by Bonnie Dee
She clung to Joel Thorne’s hand and drew a deep breath as he pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs.
Chapter Two
It was like walking through a nightmare. If it weren’t for the pain every time she moved, she would have been sure she was still asleep. Perhaps she was dead. The alternative was unthinkable.
There was dirt everywhere, crumbling stone lying in the passages, ivy blocking the windows of the deserted, moldering rooms, growing up inside the walls. Grass and weeds pushed through cracks in the stone floors. Bushes sprouted in unlikely places. There was even a tree in the throne room. The whole castle crawled with cobwebs, dust, mold, the stench of damp and disrepair and neglect. And silence. Utter silence that she could never remember in her life before, except for the sound of their echoing footsteps crunching through rubble and dust.
Somewhere, with the part of her brain that could still think, she was aware she clutched the stranger’s hand too tightly. But she couldn’t make herself let go. It was as if he was the only other person in the world.
Oh please, no, please…
“How long has the palace been abandoned?” she whispered, blurting the words before she realized she couldn’t bear the answer.
“More than decades,” Joel Thorne answered. “The condition this place is in, I’d say several centuries. Which is a shame, leaving a beautiful building like this to rot.”
“But that’s impossible! Where is my mother? My father? What happened to everyone?” She stared out of the open door into the courtyard, so hopelessly overgrown that she could barely even see the fountain.
With a sudden movement more of fear than anger, she slammed the door on the impossible, unendurable sight.
“I don’t know, Aurora,” Thorne said as she swung toward him, looking for answers. There was helpless pity in his voice, in the butterfly touch of his fingers on her cheek.
She gasped. “I won’t have it! I won’t! It’s impossible.” She ran her fingers up his arm and clutched. Beneath his clothing was hard, relentless muscle. “What day is it?”
He blinked. “Saturday.”
“More!”
“Saturday, the twenty-third of May.”
“In the year…?”
He swallowed, as if he knew she wouldn’t like the answer. She didn’t even like the question. As long as she didn’t know, she could pretend that everything was all right, that it was a trick, that she’d wandered into the wrong house and forgotten they’d shut this one up for whatever reason…
He told her.
The blood sang in her ears; dizziness rushed up from her toes in a low whoosh that might have been her own cry of fear and loss. And then, blessedly, the nightmare was shut out by blackness.
She could smell wood smoke, could hear the faint sounds of someone rustling in the room. So she wasn’t alone. Someone had lit a fire. This was better. Beneath her still-aching body was softness, and she was conscious of warmth and comfort. Oh yes, this was much better.
Taking a risk, she opened her eyes.
The nightmare hadn’t gone. Despair settled over her heart.
The vegetation across the window acted now as a curtain on the night. Lit candles were scattered about the room and the rubble had mostly been swept to one side. She was in the lesser drawing room. Beneath the high, carved stone fireplace mantel, Joel Thorne poked the flames on the hearth with a stick.
At least he hadn’t abandoned her.
She’d never met him in her life before she’d awakened the last time and yet he seemed like her only hope, the only reality left for her to cling to. The flames danced across his clean-shaven, handsome face, shadowing the hollows of his jaw. It was a strong, intelligent face and, despite his odd dress, he gave an impression of solid reliability.
Unless he was tricking her. Unless all this was some kind of elaborate hoax, though with what aim…
He glanced up, interrupting her wild speculation, and gave a quick smile. A good smile, lightening the natural solemnity of his expression and making him look both younger and more approachable.
“You’re awake again.”
She pulled herself into a sitting position. “How long this time?”
He shrugged. “Just a few minutes. Long enough for me to carry you in here, beat some cushions and lay you on them in my sleeping bag. I loosened your dress, by the way, because it looked so uncomfortable, but I promise I didn’t gape or grope.”
She frowned. “Gape or grope? What does that mean?”
“Never mind,” he said hastily.
As the rest of his speech sank in, she began to blush with understanding. She wasn’t used to being handled by menservants, only by women, so this seemed wrong. And yet, oddly exciting. Of course, she was emotionally confused right now.
“Thank you,” she said faintly, examining the strange quilted cocoon in which she was wrapped.
He walked toward her and crouched down among the dustier cushions beside her. “How do you feel?”
She swallowed. “Sore. Confused.” She closed her eyes on the upsurge of tears. “Desolate,” she whispered.
“Aurora.” Her name on his lips soothed, as did his hand when he laid it on hers, warm and comforting. “Don’t worry. We’ll work this out. It’s dark now, so we’ll stay here tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll take you down to the village and we can find a doctor who can help you.”
She stared at him. “Will he give me back lost time? Will he give me my mother and father? My friends and my betrothed?”
There was a pause while he searched her eyes. He wasn’t remotely intimidated by her anger. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “But I hope he’ll give you something that helps.”
He took his hand away and she felt curiously forlorn. But he only reached across her for his backpack. Clearly he had no concept of maintaining a respectful distance, for the hair on his arm, at once crisp and soft, actually tickled her chin. Even more strangely, she didn’t mind. She liked the smell of him, warm, a little faint sweat from exercise, something both elusive and alluring that reminded her of spice and orchards in summer.
He heaved the bag over her and dumped it between his long legs while he rummaged inside. “Hungry?”
Bemused as much by watching him as by his strange, curt speech, she had to think before she answered. “Um—yes, I think so…”
“Good.” He brought out some odd, light containers, pulling the lids off each with a mocking flourish. “Help yourself.”
Aurora closed her mouth. “What is it?”
“Bread, local cheese, salami and ham, some salad. Fruit, chocolate.” Misunderstanding her hesitation, he added, “There’s enough for two.”
It wasn’t what she was used to. Frankly, it was peasants’ food, but she’d been brought up never to be rude to her inferiors, and so she thanked him politely and reached into one box to pick up some cheese. He cut off a hunk of bread from the loaf, using a knife that unfolded from a short, rounded silver stick and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said again.
He took out a couple of bottles, one the clear water bottle she’d drunk from already, and the other a dark green color. He glanced at her. “There’s water and beer. I’d advise the former until you’ve seen the doctor.”
“I’ve never drunk beer in my life. Don’t you have any wine?”
“No.” He didn’t have to sound so pleased about it.
Sniffing, she took the water bottle, remembering to thank him once again. Her stomach rumbled and, as she bit into the bread and cheese together, she realized how good peasants’ food really was.
“So, Aurora, what’s the rest of your name?” he asked, placing two slices of salami and tomato slices onto one piece of bread.
“Alexandra Maria Helena, daughter of King Hubert Wilhelm George and Queen Elizabeth Annaliese.”
“I meant your surname.”
She frowned. “Do you jest? We are the royal family. Our lineage stretches back to the beginning of time.”
&
nbsp; “The royal family, eh?” His tone still suggested that he doubted her word. “Schlaushagen is ruled by a democratically elected government these days.”
“Oh.” Aurora was at a loss to imagine a time in which her country did not have a monarch. How had such a thing come to pass? “Lauchevitzerstein is our family name.”
“My last name is Thorne,” he said and a quick smile flashed across his mouth. “No string of names and definitely no noble lineage. You can just call me Joel.”
He took a bite of his bread and Aurora found herself watching with fascination as his strong white teeth tore free a large chunk, taking it efficiently into his mouth and chewing close-mouthed. At least he didn’t have a peasant’s table manners.
When he’d swallowed, he picked up the green beer bottle and took a hefty swig. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen. It was my birthday when I…” She broke off, swamped once more by the memory of the glowing spinning wheel and the sharp, unexpected prick when she’d touched it.
“When you what?” he prompted.
“It was my birthday,” she repeated more slowly. “My parents had invited our friends, all the most powerful nobles from our country and from Karl’s, because our betrothal was to be announced. I was dressed for the ball, but the maids were so busy fussing over the correct jewelry for me I got bored, and wandered off.”
She stared in front of her, picked up the water bottle as if it held the secret of this mess. “I wanted to go to the south tower. I don’t know why. My parents had always forbidden it. But I’d snuck up there once before when I was a child, following one of the maids. It was full of sharp things, the things I was never allowed to go near—scissors and needles, pins, spinning wheels. So many that they positively glittered. That time the maid turned and saw me and quickly slammed and locked the door again.
“The night of the ball, I was drawn to return. I was nineteen and soon to be married. I didn’t want to be a child, so over-protected that I couldn’t even look at a pin! And so I went up there, even knowing the door would be locked. It always was.”
She looked at Joel, almost wondering at the effort of memory that seemed like yesterday and yet was hazy and confused. She couldn’t properly explain the compulsion that had drawn her to the tower. He gazed back steadily, waiting.
“It wasn’t. That’s the funny thing. The door wasn’t locked at all. When I pushed, it opened immediately and now all that was there was one solitary spinning wheel. It glittered too. In fact, it shone so brightly I just had to touch it, to find out what it felt like. So I walked over to it. Despite what my parents had always said ever since I could remember, I knew I was an adult now and nothing as trivial as a spinning wheel could possibly damage me. I reached out and touched the spindle.”
“Then what?” Joel prompted when she fell silent.
“I pricked my finger on it.” She lifted the finger, examining it. “Look.”
He leaned over, taking her hand, and gazed down at the healed scab on her right forefinger. He smiled and lifted the finger to his lips, kissing it lightly, briefly.
“You look, Aurora. That’s not a thousand-year-old scab. And I have to say, none of you looks a thousand years old. I think you fell up there and hurt your head. It’s quite a vivid story you’ve concocted for yourself, but with a doctor’s help, I’m sure your true memories will come back.”
Stricken, she stared at him. “But I want these ones. They’re all I have. Joel, I want my mother…”
Joel said something beneath his breath and put his arms around her, drawing her close into his arms. “We’ll find her,” he promised. “We’ll find everyone you’ve lost, everyone you need.”
Stunned by his familiarity, she held herself rigid, but then, suddenly terrified he would let her go, she relaxed into his solid comfort and let the tears come. Suddenly she didn’t care if he was a peasant or some strange lord from a future time that terrified her. She clutched his arms, his shoulders, as if they were her one salvation, buried her face in his chest and wept.
He held her in a big, rocking hug, stroking her hair until the storm had passed. Even then, when she slowly, shame-facedly, lifted her head, he didn’t let her go. His lips tugged upward and, in shy response, she let hers follow.
He bent his head and softly kissed her mouth.
At the first touch of his lips, something surged through her, vital and desperate. It was a brief kiss, less even than she had shared with Karl the night before the ball she’d never got to, and yet it changed everything. He drew back slightly, and she realized he meant it as no more than comfort. Comforting the child that she wasn’t. She needed… She didn’t know what she needed, except him.
So she reached up and fastened her mouth to his.
Stunned, Joel let the deranged girl’s sweet, clinging lips move over his. He should never have kissed her in the first place. She’d just looked so wounded and vulnerable—and yes, so damned beautiful—that it had seemed the right thing to do. It had been impulse, instinct, with the purest intentions, but even as he did it, part of him was aware that if she’d been male, old or unattractive, he was unlikely to have chosen that particular form of comfort.
He put his hand up to her face, meaning to disengage with gentleness, to explain how he couldn’t possibly take advantage of someone so emotionally upset right now, but as he moved his lips to speak, she took it as a sign of response and sank deeper with a sigh.
Joe’s body acted without permission and from the worst of intentions. Fire seemed to curl from her lips through his entire body. His cock, already perked by her beauty, rose up like a rampant beast in his pants. She was all softness and passion. Her breasts pressed into his chest. His hands itched to touch, to caress and tweak. With some superhuman effort, he prevailed, but he wouldn’t have been human at all if he’d been able to resist kissing her back.
Hell, it was only a kiss, and whatever the beast in his pants was demanding, he’d make damned sure it got to be no more than that. So he opened his mouth wider, taking hers with him and slid his tongue into her mouth.
She tasted of lemons and vanilla, at once sweet and tangy, and she smelled delicious too, some heady scent of roses and sunshine that made him long to bury himself inside her. Her tongue seemed shocked to encounter his, but after an instant, it slid along his, and let him suck hers into his own mouth.
She let out a little moan, twisting in his arms as if she needed to get closer. Her lips, her whole body seemed to burn up with a fever of passion, and everything in him leapt to meet it. His hand closed over the softness of her silk-covered breast at last, felt the nipple grow under his palm until he slid his hand downward and caressed it with his thumb. She moaned again, her breath hot and exciting in his mouth.
Hot. Fever. Illness. Confusion. For fuck’s sake, Thorne, what are you doing?
He slid his hand back to her waist, drew his mouth free with as much gentleness as he could muster.
“Aurora,” he said a little too harshly. “Slow down.”
Confusion clouded the warm passion in her eyes. Then hurt overlaid them both, and he groaned aloud.
“You don’t like me,” she whispered.
“God, it isn’t that…”
“It must be. You don’t fear my rank, if you even believe in it. I’m not usually so…immodest, but I’m not stupid. Just say I disgust you.”
“Disgust me? Aurora, this is how much you disgust me.” He seized her hand and carried it to the rigid hardness of his cock to make his point. Perhaps that wasn’t wise under the circumstances, but he didn’t think best in the grip of sexual frustration.
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away in shock. Neither, fortunately, did she delve inside his pants. Her fingers moved uncertainly, feeling the outline of his shaft. He swallowed, maintaining his self-control with difficulty.
Her face burned. He lifted her hand off his cock and carried it to his lips for a quick kiss. “That’s how much I want you, so don’t tempt me anymore. When you�
�re better, and if you still want to come, I’d love to take you out to dinner.”
Even as he said the words, he laughed at himself. He sounded so pompous and grown up. Which was another matter. The girl was nineteen and clearly not as experienced as he’d expected. Yet another reason to back off.
And yet the sneaking thought entered his head that if Vee had ever felt half so good in his arms, he wouldn’t be this tormented over the decision he needed to make concerning their possible future together. She was not yet his fiancée, not really even his girlfriend, more of a business partner if anything. He owed Vee nothing, at least not in emotional terms, and yet even thinking of her now felt like treachery. Though whether to her or Aurora he wasn’t clear and didn’t want to be.
Aurora’s gaze fell. She shifted away from him, and perversely, he wanted her back in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just feel so…”
“Needy,” he said ruefully. “Me too, but with considerably less cause. Come on, eat up. It’ll make you feel better.”
Chapter Three
“This drawing room was one of my mother’s favorite rooms in the house. She loved to sit here playing the clavichord.” Aurora stroked her hand down the dusty keyboard and the musical instrument gave a discordant jangle. “She would die to see her beloved instrument ruined.” Her choice of words struck her like an arrow to the chest, for very likely her mother was dead, long dead and turned to dust.
“How could all this time have passed? A magic spell must have catapulted me forward through time. I must find a way back to my own time.”
Joel walked over to join her by the clavichord. He plunked one key over and over, a horribly out of tune B-flat. “Magic. I suppose that’s one possibility. Or some sort of wormhole through space. Or maybe, you simply came here with a film crew to make a…a music video or something. You went up into the tower alone, knocked yourself out and remained unconscious until I happened to come along.” He paused. “The wormhole idea is seeming more believable.”
