Time of the Picts: A Time Travel Romance (Hadrian's Wall Book 2)

by Jane Stain

  At least the doorman — Reese, was it? — had the sense to recognize him in time to rush up and open the carriage door for him before he finished paying the driver.

  “Evening, Mr. Caledon.”

  Richard knew many people learned the names of those who serve them every day, but he thought that was foolish and frivolous. Still, his mother had instilled in him her rather middle-class sense of “good manners.”

  So he nodded at Reese before allowing the man to open the front door for him, and when the man called the elevator, and again when he pushed the penthouse floor button.

  Finally, the elevator doors closed and he was rid of the obligation.

  And then they opened, and he relaxed into the splendid atmosphere of his custom-made rooftop greenhouse apartment. His body thrilled with energy at every step he took on the grass, every pass of a tree branch across his chest and over his arm, every tickle of bush or flower on his legs.

  Ah.

  It would take all night just to undo the damage done from being in that man-made monstrosity all day. But he needed to more than undo the damage. He needed to build up energy. To be ready. Just in case. The woman was nobody here, but she wasn’t without resources.

  As he always did, despite how sure he was of the time, he consulted the calendar made of standing stones in his garden. Went into the center and looked to the keystone just as the setting sun found its mark. And nodded to himself in satisfaction. It was almost time. And he would have what he needed.

  After removing all of his clothing, he lay on the grass around the largest tree, then them touch as much of his body as possible while he sang the ritual.

  When she finally got home, Jaelle called Amber.

  Her friend answered before Jaelle even heard it ring.

  “You escaped! How did you do it?”

  Jaelle told her, right up to waking up in her house today. She was about to tell how Richard had stolen the helmet, but Amber kept interrupting. As usual.

  “Wait. So the helmet wasn’t on you? It was in the bag that he hit you with? But you woke up and it was on you?”

  Also as usual, Jaelle’s friend’s interruptions annoyed her. But just a little. Mostly she was glad to have a familiar voice to talk to.

  “Amber, if a helmet can take me back and forth in time 2000 years, what’s so strange about it being able to pop onto my head in the transition? And anyway, that isn’t the point…”

  “Where is the helmet, by the way?”

  “Back in its box in the basement, in front of the washer.”

  “Shouldn’t you lock it up or something? It’s pretty valuable.”

  “You mean in a safe deposit box?”

  “No, no. Keep it at home where you can get to it easily. But it’s an antique. It would suck if some thief took it just because of that. Don’t you have a home safe?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m as poor as they come, Amber. It isn’t easy paying this rent on my own, you know. But I see something that may work. Hold on.”

  “What is it?”

  Jaelle laughed at that despite being slightly annoyed. Amber was not a patient person.

  “Perfect, it will work. It’s John’s motorcycle chain. I’ve chained the helmet to one of the support columns here in the basement. It isn’t going anywhere unless I unlock it.”

  “What if the thief just gets the keys from your purse while you’re sleeping?”

  “Ha! It’s a combination lock.”

  “Oh good. Now tell me what happened today. That sounded like it was going to be good.”

  But Jaelle wasn’t a minute back into her story before Amber interrupted again.

  “Oh come on, Jaelle. There’s no way you know for sure that was John just from a stick figure carving on a stone.”

  Jaelle rolled her eyes before she realized Amber couldn’t see her.

  “You haven’t seen the sword he made. It’s like nothing you would ever imagine — and nothing they would have the technology to make during that time. Which is funny, because it’s supposed to be a period piece. He made it for his SCA persona. Do you know the SCA are a lot more historically accurate than we were at the faire—”

  “Okay, okay. So it’s John. He’s there in the time of the Celts. But Jaelle, so is Breth. So why are you here in our time? I mean, if you just paused long enough to call me and tell me, thank you. But Kelsey will take me into your dream later on tonight like always. So get off the phone and go to him already. Breth, that is. Go to Breth.”

  Jaelle loved Amber. The quirky woman was one of her oldest friends and usually understood her. But truth to tell, she wasn’t very bright.

  "Amber, I can't just quit my job and go rushing off to Breth. Not without a commitment from him that he's going to let me join his family so that I have a place to stay… And it's way too soon for that. I just met him."

  Amber laughed.

  "Yeah, you're right. You did just meet him. What am I talking about? It was so cool, though, watching you hang out with a blue-painted naked dude ― oh, and seeing the inside of a functioning broch. But mostly the naked dude. So good looking, too!"

  Jaelle heaved a heavy sigh.

  "Tell me about it. I have to wait four more days before I can go see him. Lucky you, you have your man right there. In fact, what are you doing on the phone with me for so long? You should be with Tomas."

  It was Amber's turn to sigh, and she did so with such drama that both women laughed some more.

  "Tomas has a lot of work to do. I put off coming down here to Australia as long as I could when I was trying to help you, but—"

  "Oh! Did you and Kelsey find out anything about the impending battles?"

  Amber groaned.

  "Jaelle, all the surviving records are Roman, so they are biased. You know that, right?"

  "Yeah, yeah, I do. So did you find anything?"

  "Well, we did find some stuff. It's not good news."

  "Amber, I know you didn't find out he dies anytime soon, or you wouldn't be telling me to rush off to him."

  "Very funny. You know Breth's not in the historical records at all, right?"

  "I assumed."

  Amber cleared her throat again, an unconscious habit that was a sure sign she didn't want to be in the conversation.

  "There are no heavy Pictish casualties in Breth’s period of time. The cleansing, as the Romans call it, came centuries later, so the news is semi good."

  There was more. Jaelle could tell. So she kept from saying anything, just let the silence bear down on Amber, knowing it would force her to speak. It took almost a minute, which is a long time on the phone, but it worked.

  "That particular broch Breth's clan is in, it's really close to the wall. There aren't any so close in our time. It's not there anymore."

  Bile rose up in Jaelle’s throat, and she ran into the kitchen for a glass of water and chugged it, then gasped for air.

  "Well, he says he doesn't stay there very much. They move around a lot from broch to broch, like nomads. And you know it could have been destroyed centuries into Breth's future."

  "Right. Yeah, you're right. The histories we read don't say when it got destroyed."

  "You know what? Don't look that up."

  "Wasn't going to."

  "Well, tell me about Australia."

  Amber gave a small squeal of delight.

  "The down-under faire doesn't start for another two weeks, but Tomas is really busy doing the advertising and getting vendor contracts signed. Dall does most of that now, but he's teaching Tomas so he can take over soon…"

  For the rest of the conversation — which lasted several hours, during which she ate dinner and took a bath – Jaelle encouraged Amber to speak about her new life. She knew most of the people Amber mentioned, so it was comforting to hear what they were up to. But mostly it just got her mind off waiting to go see Breth.

  Chapter 3

  Jaelle had to drag herself to work each day. All she wanted to do was put on the helmet and return t
o Breth. But it would be foolish to throw away her job just to rush off and see someone she’d only known a week. So she dutifully showed up each day and did her best to be entertaining with the patrons.

  Sparring with Cinnead wasn’t the bright spot in her routine that it once had been. It seemed too easy. He had a hole in his guard. How had she not noticed before? He was huffing and puffing for breath much sooner than usual, too. She didn’t say anything in front of the museum patrons, but when she saw him in the breakroom, she signaled they should go for a walk down into the basement storage, where no one would overhear.

  “I know you said while I was gone for a week you got out of practice, but what's really going on? Your technique is much sloppier than usual."

  "Are you kidding? Your technique is much sharper than usual."

  "It is?"

  "Aye, it is. And you’re faster. And you have new moves. Almost as if you went on a trip to get extra training this last week instead of having the flu."

  He gave her a significant look and crossed his arms, leaning back on the counter, obviously waiting for an explanation.

  And she really liked Cinnead. She owed him a lot, too.

  She was tempted to tell him a tall tale about some secret training camp. That would explain everything so easily. But she had been cautioned about what happened when you told a lie. Something about a tangled web... Well anyway, once you told one lie, you ended up telling so many you couldn't keep them straight. Best to stick with the truth as much as possible.

  She racked her brain. What could she tell him?

  But while she did so, her mouth took off on its own again. She thanked the lord above it didn’t blurt out the whole story.

  "All I can say is I wasn't really sick. You're right. I did get some training—"

  He looked so eager, it broke her heart.

  "I knew it. Where? They're obviously good. Was it expensive? Well, even if it was, I have some savings."

  She tried her hardest to show him empathy and not pity on her face.

  "They don't take just anyone. You need a referral, and I'm not qualified to give one, never will be."

  There was no way he could go. No way he’d be able to keep up.

  The sun woke Richard as usual Sunday morning. Good. All the damage had been undone and he still had time to build up some energy. He grasped the tree as tightly as he could and sang as fast as he could until he was out of time and simply had to stop in order to have time to shower and dress before he ran out the door to catch the carriage the morning doorman knew to call for him.

  These morning rides weren’t nearly so bad as the evening rides.

  He peeked into the diner casually, as he walked by its glass door. Good, the woman wasn’t here yet. He went in and got the meal the doorman had ordered for him, then hurried across the all but deserted street and up into the hideously huge and polished building.

  He had long since finished eating and was congratulating himself on getting the exhibit half ready in half a week when who should enter through the front door but Professor Smerty, carrying a large suitcase. Richard had to concentrate not to see the man in his lecturing robes.

  Looking quite fit and happy for an old gray-hair, Smerty sauntered up to the front desk and gave the girl a pleasant smile.

  “Excuse me, Miss.”

  The receptionist’s eyes widened as she took in the man’s presence.

  “Yes?”

  Smerty reached out his hand to shake the girl’s.

  “I’m Alasdair, the archaeologist from Celtic University, reporting in for my foremaist day o work. Sorry tae be late, but my flight was delayed.” He lifted his suitcase so she could see it.

  Blast! That Jaelle woman had connections she obviously didn’t appreciate, if they could get Smerty here. She entered the lobby next, plainly not knowing who Smerty was. Ignoring him, in fact.

  Richard ran to the men’s room. Once he had put five man-made walls between himself and Smerty, Richard used up all the extra energy from the tree and the grass and the bushes — in order to cast illusion on himself specific and only to Smerty’s vision ― and avoid being recognized.

  Jaelle watched in astonishment as Richard took off running toward the men’s room. And then she smiled. That man deserved to have the runs. He was so…

  Presumptuous?

  No.

  Aloof?

  No.

  Ooh, I know. Condescending.

  She was walking past Reception to pick up her next tour group when the old man at the counter stuck his hand out, eager to shake.

  “Hello. I’m Alasdair Smerty, the new archaeologist. It’s my foremaist day. And ye are?”

  Whoa, Smerty dude. Archaeologists don’t need to shake hands with tour guides. And you’re giving off the strangest vibe.

  And he was. Even with his grey hair and gnarled hands, he had the air of the warrior. Creepy didn’t begin to cover it.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She was not getting close enough for him to grab her hand ― which she was sure he would do, given the opportunity. His stance was ready for a lunge. She put her hands up in a helpless gesture and nodded toward her group, then spoke quickly as she rushed past him.

  “Hello. I’m Jaelle Penzag, one of the tour guides, and I’m needed over there. Please excuse me.”

  Feh. Her hackles raised as she passed by. It was all she could do not to shudder. She safely got to her tour group and thought that was the end of it.

  But the creepy old guy didn't give up.

  At lunch, he was standing around the edge of the break room when she came in, only coming to sit down after she had – right next to her.

  Thank goodness there were other people around.

  He even tried to pass her a note.

  She pointedly ignored it, concentrating on eating her lunch and listening to what Jan had to say about the plans for next year's charity gala. Jan was a good chaperone. Jaelle scooted her chair a little closer to the familiar woman and pointedly did not look in Alasdair's direction.

  Once more, she thought that would be the end of it.

  And once more, it wasn't.

  When it was time to go home, he ran out and walked next to her, smiling at Jan and Cinnead at just the right moments to seem friendly and not stalkery.

  "I'll walk ye to yer car."

  This was ridiculous. Should she threaten him? She would if he touched her. She didn’t have a weapon, but she knew a few karate moves. Just a few.

  "Oh, I don't have a car. I take the bus. The stop is pretty far. You should just go to your own car. Really."

  She walked a little faster, hoping his legs wouldn't be up to her speed, but no such luck. In fact, her luck seemed to be getting worse.

  He hustled to stay beside her.

  "Ye shouldna hae to take the bus. I'll give ye a lift. My car's parked over thataway."

  Enough already! Indignation surged through her.

  Without stopping or even slowing down, she managed to turn her head toward him and give him a derisive look.

  "I don't take rides from strangers. I don't know where you're from, but around here you won't find many women who will."

  Man oh Manischewitz, why hadn't she raised her voice when she said that? This man shouldn't work at the museum. He was clearly a predator. And now when his body was found, it would seem as if she were the aggressor. Better yell.

  But when she turned to do that, she saw that her luck had changed. Finally.

  Looking deflated, he was letting her walk on without him. But he called out after her in one last pathetic effort to get her to go with him. The audacity.

  "I think ye wull be interested in what I have tae say."

  At that, Jaelle allowed herself to break into a flat-out run to the bus stop, praying the whole time the bus would come soon and Alasdair wouldn't drive by in his car. For some reason, she just didn't think she could take that.

  But her new good luck held. The bus did come soon.

  Once
she got on, she didn't stop to think about where Alasdair Smerty might be from, who had sent him, or why. She didn't care, just dismissed him as someone else's problem. Because she was on her way to see Breth again.

  One agonizingly long bus ride later, she was home. Where the helmet was. Her ticket back to Breth!

  Eagerly, she ran down to the basement, changed into the knee-length plaid sheath dress from his time, and went to put on the helmet.

  But then she stopped. Grabbing a large purse ― a leather one that could pass for a period piece ― she shoved in anything she could think of that she might need: Tampons, check. Swiss Army knife, check. Matches, check...

  A dozen more items later, she was back to the helmet and putting it on, indescribably excited to be seeing Breth again.

  Chapter 4

  Breth enjoyed using the new fighting moves Jaelle had shown them. Practice truly was fun again now, as much fun as it had been when he was young and eager. Perhaps even more so.

  The clan won most of their battles now. It was really helping. It was a kind favor the druids of the future had given him ... him and the rest of the clan. He was glad she'd been here.

  Breth ducked as Talorac lunged straight for his face, laughing as Jaelle used to do when she did the same move.

  He winked at his brother.

  Well done. That move is anything but new to us anymore, but it sure is new and dangerous to the barbarian invaders, aye?"

  "Aye, the moves all work a charm, don't they?"

  "Aye."

  The two of them smiled at each other awkwardly.

  Everyone knew Breth would rather Jaelle were here than just her sword moves.

  Breth was moving on to his next bout partner when his mother drew near with her hand on her chin, a sign that she wanted to have a word but wasn't going to use her authority as the clan's planning chief's wife in order to be obvious about summoning him. Not in front of the other clans who were gathered all around, practicing and gathering and herding along with his clan.