Eternity

by Eternity(Lit)

  The moment she straightened, one hand on her aching back, she saw the ass print in dust on the mattress. She stared at it blankly for several moments and finally glanced around the room. Two of her bags were open, the contents strewn all over the place.

  "Oh my god! I’ve been burgled!"

  She clapped a hand over her mouth, wondering if the burglar was still in the castle. He would’ve heard her coming up the stairs, though. She’d been making a lot of noise.

  It was a ‘he’. She had no doubt of that, and a pretty damned big ‘he’ at that if the size of his feet was anything to go by. He’d left bare footprints in the dust on the floor.

  And then there was the perfect print of a bare ass on her mattress.

  She stared at it, wondering if it was some weird kind of graffiti, or maybe something the local teen gang did as a sort of gang signature.

  Moving to the suitcases, she was on the point of checking them when it occurred to her that she probably ought not to touch them or move anything. She should leave them for the police to look at.

  At a glance, she couldn’t see that anything was missing--nothing important at any rate.

  She was going to have to drive back into town to contact the police. She didn’t have a phone and she hadn’t seen a house between here and the village.

  She didn’t really want to go back to town, not again tonight.

  She damned sure wasn’t going to leave her gold lying around.

  For that matter, she didn’t think she wanted the cops in her room after she’d hidden it in her mattress.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed to think it over, staring at that ass print.

  Finally, she decided just to hide her gold, check the castle and make sure nobody was in it with her and then lock up. She could report the burglary in the morning … after she’d found a really good hiding place for her gold.

  She’d hefted her makeshift bag onto the bed, counted the coins and was on the point of dropping them into the holes in the mattress when she got to thinking about the posts of the bed. The foot board of the bed was only about half the height of the head board. Catching hold of the ornamental finial that toped one post, she twisted it back and forth a few times and finally managed to pull it off. She post, she discover with a surge of excitement, had been made similar to a cask. Instead of having been made from one solid piece of wood, it was made from several planks glued or nailed together and hollow in the center.

  She’d have to take the bed apart to get the coins out again, but surely that was preferable to having someone plop down on the bed and hearing the jingle of coins?

  It certainly seemed so to her, and she scooped the coins up and dropped them in, replacing the ornamental top carefully and using a shoe to hammer it down tightly.

  When she’d finished, she grabbed a shirt from her suitcase and went down to get the rest of her cleaning supplies.

  It was just as well she’d decided not to go back to town, she thought wryly, because she’d been so excited about her discovery, she’d forgotten she’d left the headlights on. Climbing into the car, she turned the key and, to her relief, managed to get it started. Leaving it running so that the battery could recharge, she carried her cleaning supplies inside.

  Taking the broom, which was the only weapon looking thing she had, and a flashlight, she did a room by room search. Finally, reassured that she was alone in the castle, she bolted the front door and went upstairs to finish cleaning the room while she waited for the car to charge up its battery enough that she felt safe to turn it off.

  * * * *

  Nigel felt considerably better after he’d fed. He still didn’t feel entirely up to snuff, but he certainly felt far better than he had.

  It had disturbed him a good deal when he’d discovered that he was too weak and ill to morph. He hadn’t had that problem since he’d been a mere youngster.

  He didn’t realize just how deeply it had shaken him until he thought about morphing for the return trip to the castle and realized he wasn’t at all anxious to try it.

  It wasn’t that far to walk anyway.

  The door was bolted when he got home.

  He was on the point of pounding on it furiously when it occurred to him that O’Neal had undoubtedly discovered that he’d awakened and was so arrogant as to think he could keep Nigel out with nothing more substantial than a door!

  It took him two tries to dematerialize and flow beneath the door like smoke.

  It shook him.

  It also infuriated him, not the least because he discovered he hadn’t managed to make the transition with his clothes. Snatching the door open, he retrieved them from the other side and struggled into them once more.

  When he was dressed again, he looked around the shambles of his front hall for a victim.

  He’d already opened his mouth to bellow for O’Neal when a distinctly feminine scream filtered to him from the second floor. There was such terror in the sound that his heart seemed to stand still in his chest. His blood ran cold.

  Jerking all over in reaction, he ran to the stairs and bolted up them, following the series of screams to his own apartment.

  When he flung open the door, a young woman whirled to look at him with terror stricken eyes. Before he could even ask her what danger lurked, she whacked him up side the head with the broom she was wielding like a sword.

  He was too stunned to duck, certainly too surprised to think about dematerializing.

  As she swung at him again, however, he collected himself and moved.

  * * * *

  Emily had never liked spiders. In point of fact, a spider was the one thing in the world, besides snakes, that could almost instantly turn her from a rational human being into a blithering maniac with only one thing on her mind--kill.

  She’d thought the cobwebs were just that, abandoned, uninhabited--trash.

  When the eight legged monster dropped from the web she swept down, she screamed in mindless terror, swinging her broom at it frantically as it darted in first one direction and then another.

  It chased her a while. She chased it awhile, but there was one thing Emily was absolutely certain of, she was going to kill the thing if she had to take the room apart.

  She’d just managed to beat it into a smear when the door to her room crashed open. Whirling at the new threat, Emily didn’t so much as spare a split second to consider the wisdom of attacking the mammoth standing just inside her door with nothing but a broom. Adrenaline was still pumping wildly through her. Uttering a feral shriek, she went after him, swinging for all she was worth.

  She might have missed him except for the fact that he came to an abrupt halt on the threshold as if he’d been pole-axed. She managed to hit him twice before she swung and missed.

  Her momentum swung her in a wide circle and she discovered as she spun around that he’d managed to leap behind her. Screaming gibberish that didn’t even make sense to her, she went after him again.

  Again, he managed to slip past her. Sneaking up on her blind side, he grabbed her from behind, catching her hands.

  "Now what’er ye gonna do, ye termagant!"

  Emily let out a growl of pure fury, lifted one leg and stomped his instep. At the same moment, since he’d grabbed her hands, preventing her from swinging the broom, she pivoted it, whacking him in the middle of the forehead with the broom handle.

  He yelped and released her, hopping on one foot and rubbing his forehead. Emily whirled on him and grabbed his "Achilles heel".

  He went instantly still, his eyes widening.

  "Make one move, you fucking pervert, and I’ll crack your nuts like pecans."

  He stared at her wide eyed, unmoving, hardly breathing. "Kindly take yer hands off me ballocks."

  Emily gave them an experimental squeeze and he winced. "What the hell are you doing wearing my clothes, you pervert!"

  "Yers?" he yelped, aghast. "Ye wear men’s attire then, do ye?"

  "Men don’t usually wear pink jogging suits,
" Emily said dryly. Her adrenaline rush was rapidly departing and concern took its place as she realized she had the bull by his horns and didn’t know what to do with him now.

  His eyes narrowed. "Pink or no, things’ave changed a bit more than I’d’ve thought if women are running around in men’s breeches."

  Emily stared at him. "Where have you been? Mars? My god, women have been wearing pants for...." She frowned, trying to think how long it had been and realized she didn’t know that much about the history of clothing. "Years and years. And they’re not men’s breeches, damn it. They’re my breeches … I mean my jogging pants. What kind of nut case breaks into a woman’s home only to steal her pink jogging suit?"

  "Yer home? Tha’s a fine one. This is my home, I’ll have ye ta know, and has been for several hundred years at least."

  He was obviously pissed off, but he didn’t really seem dangerous and, frankly, Emily wasn’t terribly comfortable about holding his balls.

  Releasing them cautiously, she stepped back and looked him over.

  It was her jogging suit all right. He was so big, though, that not only did it fit him like a second skin, but the sleeves of the top ended about halfway between his elbows and his wrists, and the pants looked like pedal pushers.

  Then there was the middle.

  It didn’t quite meet and exposed a very nice, tight belly. There was a narrow trail of dark hair from his belly button downward.

  She shook the thought off. Either he was gay, or he was one of those guys that were ‘in’ to wearing women’s clothes. Either way, it didn’t matter how good he looked, because the interest wasn’t likely to be mutual.

  He looked pretty damned good, though, all over. His hair was the next thing to black, and long, hanging well past his shoulders. His eyes were a beautiful, bright shade of blue, and his craggy, purely masculine features made her tummy jumpy.

  She frowned. "Several hundred … Are you trying to make me believe you’re a ghost?"

  He looked taken aback. "Are ye daft, lass? Do I look like a bloody ghost ta ya?"

  Emily gave him a narrow eyed glare. "No, you don’t. You look like a pervert."

  His eyes narrowed. "Ye’ve called me that three times now and I’d like ta ken what ye mean by it."

  She plunked her hands on her hips. "Well, you are wearing my clothes. You figure it out."

  He studied her for several moments. "In my day a woman who’d wear breeches would be the pervert. And now I think on it, what sort of lady are ye ta be grabbing me by me ballocks? Cause I’m thinkin’ yer no lady atall," he growled at her.

  The comment almost surprised a chuckle out of her. She pretended to cough instead. "What I am is the owner of this property. And what you are is an intruder. Leave!" she commanded, pointing toward the door.

  He leaned toward her threateningly. "I am the owner, and what’s more I’m a hell of a lot bigger than ye, lass. I could toss ye out on yer arse without a bit o’ trouble."

  "Well, you’re wrong there, buddy," Emily said, stepping up to him until they were practically nose to nose and stabbing him in the chest with her finger. "Because I happen to know a little something about kick boxing and if I can’t kick your ass, I can damn well make you know you’ve been in a fight. And, if you do manage to put me out, I’ll go straight to the cops and have them back here to arrest your sorry ass before you can spit!"

  "Maybe I’ll just eat ye instead," he growled.

  That comment surprised a snorting laugh from her. "Thanks for the offer, but I’m good. My boyfriend gave me head before I left home. Right now I’m a lot more interested in getting you out of here than ‘in’ to me."

  He straightened, studying her with a look of surprise. "Ye are daft, lass. Ye talk strange an’ I’ve no idea what yer sayin’ half the time."

  Emily shrugged. "Not my problem. I want my clothes back before you leave, too."

  "What’ve ye done with me own things, then, I’d like ta know? Ye expect me ta walk about swingin’ in the breeze? Fer I’ve not a stitch ta my name with my clothes rotting off in tatters and everythin’ else gone.

  "And now I’m at it, where’s O’Neal? Did he sell ye my place? Is that what yer sayin’?"

  "I bought it through a land agent, MacGregor--fair and square--all paid. I think he was selling it for the taxes, but I don’t know much about British law and I wasn’t really clear on why it was up for sale except that nobody seemed to own it anymore."

  He frowned. "But I had all tha legal work done up on it. This is tha truth, lass? My castle was put up fer sale?"

  Emily felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as it occurred to her to wonder if the man was telling the truth and somehow he’d been cheated out of his place. He seemed sincere, and puzzled, and more than a little stunned by the turn of events. "Look, I’m really sorry. But I did buy the place and as far as my lawyer could see everything was in order. When did you do this legal work you’re talking about? Maybe, somehow, things got screwed up and it wasn’t properly recorded."

  He frowned. "April, I think."

  "This year? Last year?"

  "Seventeen fifty three."

  Emily gaped at him. Cold washed over her, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickle. "Oh. Well, that’s been a little while," she said faintly, realizing suddenly that the man must be an escapee from a mental hospital. "I tell you what … let me just run downstairs to find my papers and I’ll let you have a look at them. How’s that?"

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously as she began inching toward the door. "How long ago?"

  Emily gave him a blank look. "How long ago, what?"

  "You said it had been a while. How long?"

  Emily had managed to work her way to the door by that time. She glanced toward it out of the corner of her eye and was relieved to see it was standing ajar. "I’m … actually, I’m really bad at math. I’m not exactly sure."

  His lips tightened. "Tell me the year. I’ll do the math."

  "Two thousand four," Emily flung at him, leaping out the door and making for the stairs as hard as she could run.

  Chapter Four

  She couldn’t hear him behind her, but then her heart was pounding in her ears like the drum section of a marching band. She almost tripped and rolled to the bottom but managed to catch herself just in time. She skipped the last three stairs, leaping from the fourth and landing in the hall at a run.

  She’d left the car running to charge the battery. It was nothing short of a miracle that the damned thing hadn’t run out of gas. She broke three nails getting the door open and dove inside. She wanted to throw it in gear and take off, but all the doors were unlocked and there was no way she was going to drive, at night, with a lunatic on the loose, with her doors unlocked. What if she came upon another one?

  As she hoisted herself across the back of the front seat to slam the rear door locks down, she saw the man appear in the door. Sliding back into her seat, she put the car in gear and dug two strips of dirt and rock into the air, then burned rubber as she hit the pavement. The car swerved wildly. With an effort, she managed to straighten the vehicle on the road. When she glanced back in the rear view mirror, she didn’t see a sign of him, but she couldn’t convince herself that he wouldn’t suddenly land on top of her car like the killer maniacs always did in the movies.

  "Oh god! I was talking to him!" she muttered, feeling a shiver skate down her back. "Just standing there like a complete idiot making conversation with a lunatic!"

  Maybe he wasn’t a dangerous, psychopathic lunatic?

  The escapee theory would explain why he didn’t have any clothes, though. He’d probably thrown the hospital gown away.

  She glanced down at the gas gauge and was dismayed at the level.

  "Don’t panic! There’s more gas in the back," she reminded herself when she remembered she’d only taken one of the cans inside.

  Something fluttered near her window and Emily gasped, turning to glance at it several times before she finally reali
zed it was … or it looked like … a small bird flying right beside her car.

  She ran off the edge of the road. By the time she’d straightened the car again, she’d lost sight of it.

  She realized at just about that same moment that she was on the wrong side of the road--again. Jerking the wheel, she veered sharply into the lane she was supposed to be traveling in. Almost at the same instant, the little bird that had been flying by her window smacked into the front wind shield so hard it cracked the glass. Screaming, Emily slammed on the brakes instinctively.

  She sat gasping for breath when the car came to a halt, fighting the urge to burst into tears.

  She lost the battle. "Poor little bird!" she sobbed.

  Looking around, she gauged the distance she’d put between herself and the castle and decided it was safe to get out and check on the bird she’d murdered with her rental car.

  She found it lying in the road several yards in front of the car. It must have been thrown from the hood, she decided, when she slammed on the brakes.

  It wasn’t a bird.

  It was a bat.

  A shudder went through her, but, really, it was kind of cute and so helpless, the poor little thing. As she bent down for a closer look, she saw that its tiny, little chest was still moving.

  Maybe she’d only stunned it?

  But what should she do? If she left it where it was, somebody was liable to run over it. After a few moments, she ran back to the car, opened the glove box and popped the trunk, then grabbed a hamburger wrapper off the floor of the car. She didn’t want to touch it. It was bleeding and there was no telling what sort of diseases the thing might be carrying.

  It was still lying where she’d left it, barely breathing. She nudged it with the toe of her shoe, just to make sure it wasn’t conscious enough to bite her, and finally opened the paper wrapper and picked it up.

  It felt warm. She felt a welling of nausea and revulsion as she scurried around to the trunk and very carefully layed it inside.