by Jessi Gage
He didn’t ask about her nationality. Instead, he finished washing her in silence. After wringing out the washrag the last time, he slipped into his shirt and left without a word.
Feeling suddenly very alone, she dressed by the light of the candelabra.
A few minutes later, a knock sounded at the door. Heart lifting, she rushed to open it, but found only Anselm with a tray.
“Your supper,” he said.
“Thank you.” She took the tray and watched him retreat down the hall. She had hoped it would be Wilhelm, come to kiss her again. Or perhaps to spend the night.
As she closed the door, that lonely feeling returned. It was longing, she realized. She longed to be with Wilhelm.
Eating her oatmeal, this time served with cooked carrots and some kind of leafy herb, it occurred to her he hadn’t interviewed her as he’d warned the day before. He had given her a reprieve.
She ought to prepare what she would tell him about herself when he finally did ask, but all she could think about was his hands on her and his fingers massaging away the smoky evidence of her near death experience. His shimmering eyes, his strong jaw, his undeniably masculine scent.
Heavens. She was in a world of trouble.
Chapter 8
Wilhelm spent a fitful night in the dorter attempting and failing to ignore the most painful arousal he had ever experienced. Bathing Constance had been his personal heaven. And his worst hell. Because no matter how he lusted to take her, he could not. Not until he knew he could give her the life she deserved.
That was why she must come with him and Terran to Inverness. Her testimony would help justify their slaying of Ruthven’s guards. Personal testimony was always given more weight than written, and he didn’t ken yet whether Constance could write. He suspected she could. The lass struck him as highly educated. He would not be surprised to learn she’d attended university.
There was just one thing that must be done before they set out, and that involved his cousin and Aifric. Wilhelm finished his morning grooming and wended his way to a part of the abbey that had become familiar to him. ’Twas an otherwise unoccupied wing where Anselm had set aside neighboring rooms for the women.
“Good morn,” he said, easing open the door to Aifric’s room. It was dark inside, as were all the rooms along this interior corridor, but his candles provided light to guide his steps.
It came as no surprise when the light fell on Terran, sound asleep in the bed. ’Twas improper for him to be here, but neither he nor Anselm had seen fit to chastise him. They both recognized the miracle of Terran finally finding a woman he wished to claim.
Terran had the bairn swaddled between his arm and side. Aifric lay on the other side of the wee bundle, her hand resting on her child. Terran’s head was bowed so that even in his sleep he pressed his forehead to his beloved’s. A bonny family they made.
Aifric stirred and opened her eyes. She started when she saw Wilhelm, as though embarrassed to be found in such a compromising position.
“Easy, lass. No one here judges you.”
At his words, her creased brow smoothed only to crease again when she strained to sit upright in the bed. Wilhelm moved swiftly to help her. “Allow me,” he said with a hand at her back. She weighed next to nothing.
He knew naught of Aifric save her parents were cottars on Ruthven’s land and she had been imprisoned at the baron’s order. Wilhelm’s father had never enacted his right to punish sins such as fornication so severely, but not all lairds were as merciful as his father. Fortunately, neither were all lairds as vile as Ruthven.
Kenning the black-hearted baron and what he was capable of, Wilhelm suspected he had been the one to get the bairn on the poor lass. And he doubted Aifric had done aught to encourage his attentions. Why else would Ruthven trouble himself with the affairs of his cottars if not to destroy all evidence of his indiscretion?
Likely, Terran suspected the same, but they had refrained from speaking of it. “How do you fare?” he asked as he rumpled a blanket to support her back.
“Not too poorly,” she said in her soft voice. “Anice is taking milk, and she slept the whole night.”
“Anice. Lovely name.”
Aifric smiled. “Terran helped me choose it.” Though purple shadows cradled her eyes, they shone with happiness.
Wilhelm glanced at his cousin. “Did he sleep the whole night?”
She breathed a laugh. “No. Every time I woke, ’twas to find him watching over us.” She bit her lip and cast a fond look at Terran. ’Twas clear the affection between them went both ways.
He hated to drag Terran to Inverness and away from his new charges. It occurred to him that he might make the journey with only Constance for company, but no. Terran would never hear of it. His duty was to protect the future laird of the Murray.
Heavy hearted, he said, “Would that I could give him more time to rest, but we must be off as soon as possible. I’ll return him to you safely, lass. I vow it.”
Aifric nodded. Her chin dimpled as she struggled not to show her sadness.
“The time will fly. You’ll see.” He grabbed Terran’s foot and shook it.
His cousin moaned. “Too early. Go away.”
“Have ye forgotten what today is?” Wilhelm said.
Terran’s brown pressed together. His eyes popped open. A grin spread across his face as he looked first to Wilhelm then to Aifric. “Nay,” he said simply, and he sat up to lay the tenderest of kisses upon Aifric’s lips. “Today we will be wed.”
“Aye,” Aifric whispered. All traces of sadness vanished from her as she beheld her groom.
They pressed their foreheads together again, as they had been in slumber. Terran held the bairn secure in one arm, a natural father. The sight warmed Wilhelm’s heart and multiplied his longing for the woman in the next room. He lusted to lay eyes on her, but he must see to Terran first. The man was hopeless in his grooming. ’Twould take at least an hour to make him presentable.
“Come, cousin. Let us prepare you for your bride.”
While Terran and Aifric said their temporary goodbyes, Anselm carried a laden breakfast tray into the room. “I thought the women could break their fast together. Wake Mistress Constance, would you?” He set the tray down and began pouring the tea.
It seemed he would have the pleasure of laying eyes on Constance after all. He went to her room and rapped on the door.
There was no response.
The lass must be sleeping soundly. Since there were no bars on the doors in the abbey, he pushed it open and stuck his head in.
“Constance,” he said. “Are you awake, lass?”
She didn’t answer.
He had left the candles in Aifric’s room and couldn’t see much in the dim light from the corridor. Remembering where the bed was, he went to it in the dark, thinking to touch her bonny hair and mayhap wake her with a kiss on her cheek.
He found the edge of the bed and felt for her warm form. All he found were cold blankets. She was gone.
His heart lunged into his throat. “Anselm!”
The abbot came running.
“She’s gone. Have ye seen her?”
Anselm shook his head. “Nay. I’ll ask the others.” He turned and hurried toward the dining hall.
Wilhelm ran in the other direction, toward the nearest door to the grounds. Curse you, man, why did you nay sleep in front of her door to prevent her from fleeing!
What a fool he’d been. He had not even attempted to ask her again where she hailed from. Her origins had seemed less and less important the more he imagined her as a permanent fixture in his life. If she had run away in the night, he might never see her again. He hadn’t even the faintest notion where he ought to begin searching.
He burst through the door to the cloister and pushed his legs to carry him as fast as they could toward the stables. If a horse and saddle were missing, he would mount up and ride after her. She was still healing from injuries and had no business taking to the wilde
rness alone. She had no business fleeing from him. Did she not ken by now she was safer by his side than any other place on God’s green Earth?
“Where’s the fire?” someone called from the direction of the garden.
He stopped his mad dash and turned to find the speaker. The small plot within the cloister was used mostly for herbs. It lay largely fallow for winter, but the monks had dedicated a few rows to winter vegetables. Yesterday, Wilhelm had helped them transfer young kale and radish plants from the glasshouse. There amidst the fresh green leaves knelt Constance. She’d wrapped herself in a blanket from her bed.
Relief sang through him.
“What are ye doing, lass?” His voice cracked unbecomingly. He cleared his throat and willed his racing heart to slow. “When I didna find you in your bed, I feared you’d gone.”
She stood from where she’d been kneeling. He glimpsed her lower legs and her bare feet as she let down the hem of her shift. He lusted to wash her again to free her creamy skin of the black specks of earth.
“I didn’t mean to worry you. I woke early and wanted to watch the sun rise.” She glanced toward the east with a pensive expression. Hugging herself, she stared out over the meadow where the monks let their sheep graze. Her breath fogged in front of her. “I noticed the garden and it seemed like a peaceful spot. I’ve always liked growing things.”
He didn’t ken what to make of her tone. Was it sadness he heard in her voice? Why should she be sad when she had been so near to death and had been saved?
She had a new beginning. She should be joyful.
Careful of the plants, he strode to her. He was about to tell her to go inside and get warm, but a heaviness to her manner stayed his tongue.
“Lass?”
He held out a hand to her, inviting her into his arms, but she didn’t heed the invitation. Instead, she hugged herself tighter.
After the trust she’d shown him yester eve, her rejection stung.
“My parents never kept a garden. All our food was prepared by our chef.” She scoffed a bitter laugh. “I had never even been to a grocery store before until I went to college.”
“Once I bought my condo, I was finally able to have my own garden. There was a grassy, fenced-in area, and I took a great deal of enjoyment in removing the sod from a sunny corner and planting some annuals.”
He didn’t ken what a condo was, but she didn’t give him time to ponder it. “I love salad, so I started about twenty tomato plants from seeds.” She smiled wistfully as she went on, leaving him perplexed as to what a tow-may-tow was. “I planted them in little cardboard cups with such care and wrapped them in cellophane to keep them moist. I set them on a sunny windowsill every morning and made sure they were warm every night. Seeing their tiny little delicate stems sprout up made me so happy. I would come home from work excited to see how much they’d grown. They would twist and lean toward the sun like little reaching hands.”
She sighed, a heavy sound.
His heart melted for her, though why she was so distraught he couldn’t guess.
“When they were about six inches tall, I moved them outside to the little patch I’d cultivated. I planted them one weekend and put a tent of plastic over them to protect them until the weather got warmer.
“That Monday, when I got home from work, I went out to check on them, and they were gone. All gone.”
He felt her despair, wondering at it. She was speaking about plants. And this story had the feel of an event long past. Why she told him these things, he couldn’t guess, but he sensed truth in her words, a truth that ran as deep as mineral veins in the earth.
“There were little footprints all around and ragged tears in the plastic. Mice, an exterminator told me. Apparently, they crave the water in the plants. I hadn’t known. I could have put netting around them to keep rodents out, but I’d never dreamed my plants would get eaten.”
She laughed bitterly and finally looked at him. “It was an unforeseen complication, and it ruined my plans to have garden fresh tomatoes that summer. I cried for hours over those plants. All the work I’d put into them, all my excitement, and a bunch of rodents just took them away from me. Every last plant. Gone.”
Why was she telling him this?
“I’ve been here going on three days now. I might never get home. But I haven’t shed a single tear. Why?” She looked utterly at a loss.
Despite her earlier rejection, he still longed to hold her, but her manner gave him pause. She had a look about her like she’d found herself adrift at sea and was searching desperately for land.
What or whom had taken her from her home? Clearly, she had not left of her own accord. He would press her for answers once they began their journey.
“Why should I cry over tomato plants, but not over this, this—” She made a sweeping motion to indicate the countryside. “Just, all of this? I’m so far from home, from everything I’ve worked so hard for. I’m completely lost. Why aren’t I more upset?”
She seemed plenty upset as she turned pleading eyes his way.
Whatever burden she shouldered, he couldn’t let her bear it alone a moment longer. Whether she wanted his comfort or not, he pressed it upon her, touching her shoulders with both hands and drawing her into his embrace.
She came willingly and rested her cheek on his chest.
A feeling of completion and satisfaction puffed up his chest.
Slowly, tentatively, her arms encircled his waist. Aye. Whatever was between them was special. By coming to him, she showed him she felt it too.
“I doona pretend to understand all of what ye said, lass, but mayhap when the mice ate those plants, the loss was so poignant because you were left with naught in return. But being taken from your home, you have been given much in return.”
She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. Questions swam in her gaze.
“Your life,” he said. “You nearly lost it, but ’twas given back to you. A second chance at life is a grand gift indeed. And you’ve been given the opportunity to aid Aifric. She and her bairn fare well. I’ve no doubt you had a hand in that.”
She graced him with a wee, thoughtful smile. “Yes,” she said. “That could be.”
You have me, as well, he wanted to say, but what came out instead was, “Dinnae fash. I vow to you, if I am free to do so, I will return you to your home once my name is cleared and I am free to do so.” He planned to be wed to her by then and take her to her home so he could meet her kin and she could bid them a proper farewell. Surely her home couldn’t be terribly far. Mayhap Holland or from across the Northern Sea.
He suspected now was not the time to trouble her with the details. He sought merely to comfort her and assure her that her concerns were important to him.
A pleat appeared between her eyebrows. Not the reaction he’d hoped for.
“Once your name is cleared,” she said, her voice flat. “You mean, you’re in trouble for rescuing me and Aifric? I thought this trip to Inverness was to bring justice down on Ruthven, but there’s more to it, isn’t there. You’re in trouble. You and Terran. Because of me.”
“Whist. I’ll no have you fashin’ about me and Terran. You’re safe, aye? That is what we must hold fast to.” He intended to keep her safe for all time. “Now that that’s settled, we have much to do. It is my hope we may ride out at midday. You feel well enough?” He wouldn’t insist on leaving so soon if she needed more time to heal.
“Today is fine.” She nodded, almost distractedly and pulled free from his embrace.
He let her go reluctantly. “Go inside and warm yourself by the fire in the kitchens. Then find Aifric. She’ll want a lady to attend her this morn.”
A genuine if weary smile brightened her countenance. “I hear there’s going to be a wedding.”
“Aye.” And another soon after, if he had his way.
Chapter 9
Connie’s thoughts were a jumble as she made her way through the monastery. They had been a jumble for hours. Ever since Wilhelm had
bathed her, if she was honest. Unable to sleep a wink all night, she had risen with the bells calling the monks to their early-morning prayers and snuck outside. After being cooped up in her and Aifric’s windowless rooms for two days, the fresh, cold air had helped her think.
By the light of the coming dawn, she’d walked the rows of the garden, one after the other. With every step over the hard-packed soil, the reality of her situation sank in. She might never get home. She might never see Leslie again.
What was Leslie doing right now? Did it even make sense that there might be another “right now”? How could Connie be present in 1487 when the year of her birth wouldn’t happen for roughly five hundred years?
The concept would boggle the mind quite enough if she had been a typical single birth, but she and Leslie had come into the world just minutes apart. Being a twin made this whole time-travel thing even more disturbing.
She’d never given much thought to the nature of time, but its linearity had always been assumed in her plans for her life. She had taken for granted the fact that it would march on as always, ever forward, never backward. Certainly time would never jump around at random. Such a notion would have struck her as not only impossible but ridiculous.
Her presupposition had not mattered one wit. Magic had made a mockery of her logical approach to life by shoving her into a scenario she never could have prepared herself for.
She should be beyond distraught. She should seek a way home with single-minded purpose.
She should not be giddy over a wedding between two individuals whom she had just met. She should definitely not be craving the companionship of a man who would be long dead by the time her present happened.
Entering the kitchen, she snatched up a bread roll and nibbled it while making her way to Aifric’s door. She was spared the need to knock since the door was wide open. Inside, Terran and Aifric were conversing and laughing together while Anice napped beside her mommy on the bed. The dark shadows under Aifric’s eyes were fading, and the light in her eyes gave her a fresh glow of health. She was still pitifully underweight, but she would recover. Terran would make sure of it, Connie knew.
