Falling Through Time: A Lighthearted Time Travel Romance (Knights Through Time Romance Book 13)

by Cynthia Luhrs

  Pushed all the way back on a shelf in the linen closet, she found the bright orange bottles.

  “Not expired yet. Perfect.”

  Before she went back to the kitchen, Violet gathered up an old washcloth, and some antibacterial ointment along with a pair of pliers. She put an apron she’d made over her shirt and put the pliers and other items in the big pockets. It wasn’t like the apron would protect her since she was already covered in blood, but it made her feel competent to deal with the task at hand.

  Back in the kitchen, she arranged everything on the table.

  “I need to boil the water and then we’re ready.” She handed him a glass of water and two pills. “Swallow these.”

  He took the water and stared at the pills as if he’d never seen them before.

  “What are these?” Suspicious blue eyes met hers.

  Violet threw up her hands, the tension getting to her.

  “Oh for heaven’s sakes, I’m not going to poison you. If I wanted you dead, I would have left you for Spot.”

  “Spot? Who is Spot?”

  Now she grinned and rolled her shoulders, feeling lighter.

  “He’s a wily thirteen foot alligator that lives behind the house in the waterway. They’ve tried numerous times to catch him, to relocate him to the everglades, but he keeps evading them.” She smiled, thinking about the gator.

  “He has an old scar on the top of his head. It’s white, and he’s black, so I named him Spot.”

  She pointed to the pills and the water. “I’m rooting for him even though I know he needs to move. Now take those before I hold your nose and make you.”

  “As ye say, mistress.” He swallowed the pills with a grimace and drank the water. “Might ye have anything stronger?”

  “I do, but you shouldn’t drink alcohol on top of pain meds.” She was glad she’d thought to put down plastic.

  There was a beep and Duncan jumped from the chair, landing in a crouch, a big knife in his hand.

  “What is that terrible noise?”

  “The microwave.” She bit her lip to keep from busting out laughing. “You must have hit your head pretty hard. Microwave?”

  “What is microwave?” Duncan sat down hard in the chair, making the wood groan.

  “It heats food and beverages. Like an oven.” At his blank look, a sinking feeling went through her. “You know, an oven. To cook food.”

  “Aye, I know what an oven is. I’ve never heard one make such a sound.”

  She patted his arm. “I think you’re suffering temporary memory loss. You must have hit your head pretty hard. Let’s get you cleaned up and after you rest everything will come back.”

  She hoped the memories would come back. It would probably be days before she could take him to a hospital.

  With that thought, it started raining again. No more time to waste. It was time to get this done in case the power went out.

  Violet put the needle-nose pliers in the bowl of boiling water for a couple of minutes. She took them out with tongs, then doused them with rubbing alcohol.

  “I’m ready.”

  He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Wake me when you finish.”

  “Probably best not to watch.”

  He cracked open one eye. “Try not to kill me, lass.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  On his back, where he couldn’t quite reach, Violet could see a piece of metal embedded in the wound. Gross. When she gently grabbed it with the pliers and pulled, it made an awful sound. Duncan turned gray. Sweat ran down her neck at the thought of what she had to do.

  He grunted. “Use both hands, lass.”

  With a deep breath, she braced one hand on his shoulder, took hold with the pliers and pulled back as hard and fast as she could.

  He gave a harsh cry as the jagged piece of metal slid free. Blood ran down his back, soaking the plaid and dripping on the plastic covered tile floor.

  “Good lass.” Duncan clenched his jaw, the muscles taut against his skin.

  Unable to believe what she had done, Violet dropped the metal on the plastic covered table, the taste of fear and blood filling her mouth. She’d bitten the inside of her cheek when she was concentrating.

  “Almost done. I’m going to clean it. Once the hurricane passes, we can get you to a hospital.”

  Dish soap was used to clean oil off animals, so it should be fine to use on Duncan. Gently, she cleaned the wound until the water ran clear. Unwilling to stitch flesh, Violet remembered reading superglue could close wounds, so she pressed it together and glued it closed. Then she covered the complete mess with the antibiotic ointment and finished it off with a big white bandage.

  Hands on her hips, Violet stood back to survey her handiwork. She wiped the sweat from her face and neck with a paper towel as she looked at Duncan’s back and chest.

  A multitude of scars covered his chest, arms, and back. They looked real, not applied with stage makeup, which would have washed off in the storm, anyway.

  “What happened? I thought you guys used fake blades during plays? Were you in the military?”

  The broken blade and both of Duncan’s knives… dirks… or whatever, looked really old. As in actual antique old. The entire night had been surreal. Maybe she was asleep in bed dreaming.

  He mumbled something in Gaelic, then jolted awake.

  “They will come for me.”

  “No, not in the hurricane. You’re safe here.”

  Did he have amnesia from hitting his head? Violet didn’t have time for some actor who thought he was a Scottish warrior from the past; she had dresses to design and a fashion world to take by storm.

  Once the hurricane passed, she was handing him off to the hospital so she could get on with her quiet, orderly life.

  7

  “Duncan. Are you okay?” Violet shook his uninjured shoulder.

  He opened bleary eyes and murmured, “stay with me. Dinna leave me.”

  “We need to get you to the sofa. You need rest.” As quick as she could, Violet cleaned up the mess. What to do with the weaponry? With a shrug, she washed his blades off in the sink, dried them with a towel and left them on the counter.

  When she checked on her patient, his forehead was warm to the touch, but he seemed to be okay.

  “I am in your debt. Faerie or lassie, it matters not.” He took her hand in his.

  Before she could answer, he passed out, fell out of the chair, and cracked his head on the tile, making her wince. Guess she should have gotten him to the sofa before cleaning up the mess.

  “Are you okay?”

  Duncan grunted but didn’t wake.

  Once she was sure he was still breathing, Violet put her hands on her hips. What on earth was she supposed to do now? She yawned several times. It was three a.m, and he’d worn her out.

  There was no way she could get him to the couch by herself. He’d have to stay on the floor. At least it would be cool on the tile. She went to the garage where she kept a donation box and pulled an old pillow and sheet out so if he bled on them it wouldn’t matter.

  Violet placed the pillow under his head and draped the sheet over him, wet kilt and all. There was no way she was undressing him, so Duncan would have to sleep in his wet clothes.

  Exhausted, the adrenaline leaving her body, Violet washed her hands in the sink, threw the old towels and rags in the trash with the plastic sheeting, and tidied up the kitchen.

  After checking on him again, she went to the bathroom, pulled off her wet, dirty clothes, and took a long hot shower.

  By the time she had dried off and dressed in an old tee shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, the eye of the storm had passed.

  The house creaked, the windows rattled, and the power flickered but stayed on for now.

  The wet clothes she’d been wearing went in the wash on the express setting. Her patient slept, oblivious to the raging storm. A palm frond hit the window, making her jump.

  Instead of going to her bedroom, Violet made up a b
ed on the sofa so she could hear Duncan if he woke and needed anything.

  Not sure she could sleep between the hurricane and the huge injured man on her floor, she took a moment to reassure herself she’d done everything she could to prepare for the storm.

  Who would have thought a hurricane would drop a man in her backyard? It wasn’t like she’d asked a fairy godmother for a prince. Though that man was no prince, more like a fallen angel.

  Duncan woke to the sound of a fierce storm. The last thing he remembered was facing the Campbell men in the snow, dying from the sickness. Then there was darkness, terrible noises, and he’d come to in a strange place. A wee lass standing over him.

  The room was unlike any he had seen. The floor was tile, but the rest was passing strange. The lass had hair shorn like a lad, but no one would ever think she was a lad. Nay, she looked like a faerie come to bewitch him and steal him away with eyes that reminded him of heather and a smile that warmed his soul.

  When he tried to sit up, the room turned in circles. Slowly, Duncan rolled over. There. She was asleep. The lass had been kind to him. He looked around again. The furniture looked soft, but the colors? Pink and orange? The walls were a sickly green and looked as horrible as he felt.

  What was this strange place? Ever so slowly, Duncan pushed himself up against the wall until he was standing. He swayed but did not fall. With a deep breath, he took small steps to the counter to retrieve his blades. Had the lass washed them?

  A sound drew his gaze to the windows where he saw waves on the dark water. The water was up to the rocks where he’d come to, the place where the monster dwelled.

  Mayhap the lass was a witch? She had named the beast as witches did with a familiar.

  If he wasn’t in heaven or hell, where was he? This was not Scotland.

  When he lifted his arm to touch the soft furniture, he winced. On the wall was a mirror. Duncan turned to see a bandage unlike any he had ever seen. He peeled it off to check the wound. How had she closed it without a needle and thread? What magic was this?

  Somehow he had survived the illness. He touched his face and looked at his body, but there were no marks upon his flesh. He was not witless or deformed. Duncan smiled as he stumbled to the pink furniture. Violet lived in a fine home. Was there no man to watch over her? To protect her?

  As she slept, the circles under eyes dark as bruises, he thought about what he must do.

  Find out where he was and how to go home and fulfill his promise to aid his brother’s sister and her children. Death had spared him, so he must return home and care for them.

  She stirred and opened her eyes. Her eyes were blue mixed with purple, the colors reminding him of the twilight sky back home. Duncan’s heart ached at the thought of his home, and those he had lost. The Campbells would make war with his cousins, another reason he must go back and fight.

  “You’re up. How do you feel?” She sat up and yawned. “Does your shoulder hurt?”

  Duncan rolled his shoulder. “Ach, ’tis but a scratch. Dinna fash, lass.”

  “Listen.” She rubbed her eyes.

  “Aye, ’tis a most ferocious storm.”

  “No. The power’s out. It’s light so you wouldn’t have noticed.” She stood and Duncan gaped at her nakedness.

  “Not that I mind the sight of such a finely made lass, but should ye not put clothes on?”

  “Huh?” She looked down and then at him.

  “I see your memory hasn’t returned. You still think you’re some kind of medieval highlander.”

  She walked to the window and looked out at the rain and water as he looked at her.

  “What I’m wearing is what everyone in Florida wears. It might be October, but it’s hot.” She turned and looked at him.

  “Oh crap, I forgot to put the laundry in the dryer. I’ll have to wash it again when the power comes back on.” She looked him over as if he were a small child waiting for a scolding.

  “Don’t open the refrigerator unless you have to. I’ve got a cooler in the garage. We can fill it with ice and drinks.”

  Power? Refrigerator? Cooler? Was the lass daft? But Duncan nodded as if what she said made sense.

  “Did ye heal me? I had the sickness.”

  “How does someone end up with a piece of metal in their shoulder?” She came to sit beside him on the soft pink furniture. Duncan was aware he was not properly attired to be in her presence, so he pulled the blanket up over his chest.

  “Your shoulder looks good, but take the antibiotics for a few days.” She went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water.

  The lass needed to eat; she was much too thin.

  “Take these.” She handed him the small white pills and the water.

  Duncan obliged her and swallowed the foul-tasting pills.

  “Where does the water come from?”

  “It’s too early for this.” She sighed. “It’s city water. The power is out, but we still have plenty of water. Now that I think about it, we should switch to bottled water to be safe.”

  There were so many marvels in this place, Duncan did not know what to look at first.

  The lass who must have been named for the color of her eyes, stepped back, wrinkling her nose.

  “You’ll feel better after a shower. The bathroom’s this way.” She padded off across the tiled floor. “Are you coming?”

  He followed her, looking at the furniture, the fine walls and the colors. ’Twas pleasing if not overly womanly, with so many shades of pink and orange. Rather like living inside the sunset.

  Duncan gaped at the bathing chamber. ’Twas like nothing he had ever seen.

  “Here’s a towel and washcloth.”

  She shut the door to a small room full of brightly colored linens. Then she opened a cabinet full of all kinds of things he wanted to touch.

  “I’m guessing you’re more of a soap guy than a body wash guy.” She sniffed the soap. “It’s grapefruit.” She put the washcloth and soap on the edge of a pink bathtub.

  The walls of the bathing chamber were orange.

  “’Tis verra pink and orange in here.” Did Violet expect him to disrobe in front of her?

  She laughed. “It was this way when I bought the house. I guess the owners never updated it and now I like the pink, but I want to paint the bathroom and the living room. A nice bright white to show off the art and my fabrics.”

  Duncan nodded. “The walls are…”

  “I know, right? Orange walls and a pink tub, toilet, and sink. It’s crazy.” She paused in the doorway. “Do you need anything else?”

  “Where is the chamber pot? And where do I fetch water for my bath?”

  She blinked at him. “The memory loss, right.”

  As she moved to the bath, her arm brushed his. Her skin was soft as a babe.

  “You turn this knob. Left for hot and right for cold. In the middle is just about right.” She turned on the water, and he dropped the towel to kneel and look at where the water was coming from.

  “You are a faerie.”

  “Nope. Just a regular woman. See this little knob?”

  He nodded.

  “Pull it up and the shower comes on.” She pulled the knob and a wondrous rain of water came from above. Duncan touched the water.

  “It’s hot.”

  “Get in. It won’t be hot for long since we don’t have power.” She pointed to a bowl full of water next to the wall.

  “This is the toilet. Where you, you know…” Her face turned a fetching shade of pink.

  “This is toilet paper. To wipe when you’re finished. Throw it in the bowl. Nothing else but toilet paper goes in here. Then push this down.” She pushed a lever, and the water went down into the bowl.

  “If the power stays out, you’ll have to put water in before you flush.”

  He leaned over to examine it when she pushed him back.

  “No. Shower first. Enjoy the hot water. Then you can explore. Yell if you need anything.”

  Viole
t turned in the doorway.

  “I’ll find you something to wear. Leave your stuff on the floor and we’ll wash it later.”

  She pulled the door shut, leaving him to the wondrous scalding water.

  Not wanting to waste it, Duncan quickly stripped and got in the tub, pulling the curtain closed as she’d shown him so water wouldn’t end up all over the white-tiled floor. At least the floor wasn’t pink.

  Hot water washed over him, loosening tight muscles. It had been too long since he’d bathed. Duncan sniffed the soap, ’twas sharp and pleasing. He’d scented it before, when he was outside. He would ask Violet where it came from.

  He used what she called shampoo to wash his hair. It smelled of ripe apples, making his mouth water and his stomach protest. By the time he finished washing, the water had turned icy. He got out, careful not to slip on the floor. When he wrapped the soft towel around him, his shoulder ached, but not as much as he thought it would. The pills must be powerful magic to ease his pain.

  Duncan figured out the garderobe. Where did the waste go? Was there a pit under the house? He’d have to ask.

  On the counter next to the sink, she had left him clothes and a small brush. What was it? Aye, a brush for his teeth, she’d said. He put some red stuff on the brush and scowled. It smelled of spices. When he scrubbed his teeth, the red stuff filled his mouth with foam and the taste of cinnamon made him pick up the tube and look at it. How did they make such wondrous things?

  He spit in the sink and rinsed his mouth with water from the faucet. There was no more hot water, but the cold was refreshing.

  Finished, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Violet must be verra wealthy to have such a large looking glass.

  The wound held together with the magic she had used. Duncan would find out how to make this magic. It would be valuable back home.

  He picked up the clothes she had left for him. The shirt was tight on his chest and arms but verra soft. The pants were gray and soft. He pulled them on. These he recognized. They were hose.