“In a pig’s eye,” Alana retorted. “Girls belong in school not trailin’ after their fathers.”
Leslie touched Alana’s hand. “He gets grumpy when he misses your mother.”
“He never speaks of her and he turns away if I ask questions.”
Leslie gave an exasperated huff. “I know. Believe me I understand. So what’s the argument about—the trip?”
“Aye, the trip.” Alana rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “The two of ye are goin’ off. Mum’s barely been in the ground four months. It’s not decent, and on top of that, ye’re leavin’ me behind with Grand-da like I’m a wee child who needs a nannie—just so the two of you can disappear off to yer kinky holiday.”
“Alana, it’s not like that.”
“Whatever. Mum’s gone and she aint comin’ back. I know that, and I know ye both have needs…blah blah blah…I’ll learn to deal.”
“Alana,” Leslie reached for her but she pulled away.
“Please, leave me be—I don’t feel like gabbin’ anymore.”
Leslie nodded, her eyes shimmered with tears and Alana felt a twinge of regret. She knew Leslie was sad, too. They’d shed tears together plenty.
Alana looked up sharply. “Wait. I know it’s not yer fault and I’m actin’ cheeky. Forgive me.”
“Of course, sweetie.”
“Do ye think ye could get him to come ‘round?”
Leslie seemed to consider the question seriously. “He would need a good reason,” she said finally.
“Ah yeh, and sure don’t I have one—my history assignment. I’m to write about castle life in the 15th century.”
Leslie didn’t look convinced.
“Deirdre’s mum is taking her to France to research the Louvre. It’s the same thing; Mrs. O’Harris would be fine with it. Please, Leslie. Ye’ve no idea how lonesome I am. Sometimes, it hurts to go on.”
Manipulative, Alana knew but as her mum had once said, desperate times called for desperate measures.
Leslie steeled her shoulders and closed her eyes as if the words had caused her physical pain.
“I’ll do my best,” she said and left the room.
Alana smiled to herself. Leslie might be after replacing her mother – but sure if the woman didn’t genuinely love her.
THIRTYSIX
Hunedoara, Romania, 1494
I was sure that my hair smoldered and my skin blistered. I would have screamed in anguish if I had a voice, or even a breath left in me. But I didn’t. Then something rose up inside. I was not going to just lie here and let that horrid woman, Sandra Brun, win while I burned to death in this god-forsaken basement.
I tried to get to my feet but could no longer feel solid ground under me. I was floating, tossed up and sucked down by cold water. It was as if I would never be warm again. And it was getting colder. I spun, caught in that familiar whirlpool, sucked deeper and deeper into the frigid waters. It was so dark and I couldn’t remember what I was doing.
I opened my eyes and jerked away. Water blurred my vision. There was a young man holding me. I gasped and gulped in water. Oh Lord, he was trying to drown me.
I caught the glint of sunlight on steel as I raised my hand and realized I held a dagger. It gave me a small measure of satisfaction to know I had a weapon.
“Sophia!” The boy looked horrified as he caught my wrist in his hand, exerted pressure. He eyed the double-edged dagger as if I’d damn near plunged it into his chest, which I might have. Who knows? I didn’t know this person and I wasn’t letting go of my only weapon. I’d rather drown.
THIRTYSEVEN
Dublin, Ireland, 2031
T he girls had gone to bed, but Cullen sat on in the study, watching the glow of the flames cast shadows about the hearth. He could almost picture Sophia’s ghost curled up in the window seat, reading one of her paperback adventures. This was the reason he kept out. Her book was still in the window seat where she’d last left it. Alana refused to put it away, and while the lass practically lived in here to feel closer to her mother, he stayed away to avoid just that. The thought of his neglect maimed his heart. This had once been his favorite room, he could remember the sip of apple cider, hear the rattle of a newspaper, and smell the aroma of Sophia’s perfume as if she were once again bringing him a tray of those pumpkin spiced cookies she liked to bake. The month of October had always seemed a restless time to him but it was his Aeval’s favorite, buzzing with mystery and stirring spirits. Tonight even more so, he thought turning his gaze to the jack-o’-lantern on the desk. Samhain wasn’t for another month but Leslie had insisted on getting into the spirit early just as Sophia always had. The pumpkin she and Alanna had carved grinned eerily at him, as if it too shared the knowledge of what would happen in the coming weeks.
The sound of floorboards creaking roused him from his thoughts and the smell of candle wax, strong in the restless air, replaced the smell of perfume as he was brought back to reality. The creaking grew closer; he thought it might be Alana, returning to argue about his upcoming trip, but the visitor was Leslie.
She was carrying a draw-string bag.
“Cullen, what are you still doing awake?” She pulled the belt of her robe tight, a pale glimmer of pink satin against the dark hallway. She was petite like Sophia and they’d often shared clothes but her hair had more reddish tones and her skin was much fairer. Still sometimes if he squinted or got really drunk, he could pretend Sophia was still roaming about the house. Leslie paused, and hung the satchel on a small nail in the window frame.
He smiled and stretched out a hand, inviting her in. “An empty bag won't stand.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“I don’t need much sleep, besides it’s too hard to wake up and remember...”
“I know.”
“What are ye doin’ with the wee baggies?”
He’d noticed the little pouches all over the house since Sophia’s death.
She smiled, coming into the firelight. “Nothing. Just a bundle of stinging nettle to keep us all safe—an old wives’ tale is all. So, what’s got you up—the trip?”
“Aye. Will we be all right, do ye think?”
“We’ll be fine,” Leslie said in a reassuring tone.
“Maybe ye shouldn’t come—maybe this is all a bad idea.”
“Cullen. We can’t just sit and wait forever.”
Cullen nodded reluctantly, the firelight dancing before his eyes. “I suppose ye’re right.”
“We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?” Leslie said.
“Do ye think Alana will forgive us?”
“Of course, she will, but maybe there’s another way.”
“Lord preserve us, she talked ye into something, didn’t she?”
“She knows just which heartstrings to tug, that’s for sure, but there’s no reason we can’t take her. She’s sixteen and its time she knew.”
“Ah hear now, yer makin’ me the bad guy again. What the ear does not hear will not worry the heart.”
“Cullen, think about it. She’ll find out eventually and she’ll be furious we kept the truth from her for so long.”
“She’ll hurt all right,” Cullen said quietly.
“Well, I hate to be the one to tell you but she’s hurting either way—the truth will at least allow us to quit with all the sneaking and the lying. She deserves to have some hope, just the same as we do.”
THIRTYEIGHT
Hunedoara, Romania, 1494
H e jerked away and stumbled back, nearly tipping the small boat over.
My heart hammered. Squaring his shoulders, he appeared back at the side, and looked at me again.
“Settle down, Sofia, or you’ll drown yourself. I’m trying to help you.”
I stilled instantly. He knew my name? I had startled him, too. I could tell. He reached out for my wrist and I allowed him to pull me out of the water, into the boat. Then I just sat there on the hard bench, river water sluicing off my skin. My body shook compulsively. He retrieved
a blanket from the seat at the far end of the boat and handed it to me.
“Put this on.”
It felt damp and I cringed at the thought of when it had last been washed but it would dry me at least.
“What happened to me?”
He narrowed his eyes and gave his head a shake. “You jumped to your feet with a dazed look in your eyes and leapt from the boat. You don’t remember?”
I shook my head, not knowing the answer.
There were hills all around us, a soft pattern of yellows and browns. Smoke drifted across the slopes from someone’s campfire and lingered close to the trees. The water around us was rippling, and on the far hillside there were small peaked haystacks.
“Who are you?”
He wasn’t yet a man, but based on the facial hair, he was clearly on the brink of it. I felt bad as I realized his clothes were also soaked from helping me. I was about to offer to share the blanket when it dawned on me that the blanket had sleeves, and fur, and it was not a blanket at all. This was his houppelande, and he must have removed it before saving me. He wore hose, pointed boots and an old fashioned buttoned up jacket—also known as a doublet. I looked down and realized I too looked strange—as if I’d been cast in the part of some 15th-century play—only I resembled a peasant.
He ignored my question and stared at me, his eyes flashing with what I thought was worry. “Where did you get that knife from? Was it in the river? Was that why you jumped? You didn’t have it before.”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re delirious. You’d best put the knife down before you hurt yourself.”
I shook my head.
The boy reached out and squeezed my wrist until I cried out in pain and the blade clattered to the bottom of the boat. He eased his grip, letting me go. “Don’t you recognize me?”
THIRTYNINE
W hen Alana woke the next morning, she wiped her eyes and stretched. It took a full minute before the previous night’s find rushed back to her sleep addled brain.
She jumped from the bed as though it burned her and made her way into the kitchen. Leslie was making coffee at the counter. She was still in her housecoat. There was no sign of Da.
“He’s still asleep,” Leslie said to her unasked question.
She sat down at the breakfast bar and watched Leslie fill the coffee machine. Her mum had loved coffee too, and she always brewed a pot first thing in the morning.
“You’re up early,” Leslie said. “You saw me speaking to your Da last night, didn’t you?”
Alana bit her lip and nodded.
Last night she’d surprised Leslie and Da, it was long past midnight and she’d gone to bed hours before but noises in the study had drawn her attention. Their heads had been huddled close together looking at a map when she’d opened the door. Alana had the feeling they were discussing the trip.
Cullen staggered into the kitchen, looking like he hadn’t slept at all. “I hope that coffee’s strong,” he announced, running a hand through his messy hair.
“Strong as I could get it,” Leslie said.
He took a seat on the stool next to Alana and accepted the cup of steaming liquid that Leslie slid towards him.
“Well?” He looked around. “I don’t see them.”
Leslie smirked and turned away.
“Where are they?” he asked cheekily.
“What are ye talkin’ about?” Alana asked, confused by the sudden vibe in the room.
“Yer bags,” he said quickly, his expression softening.
“My bags?”
“Didn’t Leslie tell ye? She kept me up half the night pesterin’ on yer behalf. ‘It’s an invaluable research experience to assist yer daughter in writin’ her history paper on the notorious castles of Europe’...yada yada yada… I finally agreed just to shut her up. I can’t believe she didn’t even tell ye.”
Alana jumped off her seat and threw her arms around her Da’s neck. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “All right, lass. Ye love me, I get it. Now it’s 8:30 a.m. Leslie’s goin’ to help ye pack. Don’t— and I mean don’t— be givin’ her no grief! I’ve got some things to do before we go, but I’ll be back to pick the two of yes up by noon. If ye’re not ready then ye’re not comin’. Ye understand alright?”
Alana nodded and raced from the room, leaving her coffee behind on the counter; she took the stairs two at a time. It had been over four months since she’d actually felt happy about something. Giddy as, well, as a schoolgirl, she raced into the study and turned to the bookshelf, climbing the ladder in search of her mum’s slender guidebook. For years she’d dreamt of thick birch forests, mountains echoing and the howling of wolves which she’d always associated with Romania. She couldn’t believe she was finally going there.
She couldn’t say what made her look over to the far corner but she did and there it was… glittering amongst rows of dull colors.
The book. Not the guidebook but the book of spells her mother had accused her of taking.
Alana moved the ladder over and pulled the older volume from its home, recognizing the spine. A tremor ran up her arm and the smell of age rose from between the pages as she opened it. In her dreams, her mum always came to her, dressed in funny clothes, smelling of grass and wood smoke. I’m ready to come home Alana. The dream always ended when she handed her this book.
Alana flipped to the back. Inside was a stack of letters sealed with red wax and tied with a baby-blue satin ribbon. She undid the bow slowly and extracted the bottom letter. It was dated exactly one month after she was born.
My darling Baby Girl.
It was a letter to her, from her mother, detailing her birth and how much she looked forward to raising her. She opened the next one and it was dated one year later. Similar in style, it described the milestones she’d hit over the last year. Fifteen letters in total.
She hadn’t realized she was crying until a drop splashed the page, smearing the ink. With a corner of her sleeve, she blotted it. She blinked to keep others from falling.
Alana looked over her shoulder at the door. Did Da know these were here? More than likely—the wax seal had been broken on all of them. This must have been what they were looking over last night. She felt a sudden rage at the thought that they’d kept these from her. She was tempted to march back down to that kitchen, to scream and stomp, but they’d finally given in. Now was not the time to blow it—she would bide her time and get her answers when it was too late to turn back.
FORTY
Hunedoara, Romania, 1494
I closed my eyes to think but my mind made no sense. When I opened my eyes back up, he was staring, his intent green gaze fixed solely on me. I recognized those eyes but from where?
He bent to pick up my blade, looked it over. “It’s a nice piece. If the stones embedded in the handle are real, then it’s worth some money, too. We’d better hide it,” he said, tucking it into his belt.
“Where are you taking me?”
He motioned in the direction of the woods. There was a large castle sticking out of the crop of trees. “Home.”
“The Castle,” I said and pointed.
“Not there,” he said, pushing my finger lower. “Lord, take you to Corvin Castle?” he mumbled, then laughed. “That would be asking for trouble. You really did hit your head.”
I nodded as he rowed us to shore and helped me onto the bank, once again playing the old bump-on-the-head memory loss card. It was a role I was well accustomed to.
“Follow me. I’ll walk you home.”
I paused, looking him over closely. There was something strangely familiar about him.
He narrowed his eyes in response. “You recognize me now?”
I shook my head and closed my eyes, trying to remember him, or anything. I couldn’t even remember my own life, outside of my name—at least it felt like it was my name.
“Who are you and why are we out here?”
Before I knew what was happening, he was holding me firmly by
the shoulders, drawing me to him. My mind went blank with shock, and the searing heat of his lips sent a whirl of sensations through me.
“Do you remember me now, love?”
I plopped down on the embankment.
“I…this isn’t one of your damned spells, is it?” he asked.
I shook my head. “What do you mean?”
“It had better not be. You promised.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The last time, when you tried to make me stop loving you, I told you, I don’t care what they think or do to me. I love you, and no spell will make me forget you or this. Nothing can keep us apart.”
He sat down beside me and kissed me again.
“I’ve got to warn you, though: my mother is up to something. If we don’t run away now, then I fear she’ll capture you somehow and lock you away from me.”
“You just said nothing could keep us apart.”
“I did say that…” He trailed off as his hand found my cheek. “And I meant it, only I don’t wish for complications. When you are my wife, both you and your mother will be protected. There will no choice for my family but to tolerate the situation.”
I scooched back to sit up and avoided his eyes.
My cheeks were suddenly burning. My memories had come back to me all at once: the time portal, Sandra Brun, and my husband Cullen O’Kelley—my gosh, I was married! I jumped back even farther from the young man before me.
FORTY-ONE
Baden-Württemberg, Germany, 2031
“ Here we are,” Cullen said, slowing turning into the castle’s parking lot. It took a second for Alana to wake up. The last thing she remembered was leaving the airport. She rubbed her hand across her eyes, wiping the sleep away.
Da pointed to the blurry outline of Schloss Lichtenstein, barely visible through the lashing rain and the constant motion of the wiper blades. “Just look at those magnificent turrets.”
Alana stretched and craned, taking in the medieval castle’s jagged-toothed drawbridge.
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 85
