by Maddie James
She clutched him close, didn't care if she was confused.
This isn't me. It hasn't been me since the first time I laid eyes on him. Maybe I'm not Claire anymore, maybe I am Hannah.
Whoever she is...
Tears pooled at the inner corners of her closed eyes. She fanned her fingers through his hair as he lay against her, his sated body relaxing there. The incredible feelings that they'd shared were phenomenal, at least. There were no words to describe how she felt.
There was no definition for the emotion. At least not any she'd ever known before. She'd never experienced this type of passion with Rick; not the compulsion, the obsession with a man's body, with his heart and his soul.
She drifted then sleepily, safe in his arms. To hell with anything else at the moment. Maybe all she had—really had—was now. Maybe that was all that mattered.
* * * *
She woke frightened. Unsure. Her brain not quite comprehending what had happened to her.
Time.
She needed time. To sort all this out. She had to go. Had to go back to the cottage and mull all this over for a day or two. See how she felt then. Make sure this all wasn't a mistake. Yes. She had to. She had to do it now.
Had to put distance between them.
Moving her head to one side, she brushed a few wisps of hair out of Jack's face and realized that he was in a deep state of sleep.
"Jack...” she whispered.
He moaned and mumbled, then rolled to the right side of the bed, pulled her to him, and smiled sleepily. “C'mere, m’ love."
Claire allowed herself to be pulled, but vowed that this time, she would not be seduced. Even though she desperately wanted to be seduced.
Their bodies touched and immediately she felt the fire, so she pushed away. Before Jack could move, she leapt off the bed, grabbed her gown off the floor and donned it.
He sat up and looked at her, the drowsiness now gone from his face. Alarm replaced it. “Hannah, what are you doing?"
"I'm going home, Jack,” she said softly and watched his stricken face. “Just for a little while. I still want to see you, but I—I need to think about all this. Maybe you could come by in a few days."
"Come by?” Jack scratched his head.
"Yeah, maybe in a day or two. We could, oh, I don't know, maybe we could take a drive, or a swim, maybe go out.” She saw the exasperation on his face. “Look, I just need a little time, okay?"
Jack's puzzled face glared at her. “Drive? Go out? O. K? What is O. K?"
Slightly annoyed, she dropped her hands from her hips. “You know, I'm saying I'd still like to see you. Please don't take this personally. It's just that, well, it's been nice, really nice, but...” She turned to go.
"Nice? Of course it's nice, Hannah."
She slowly faced him. He gazed at her breasts and then dropped lower. “I don't know how, but you are very real. When I saw you on the beach, I knew you were alive."
"Oh, Lord,” Claire sighed.
"Don't go, Hannah,” he pleaded.
"I have to."
"But, I don't think you understand."
She stared again. “Understand what?"
"I don't think you can go.” Throwing back the covers, he rose from the bed in his entire magnificent splendor and walked toward her.
I have to go. I have to go. I have to go.
She swallowed deeply, and then felt her chest heave up and down at the sight of him approaching. “What do you mean you think I can't go?” She looked up at Jack, who stood slightly taller than her own five foot, eight inches.
"Seems the magic only works at night. Sometimes not at all."
Panicking now, she stepped backward. “Magic?"
"The magic. The stone, you know. ‘Tis what brought you to me. It only works at night."
Backing away until she felt the door against her rump, Claire moved, turned, and lifted the heavy iron latch. Bolting outside, she ran several yards before realizing that something was terribly, terribly wrong.
Trees. There were trees everywhere. Scraggly, wind-battered and dwarfed, but they were trees just the same. No, Claire thought. There were no trees like this around her cottage. They couldn't have traveled that far away.
Could they?
Lighthouse! Where was the lighthouse? Surely she could see it from all directions. And the beach? She just had to keep going until she found the beach.
Turning, she craned her neck toward the sky to look for the tall light, straining her ears to hear the crash of the surf. Where was it? She ran a bit further then stopped Jack called her name.
"Hannah ... Hannah, wait. Come back."
He was running after her—naked.
Appalled, she shouted. “Where are your clothes?"
He glanced down at his naked body as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “At the cabin."
"Well for heaven's sake, Jack, put them on. Someone may see you!"
"No one to see me but you, Hannah, and you've seen all of me before."
Her cheeks flamed. She waved off the feeling. “That's ridiculous, Jack. This is a tourist's haven. There are people crawling all over this island. Now go put some damn clothes on!"
"Tourists? Crawling?"
"Yes, damn it! Tourists."
"Why you curse so, I don't understand, Hannah. You never used to curse. ‘Tis not ladylike. I forbid you to curse."
She stomped a foot, clenched her fists, and screamed. “You forbid me? And what do you mean I never used to curse? You've only known me a few days. And I've always cursed."
"No, you didn't, Hannah. You would never say such things."
"Well, I'm saying them now and I'll say them again. This is the stupidest, hell-fire all confusing, damnedest predicament I've ever had myself in. I don't know what the hell you're talking about most of the time and right now I don't give a tinker's damn if you want me to curse or not! I want to know where the friggin’ lighthouse is, where my cottage is, why in the hell I can't see the beach or hear the ocean, and why in God's name am I standing out in the middle of some sort of a dwarfed forest on an island in my nightgown talking to a naked man?"
Disgusted, Jack shook his head. “I can't believe my ears, Hannah. I thought you were an angel, and now I'm not so sure. Perhaps the devil did send you to tempt me. I've always been a God-fearing man, you know that. Is that what you are? A siren of the devil sent to tempt me?"
"Ahhhhhh!” Claire screamed and walked away. She headed deeper into the trees, hoping that if she kept walking, eventually she would find a road, or a cottage, or the beach. Then she could ask someone for help. Surely it won't take that long.
She'd moved several yards forward before risking a glance over her shoulder. There he was, behind her, still naked as a jaybird.
She stopped and turned.
"Jack, please stop following me. I'm going to find my cottage and think about all this for a while. Please, just give me that. And for my sake, would you put some clothes on?” When she got to the cottage, she'd have to call the local hospitals to see if any patients suffering from delirium had escaped.
"Your cottage?"
Her shoulders drooped. “Yes, my house. My cabin. Where I live. Where you found me. You know, by the lighthouse?"
Why am I explaining this?
"Light ... house? Is the house full of light?"
"Yes, lighthouse, Jack. You know, the tall skinny thing with a light on top that sits on the beach? The last thing we saw when I jumped into your arms? Lighthouse, Jack. What's wrong with you?"
"Ah ... that. What is its purpose, Hannah?"
"Purpose? Purpose?" Slowly, every mechanism she was drawing from to keep her sane was slipping away. She turned. Everyone knew what a lighthouse was. Right?
"Hannah?"
She trudged on. “I'm going back to my cottage, Jack."
"'Tis not there."
She stopped. Slowly she turned to him. Her face held confusion and exasperation. “What do you mean 'tis not there?"
"'Tis not. Your heavenly home is not here."
"My heavenly...? My heavenly home? I'm not dead, Jack. To be in heaven you have to be dead."
"No, not at this minute. But you were."
For a split second, time stopped.
Uh-oh. Looney-tunes.
Backing away slowly, she spoke. “I've never been dead, Jack.” And then on an afterthought. “Have you?” Images of horror movies about ghosts and zombies and vampires and werewolves flashed through her mind.
She watched as Jack dismissed what he must have thought as an utterly stupid question with a wave of his hand and a grimace on his face.
"Hannah...” He reached out to touch her.
Fearful, she stepped back two more steps, shaking her head wildly. “Don't come near me."
"Hannah..."
"No, I said, don't."
With a loud sigh, he dropped his hands to his hips and stood before her. She stared at him and wondered how such a gorgeous man could be so incredibly crazy. Insane thoughts jumped out at her from nowhere.
Angel. Heaven. God. The devil.
Dead?
Haven't seen the likes of ol’ Jack, have you now ... looking for his Hannah?
She stared at Jack. Puzzle pieces were trying to form a complete picture in her brain.
All right, she thought to herself. Let's analyze this situation. The man calls me Hannah, and even though it is my real name, nobody really knows that. So maybe I look like someone he knew named Hannah, someone he loved.
Someone who must be dead.
The man from the store's words floated through her mind. He walks the beaches at night sometimes, during a blue moon phase, looking for his dead wife Hannah...
She eyed Jack suspiciously.
Shit.
He's a ghost and he thinks I'm his dead wife.
What the hell did he know?
"Okay, you need to tell me what's going on here. Spit it out."
Jack stared at her. “O. K.” He spat at her feet.
She jumped back, astonished, looked at her feet, then up to his face. “Why did you do that?"
"What?"
"Why did you spit at me?"
"You told me to."
"I ... oh no.” Her mind reeled.
I told him to spit it out. What's going on here?
She stared at Jack for another minute, then another light bulb went on and a piece of the puzzle fit into place. “Go jump in a lake, Jack."
He stepped back and looked at her curiously. “Lake? There are no lakes here, Hannah. Just the sound and the ocean. And why would you want me to jump in one? I suppose I wouldn't mind bathing in the sound, though. Why don't you take your gown off and we'll go together."
She smiled. Piece number two. He didn't appear to understand modern lingo. “You're pulling my leg with all this stuff, aren't you?"
"Pullin’ your leg? Hannah, ‘tis nonsense. I'm standing right here in front of you and I'm not touching your leg. But if you want me to...” He inched forward.
She laughed out loud. Another one fit into place. She watched Jack's perplexed face. “Why are you taking me so literally? What century are you from, anyway?"
"Century? Why, the eighteenth, of course. And you?"
Claire stood stunned before him. She couldn't think of a witty comeback.
* * * *
Rick Gentry stared across the calm sea, entranced, relishing the feel of the wooden rail under his fingertips, his gaze fixed on the triangle of moonlight dancing off the rippling waves. He rubbed his un-callused hand across the splintery wood as a surge of excitement boiled up inside him. He'd landed in just the spot he'd wanted. Years, he suspected, had passed since an opportunity such as this had presented itself and miraculously, it had presented itself to him. It was worth the wait. He'd known Claire possessed this ... and he'd known she would lead the way. This was all he'd been waiting for.
He was where he belonged and all was right with the universe. And it wouldn't be long before the thing he sought was rightfully his.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eight
"You're joking, aren't you?"
Jack was dead serious. Claire watched, ready for him to crack a smile. He didn't.
"Joking?"
She stepped closer. “Yes, this is all a damn joke, isn't it? What is this, some kind of sadistic rendition of Candid Camera? Eighteenth century, huh? I don't think so.” But somehow she knew it wasn't a joke. Little things—tidbits of information—came flying back at her; his clothing, his speech, the furniture, the cabin. She looked him straight in the eyes and shook her head from side to side. “No, it's impossible.” She backed away one step.
He moved forward. “Hannah..."
"No! Don't call me that.” She bolted.
"Hannah!” Jack followed. It only took him three or four steps to reach her and pull her body into his, halting her.
"No!” She screamed louder this time, flailing her arms. “No! It can't be true. It can't be!"
He grabbed her arms and pinned them between his body and hers.
"What, Hannah? What can not be true?"
Suddenly the fight went out of her and she leaned against him. Tears formed in her eyes. After several minutes, she turned her face up. It was all too clear now. How she'd figured it out, she didn't know. But suddenly, she knew.
"You had a wife, didn't you?"
His face pained. He nodded slowly and whispered, “You are my wife, Hannah."
Sighing, she closed her eyes, shook her head wildly, and then opened them again. “My name is Claire. Hannah was your wife. She died, didn't she?"
Jack clutched her closer. She watched his eyes squeeze shut, the tears squeezing past the barrier like tiny nodules. He nodded. “You are my Hannah. You look like her, you feel like her. I have you back now. You are my Hannah."
She barely heard him.
Fear lanced through her. He had a wife. She died. Now he thought he thought his beloved Hannah had returned to him.
And had she? Could it be?
She gazed into Jack's now open eyes. Okay, I'll play along.
"What year did we marry?"
"Marry? Why, don't you remember, love? It was in June of last year, 1717."
1717. Claire kept her gaze fixed on his lips. 1717? But how? How did I get here?
"When did I ... when did your wife ... die?"
He loosened his grip and stepped back. “About ten months later. Last spring."
"How?"
"You know how, Hannah. I choose not to discuss it with you."
She felt him physically and emotionally cut himself off from her. She stepped back. Too painful.
"So it's now ... 1718?"
Jack nodded. Claire felt the silence of the forest around her. Now it all made sense. Sort of. In 1717, Jack married Hannah. She died ten months later, and now, somehow, Claire had become his wife. Somehow, she'd crossed the barriers of time and landed here, in 1718, as this man's wife!
"How did this happen?"
His gaze pinned her. Her every nerve ending shivered from her head to her toes as he spoke. “Why, it was the magic in the stone, of course."
She glanced away.
Oh, Lord. And I thought my existence was so mundane. Wait until I tell Vicki about this.
Then terror stunned her as she realized she might never see Vicki again. Or Mama.
No, before she'd accepted this, she needed more.
Jerking her gaze back to him, she ordered, “Prove it."
"Prove what?"
"Prove to me that this is 1718.” She needed that. Something, anything, to make sense of this entire situation. “Prove to me that I'm your wife, Jack. Prove to me that everything you're telling me is the truth.” There. He would have to come clean. Have to tell her all of this was nothing but a stinking lie.
The startled look on his face was nearly her undoing. She cared for this man. Truly, she did. Somehow. She just wanted something—some semblance of truth and sani
ty to bop her on the head and make her believe that this story he portrayed was indeed the truth, and that all of this was possible. No, not possible, but probable. She needed a dose of reality about now. The problem was, did she want it to be the truth, or did she want it to be fantasy?
He held her gaze a moment longer, then gently grasped her left hand. She watched as his thumb and forefinger squeezed the band of gold around her third finger and pulled. Funny, how all this time she couldn't get the ring off but he pulled it off with such ease. As it left her finger, her hand suddenly felt naked and empty, and there was a definite tug at her heartstrings when it was gone. Jack held the ring between his thumb and forefinger and thrust it between the two of them.
"I traveled to the mainland for this. I wanted it to be special. When I placed it on your finger our wedding day, I knew then that we'd sealed a bond that would last forever."
He turned the ring in his fingers then handed it to Claire. “Look.” His gaze caught and held hers. Without breaking the connection, she reached out and took the ring. “Go on, look at it."
She held it in the palm of her left hand. With her right hand she picked up the wide gold band and looked closer, turning it so she could see the interior. It was inscribed.
With her heart tripping madly in her chest, she read out loud the words she saw: “For Eternity, 15 June, 1717."
Stunned, she could not take her eyes off the ring until Jack took it from her hand and returned it to her shaking finger.
"This,” he began, “is where it belongs. And this is where it will stay."
Misty clouds enveloped her brain, turning her vision fuzzy. The world turned white around her and blood galloped in her ears. She turned, lightheaded and nauseous all at once as she fell into a solid heap at Jack's feet.
* * * *
The next thing Claire realized as she looked up at Jack through veiled eyes was that she ought to get up from there and run. Run as fast and as far as her legs could carry her. But to where? He cared for her. He loved her. She had felt it in his kisses last night. She saw it in his eyes when he woke this morning. He'd saved her from Rick. He'd protected her.
No, if everything Jack told her was true, she couldn't run. She had to stay right here. At least now she knew he wasn't crazy. Or a ghost. And as bizarre as it all seemed, it was relief to know that somehow, she'd been transported to another time, and was not in the hands of a lunatic. No, her best chance was to stay right here.
