispered, “Breathe.”
Oliver dragged in a breath, then another. Each draw of cool morning air brought a particle of clarity with it. “What happens now?”
De Wolfe looked to Dylan. “Normally it falls to me to mete out punishment.” He donned his helm. “But considering all your family has suffered at the hands of that woman, I am going to climb on my destrier and ride back to my castle.”
The man holding Elewys bound her hands and feet, pressed her to the ground and remounted.
Standing together with Laura and his brother and father—dear God, that would take some getting used to—they kept silent as de Wolfe mounted up and led his men down the road to the castle.
Dylan cleared his throat. “You have questions.”
“Aye.” From Dylan, he and Rhys must have gained their height and their coloring. What did his real mother look like? Had she shared any of her features with him? Aye, he had questions and they kept multiplying.
“But first.” Dylan motioned the sword. “May I? It has been many, many years since I held Teithiwr.”
Not sure he was doing the right thing, Oliver obeyed his gut and handed the sword to Dylan.
“Ah.” Dylan’s face lit from within.
The sword gleamed. It released a tone so clear and beautiful it pierced the ear.
The pleasure on Dylan’s face was so intimate it was hard to look at.
Oliver turned to Rhys. “What did he call it?”
“Teithiwr,” Rhys said, gaze hungry on the sword. “The traveller, and it has been in our family for hundreds of years. Da is its true-born wielder. After him it will be mine. And after me it passes to my son.”
“What if you have a daughter?” Laura stared at the sword.
Rhys opened his mouth, shut it again and shrugged. “It has never happened that way.”
Otherworldly blue light gleamed along Teithiwr’s blade. Oliver couldn’t stop staring at the sword. “She never did that for me.”
“I am surprised she did not land you in the midst of a mountain, or the bottom of the sea.” Rhys snorted. “We can only think she responded to Da’s blood in you and travelled for you. Without you, the hag would not have been able to wield her.” Spinning about, Rhys loomed over Elewys. “Not in her long, long history has Teithiwr ever been stolen. So we cannot know for sure, but she must have used a drop of your blood to call to Teithiwr.”
“She did.” A hazy memory of having his little fingers nicked on the sword solidified in Oliver’s mind. Somehow Elewys had worked out what the sword did and how to make it work.
As Elewys writhed on the ground and gibbered, he did not believe they would ever get a coherent explanation.
“I felt her.” Dylan’s gaze remained rapt of the sword. “Every time she leaped, I felt her.” He pounded his chest. “In here. Calling to me. Crying out to me to come and find her.”
“Wow.” Laura grimaced. “That’s quite a sword.”
The understatement made Oliver laugh. Quite a sword indeed and he was only now learning what she really did.
“We knew you were alive because of those leaps,” Rhys said. “We were thankful for that.”
“Aye.” Finally, Dylan dragged his gaze away from the sword. “When you touched her, she told me.”
“Is that why you were there? At Questing? The day I almost killed de Wolfe?” Later he would have other questions, about the family he did not know and the mother who needed her smile back, but for now, focusing on the sword was all he could manage.
“Partly.” From his tunic, Dylan tugged an amulet. Nestled between gold branches sat a pale blue, opaque stone. The blue of the stone matched the blue on Teithiwr’s blade. “What that old besom could not have known was that to travel safely with Teithiwr you need both the amulet and the sword. They are linked and they call to each other.”
“But we travelled without the amulet.” Oliver swore the stone winked at him.
“Aye.” Dylan tucked it beneath his tunic and gave it a pat. “Which is why we were terrified you were going to end up somewhere or when that would kill you. The sword without the amulet is like an arrow without direction.”
“Hang on.” Laura stepped closer to Dylan and peered at the stone. “You’re saying that Oliver has been loose-cannoning around time?”
Dylan frowned. “If by that you mean he has been hopping without direction, then, aye.”
“Her speech is odd.” Rhys crossed his arm.
“And I’m not Welsh.” Mischief brimmed in her eyes as Laura glanced at Oliver.
Dylan and Rhys exchanged mystified glances.
“Anyway.” Dylan tucked Teithiwr into the scabbard on his belt. “The day you went to kill de Wolfe, you had the sword against you for long enough for the amulet to link with her.”
“I carried her beneath my tunic all the way from our cottage to the castle.” A pang of possessiveness shot through him at the sight of his sword at someone else’s waist. Except Teithiwr was no longer his sword, and by the way she gleamed, he could only suppose her to be very content where she presently lay.
“Aye.” Dylan nodded. “It has never been tried before, but by concentrating on the connection between amulet and sword, I was able to make the jump to where Teithiwr was.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I caught one glimpse of you and then you were gone again. When you went into the future, the connection was too tenuous and then it disappeared altogether.”
“When the sword was kept in the basement.” Laura nudged him.
“I could not believe I had finally come so close to you only to fail again.” Dylan stepped closer to Elewys and scowled at her. “But I followed this one home, and have been waiting here ever since. In the hope you would reappear.”
“Which I did.”
“Which you did.” Dylan nodded. “Rhys travelled from Penarth to join me. Your mother and the rest of the family are on their way.”
Nudging Elewys with his toe, Rhys said, “What should we do with this? She has to pay for what she has done.”
“Teithiwr must never be raised in violence,” Dylan said. “Or else I would have run her through by now.”
Laura cleared her throat. “Violence is not the answer.”
Dylan and Rhys blinked at her. Even Oliver was inclined to disagree with her. Elewys had robbed him of so many things. Things he had not yet begun to tally.
“Why not make the punishment fit to crime.” With a smirk, Laura pointed at Teithiwr. “Might I suggest you use that time-travelling sword of yours and drop her off in Salem, Massachusetts.” The evil grin on her face made his nape prickle. “Say, June of the year sixteen ninety-two?”
With her hand in Oliver’s, the moon sitting lazy and golden in the sky, and a perfect breeze ruffling their hair, Laura could almost shut her eyes and sink into the tempting perfection of the night. She watched Oliver covertly, not wanting him to feel her stare on him all the time.
“Quite a story,” she said.
“Aye.” Oliver raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. “It all sounds too unbelievable to be true.”
“But you do believe it?”
“Aye.”
Contrary to all her scientific training, so did she. “Me too.”
“I keep wanting to go to Moth...Elewys and ask her why. Why any of it? Why kidnap me? Why raise me to be her vengeance on de Wolfe?’
“You could ask.” Laura tucked herself close to his arm. “But I think she has given you as much of an answer as she is capable of.”
“Maybe.” Sighing, he looked at the moon. “I don’t know. I know I should be thinking about my new family, and I am, but most of all I’
m thinking about you.”
“Me?”
He turned her to face him. Moonlight gilded the defined planes of his face. Straight nose, high cheekbones, straight jaw. So like Dylan and Rhys “What happens now with you and me?”
“I don’t know.” The dreaded question that hung between them always. Leaving here meant leaving Oliver, and for what? A life that she had, at best, only half lived. To return to people who would probably not even notice her absence. “I’m not sure if I can stay here.”
“That’s better than a categoric no.” He wrapped his arms about her and pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “If we believe Dylan, with the amulet, he can take us when we need to be safely.”
“And bring us back again.” With Oliver she already felt perfectly safe and like she was finally home.
His voice rumbled through his chest. “You have already called me mad, so I have nothing to lose by telling you I love you.”
The L word. It held her shocked rigid for a moment. She didn’t believe in whirlwind love affairs and being swept off her feet. In her model of the world, Prince Charming needed to put in a lot more leg work. Show up, be accountable, share common interests, build their common ground together, speak her love language. “How can you be sure?”
“It did not take me all that long.” Chucking, he kissed her head. “First I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen and I had to have you. Then I fell in love with your mind, your generosity, your spirit, your sense of humor, your strength. All the things that make you you.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not me you’re describing.” As much as she’d like to go with his version of her. “I’m also pretty sure it’s too soon to know that you love me.”
He separated them slightly so he could look at her. “All right then, Doctor Rose, what sort of timeframe do you suggest?”
“Well.” She’d never thought about it like that. “This is the infatuation stage. It’s all about passion and butterflies in the stomach. We haven’t even begun to test the relationship. There’s the disappointment and disillusion when reality sets in. We need to tackle conflict versus crisis.”
