The Key to Her Heart: A Time Travel Romance

by Dabney, Blanche

  She woke up at three o’clock on Tuesday morning with the answer. She sat bolt upright in the darkness, the only sound that of the humming refrigerator downstairs.

  He’d said she’d only been gone a couple of hours. How had she not noticed that at the time?

  She already knew the answer to that one. She’d been too busy trying not to melt into a puddle at the sight of him looming over her, fury etched into his face as he glared at her for the second time in a week.

  Tabby might have said he was eccentric but it was much more than that. He had no concept of time. She’d gone up there on Friday and then again on Monday and he thought she’d only been gone a couple of hours?

  Was it dementia? He seemed young for that but she had read of some unfortunate cases of mental decline in the younger generation.

  She smiled. Mental decline wasn’t just something that happened to other people. Here she was was sitting upright in bed at five past three in the morning thinking about a man she was never going to see again.

  She settled back down slowly and when she finally got up to start the day a few hours later, she did her best to wipe him from her mind. He kept intruding like an itch but she kept refusing to think about scratching it.

  She was downstairs early and when Tabby finally got out of bed, she found Daisy wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa, scrolling through the classifieds on her cellphone, looking for the dream job she knew was out there. Historical themed bakery requires chef. Pay eight million a year. That would do.

  Failing that any job would suffice. Being unemployed was demoralizing, especially after passing through university with seemingly nothing to show for it but a certificate in a frame and a debt the size of a small country’s GDP.

  “You’re up early,” Tabby said as she shuffled in, blowing her nose as she came. “Did my sneezing wake you?”

  “No, I just couldn’t sleep.”

  “What you looking at?” Tabby asked, heading through to the kitchen. “Tea?”

  “Make it a coffee and I’ll give you one guess.”

  “If you’re still job hunting I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  The sound of the kettle being filled temporarily stopped the conversation. A moment later, Tabby appeared in the doorway once more, peeling a banana as she talked. “You could become a courier like me.”

  “With my sense of direction? I’d get lost just getting to the depot.”

  “Well, for one thing, you made it to MacGregor Castle and back without crashing off a cliff. For another, there’s always plenty of work going.”

  “I don’t know, Tabby.”

  “You still want your bakery don’t you?”

  “Am I asking too much?”

  Before Tabby could answer, the letterbox flapped in the hallway. “That’s early,” Tabby said with a frown. “Don’t get up. I’ll drag my dying body toward it.”

  “You must be getting better,” Daisy called after her. “You’re back to whinging.”

  “Cheeky sod,” Tabby replied, coming back through with a card in her hand.

  “I was only kidding.”

  “Not you, the mail man. He’s put one of those tried to deliver cards through the door.”

  “But he didn’t try, he didn’t even knock.”

  “I know. Oh, look, it’s for you.”

  She passed the slip over before heading back to the kitchen to make the drinks. Daisy looked down at it. Daisy Stone. There it was, in black and white. But she wasn’t expecting anything.

  Collect from the depot between eight and twelve today, it read. She looked at the clock on the wall. Quarter to eight.

  “You might as well go get it now,” Tabby said when she came back through with the drinks.

  “The mailman will still have it in his bag,” she replied. “I’ll go later on.”

  “Pick up some more coffee on the way back, would you. I’ve just used the last of it.”

  “No coffee? This is a disaster.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve already summoned the war council. Full defcon five. Or one. Hang on, which is worse?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  They sat together on the sofa, Tabby blowing her nose every couple of minutes. Daisy continued looking through the classifieds, becoming increasingly pessimistic. Everything required years of experience she didn’t have.

  “You’ve got quite the look on your face,” Tabby said. “What’s up. Thinking about the laird again?”

  Daisy sighed, putting down her cellphone. “No, I was thinking about jobs. I don’t spend all my time thinking about him.”

  “Yes, you do. You’ve a huge crush on him.”

  “I’ve not got a crush on Jock MacGregor.”

  “Yes, you have. You’ve been moping ever since you delivered that parcel. Why not go up there and ask him out on a date?”

  “Sure. I’m sure the laird of an entire clan with a castle of his own would leap at the chance to date me. After all, I’ve still got all my own teeth and my bank account nearly reaches four figures. If you count the decimal place.”

  “Stop it.” Tabby gave her a shove in the arm. “You’re always putting yourself down. You’re a catch and if I were him, I’d jump at the chance of getting to know you.”

  “No you wouldn’t.”

  “I would. What is it you like about him anyway? I thought you said he was rude to you when you saw him.”

  “He is rude.”

  “And handsome, I’m guessing?”

  “So handsome.” Daisy sighed. “I feel like that time I had a crush on Mr. Johnson. You remember?”

  “Our biology teacher? How could I forget? The whole school saw that note you sent him.”

  “I can’t believe I was that stupid as to think he’d read it and agree to marry me just like that.”

  “What would you have done if he’d said yes?”

  “Probably done better in my biology exam.”

  They both laughed. Daisy felt some of the despair drift away. “You’re not that bad at making me feel better.”

  “And you’re rubbish at choosing who to fancy. First a married biology teacher and now a Scottish laird. Who’s next? The Prime Minister?”

  “Nah. They’d only want me for my vote.”

  “Is that what you’re calling it now? Shove the telly on. Let’s find some trash to watch.”

  With the TV on in the background, they continued to talk, Daisy trying her best to get her feelings organized. She listened to Tabby telling her there was nothing wrong with having a crush. She knew she was right but why couldn’t she stop feeling so bad about it?

  The TV helped distract her, their conversation fading as they both slumped back on the couch to watch it.

  Daisy only realized she’d fallen asleep again when Tabby nudged her. “If you want to get your parcel you better get a move on,” she said. “It’s half eleven.”

  Daisy sat up, yawning. “I fell asleep then.”

  “You were snoring.”

  “I was not.”

  “I thought they were digging up the road outside, you were that loud.”

  Daisy got to her feet. “You can talk, Lady Honks-a-Lot.”

  “You referring to my nose or my butt?”

  “You decide.” Daisy walked out the room and into the bathroom. A quick wash and then she got dressed, heading out the door a few minutes later, regretting her choice of clothes at once. It was baking hot out there, the sun beating down without a cloud in the sky to shield her from the summer heat.

  Turning on her heels, she pushed the door open again.

  “That was quick,” Tabby shouted over the TV.

  “I haven’t gone yet. I’m just going to change into something cooler.”

  “Change into something useful like a pizza.”

  “It’s too early for pizza.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  Pulling open the chest of drawers in her room, Daisy picked something a bit more suitable for the warm weather.

 
Strappy top in light pink, the one that was clingy enough to not billow outward and expose too much cleavage. Sandals and a floral skirt.

  She glanced at herself in the mirror, tugging the skirt into place. It would do. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere important.

  She drove the car into town and parked as close to the sorting office as she could get. It was a quarter of a mile walk to it but she was able to avoid the main road, taking a narrow old cobbled street that reminded her of going back in time.

  If the Ripper had appeared at the end of the road with a knife in his hand, she wouldn’t have been too surprised. She would have run for her life but she wouldn’t have been too surprised. Maybe she could have asked him his name first, clear up that mystery for everyone.

  She found herself humming a tune as she walked, the heat making her feel good even as the buildings began to cast a shadow over her.

  There was no one behind the counter at the sorting office so she rang the bell and waited. A full two minutes later a man with a hipster beard meandered into sight.

  “Yes,” he said, sounding as if the prospect of speaking to another human being filled him with shuddering revulsion.

  “Hi, I’m here to pick this up.” She slid the card over the counter.

  He sighed. “Just a minute.”

  Daisy waited as he vanished from sight.

  She waited some more.

  And waited even more.

  She was about to ring the bell again when he finally reappeared, a splodge of ketchup in his beard, bacon sandwich in one hand, her card in the other.

  “That’s not from us,” he said, sliding the card back across to her. “I reckon someone’s been having you on, love.”

  “What? Who would do that?”

  “You tell me. What are your friends like?”

  “You’re telling me there’s no parcel waiting here for me.”

  “Nope.” He shrugged. “Sorry and that.”

  “Great,” she said, turning away. “Thanks a lot.”

  She pushed open the door and headed back toward her car. She’d only made it to the next road when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

  She turned round to find herself looking into the rheumy eyes of a man far older than any she’d ever seen before. He had the sorting office coat on his shoulders but it hung from him as if it weighed him down.

  He was little more than skin and bones. His skin was pale, almost translucent, his lips barely more than two lines on his face.

  “We found it,” he said hoarsely, pushing a wooden box toward her. “Your parcel.”

  “Oh,” she replied, taking it from him. “Thanks. I mean, I thought you couldn’t find it.”

  “The label had fallen off,” he said. “You be on your way.” He smiled as he touched the top of her hand with his own. She expected him to feel cold but his fingers were surprisingly warm. “Time is ticking.”

  He let go, turning and shuffling back around the corner out of sight.

  She stood for a moment after he went. There was something oddly familiar about him. Had she seen him before? She couldn’t have done.

  She felt a heavy weight in her hands as her attention was drawn back to the box. It looked much like the one she’d delivered to Jock MacGregor. Had he sent it back to her?

  Of course not. He didn’t even know where she lived. Nonetheless it did look an awful lot like the one she’d taken up to him.

  She pulled open the lid of the box and looked inside. A silver key marked with the letter M.

  She reached into the box and then two things happened at once. As her fingers closed around the key she heard the deafening sound of a car horn. At the same time she felt rather than saw something hurtling toward her.

  She didn’t see what it was. There was the screech of brakes loud in her ears but by then instinct had already closed her eyes.

  She felt no pain when it hit. That was strange when she thought about it afterward. There was a roaring noise like a hurricane force wind. She felt herself lifted off her feet as something slammed into her but then nothing.

  When she opened her eyes again she knew something had happened but she couldn’t remember what.

  She was in a room lit only by candles set into the far wall. The place had a smell of lavender to it and something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Was that mint?

  Her head hurt as did her legs. Something had happened to her. Had she been hit by a car?

  She remembered the sound of a horn and brakes but then what? Nothing came to mind.

  “Am I dead?” she asked, her voice surprisingly weak.

  She thought hard. There was just a big gap in her memory before the candles and the smell and then a man was leaning over her, his face filled with concern.

  She looked up. “Doctor?”

  “I am no physician,” the man replied. “Though I can tell you are alive, not dead.”

  She squinted, trying to make out the face that peered down at her. She knew that face and that Scottish accent. “Jock MacGregor?” she said, trying to sit up and wincing as pain lanced through her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought you to the infirmary. How badly are you hurt?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell. Can you turn the lights on?”

  “They are lit. Are your eyes not working? Stay still. I will fetch the physician at once.”

  She lay back as he disappeared into the shadows. What kind of hospital was lit by candlelight? She lifted her neck to look around her. All she could make out were little islands of light around each candle.

  There were other beds just visible in the gloom but she could not tell if they were occupied.

  Looking down she saw that the blankets covering her were made of rough wool. The floor was hidden beneath a layer of straw. The ceiling was lost in the darkness above her.

  How had she ended up here? And just where was here anyway?

  Chapter Six

  Jock found Alan in his preparation room at the end of the infirmary. He was seated at his long table, hunched over a pestle and mortar, grinding strong smelling herbs into mush.

  On the perch beside him, his parrot eyed Jock with his head cocked to one side. “Morning,” the parrot said. “Morning laird.”

  Alan glanced over his shoulder. “How is she?”

  “She is awake,” Jock said. “You must tend to her.”

  “And I shall,” Alan replied. “To treat her, I must ken what ails her. Where did you find her?”

  Jock thought for a moment. It would sound ridiculous to tell the truth. “Passed out near my bedchamber.”

  That part was technically true. He had found her on the floor outside his bedchamber. The part that he didn’t mention was what happened before then.

  He had been asleep less than an hour when something woke him. He sat up at once, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. There was no sound other than the crumbling embers of the fire, the remains of a log falling in on itself as he climbed out of bed. Was that it? No, he would not have woken up to the noise of the fire. It was something else.

  A sound was coming from the mantelpiece above the fire. It sounded like a woman humming, the sound distant and then loud, then faint once more, like it was traveling in waves.

  Where was it coming from?

  He assumed it was coming in from the window but looking out threw no light on the matter. He could see only the dark courtyard, no one was out there. The humming was louder again, this time definitely coming from inside his room.

  He turned back and walked over to the mantelpiece. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn the sound was coming from the wooden box Daisy had delivered to him.

  He opened the box and there was the key, nestled once again on the velvet cushion, not where he’d left it before settling for the night.

  His hand was in the box before he knew what he was doing. He touched the key and the instant he did he heard the strangest screeching sound.

  A moment later there was a
thud outside his door. It fell open and her unconscious form slumped into the room, lying still on the rug. He ran to her and scooped her into his arms, sprinting out for the infirmary.

  “Passed out near your bedchamber?” Alan echoed back. “I see.” He lifted the herbs up and sprinkled them into a cup, adding water from the kettle above the fire. “Were there any visible wounds?”

  “I cannae tell. She was passed out and didnae wake until just now.”

  “You did the right thing bringing her down to me.” He took the cup through to the main infirmary chamber, Jock following him. Daisy had her eyes closed once more.

  “She lives?” Jock asked.

  “Aye, though the sleep is best for her. When she wakes again make sure she drinks that. I must speak with the priest at once.”

  “Why?”

  “I was not born yesterday, my laird. She is clearly a witch.”

  “She is nothing of the sort.”

  “Her clothes are those of the devil. She is not of this clan and she had no reason to be in the keep so late at night. She can only be a witch.”

  Jock grabbed the blankets and pulled them down, lifting Daisy’s chemise to expose her stomach. “Do you see the devil’s mark there?”

  “I see no mark but look at the fabric you hold in your hand. It is like nothing I ken. I will not treat a witch until I speak with the priest.”

  Jock raised the blankets before turning to Alan, his eyes narrowing. “You will tend to her on the orders of your laird or you will find yourself treating lepers out on Dogwood Island by sunset tomorrow. Do you understand me?”

  Alan’s face turned pale. “But I could burn in hell if I-”

  “Tend to her. That is your job.”

  “But-”

  “Do it!” His raised voice was loud enough to wake Daisy. She blinked her eyes open and looked up at the two of them.

  “Where am I?” she asked. “Is this the doctor? Why is he dressed so funny?”

  “I might ask the same question,” Alan replied, passing her the cup. “Here, drink this.”

  She sipped at the contents, grimacing and then coughing loudly. “What is that?”

  “It will placate your humors,” Alan replied. “Now tell me, what do you remember before passing out?”