“What?” Sam said, moving around uncomfortably below her and she reached around and gripped him by the shoulder, trying to get him to be still.
Blood dripped steadily from the woman’s arm onto the sticks. She dropped the knife and retrieved the pendant and waved it in front of the man, who was staring straight ahead, his lips moving soundlessly.
“To protect ye,” Fake Piper said. Reaching over the bloody mess on the floor, she placed the pendant around his neck, running her hand down his chest and gripping his arm. He tightened the muscles in his forearm and Evelyn felt sick with dread. Fake Piper sliced across his arm, blood spattering onto the pile. The lamp flickered and he disappeared. Evelyn blinked and moved quickly to another crack in the shutters, but he was completely gone.
Evelyn dug into Sam’s shoulder, trying not to make any sound. The woman wiped blood off the knife and returned it to her waist bag, carefully picked up all the little sticks, kicked up some dirt to cover the blood on the floor. She stared impassively at the lamp for a moment before dusting off her skirts and turning to leave the room.
Evelyn broke out of Sam’s hold and dropped to the ground beside him. She looked in every direction, terrified the woman was going to come out of the back exit and see them.
“She’s coming,” she wheezed hysterically, grabbing handfuls of his shirt and pulling him away from the window. “She’s coming out.”
Sam confusedly let her drag him around the corner of the barn. Evelyn was crying and choking out bits of sentences. He pulled them behind an overgrown rose bush, maneuvering around the thorns. When they were safely wedged in between the roses and the outer stone wall of the barn, he put his arms around her and gently guided her to a sitting position on the ground. He knelt in front of her and let her rest her head on his shoulder, trying to make out what she was saying in between gasping for breath.
“Take a deep breath, Evelyn,” he said. “What did you see?”
She took a ragged breath and told him fitfully about the red haired man in the kilt disappearing into thin air after the woman who looked like Piper cut their arms. He sat there dumbfounded.
“It really was a blood ritual, then,” he said. “You were right about that.”
“I don’t want to be right about it,” she cried. He patted her consolingly.
“That must have been Brian Duncan,” he said, gazing unseeing at the thorny branches in front of his face. She nodded miserably and he continued to pat her back.
Evelyn wiped away her tears, feeling oddly calm now that she’d told what she’d seen, prepared to deal with Sam if it was his turn to freak out. He didn’t, but kept swearing quietly under his breath, as if he thought he understood what was going on, then lost it again.
“He just left,” Sam said slowly, pulling away from her. “We must have gone back to when he first got sent - got sent to our time.” He fumbled at what he was trying to say, squeezing his eyes shut. “Maybe we have time … If we can get back, maybe he won’t - maybe we can stop him from killing Mrs. Abernathy.”
Evelyn pressed her hands to her chest, her heart breaking for him. She shook her head, not wanting to hope.
“I don’t know, Sam,” she said. “I don’t know how it works.” They sat in silence behind the bush for a few minutes more, waiting to make sure no one was coming.
“It’s going to be dark soon,” he finally said. “We need to find a safe place to figure things out.”
“Let’s just go back to the house,” Evelyn said and he looked at her strangely. He blinked and continued to look at her.
“You know we can’t. Come on, Evelyn,” he said, crawling out from behind the rose bush and turning to help her get out without scratching herself. He took her firmly by the hand and started walking, carefully looking in all directions. Off to their left they saw some more horses grazing and a few people walking in the distance, too far away to be a threat, or even notice them, but still he quickened his pace. They headed toward the line of the trees, almost running up the hill. When they finally reached the edge of the forest at the top of the hill, the same place they’d been that morning with the golf cart, he made her turn around and face the estate down below.
She barely recognized the place. The entire brick wing that looked like a mental institution was gone. The trees were all different, and the fancy circular driveway was gone as well. The tower and the walkways were still there, but the front part that Evelyn was familiar with hadn’t been built yet. It was much smaller now, but somehow much more foreboding, a stone castle rising up from its hill in the lonely Highlands. She had to lean over to catch her breath, which was refusing to come.
When she glanced up at Sam, he had a bleak look on his face, his jaw set rigidly. He took her arm and pulled her into the forest, walking so fast she almost had to run to keep up. He seemed to have a destination in mind, pausing now and again to get his bearings and after about a half hour of their brisk pace, he led her down a steep incline to a fast moving creek. He peered across and sagged with relief.
“Ah, thank God,” he said, looking around for a place to cross.
He led her to a fallen log a bit upstream and jumped on it to test its strength. Finding it satisfactory, he reached back to take her hand and they tottered their way across. He pointed through the dense trees to a tiny wooden shack she would have never noticed on her own.
“This is just a crumbled hearth stone in our woods,” he said, still visibly relieved that it was actually here. “In our time, I mean. Oh my God, I’m so glad it’s here. I can’t believe it’s actually here. Hang on and I’ll make sure it’s safe.”
He stealthily made his way through the trees, crouching low and then poking his head up to peer into the shanty’s one window. He stood up, walked to the front door and wrestled it open, waving her over. When she joined him he was standing in the lone filthy, damp room, looking pleased with himself.
Evelyn was still dwelling on the manor, how the room she had been sleeping in wasn’t even built yet, wouldn’t be built for a hundred years at least. How she had been poking around in the rooms on her floor, admiring the wainscoting, the worn inlaid wood floors, the dainty porcelain and crystal door knobs, marveling at how old everything was, at how extremely old it all was, and right now it wasn’t even built yet.
Sam turned to her and laughed. “This place is a pile of rocks in our time.”
He rubbed his hand over his face and Evelyn wondered if he was going to cry, because she very much felt like she might.
“I thought it must be pretty old, but never really knew. Jesus, it’s old.” He looked at her, and seeing her face, quickly tried to get himself together. “We’ll be safe here for now. I think this was a place people used for hunting, you know, to take a little rest.”
He trailed off and opened a chest that was next to the fireplace. “Look here, a blanket. Come and sit down and I’ll get some wood for a fire.”
He laid the blanket on the floor in front of the empty fireplace and led her to it. She sank down onto it, her mind strangely blank. She kept thinking about the doorknobs of all things, how old they were, but yet not made, a hundred years or more from being made. Future doorknobs.
Sam searched around outside until he had a healthy pile of dry twigs for the fireplace, carefully arranging them in a tidy pyramid and then searching the chest until he found a tinderbox.
“Is it safe to light a fire?” Evelyn suddenly asked, wondering if the smoke would attract unwanted attention.
Sam was intently working to start the fire when he stopped with a muttered curse. He just looked at her. “I don’t know.” He threw up his hands. “It’ll be close to freezing tonight,” he said. “Can you handle it?”
She shrugged. “This is Lachlan’s time, you think?” she asked, ignoring his question about the weather.
He sat down next to her on the blanket. “I think so, yeah. It must be.”
“So, 1729.” She jumped up and walked to the doorway, thought better of going out and turn
ed back to Sam. “Oh my God, we’re in 1729. This place is just a pile of rocks but now it’s a building. The doorknobs, those aren’t even made yet. The antique doorknobs are not made yet.” She looked down at her sweater and slim fitting jeans in horror. “Oh my God, look at us, look at our clothes. We so clearly don’t belong here. If anyone sees us - you’ll get decapitated and I’ll be burned as a witch.”
She started pacing the small room, clutching her hands together to keep from shaking uncontrollably. “We’re not born, nobody we know is even born. Can you trace your family back this far?” Sam shook his head and she tried to do the math. “It’s almost three hundred years.”
Her voice was rising higher and higher and she was struggling not to start crying again. Thinking of the woman who looked so much like Piper cutting herself with that evil looking knife and Brian Duncan disappearing into thin air didn’t help.
“I touched that necklace and now we’re here. We just disappeared, nobody will know what happened to us. We’re going to die here. We’re going to die before we’re even born.” Her voice gave out and she sat down on the blanket again and put her head on her knees.
After a few moments, Sam stroked her arm. She looked up from her desolate position and he offered her a weak smile. She dropped her head back down, feeling stupid.
“You all right?” he asked and she nodded into her knees.
“I’m sorry I freaked out,” she said finally, getting into a less dejected sitting position. She wiped her eyes and tried to smile back at him, embarrassed. “You should have told me to shut up.”
“I would never,” he said, patting her knee. He settled into a more comfortable sitting position and took her hands in his. “You see, I read quite a lot. Magazines, books, internet articles, and they all say what women want is for us to just listen and not try to fix everything. So, I was just listening, trying to be a gentleman.”
“Well, thanks,” she said. “That’s really nice. But you know, I still want you to fix this.” She looked down at his hands holding hers.
He laughed. “I’m going to do my best, Evelyn.”
They sat in silence for a while, trying to remain calm.
“If we get stuck here, maybe we can go find Jane Austen,” Evelyn said out of the blue. It was in her nature to try to find the silver lining in even the worst situations and that seemed like a definite positive. He blinked and looked at her pityingly for a long time, then his face turned resolute.
“She’s not born yet, either,” Sam said. Before she could process this, he leaned over and took her face in his hands and kissed her.
Evelyn closed her eyes and savored his soft lips pressing firmly against hers, his fingers twining through her tangled hair. A small voice in the back of her mind was trying to tell her something, possibly that this was a bad idea, maybe she should shut it down, pull away.
Sam leaned in further, pulling her closer to him, his kiss becoming more insistent, urging her mouth to open to his darting tongue as it gently brushed against her lips. The small voice was trying its level best to be heard. This wasn’t a good time, it was a terrible time, they needed to think, they needed to stay focused, they should not be kissing at a time like this, the voice kept saying in the back of Evelyn’s mind.
His hand slid down her neck, down the front of her sweater - damn all the stupid layers she was wearing, all she wanted was to feel his hands on her skin. She grappled with the front of his shirt, running her hands up his chest, over his broad shoulders, into his hair, wanting more of him. Finally, thankfully, he found a way under her piles of clothing and his touch on her stomach seared straight to her knees, sending ripples of desire all through her body. He wrapped his hand around her waist, trying to move his hand upward but impeded by her thick flannel shirt.
Persevering, he slid his hand around her back and pulled her toward him on the blanket, his mouth hot on hers. She moaned as she pressed against him, feeling his hard chest against her breasts, dying to be free of all the wool she was enshrouded in. The little voice tried again, reminding Evelyn that they were in a dirty shack in the middle of a truly dire situation. Maybe she should remember where they were. Maybe she should pause for a second, open her eyes and take a look around her. She knew she really ought to listen, but she hadn’t kissed anyone in so long she honestly couldn’t remember the last time. She certainly didn’t count the pity peck she gave Landon at the bar last New Year’s Eve. That was just sad. This right now with Sam was wonderful. He was an amazing kisser, and his hands were warm and strong.
Magically transported to the past and probably going to freeze to death, the little voice hissed at her and she started to pull away. But then, his mouth fully commanded hers, his slightly calloused hand moving steadily up her back. Shut up, she told the little voice and returned the questing of his tongue.
“I hate all your shirts,” he broke free to gasp, impeded once again by her layers. She blinked and ran her hands back down his chest to the bottom of his sweater and began pulling it off. He raised his arms and she yanked the mess of wool over his head, then did the same with his long sleeved thermal shirt, and groaned when he still had on a white tee shirt.
“Too many bloody clothes,” he said, whipping it off and tossing it aside.
She paused for just a second to admire his chiseled chest, running her fingers down the length of him, raising goose bumps on his rock hard stomach. For a bookseller he certainly had a nice body. She stopped at the button on his jeans and looked up at him, sliding a finger under the waistband. His eyes bored into hers, intense with desire. She swallowed hard, all her nerve endings humming, ready to explode. She shivered and closed her eyes and he leaned in to kiss her once more, softly this time, the barest touch of his lips on hers. He kissed the side of her mouth, then her jawline, nudging her face to the side so he could trail kisses tantalizingly down the side of her neck, stopping at the top of her sweater. She was completely undone. Any trace of the small voice of reason had packed its bags and left the shanty.
“It has to go,” he whispered and she leaned back and lifted her arms, hypnotized by his husky voice and smoldering gaze.
Sam pulled the sweater over her head and began unbuttoning her flannel shirt, watching her face, looking deeply into her eyes as he did. She watched him as he took her in, his gaze unwavering, his eyes burning green fire. She found she was holding her breath and let it out in a trembling exhale. He glanced down at her shirt and smiled. The last button undone, he slipped the shirt off her shoulders, sliding his thumbs over her bare arms.
She knew that the air was cold, saw goosebumps erupt on her skin, but she felt hot all over, blazing with heat. Shaking her wrists out of the sleeves, Evelyn reached around his neck and pulled him forward again in a long kiss, shuddering with need as his hands slid under her thin tank top, his thumbs brushing tantalizingly over her breasts.
The small wisp of cotton was off and thrown across the room and she nearly cried when he stopped for a moment to look at her reverently. She whimpered as he stroked the sides of her breasts with his fingertips, running them down her ribcage, then gasped as he deftly maneuvered her backward onto the blanket, pressing the length of his hard muscled body against her.
Everywhere he touched, everywhere he kissed her, burned with his heat, only to be chilled by the cold air of the shack when he moved his hands or mouth to another part of her body. His skin was warm under her own touch, and she reveled in the feel of the muscles in his back and chest and arms. She kicked out of her hiking boots and she felt him doing the same as he kissed her throat, pressing her legs apart with his knee. She reached down between their bodies and started tugging at the button on his jeans, desperate for him, her fingers clumsy.
“Sam,” she said breathlessly, dropping her head back onto the blanket in frustration. He looked up at her from where he was nuzzling at her breast. He smiled and tiny lights exploded at the corners of her vision.
“Yes,” he said, sliding a hand down and getting her jeans u
nbuttoned with little more than a snap of his wrist.
She lifted her hips as he wrestled them down her legs and in a moment that almost left her bereft he stood to wriggle out of his own, then returned to her, sliding his body slowly up hers, resting his elbows on the blanket beside her head. He leaned down to kiss her, tracing her lower lip with his tongue, brushing the hair away from the sides of her face. Evelyn was shaking, she wanted him so badly, she could feel the hard length of him pressing against her. She wrapped her legs around him and dug into his shoulders with her fingers, trying to get him closer, almost gasping with desire.
“Open your eyes,” he urged quietly and when she did, he thrust into her, smooth and hard. She cried out in delicious release and he lowered his head to kiss her jaw and neck, sliding his hand down her body and up her leg that still entwined him. She moved with him, matching his pace as at first he slowly and deliberately slid into her, teasingly drawing back until she arched her body to get him to come back to her.
He touched her with the gentlest stroke of his fingers, then gripped her fiercely as she clung to him feverishly, pulling him closer and wrapping her arms around his neck so he couldn’t pull away. Their rhythms became urgent as they each felt their growing need. She buried her face in his neck as he pressed her down into the blanket, each thrust of his body into hers causing her world to grow smaller and smaller so that it became a concentrated shower of sparks exploding outward, pulsing and shredding her nerve endings until she cried out, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Sam’s head was resting in the curve of her neck, his body a dead weight on top of her. She was still gripping his shoulders. Her pounding heart beginning to slow, she went limp and sighed deeply, opening her eyes to stare blankly at the wooden beams holding up the peat ceiling. He turned and kissed her sweaty neck. She laughed, feeling nothing but happiness.
“I’m none so stressed out just now, either,” he said, rolling off her. He turned onto his side and pulled her close to him, hauling the blanket up to cover them.
Lost Highlander Page 14
