Only In My Dreams: A Time Travel Anthology

by Sahara Kelly

  “Yep.”

  “You want one too?” Jake groaned as he unfolded his long legs from the rug on which he sat with Renny.

  She leaned back against the couch and tucked her blanket more cozily around her knees. “Nope. I’m good. Thanks, anyway.” She watched the dancing flames as Jake left in search of more sustenance.

  He returned promptly with a fresh beer and a bowl of pretzels. Renny shook her head at him.

  “What?” He looked aggrieved.

  “These things are bad for you.” She took one and crunched it. “I’m convinced Marianne will go along with it, the more I think about it.”

  “Okay. I’ll trust your instincts.” Jake settled himself. “Exactly how we’re going to tell her we want to hypnotize her, drug her and send her back into her dreams, I’m not sure.”

  Renny snorted. “Well, not exactly like that, for a start.”

  “Not tactful enough?”

  “No.”

  Jake shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a guy. We believe in being up-front about this stuff.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Renny grinned and snitched another pretzel. “I think we can phrase the whole thing a little more professionally than stare-at-my-eyes, drink-this-drugged-up-tea and relax.”

  “Okay. You go first.” Jake chuckled.

  His wife sighed. “I feel for her, Jake. She’s so damn in love with her dream Christian. He’s everything to her—her life, her soul—I remember some of what that was like. Loving you, dreaming about you—it may be a bit blurry now, but you and I both know it was there. It brought us together.”

  Jake stroked Renny’s knee. “Thank God.” His hand slid further along her thigh. “I’ll always be grateful to our dreams, babe.”

  She put her hand over his, staying its progress for a moment. “If Marianne can find peace, it will be enough for her, I think.”

  “Perhaps.” Jake sounded thoughtful. “But what kind of peace she’ll find…well, that remains to be seen.” His fingers tightened around Renny’s thigh. “She’ll have to come to terms with his death, Ren. She can’t change the past.”

  “I know.” Renny felt a little lick of sadness brush the back of her neck, chilling her. “I know.”

  Jake leaned to his wife. “That’s for tomorrow. Right now, I can think of something I’d much rather munch on than dry pretzels.” He nipped Renny’s ear.

  She smiled and put thoughts of the following day aside. “Really?”

  “Mmm hmm.” His tongue followed his lips and circled the delicate lobe. “Much tastier.” His hand slid from beneath Renny’s and found its way to her panties beneath her robe. “And much moister, too.”

  “Is moister a word?”

  “Probably not. But it’s certainly accurate…”

  Renny sighed and surrendered as her husband’s wonderfully talented fingers slipped beneath the fragile lace and cotton of her underwear and began exploring some incredibly sensitive places.

  Her last rational thought as they tumbled onto the rug in front of the fire was the hope that someday Marianne would find this happiness…this bliss.

  And make her dreams come true.

  *~~*~~*

  Marianne was far from having dreams of peace and fulfillment.

  She had packed a small travel bag as directed, accepting Jake and Renny’s suggestion that she stay with them for a few days. They seemed hopeful that they could help her come to terms with all this stuff.

  Marianne herself wasn’t so sure.

  She sat at her desk and double-checked her email before closing her laptop. Of course it was going with her—a writer never left home without it. God knew when an idea might hit and she drew comfort from the familiar light of her screen and quiet click of her keyboard.

  There was nothing important that needed to be answered. She was well into her next novel, several chapters ahead of her own personal schedule. It was as good a time as any to go out of town for a little trip.

  Into her dreams.

  She shrugged. Maybe—maybe not. She liked Jake and Renny, which was a good thing. If all else failed, she’d get a few days at a nice country house with pleasant people and charmingly bucolic scenery.

  Once again, Marianne scrolled down her links to the entries in her folder marked “Christian”. Used to doing research for her books, it had taken her little time to dig up a few hazy facts about him.

  She’d begun the night after her first vividly erotic experience with him—the night she’d remembered his name after she’d awoken. Subsequent dreams had filled in the blanks, but that first time had incited a curiosity that had all but overwhelmed her for several days.

  “Lawrence, Christian, Capt. b. 1789. d. 1818. Illegitimate son of Sir Hillary Lawrence. Mother unknown. Served in Wellington’s forces and received commendations for his actions on the field at Waterloo. After his death, his estate was sold to a distant branch of the Lawrence family. No offspring.

  Lawrence, Hillary Arthur William, Bart. b. 1760. d. 1827. One son, Thomas, b. 1792. One daughter, Elizabeth, b. 1794. Distinguished member of the Dorset Lawrences…”

  There was no more about Christian. A lot about his father, of course, since Sir Hillary was one of the “landed gentry” and had made his mark on history by building several elegant estates and quite modern educational institutions around Dorset. All of which bore his name.

  It was surprising that Christian was allowed to style himself a “Lawrence”, all things considered. But given his distinguished military career in Wellington’s train, Marianne assumed his father had given him credit for that, at least. Or perhaps tried to claim some of the credit. Marianne wouldn’t have put it past him.

  The picture she had assembled from her research of Christian in her waking hours bore a close resemblance to the Christian she met in her dreams. He was a good man, an intelligent man for his time and wanted nothing more than a life of quiet happiness. With her.

  He bore no grudge against his father for denouncing him as a bastard—in fact, Marianne couldn’t recall him saying much of anything at all about the man other than he’d gotten his blue eyes from him. Had they even met since he’d come of age? She didn’t know.

  At first, her research had frightened her. Coming to terms with the fact that she was seeing a real man who’d lived in the past—and doing it while asleep—well, that was some freaky shit. But over the course of time, Marianne found herself more accepting of the idea. She was not about to refute the assertion that there was still a whole universe of things not understood about the human mind, plus she was steeped in this particular time period because of what she wrote.

  But loving him and watching him die—over and over again—yeah, that was different. She shut her eyes against the images of his body swinging horridly against the early morning sky.

  She’d remember his vibrant passion, the light in his eyes when he claimed her, the song of the nightingales—always the plaintive sounds of that darned bird. Christian had told her it was a nightingale, since she’d not have known otherwise.

  Marianne also tried to forget the terrible sense of frustration, the vague impression that she might have been able to do something to prevent this tragedy. It haunted her every bit as much as his death, lingering in her heart long after the dream had ended.

  An uncertain knowledge that gnawed deep inside. A feeling of something left undone—something incomplete—she wasn’t sure how else to describe it, she just knew it was there. Always there and growing stronger as her dreams grew more intense.

  She sighed and turned off her laptop. Maybe Jake and Renny could help her find out what the hell it was. What the hell she’d done or not done a couple of hundred years ago as somebody else in another country she’d never been to.

  And wasn’t that the craziest thing?

  With a wry grin on her face, Marianne turned out the lights. It was time to grab some sleep if she could. Whether she’d dream of Christian again tonight or not, she had no idea. But at least there was a tiny little flicke
r of light in her darkness now, a possibility that she might get a few answers—a few solutions as to the cause of her madness.

  For madness was surely what it was. How could it be anything else?

  The darkness of the forest surrounded her…

  It would be dawn soon. Although still very black beneath the canopy of oaks and fir trees, Mary Anne knew the first fingers of light were creeping over the horizon. Only an hour until she was to meet Christian—one hour that seemed longer than she could imagine. A lifetime of seconds and minutes.

  Her basket was clutched tightly to her breast, almost concealed by the folds of her cloak. The cool morning air was touched by the first nip of autumn and she was glad she’d brought it, even though she’d not need it later when the sun rose.

  She’d made the decision. She had run away, left her pathetic excuse for a life behind. Today a new life would begin, a dawning of joy and happiness with Christian. It was rather apt that they’d chosen to meet at the same time the dawn was breaking over their little part of the planet.

  And, in fact, a new life had already begun.

  Mary Anne slowed her pace and lightly touched her stomach where Christian’s child lay sleeping quietly. She’d known they were risking much with their lovemaking, yet was helpless to resist the allure of such passion.

  A smile crossed her face at the thought of a lifetime filled with that very passion, surrounded by their children. She didn’t care about what anybody might say. She didn’t care about her family or the fact that they would definitely disown her. They’d given her little but a roof over her head, food and a continual burden of religious fervor.

  Had they ever loved her? She couldn’t say.

  But Christian did. She knew that down to the soles of her feet. When he touched her, smiled at her, stripped her naked and claimed her over and over again—yes, that was love. When he held her hand and talked to her, sharing his hopes and his dreams, telling her of what he wanted their future to be like—that was love.

  Having been deprived of such things for her entire life, Mary Anne had felt her heart blossom with his every attention, his every caress. She’d flowered beneath him like roses after a shower of warm rain. This was the right decision for all of them. And wouldn’t Christian be thrilled when she told him her news?

  Last night—only a few short hours ago—she’d almost let her secret slip, but then she’d held back. Better to see his smile in the daylight, in the carriage that would take them to the coast and the boat he had told her would be awaiting their arrival.

  The plan was to travel to the Colonies, to have the captain marry them as soon as they were at sea and to pass some months abroad until the hue and cry died down. Not that there’d be much in the way of hue and cry. Oh her parents would be distraught, but more at the idea of such shame visiting their family than at the loss of a daughter.

  She wrinkled her nose and moved on, her boots making little sound on the soft grass of the well-worn path.

  Last night…had been incredible.

  Even now her body was alive with the remembered thrill of Christian’s touch. He’d caressed her breasts until she’d almost come with the simple ecstasy of his fingers and his tongue. Her pussy still throbbed as she dared think of what he’d done to her, sucking on her tender folds and probing so cleverly past them to places that made her want to scream with pleasure. She was incredibly sensitive these days, so sensitive that the slightest touch sent her spiraling into delights unimagined in her wildest dreams.

  It would only get better. The sun would rise today on such bliss—she smiled again at the mere thought of it.

  A sound distracted her from her reverie and she paused. There it was again—a whimper of some sort?

  Off to her right, in the brushes and ferns. Definitely a whimper.

  Birds stirred, waking and demolishing the silence with their songs. Alert to every noise, Mary Anne stayed still, trying to pinpoint what she’d heard.

  It came again, not a whimper this time, but a short harsh scream of agony…

  And her alarm clock blared again, rousing Marianne to wakefulness.

  “Fucking hell.” She reached over and blearily thunked the damn thing on the off-button.

  Stretching, she tried to recapture that moment in her dream. It was strangely elusive, like the name of a song whose melody was clear but whose identity was blank.

  She’d been walking through a forest and heard something…

  Shit, shit, shit.

  It was gone.

  Chapter Five

  The sun rose on one of those amazing New England mornings when the mist hung in the distance over trees just turning to hues of fire, evidence of the cool air mass that had chilled the night, but would soon surrender to the rare and welcome warmth of a gorgeous autumn day.

  Marianne sipped the godawful coffee she’d bought, along with a tank of gas, from a small station on her way to Jake and Renny’s. It was hot and full of caffeine, which was all she’d asked. The fact that it probably had a bit of leftover engine oil in it as well…she shrugged. Drinking it at this time of the morning, looking out over this kind of view—who cared what it tasted like? She sure didn’t.

  Fancifully, she imagined knights gathering in a field not far away, the early light glinting off their armor as they joined together for a hunt—or a joust perhaps. There would be maidens, long of hair and draped in silks, peeking from bright tents at their favored gallants. Somewhere a boar would roast over a spit, sending the aroma of food up to mingle with the fragrance of woodsy smoke and dying leaves. It was that kind of morning, beloved of writers with a good imagination.

  And possibly a yen to write a medieval romance or two. Marianne knew the time was coming when she absolutely had to leave the Regency behind her for a bit, turn to a new challenge and keep her stories fresh.

  It would mean leaving Christian out of her tales, though. A little bit of him, some tiny personality trait or physical characteristic, seemed to slide into all her heroes these days. He was her hero, so it was probably inevitable.

  Although he would fare very well as a medieval baron, bravely leading his knights into battle and rescuing the gentle maiden. Which would, of course, be a woman bearing a distinct resemblance to herself. She wasn’t about to let her hero go off and fuck anybody else. Obsessed with this man she might be—stupid, she wasn’t.

  Idly leaning against the fender of her car, she let her thoughts wander where they would. Her past, for example. Was there anything there to hint at a previous life? A previous passion buried in the mists of long ago, much as the forests she gazed upon?

  Nope. Not a damn thing.

  Above the treetops, a hawk circled lazily, wings barely moving as it rode the thermals in search of breakfast. Marianne watched it, wondering what it must be like to fly so freely. Her attention was caught by a tiny movement, something dark was skittering through the grass of a nearby field—a rabbit. Or maybe a hare—it was too far away for her to see much more than brown fur, ears and the quick flash of a white tuft of tail.

  The hawk saw it, too. Marianne found herself tensing and sending mental messages to the bunny—move your furry ass, dammit…

  It was too late. A slick swoop of shining feathers, a short tangle of wings in the grass and the bird was airborne once more, this time with something drooping from its talons.

  Foolishly, Marianne’s eyes stung with tears. The rabbit had done no wrong—but, then again, neither had the hawk. It was life, nature—the process of survival. If she could have saved the rabbit, she probably would have. But then again, the hawk needed food to survive, as did its family.

  Would she have made the right choice if it had been in her hands? Would she have chosen to save the rabbit or sustain the hawk?

  How did one ever know which choices were right and which were wrong? For some obscure reason, her hand dropped to her stomach, touching it, remembering the dreams of a child within. That child had been hers and Christian’s in some former existence, pe
rhaps. That life—created by love and desire—she would have moved heaven and earth to protect it, she knew.

  So…the hawk was entitled to provide for its family. Harsh and unforgiving, life moved on. Species survived.

  She finished her coffee and spared a thought for the rabbit. Yes, life moved on. But at what cost? With a last look at the now-empty fields, Marianne turned and got back into her car. These were pretty heavy metaphysical concepts for somebody who hadn’t been sleeping real well, coffee notwithstanding.

  Perhaps she could resolve some of them over the next day or so. Or at least put some of them to rest. With that thought uppermost in her mind, she pulled back onto the road and headed west. It would be less than an hour now until she reached her destination. And not much longer until she could start working on a possible solution to her problem—her dreams.

  The sun rose higher as the miles slipped by and Marianne found herself with one question uppermost in her mind. If she had to choose between living a “normal” life and never dreaming of Christian again, or loving him in her subconscious mind—knowing he’d die every time she slept—which would she choose?

  Pulling into Jake and Renny’s driveway some fifty-odd miles later, she still hadn’t decided.

  *~~*~~*

  Choices weren’t uppermost in Chris Harvey’s mind when he awoke to find himself soaked in an unpleasant mixture of his own sweat and the results of his nocturnal orgasm. He’d actually come in that frickin’ dream, something he hadn’t done in years.

  It was dark still, although the moonlight on the Pacific outside his California beachfront home gave his bedroom a glimmer of illumination.

  Shit. Fucking stupid shit.

  He staggered to the bathroom, dazzled himself blind by turning on the lights and cleaned up enough to head back to his rumpled bed.

  The dream lingered on though, dancing lightly through his mind like one of his melodies before it got itself transcribed into notes, rhythms and key signatures. Of all the crazy things—it had been a dream of long ago, times he’d barely even imagined.

  Medieval times.