Beyond Time (Highland Secret Series)

by Elizabeth Marshall

  “I’m sorry. I just assumed you wouldn’t understand.”

  “If I don’t understand you, I will say so.”

  “OK,” she said, nodding slowly.

  “So you fled to York a week ago?” he said, prompting her to continue.

  “Yes, I fled to York and when I got there I was lonely and frightened. It was getting dark when I got off the train...”

  “Train?” he interrupted her.

  “It’s a way of travelling... like a large carriage,” she said.

  “So you used this train to get you to York?”

  She nodded. “I was at the bottom of the steps of the Minster when I spotted the Cavalier.”

  “You have Cavaliers still?”

  Grace laughed and her mood immediately lightened.

  “The Cavalier is a hotel, Robert. It’s this place four hundred years in the future.”

  “So you took a room in my house?”

  “I did and what’s more, I stayed in this very room.”

  “My room?”

  “Yes, Robert, your room, and your portrait is still there. But the fireplace has been boarded up.”

  “They boarded up the fireplace?”

  “There is no need for them.”

  “Do they not have cold winters anymore?”

  “Oh yes, the winters are just as cold but they have different ways to heat rooms. They pump hot water into metal panels. The panels get hot and that heat works just as well as a fire does today, even better in most cases.”

  “I think I will keep my fire,” he said, skeptically.

  She watched his eyes as they sparkled in the gentle light of the flames. A frown of confusion veiled them and the hint of something else, something she couldn’t identify, hid in their depths.

  “So you have been sleeping in my room?”

  “Well not exactly sleeping, thanks to that portrait... and you,” she said, rising from the floor and looking up at the portrait.

  “Me? How, Grace? How have I disturbed your sleep?” he said, standing and moving closer to her. They stared at each other, his eyes glistening in the firelight.

  Holding her gaze, he placed his mug firmly on the mantle.

  “Tell me, Grace? How can a man you have never met disturb your sleep?”

  His face was so close that she could smell the whisky on his breath; his lips hovered inches from hers. His hand cupped her cheek and then his long, strong finger trailed the line of her jaw coming to rest beneath her chin. His finger tilted her face and she swayed slightly. He put his hands around her waist and pulled her gently against him. She could feel the taut muscles of his chest against her, the racing of his heart, the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms around her.

  “I... don’t know.”

  “You don’t know, or you don’t understand?”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered breathlessly.

  “Then perhaps we can come to understand?”

  “Yes... perhaps, we can.”

  “But first Grace, I am going to kiss you,” he said, suddenly pulling her hard against him. She gasped, tasting the smoky tang of his lips as they crushed down over hers, searching, desperate and yearning.

  Then he released her gently, as if nothing had happened.

  “Now,” he said, “we may find understanding.”

  Her head felt light and dizzy as she sank back to the comfort of the rug on the floor. If history was right then she was going to marry this man. A man she barely knew but who, with just one kiss had filled the empty space that had been her shattered heart.

  He crouched in front of the fire, dropping more wood into the flames. It cracked and popped as he dug the poker into the glowing embers. She noticed the hard contours of his body as he idly lifted the logs, the wide expanse of his shoulders, his broad back which tapered to a thin waist. She had no doubt that this man had been a fighter and she shuddered at the thought of what that meant. How many men had he killed? She cast her eyes away from him and stared at the rug. Panic tightened in her stomach as the realization of where she was, and with whom, began to dawn.

  “Why did you kiss me?”

  He rose from the fire and lifted his mug off the mantle.

  “Did you not like it?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “If you didn’t dislike it then why question it?”

  “Because I want to know what made you kiss me.”

  “You, Grace, you are what made me kiss you.”

  “Why won’t you answer my question?”

  “I just did.”

  “No, you didn’t. You avoided my question.”

  He sank to the floor beside her on the rug, stretching his long legs out toward the fire and leaning back on his hands.

  “Alright, Grace. I will answer your question. I kissed you because I wanted to make sure you were real.”

  “Oh, so you do think I’m a witch?”

  “No. I have told you I don’t believe in witches.”

  “So if you don’t think I’m a witch what could possibly make you question whether I’m real or not?”

  “Because you have haunted me, Grace. Day in and day out you are there. I close my eyes to sleep and you fill my dreams and now you are here and I will be dammed if I know what to do with you.”

  “Well if I’m so much trouble I’ll just get my things and go,” she said, making to rise from the rug.

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her down.

  “Firstly, I didn’t say you were trouble and secondly you wouldn’t survive long enough to get to the steps of the Minster. You have not the faintest idea where you are and despite what you think, you know nothing of the time you are in. You’re not going anywhere.”

  She tried to pull away from him but he still had her arm in the firm grasp of his hand.

  “I said you’re not going anywhere. Now just sit down,”

  “I did a history degree. I know more than you think I do about this time,” she said, regretting them as soon as the words had left her mouth.

  The sides of his mouth curled in a smile as he let go of her arm.

  “Just sit down, Grace, please?”

  Tears filled her eyes as she realized he was right. She was trapped in a time she didn’t understand, with a man she didn’t know and she had less idea than he did what she should do.

  “Tell me what to do, Robert,” she said, as tears broke free and ran freely down her cheek.

  He moved toward her and brushed the tears from her face.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You are safe here, Grace.”

  “But you don’t want me here, how can I accept your help?”

  “I never said I didn’t want you here.”

  “You haven’t exactly said you do either.”

  “Alright, then I shall say it. I want you here, Grace.”

  “Out of obligation and duty?”

  “Why should I feel obliged or duty bound?”

  “I don’t know; because you found me, because you are an honest man and because you know I have nowhere else to go.”

  “Grace,” he said, raising his finger to her lips, “stop. I want you here because I have longed to have you here. For nights I dreamt of you, held you in my arms and loved you.”

  Their eyes locked and she knew he told the truth, for she had dreamt the same.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I heard your cry for help and when I looked I found you face down and covered with falling snow. Grace I am in love with you,” he said, his voice thick and hoarse with desire.

  She felt her breath catch in her throat, her pulse quickened and a wave of heat rose within her.

  “And I with you, Robert.”

  “May I kiss you again?”

  “Yes... yes, I would like that very much,” she whispered breathlessly.

  ******

  CHAPTER 6

  Grace stirred as a gust of wind lashed the window. She nestled into his embrace, resting her head i
n the curve of his shoulder. A shiver rose up her body and his arm tightened protectively around her, cupping her small hand in his palm. He was instantly awake.

  “Are you cold?”

  “A little,” she said, lifting her left hand to check her watch.

  “It’s nearly six o’clock.”

  “What of it?”

  “Nothing, it’s just that I’m used to getting up now.”

  “Then we shall rise,” he said, removing his hand from hers and sliding out of bed.

  She shivered as his movement produced a cold draft of air in the bed.

  “Stay there.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Putting some logs on the fire.”

  “I could have done that.”

  “I’ve no doubt you could.”

  Sliding out the bed she lifted the top blanket and wrapped it around herself. Still shivering, she made her way to where Robert crouched in front of the fire.

  “Aren’t you cold?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “But you’ve only got a pair of trousers... err, sorry, breeches on.”

  He turned his head from the fire and smiled up at her.

  “What am I going to do with you?”

  Offended, she shot him an accusing look.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean, Grace, is that it’s going to be the devil’s own work keeping you out of trouble.”

  “What, just because I slipped up and called your breeches trousers?”

  “Yes.”

  Flames hissed and danced around each other as another log was dropped into the fire, casting flickering shadows on the white washed walls of the room. Grace moved closer, holding her hands out to the flames. Robert sprung to her side, gently moving her away from the fire.

  “What’s wrong now?”

  “If you stand that close to a fire with a blanket trailing on the hearth, it will catch fire.”

  She lowered her head to her feet and realized he was right. The edges of the woolen blanket hung wide and loose, trailing dangerously close to the flames.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, softly.

  “You have done nothing wrong.”

  “I nearly set fire to your house.”

  A loud rumbling sound bellowed from his throat as he threw his head back and laughed.

  “What?” she said, startled by his laughter. When he didn’t answer she tried again. “What’s so funny?”

  He breathed deeply, choking on a final laugh before reaching out and drawing her into his arms.

  “I do not care one tiny ounce for this building.”

  “But... you just said...”

  “That I didn’t want you to catch fire,” he said, interrupting her mid-sentence.

  “Oh,” she replied, feeling rather silly, “I just assumed you meant the house.”

  “I know,” he said, brushing his lips lightly over the top of her head. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “Not really, but I would love a cup of coffee,” she said, reaching for her backpack.

  He watched her intently as she unzipped it and emptied the contents onto the bed. Triumphantly she held up the coffee, creamer and sugar.

  “Robert Hamilton, you are about to taste heaven.”

  The side of his mouth quirked in a gentle smile.

  “I already have. But I would be more than happy to taste it again.”

  Grace reached for a pillow and threw it at him. He caught it and threw it back at her.

  “I meant this, you Muppet,” she said, laughing and holding up the jar of coffee. “Do you have any boiled water?”

  “No, but I can arrange some.”

  “Not from the river.”

  His eyebrows raised in question.

  “Is there any particular reason why the water can’t be from the river?”

  “There is.”

  “Well, do you care to share the reason with me?”

  “Only if you promise not to laugh at me.”

  “Alright, I promise.”

  “The water in the river is vile.”

  “You haven’t seen the rivers.”

  “No, I don’t need to. The water in those rivers is dangerous and capable of killing us both, boiled or not. There is a well at the back of your posting house. Use that water.”

  He frowned down at her, confusion veiling his eyes.

  “How do you know about my posting house and the well?”

  “I told you, I did a history degree.”

  “And this degree qualified you in the ownership of buildings and location of city wells, did it?”

  “No, I made it my business to find out.”

  “So you deem the water in my well safe to drink?”

  “If it’s boiled, yes.”

  Nodding, he pulled a cotton shirt over his head and moved toward the bedroom door.

  “As it happens, there is a pail of well water downstairs. Coming?” he said, opening the door.

  Grace followed him down the familiar stairs and into what would be the reception area of the hotel. She pulled the blanket tighter as the air pierced its weave. Through the thick window panes she could see a curtain of snow and fog. The wind still howled through the street and deep drifts had appeared against the buildings.

  “It’s so cold in here, Robert.”

  “It won’t be once I get this going,” he said, crouching down on his haunches in front of the empty fireplace.

  “Robert what am I going to do for clothes?” she said, clutching the woolen blanket under her chin.

  Striking the flint over the straw, the kindling burst into flames and a gentle warming glow filled the room.

  “I will get you some.”

  “But it takes months to make a single gown and I don’t have any money to pay for one. I can’t leave the house in jeans and a sweatshirt, so even if I did have the money to pay for one, I could hardly go in search of a seamstress.”

  “I have a sister. She can spare a gown until a new one can be made for you.”

  “I can’t just ask your sister to lend me a dress.”

  “No, you can’t. So I will ask her.”

  “You don’t think she will take offence?”

  “No, I don’t, or I wouldn’t ask her.”

  “I have nothing to give her in return.”

  “She won’t want anything,” he said, lifting a long black coat off the back of a wooden chair.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to get you a gown. The water is through there,” he replied, pointing to a door.

  As Robert opened the front door a gust of wind and snow howled into the room.

  “Don’t open this again until I return. Not for anyone, Grace.”

  She took his meaning well enough.

  Without further comment he was gone. She cast her eyes around the room, so familiar yet so foreign. She pictured the elderly hotel owner, George, in the corner of the room, sitting behind the reception desk, his face nearly always hidden by the cover of a book. She thought of Harry and wished she could tell him he had been right. In truth, she still wasn’t convinced. It was still entirely possible that her mind had created this entire scenario, or that she was in a dream or even dead. Time-travelling four hundred years into the past seemed the least plausible explanation. Her head hurt from trying to understand it all and just at that moment she didn’t much care what had brought her to this place. She was happy, and despite all the uncertainty, Grace felt safe and with this thought she set about making her first cup of coffee in her new life.

  An icy blast of air signaled Robert’s return. White with snow, his hair limply framed the square line of his jaw. Carefully he draped the gown over the back of a chair and proceeded to remove his dripping coat.

  “By God it’s a foul wind that blows today. The streets are knee deep with lying snow. Much more of this and the city will be cut off for sure.”

  “Here, drink this,” she said, handing him a mug of steami
ng hot coffee.

  He cupped his hands around the mug, sniffing thoughtfully at its content.

  “Smells good. Is this the coffee you were so eager to make?”

  “It is,” she said, with pride. “Go on, Robert, try it. Only don’t go getting addicted to it, because I can’t exactly pop back and fetch another jar when this is one is finished.”

  He laughed, bringing the mug up to his lips and taking a generous swig of the liquid. A contented sigh followed as he placed the mug on a table and opened a cabinet. Moments later he extracted a bottle from the cabinet and using his teeth, pulled a cork from the bottle. A liberal measure of its content was poured into the mug before he once more took a hearty swig of the coffee.

  “Now that is a good drink,” he said, smiling broadly at Grace as she stood staring open mouthed at him.

  “How did you know to add whisky to the coffee?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well it’s just something that people do in my time and I didn’t expect you to know to do it.”

  “The people in your time have good taste.”

  “Perhaps, but how did you know to add whisky to your coffee?”

  “You make too much of it, Grace. It tastes good, no?”

  “Well I don’t like it in coffee but then I don’t like whisky, but thousands of other people do, so I guess it must.”

  “Then the reason for doing it isn’t important. Sarah said you could have this gown and I’ve got a cobbler coming around later to make a start on some boots for you.”

  “I hadn’t thought about shoes, but I guess I can’t exactly go around in trainers.”

  “Trainers?”

  “That’s the name of the shoes I was wearing. They are probably ruined from the snow anyway.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid your shoes didn’t look like they were going to be much use to you anymore. Odd leather they use in your time.”

  “It’s not leather. They call it plastic. It’s kinda complicated but basically plastic is a material which is made from oil and oil is extracted from the ground. Odd concept, huh?”

  “Not so odd a concept but I do think the shoes are ugly.”

  Grace laughed. “You know the castle?”

  He nodded, “What of it?”

  “In my time, it’s a museum... a place where people can go and see things from the past. Anyway, there are a couple of displays there dedicated to you.