A Bridge Through The Mist

by Denise A. Agnew

  "Why didn’t you want the boy to tell anyone about me?" she asked.

  One corner of his mouth tilted in a smile far from amused. He shook his head. "Word of a strange lass within the castle walls wad spread fast."

  "What? Why surely, with all the other tourists—"

  "I dinna ken what you mean by tour … tourists." He reached out slowly and touched the metal tab of the zipper on her jacket. "‘Tis a strange thing, this cloak. And ye are wearin’ a man’s trews."

  Alenna shifted away from him and swung her feet off the pallet. "I’d like to stand, please."

  He twitched an eyebrow and nodded. "Risk it if ye will."

  She stood slowly, gratified when everything stayed exactly where it was supposed to. "I think I’m fine now."

  Time, as the cliché said, to get the hell out of Dodge.

  Taking a chance, she headed for the door, her feet sprouting wings. She hit the door at the same time she heard him spit something that sounded like a curse.

  Before she could fling the door open, the man’s hands slammed down on either side of her head, bracketing her in and pinning her entire body from chest to toes to the door. Every tight, hard muscle of his body pressed against her. A lightning bolt of fear paralyzed her.

  "What do ye think ye are doin’?" Deep with indignation, his voice whispered low in her ear, his warm breath tickling the back of her neck and her cheek. "Ye no can go out there."

  "Let me go!" She twisted toward him, trying to recall her self-defense training. She stomped on his foot.

  He let out a bellow and another curse but he barely budged. Adrenaline pounded through her system, and she aimed up with her knee. He was too fast. Blocking her aim at his groin, he leaned against her so her palms plastered against his broad chest. She sucked in a panicky breath as his hips jammed against her and pinned her legs against the door.

  Fear slammed through Alenna. The heavy pressure of him against her forced the air out of her lungs. She looked up and realized the top of her head just peaked over his shoulder. Enveloped by his strength, she forced herself to relax, trying to give him the illusion she’d surrendered.

  His dark gaze blazed with angry fire, his arms caging her to the door with a strength she’d never experienced. But then, she’d never had to wrestle with a man to get away.

  More fear poured through her system. Oh, God. What the hell did he have in mind? Maybe if she tried to reason with him, he’d let her go. Fighting was out of the question, for the moment.

  "Release me, and I won’t scream," she said, attempting to lace her words with steel.

  "Do ye really think anyone will come to yer aid if ye scream, lass?"

  "Of course."

  "No one," he said quietly. "But ye dinna need to fear me. I willna force myself on ye."

  "What do you call this?" she asked, wiggling against him.

  "Ye dinna ken the danger in goin’ out there."

  "What could possibly be more dangerous about being outside than in here with you?"

  "Ye have nothin’ to fear from me."

  She sighed. "You’re holding me against my will, and I don’t know what your intentions are."

  "‘Tis my warrant, as a knight, to protect a woman’s honor."

  Alenna smirked, amazed at the historical crap he spouted and how he continued playing the part. From what she’d heard, knights didn’t go about trying to protect damsels in distress. That was an overblown fairy tale.

  "Look, you don’t have to keep play acting for me. Help me to the aid station or get me back to my friends, please."

  Confusion once again marred his features. Slowly he backed away a step so he no longer leaned against her, and she took a deep breath. He remained watchful, never taking his gaze from her.

  Despite being half afraid of him, she felt an odd attraction to his raw maleness and the absolute certainty of his power. This close, even Alenna’s consternation couldn’t remove the dazzling impact of his masculinity. Resolutely she shoved away the mystique of his magnetism. A shiver racked her frame, but she wasn’t certain whether it came from fear or fever.

  Slowly, he reached up to cup her face in one rough palm, and she flinched. "Ye are unwell."

  "No. Now let me go."

  "Have ye lost all sense? Ye have a fever, no meat on yer bones, and ‘tis cold outside."

  Under other circumstances she might be flattered by this assessment of her body, but she knew for a fact as a woman of medium height and medium weight she was neither skinny nor fat. Overall her shape was ordinary. Dull. Maybe this medieval play actor preferred his women plump.

  Was she out of her mind? What did she care what kind of woman he wanted? Sure, he was gorgeous, but he was also nuts. Beauty, as he had proven, ran only skin deep.

  Alenna’s mind raced to figure out how to deal with him. Thinking back to the numerous psychology courses she’d taken, she knew her first mistake had been to antagonize him. She needed to lure him into believing in her complacency, then make a move to leave.

  "All right," she said.

  He moved back a little more, but continued to cup her face with his hand. His thumb traced over her cheek. "I willna hurt ye. Dinna be afraid of me."

  She nodded as he continued to look down on her, his gaze tracing her face with a slumberous, rapt attention.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, fear tightening her throat.

  His palm dropped away from her face. "Why are ye here?"

  "What?"

  "Why are ye at MacAulay Castle?"

  "I’m with the archaeological dig." Her pulse beat a rapid tattoo as he perused her.

  Please, Lord, get me out of this.

  "What is this arch … archaeological dig ye speak of?"

  "Release me, and I’ll tell you."

  She licked her lips again and he watched, the heat of his attention suffusing her body.

  "Tell me," he said. "Are ye a spy for Ruthven?"

  "I don’t know anyone called Ruthven."

  "I dinna believe ye."

  "I promise you, I’m not a spy." She could feel sweat running down her neck. "I’m a sort of tourist."

  Anxiety pumped in Alenna’s veins and quickened her heart. This man was totally out there. Her hands trembled, and she clasped them in front of her tightly.

  "What is this tourist?"

  Humor him. She drew in a deep breath. "A person who travels to places for the purpose of sight-seeing."

  His hard expression didn’t change. He put his hands on his hips. "Sight-seein’?"

  "You know. Visiting castles like this place."

  "Why?"

  "I told you. Because … because we like to see ruins, visit grand houses to see the way people lived centuries ago."

  Expelling a slow breath, he inched a little closer.

  "Why are ye tremblin’?"

  "I’m not," she said. Her heart crammed her throat and threatened to choke her. So much for staying calm.

  "We’ve had spies the last few months tryin’ to harm his lordship."

  "Baron MacAulay?"

  One of his dark brows quirked up. "Aye."

  A little of Alenna’s fear subsided and a possible explanation for his bizarre behavior came to her. "Are you an undercover police officer?"

  Once again his face registered confusion. "I am Tynan of MacBrahin, one of his lordship’s knights. My loyalty is to his lordship’s household, and all who take shelter within it."

  Instantly Alenna remembered the yeoman’s tale of the knight who had fought Baron MacAulay and had been killed. This man didn’t just pretend he lived in the fourteenth century, he actually believed it. Now she knew he had totally lost his marbles.

  She glanced about the stark room, took in the dank scent of the chamber and the odors that didn’t seem to fit with a fabricated scenario. Uneasiness filled her. Besides the crazy man in front of her, something else wasn’t quite right.

  She had to get out. Passing the time of day as if she hadn’t a care in the world wouldn’
t get her anywhere. She made her decision. Turning with the last of her strength, she grabbed for the door and flung it open.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 3

  As she dashed out the door, Alenna almost landed in the path of a large white horse. The man atop the large stallion looked very much like a knight in shining armor. Pulling back on the reins of the horse, he swung from the saddle and landed with a thud and clatter. Clad in chain mail, he sported a blond mustache and piercing blue eyes. Shorter than her captor by quite a measure, she wondered if he would be any match for the other man.

  Before she could ask for help, Tynan wound his strong arms around her waist and pulled her back against him.

  "She is half wild, Dougald, she is that," Tynan said.

  The blond man smiled, his grin wide and friendly. Maybe he could help her. She pulled against the crazy man’s grip. "Please—"

  Alenna cut herself off when she took in the activity around her. She smelled smoke and saw a light tendril drift into the air. Around her the sounds built … a horse’s whinny, the clang of metal upon metal, a shout from some part of the castle, a man’s laugh. Sun slanted on the castle walls, not a cloud in the sky.

  Not a cloud in the sky. How could that be? She remembered seeing a completely overcast sky just before the horse nearly ran her down. The odd mist that had enveloped the dig had disappeared.

  "What …" she said, bewildered as she noted the test pit she should have seen a few feet away had vanished. All the cobblestones seemed back in place. In fact, it looked as if they’d never been disturbed at all.

  The man called Dougald stepped up, his gaze intent and searching. "Aye, but she is a tall one. Where did ye find her, Tynan?"

  "Please," she said, pulling against Tynan’s grip. "You’ve got to help me. This man is keeping me against my will—"

  "Pay no mind to her, Dougald. She is half out of her mind with fever." Tynan pulled her closer. Like solid bands of steel, his arms held her captive. "I am keepin’ her with me until she has her wits about her. ‘Tis no safe for her to wander the castle."

  "‘Tis no safe for any woman to roam the castle with ye about." Dougald grinned, divulging even white teeth and a captivating smile. He tugged off his coif, revealing his collar-length crop of straight, butter-gold hair. "Yer women are usually more willin’. Are ye sure ye dinna want to pass her along to me, like ye did the last one?"

  Tynan’s laugh rumbled up from his chest, vibrating into her body. "I dinna pass her. She fell in love with yer ugly face and left me."

  Dougald nodded. "Aye, she did that. She knew a better lookin’ man when she saw one."

  Leading his stallion over to the side to allow a man driving a small wagon to pass on the narrow cobblestone way, Dougald watched as Tynan released her waist and transferred his grip to her wrist.

  Becoming increasingly confused and angry at her predicament, Alenna said, "I realize in some places it’s still acceptable to treat women like second-class citizens. But in the United States, we—"

  "Quiet," Tynan whispered, his tone deadly and low. He pulled her against his side.

  "She is a fair one, with a mouth on her. What do ye plan to do with her?"

  "He’s not going to do anything with me," she said, gritting her teeth.

  The sound of several horses and the trundle of wheels grabbed their attention.

  "‘Tis his lordship," Dougald said, peering into the distance.

  "Aye. He went out of the castle walls without our protection."

  "What can he be thinkin’? Ruthven has men ready to attack him if they find any sign of weakness. Will ye speak with him about it?"

  "Aye, I will."

  Alenna couldn’t believe what she was hearing. His lordship. The sights and smells of a dream world.

  Maybe … maybe … she wasn’t in her world anymore.

  No. Absurd.

  Perhaps this was a symptom of her panic attacks and she’d slipped into a delusion. She didn’t know which was more frightening, time travel or losing her mind. She must be delirious. Otherwise she wouldn’t be having this elaborate and crazy dream, with characters from a fairy tale. Please, God, just let her wake up or revive from this fever of hallucinations.

  Yet as she denied everything she saw around her, all the things in this world that hadn’t been in hers, a dawning suspicion awoke within her psyche.

  As her heart pounded with fear, Alenna moistened her parched lips. "What year is it?"

  Both men looked at her as if she’d gone mad.

  "Watch that she might give ye the evil eye," Dougald said.

  "What year is it?" she asked again.

  "‘Tis the year of our Lord, thirteen hundred and eighteen," Dougald said.

  She watched the small procession of people coming down the lane, and a sinking feeling settled in her stomach.

  "Oh, my God," she whispered as she looked around again.

  The inner wall appeared much higher than she remembered. Beyond it stood a tower that hadn’t been there before the horse had run her down.

  Her legs wobbled. No! She would not faint. She had never fainted in her entire twenty-nine years.

  If she did pass out, she’d be at the mercy of these men. Then again, if she let the black cloud hovering on the edge of her vision take over, maybe she’d wake and find herself back in the normal world.

  The black cloud lowered, and Tynan lifted her in his arms again. As the world spun around, Alenna let the haze envelop her senses.

  * * *

  Something hard and warm encircled Alenna, and she snuggled closer, burrowing for warmth.

  Cold. Why the hell was it always so damned cold?

  Her nose twitched as something tickled it, and she moved back a smidgen. Under her cheek she registered the soft exhalation of breath, the heat of skin, and the scent of man.

  Hot, hard man.

  In contrast, a slightly rough softness brushed against her body, like cozy flannel pajamas. Sure was a lot better than stinky fur.

  Where was she? Her limbs felt weak, almost useless. Was she drunk? She hadn’t consumed much of the ale the boy had given her.

  An arm, rock-solid with muscle, tightened around her back. She felt a hand hot as a furnace light upon her brow and she flinched.

  "Shhhhh. Be still."

  Had she made a sound? Who had the gall to tell her to shut up, anyway? Alenna struggled against the fuzziness in her brain, against the mist threatening to overtake her once again. A sound of fear escaped her throat, and tender hands stroked through her hair.

  "Shhhhh. ‘Tis all right, lass. I am here."

  The tender words, spoken in a gentle, unmistakably deep voice, brought memories back. Could she really have traveled back in time?

  No, no, no, no!

  The darkness came back.

  * * *

  Beneath Alenna’s cheek was warm flesh. Reaching out, she tried to feel her way through the fog and clamped down on something solid, and rough with hair. She felt downward until she touched—

  A very erect manhood. Covered and restricted by cloth … but hard as stone.

  She bolted straight upright, ignoring the crash of pain bombarding her head. In the dim light she could see that the man called Tynan lay on a bed beside her. She scooted back, no mean feat considering the narrow bed left no room to maneuver. She pulled the wool plaid blanket tight around her. The bed barely fit in the room. There was no fireplace and it was icy cold.

  As he opened his eyes, she stared into his piercing gaze. Embarrassment washed through her like a sea wave.

  "I ken there was a fair draft in here. Wad ye mind not taken’ the feileadh breacan all for yer own?" he said gruffly as if she hadn’t just touched him intimately.

  "The what?"

  He touched the wool plaid she clasped taut around her. "This."

  In a panic she assessed her garb. She no longer wore her own clothes. A thin garment made of a soft linen draped in heavy folds about her body and covered her from head to toe. A pl
aid served as a cover for both of them. Yet she felt naked—

  She wasn’t wearing a bra or panties.

  He rose into sitting position slowly, his big body crowding her. "Is yer tongue gone, then?"

  "How did I … did you undress me?" she asked in a rush, indignation and mortification flaming in her face.

  To her surprise his dour countenance lightened, and he laughed. The sound was rich against her ears. "What if I were to say I did? Wad ye run and caterwaul the way ye did earlier?"

  "Earlier? What time is it?"

  "Early in the morn." In the semi-darkness she saw his wide grin slip, until the grave look returned. "When ye fainted, I went for Elizabet and Johanna."

  "Who?"

  "Elizabet is a healer and Johanna is her daughter. They brought ye a shift and got ye settled in bed. When ye began to mumble and toss in your fever, I could see the plaid wadna keep ye warm. I tried the fur but ye tossed it away."

  She wrinkled her nose. "It smells."

  A tiny grin twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Aye. That it does."

  Tynan’s explanation of how she’d gotten into this nightdress didn’t explain everything that had happened to her in the last few hours, nor why he’d climbed into bed with her. Her mind whirled with questions. Demi had to be frantic about her by now. Why hadn’t she discovered that she’d been taken hostage by this man and called the authorities? Alenna found it preposterous that she hadn’t been found by now.

  The memory crashed in on her. Demi couldn’t find her because she was no longer in her time …

  The idea remained totally incomprehensible to her.

  "Dinna look so worried," he said. "I got into bed with ye to keep ye warm. Ye were murmurin’ about being cold."

  "Thank you," she said reluctantly, uncertain if she really should thank him.

  He raked his hands through his ebony hair, and it fell back to his bare shoulders in thick waves.

  And bare shoulders they were. She’d guessed at his strength earlier, but now he was half-naked, she could see the rippling muscles in his arms, and in the broadness of his hair-roughened chest and hard stomach. Across his abdomen was a red scar, as if from a recently healed wound. As Tynan turned a curious gaze on her, a stunning emotion captured her breath.