by Jackie Ivie
“Um. Per...fectly.”
“Then why haven’t you disrobed?”
She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. He had especially vivid light blues eyes. They were a riveting shade.
Oh, crap.
The alarm bells got louder. She needed to stand on the stool to face him. This was completely unequal. Either he was more immense than a professional basketball player, or she’d lost several inches in height. She wasn’t used to being this small.
“Well?” he prompted.
She cleared her throat. “Maybe it’s because...oh, I don’t know. I’m stuck in some weird dream, in an unfamiliar place, with a strange guy...and I don’t know what he wants. Everything is—I can’t explain it. It’s too bizarre.”
“You’re soaked to the skin.”
“As are you,” she pointed out.
He glanced down at himself as if to verify. Looked back up, only now he regarded her from beneath lowered lashes. His chin was set, too. That expression sent sizzling-level erotic-themed sensations shooting through her. On an unbelievable scale.
“We don’t have time for this.”
“For...what exactly?”
Oh, good. Her voice worked still.
“Arguing.”
Arguing? That’s what he called it? Elena didn’t have a reply. She waved her hand for him to continue.
“You need to get into dry clothing.”
“Oh. I think I’m fine...just like I am.”
“I need my coat back.”
Elena lifted it off her shoulders. Cold instantly slapped at her, lifting goose bumps everywhere. They even made darts out of her nipples, sensitizing them worse than before. She was shaking as she held the fur out to him, and the darn thing was so heavy, she had to use both of her arms.
Crap.
Her attire was glued to her, too. She didn’t have to check. She watched a nerve work in his jaw as he glanced down at her and then he lifted his gaze to something over her head.
“You need to get into dry clothing,” he repeated.
“All right. Do you have some?”
He grunted.
“Is that a yes?”
“You need to undress first.”
“Oh. I think the answer to that is no. Not with you anywhere in the vicinity, anyway.”
“You worry without reason.”
“Really?”
“I’m not interested in ravishment.”
You’ve got to be joking. Elena bit her tongue before the words came out. His tight leather pants weren’t disguising anything. The man was aroused. She couldn’t seem to ignore it, despite trying. And she had a very hard time not glancing down in that direction.
“Um. I...hope you’ll understand when I reply that your answer does not inspire confidence?” she asked.
His frown deepened. He still didn’t look down at her.
“You are a noblewoman. Your words betray you.”
“Whatever,” Elena replied.
He glanced down at her. Looked away again. “Woman. Please. I just want what’s in your skirt.”
Elena gasped. He instantly added more words, as if that helped.
“Wait! You mistake me. I refer to—.”
He muttered something. He might as well save his breath. He had a look of distaste as he reached out and snagged the fur from her grasp. All kinds of muscle moved in his arms and chest as he did so. He slung the cape over his shoulders and walked past her on the other side of the center pole. The room wasn’t wide enough to miss her. His coat was wet. It was like getting brushed with a sopping wet mop. He stopped at the door. Turned around. Elena tried to stand taller. It didn’t work. She stood to his upper belly. Maybe his pecs. That was disconcerting.
“Bar the door behind me.”
“You’re...leaving?”
Reaction was setting in. Her voice was timid. Unsure. Tear-choked. She wished the words unsaid the moment they left her mouth.
“Go to the fire. Warm yourself. Undress. Cover with the blankets. You will be safe if you stay here.”
Elena didn’t reply.
“I’m going for my horse,” he spoke as if she’d asked.
“Your...horse?”
“We are leaving once I return.”
“We? What we? You expect me to travel with you? Just you? On horseback? In this weather? Tonight?”
He regarded her for a long moment while Elena’s heartbeat just got louder and faster until it resounded through her ears. She had to concentrate to hear his next words.
“You can stay. But not until I get the fortune you have sewn into your dress.”
Elena gasped. Looked down at her skirt. Lifted a portion. Dropped it. There was a distinct jingling sound. They both heard it.
That’s what he’d meant?
Oh, jeez.
“You’re very pretty.”
“What?”
Elena looked back up at him, tried to hold his gaze. Her vision was awash with moisture. Oh, please. Not now. She couldn’t cry now! Despite the thought, she sniffed. It wasn’t her fault, though. She was completely out of her element, stuck in some inescapable weird realm, and this was rapidly turning into a nightmare. She dropped her focus to the floor between them.
“Pretty enough that Cedric may decide not to kill you...once he has your trunks. And I am gone.”
Elena blinked a tear into existence. It slid down her cheek. Dripped off her chin. She watched it land on the skirt. It didn’t show. The material was still too wet.
“What is your name?”
His tone was soft. That started another wave of emotion. She sucked in a breath and held it, tensing everywhere to hold back sobs. And finally, it worked.
“Well?”
“Elena,” she whispered.
He grunted. “Elena. I said I’d protect you, and I will. But only if you wish it. So. Do we have an accord?”
“I’ll undress while you’re gone,” she told the floor.
The sound of the door opening and the closing behind him was her answer.
CHAPTER SIX
Elena took a deep breath. Her life had been a mess. Now, it didn’t even make sense. And that had made her cry?
Dumb.
Tears wouldn’t help. They never did. Sometimes, they even hindered. Immune systems could be affected by emotion. She had to stay upbeat. Optimistic. Strong. None of that had mattered when her baby had been birthed at six months and failed to breathe. She’d sobbed for weeks, gotten ill, and then gradually the depression had faded. Her health returned. She’d gained a few desperately needed pounds. She was young. So was her husband. They could have other children.
And then, she’d found the lump.
Her mother had died because she’d tried to save her breasts. Elena had been a child, but she’d seen the horror her mother had been through. That’s why Elena opted for the double mastectomy. But only after she’d freaked out. Called in sick. Hidden in her bedroom. Sobbed for two days...
Elena blinked the rugged wooden door back into focus.
She needed a drink.
Badly.
How could she be thinking about all that now? The divorce? The surgery? The baby? She didn’t know how much time she had before Morrigan returned. She knew he would, though. Because this was too real. She had to be living this. She’d somehow been transported to a historical period when men thought they ruled, and women were supposed to...
She didn’t even want to guess what a woman’s role was. It was too frightening. There had to be another explanation.
Please, God.
Reincarnation!
That was it! But...how? Even if she believed in that, shouldn’t she be a newborn? And shouldn’t this be the future? Unless...
Her belly sank.
Could there have been an apocalypse and this was the future?
Something hit the side of the hovel. Elena jumped. Had Morrigan returned with his horse already?
Oh, crap. She needed to get the door barred.
The portal was about six fee
t from where she stood. It took an act of will to reach, however, with her skirts dragging every step. The wooden bolt creaked before it fell, slamming down into metal brackets. That bolt was about the size of a two-by-eight, although it wasn’t smoothed like those in a lumber store. Looked stout, though. Elena brushed her palms together, and took a step back. The hem of her attire didn’t follow. She yanked it toward her and then looked down at herself.
Wow.
This dress was borderline obscene. The fabric appeared to be made from heavy bridal satin in some dark color. The bodice edge was extremely low-cut, and had a wide ribbon trim that glittered with little colored pieces. Thousands of them. Someone had gone overboard with the prom look. The stones resembled rubies. Sapphires. Emeralds. Opals. Some little black things.
Elena touched a finger to the stones before swiveling around to face the fire. The skirt twisted, but didn’t move. The fire was crackling away, sending heat, but not much light. Firelight reflected off a lot of facets, however. The trim was rigid. Slightly scratchy. Looked real. Felt it. If these were genuine gemstones...?
And...
Wait just a minute here.
She truly had breasts again! She ran her hands under each one, lifting them while her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. They were real. And they were large. Implants had once been on her to-do list, but she’d never considered this size. She’d been worried they’d look faked.
Elena moved her fingers onto the tops of her breasts next. The caress sent shivers. Tightened her nipples into darts she could not only feel but see against the satin. And why? Because the dress was designed exactly to her dimensions...and it was molding to every nuance. Her actions also sent a tingle to her lower belly. That was erotic. Everything in the vicinity got a dose of the sensation. The backs of her legs even quivered with it.
Elena slid her hands down her ribcage next, looking for side zippers. Her waist was incredibly tiny, but that could be misleading. She’d been cinched so tightly, it was beyond ridiculous. She’d worn a corset before. She’d tried shape-wear, too. Nothing had felt this restrictive. She brushed hair out of the way to see down further. And then it hit her.
She’d brushed hair out of her way.
This just kept getting stranger and stranger.
She’d already seen the hair, but it was still a shock. It was an indecipherable dark shade, somewhere between sable brown and black. It was at least waist-length. Locks clung to her torso. More strands lifted with every arm movement. She’d never worn it this long. The two times she’d tried a wig after losing her hair she’d opted for a short style. She’d worn Lady Godiva wigs on Halloween before, however. She’d forgotten how it felt. Elena moved a hand up behind her head, checking for a wig cap. She couldn’t feel one...and when she pulled at strands, she got a corresponding pinprick of pain in her scalp.
Yep.
It was real hair. It was attached to her head. This body was beyond belief. She’d had a good figure once, a little on the skinny side. Weirdly, chemo had just made her gain weight, so then she’d had the opposite problem. Now, she looked like an incarnation of an adult comic book goddess.
But, what did any of that matter? She needed to get busy. Get this dress off and be covered in a blanket before Morrigan returned. Saw her.
And reacted.
That thought sent all kinds of sensations. Liquid warmth flowed through her veins, leaving heat in its wake. She wasn’t remotely cold anymore.
Oh, no. No. This could not be happening.
She was getting turned on?
Oh, Elena. Get a grip, girl.
She checked the front of her gown again, craning her neck forward and lifting breasts to see. The dress didn’t fasten anywhere in the front. It would be hell to try and reach the back. Her top wasn’t connected to the bottom, however. Maybe she could shed the skirt first.
She found a waistband. It was sewn supremely tightly. Elena sucked in a breath, hooked her thumbs beneath the material and shifted the skirt around. She had to do it three times before the back of her dress came into view. It brought a large mound with it, as if she carried a load of laundry below the belt area.
What in the world...?
Elena stared and then pushed on both sides. The mound shifted slightly but didn’t budge. It felt like she was dealing with a lot of material packed into rows. She looked up. Stared at the fire. Dealt with something that sent shock shooting through her. It replaced the heat of a moment before.
This couldn’t be what it looked like.
No.
Elena didn’t know much about historical costuming. Her career was in the judicial field. But this looked like the thing called a bustle. That meant this wasn’t the future. No woman would allow fashion like this.
But that meant...she’d time traveled.
Impossible.
This was bad. And it was real.
Her head spun.
Oh no, Elena. No. No!
Her legs wobbled, but she tightened her thighs and fought the weakness. Time travel was off-the-charts unbelievable. Unreal. Unacceptable. And all kinds of other words that began with the letters ‘un-’. At the top of the list was unsettling. The shivers she experienced now weren’t remotely pleasant.
If she was in the past, she’d be expected to assume a subordinate position. And while the thought was distasteful, the idea it had already happened was deplorable. She was under the control of a man right now, although he’d called it protection. She was in his shack. Obeying what he’d asked.
No. No. Not possible.
She needed proof. And then she needed a game-plan. Until then, she’d need to be a lot smarter. Bite her tongue. Use her wits and knowledge. Figure out what was really happening and how to get out of here. And that meant she had to pretend to do what Morrigan wanted.
For now.
Elena looked back down at the skirt. A row of hooks had come into view alongside the bustle-thing. The top ones were at the waistband. Those were so tight Elena had to suck in her belly and arch backward to get them unfastened. But the relief was instantaneous. She opened the hooks as far as they went and peeled the satin down. It didn’t fall. It was stopped by a mass of ivory-shaded linen-looking material. She could see lumps sewn all through the material with large uneven stitches. Like random polka-dots. She reached for one. Lifted it. The dot was hard, flat, and round. It felt like a coin.
Elena ripped it free. Lifted it close. Narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t been mistaken. It was a silver coin. One side was embossed with a crown at the top, above a heraldic-looking crest situated between two pillars. The edge bore some lettering she couldn’t read. The coin was mint condition. Obviously uncirculated. She turned it over. The other side had the profile of a large nosed-man wearing an elaborate eighteenth-century hairstyle. More lettering was around the edge. And at the bottom was a date.
1790.
Her legs gave. She didn’t even get a warning. Elena dropped into the mass of material, propped onto her belly atop the bustle. Everything was damp. Chilled. Clammy. She clutched the coin while every part of her shook. Her heart turned into a caged entity, beating rapidly inside her chest. A knot seized her throat, constricting each swallow. Her eyes were so wide, the air hurt. The sound of thumping was loud in both ears. The blows heavy-handed. Continual.
Oh, dear God.
“Unbar the door!”
Morrigan’s shout was loud, even through the door. Elena turned her head. Watched and heard another heavy thump smack into the door, sending a haze of wood splinters into the scene. She watched them dance with flicks of firelight. Another huge thump hit the other side of the door.
“I warn you, Woman!”
She started toward the door, but it wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t graceful. The gown was even heavier in this position, like an anchor. Trapped in the gown, her legs wrapped in yards of wet material, she’d resorted to crawling…her hand outstretched. Far from the door when the bolt shattered.
CHAPTER SEVEN
&
nbsp; Morrigan’s anger evaporated the moment he saw her crumpled on the floor, one arm raised toward the door. She was pale, her eyes large and wide. He hadn’t been mistaken on her beauty. Bluish light from the snow-filled night lit her face, while firelight from behind burnished her hair into a halo. She didn’t appear to even see him, however. He couldn’t name her expression. He’d never seen it before. But he knew she hadn’t looked that way when he’d left.
Was she suffering the ill effects of near-drowning? Re-living the chaos of her rescue? Perhaps she actually believed Morrigan’s threat? That he’d leave her to Cedric? Or perhaps...she was the skittish sort and had spied a rat?
This was stupid. He might as well cease pondering. It could be many things, none of which he fathomed. Women were an ever mysterious lot and he couldn’t be the first man to think so.
His fire-pit was reacting to the infusion of air. Flames leapt upward, reflecting off the backdrop of hammered tin. Fire hadn’t reached wood yet, but there was always a risk. Morrigan quickly lowered the trunk he carried. Beside it, he settled the pack draped across his other shoulder. He brushed snow from his hood before stepping in farther, turning about, and slowly closing the door. The wood gapped open almost immediately. He regarded it for a moment before pushing it shut again. This time, he held it closed with a knee while shoving the trunk into place before it. The seal wasn’t perfect, but it worked. For now. He’d fashion another bolt when he went for firewood.
He sighed heavily. Turned back to the room. Slid from his coat next, looked up to hook it from a spike in a ceiling beam. More snow accompanied his movements, the flakes sparkling as they sifted downward and dissipated. And then he moved his gaze down to Elena. She hadn’t moved. He squatted to reach her approximate level.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
“It’s seventeen ninety,” she whispered.
He took the coin she held out to him. Excitement raced through him, sending instant warmth even through his damp clothing. He hoped it came from the coin, and not contact with her. He bit the piece for something to do. Glanced back at her.
“It’s a Spanish reale. Small. Easy to transport. Easier to spend. Not worth a lot, unless—?”
