Beyond Time

by Elizabeth Marshall

CHAPTER 5

  She walked through a heavy dusk. Flakes of falling snow blew into her face. She lifted her hand to brush them away but there were too many. Her path ahead was clouded with a thick floating curtain of white. Gradually the dusk became evening and an unearthly orange glow fell over the city. Her body surged forward, driven by a mixture of fear and excitement.

  She had to find him because her life depended on it. She searched the faces of the people around her, she checked down each tiny alley, every nook and cranny but he was nowhere to be found. The snow fell heavier and the pavements became covered until each step was labored.

  Why hadn’t he come to her? Every other night, he had come, but tonight when she needed him the most he had left her to search alone for him. As dusk became dawn she plunged through the bitterly cold wall of snow and fog. The air pierced her skin like a blade, her bones ached with weariness and her feet and hands numbed as darkness descended.

  Her eyes sprang open and she stared at the ceiling, gasping for breath. Her heart pounded and her hands trembled. She was alive but she hadn’t expected to be. There was an icy chill in the room which told her that either the radiator wasn’t working or someone had turned it off.

  Grace sat up slowly, pulling the duvet up under her chin to ward off the cold. She had slept late, later than she had in years. She slid out of bed and headed for the kettle. How much had she drunk at Kate’s last night? Too much judging by the way she felt this morning. Her dream, the medium, they had all merged together into one muddled memory.

  She poured her coffee and swallowed a painkiller with her first sip. Still trembling, she made her way back to bed. Never had she been so grateful for a chance to go back to bed. Her stomach churned and every movement brought her closer to being sick. Her head sank gratefully into the softness of the pillow and she closed her eyes tightly against the bright morning light.

  She watched him as he removed his cufflinks and placed them neatly on the table beside the bed. He removed his shirt and dropped it on the chair beside him. His movements were labored and slow, his face drawn and tired. Her eyes travelled over him as he reached for a towel and rubbed it over his hair. Only then did she realize that he was wet. Suddenly he stopped and lifted his head toward her.

  “Come here?” he whispered.

  She slid across the bed toward him. The powerful muscles of his arms holding her tightly against him, she clung to him so hard that she struggled to breathe. Her heart pounded against him as great rivers of tears flowed from her eyes.

  “Help me, please? I don’t know what to do.”

  “Have faith my dearest Grace, for I will come for you. As sure as the dusk that will fall tonight, I will find you.”

  Feeling infinitely better for her sleep, Grace showered and set out in search of some much needed food. A bowl of pasta later and she felt ready to face the world again. Her plans for the afternoon included a trip to York Castle Museum. She didn’t know why, only that it seemed a good idea. Life had become so complicated that reason and logic were long since forgotten.

  The museum was mercifully quiet as Grace made her way slowly past each exhibit. She savored each one, trying to read as many of the information plaques as she could but the afternoon drew quickly to an end and the time fast approached when the museum would shut. She made her way quickly to the seventeenth century exhibits and displays. Most of the information was fairly generic but she scanned it all, eager not to miss anything. She was drawn to a small display cabinet tucked in the corner of the museum. It held a few items, none of which looked terribly unique or particularly interesting except for a pair of lady’s shoes which caught her eyes. They looked old but their design was modern. They might be four hundred years old but I wouldn’t mind a pair of shoes like that, she thought to herself. Curious about their origin she searched the cabinet for the appropriate information tag.

  ‘A pair of seventeenth century shoes worn by Grace Hamilton, wife of Robert Hamilton.’

  She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Instinct told her to run. She felt exposed and afraid that someone would know who she was. Breathing deeply she told herself that she was being silly. No one was going to believe the ridiculous notion that she was Robert Hamilton’s wife. The man had lived four hundred years ago. His wife was dead and buried alongside him. The thought made her stomach lurch, fear rippled up her spine and the memory of the headstone with the missing inscription burned in her eyes. She rubbed her forehead thoughtfully, wondering if there might be more information on Robert Hamilton in the museum. Her search was quickly rewarded. A pewter mug stood proudly in a display labeled ‘Pubs of York’.

  ‘A pewter mug, believed to have belonged to Robert Hamilton.’

  She ran her fingers over the glass of the cabinet, tracing a slow line around the mug. She pictured his broad hand wrapped around the handle; his lips as the rim touched his mouth. She ached to touch him; to have him take her in his arms, as he had in her dream. But the ancient mug was a pitiful reminder that the man was long since dead and that her mental stability was very much in question.

  She had read about people whose minds created their own reality. Again she considered the possibility that she might be schizophrenic. Were Harry and Kate even real? Did that information card really have her name on it? She guessed that it was perfectly possible that she had had a breakdown of some sort after arriving in York. Perhaps this was her mind’s way of coping and none of this was real. She had to admit that the idea of a fabricated reality made more sense than anything else she could think of. Grace shook her head in frustration. She wasn’t sure she cared too much anymore. If she were indeed going insane then she wasn’t about to die. Her dreams of Robert Hamilton were exquisite. She longed for the light they brought to her life, the happiness she felt when she was in them. The only thing that was destroying her life was her attempt to make sense of it all.

  Grace completed her tour of the museum in considerably better spirits than she had started it. Relenting to her madness had proved liberating and she embraced every mention of Robert Hamilton, allowing her heart to leap with excitement with each new discovery about him.

  She learnt that he was born in York and that he had two brothers and one sister and that at least one of his brother’s descendents still lived in York. She wasn’t surprised to discover that the descendent owned the same post house that Robert had. Of course, it was Harry. Her mind connected the dots and, as it did, her spirits lifted. Life had become a lot easier since she had ceased to question her sanity.

  She didn’t care if Harry or Kate were real; she had no idea whether her job was real or imagined or if she was even in York. Regardless, she decided it would be rude not to tell Kate that she wouldn’t be going into work in the morning. She knew it was a liberty to take another day off so soon after starting. But what did it matter if the job didn’t exist in the first place? She planned to spend tomorrow in the library where she intended to do further research on her Mr. Hamilton.

  Back in her hotel room Grace reached across the desk and lifted the portrait off the wall.

  “Right, Robert Hamilton. Time to have a good look at you.”

  She rested the portrait face up on the bed. It looked no different to the hundreds of other times she had stared at it over the past few days. A smile curled along her lips as she ran her finger gently over his wide square jaw. He was a handsome man, no wonder she had fallen so hopelessly in love with him. She saw the twinkle in his eyes as they smiled back at her and she sighed softly to herself. Soon she would sleep and then he would come to her again and she would cling to the dream as sure as if it were reality.

  Lifting the portrait to the light she examined the frame. Even after so many years the gold leaf shone through. She turned it to the side and noticed some writing on the back of the canvas. Curious, she put the portrait back on the bed, face down. The writing was faded and difficult to make out so she reached for the bedside table lamp and brought it closer to the words.

&n
bsp; “Dear Grace,” it began. She recognized her own handwriting immediately. She had no memory of having taken this portrait off the wall and she certainly didn’t recall ever writing on it. Confused and frightened she continued to read.

  “Dear Grace,” she began again. “I know that you think you are insane, unstable and deranged and I also know that you won’t believe this when I tell you that you’re none of these things. You are having what you will know as a breakdown, but you will be alright in time with Robert’s love and care.

  “Today you went to the York Castle Museum. You found a pair of shoes that Robert will make for you. Trust me; they are even more beautiful new. Harry is real and so is Kate. They are your friends, Grace. They won’t hurt you.

  “I want you to go the shops tomorrow and buy the largest backpack you can find. Try a good camping shop, you should find something suitable there. Then get yourself a good penknife, a lighter and a can of lighter gas, a box of candles, some ball point pens, a small sewing box, four hundred painkillers, (you will have to visit several chemists to get these), antiseptic cream, vitamin tablets, a couple of packs of knickers (they just don’t have such things here and boy do you miss them when you don’t have them), a block of chocolate, sugar cubes and granulated coffee. See if you can find two hot water bottles. Oh and buy yourself some of those nice fleecy jim jams as well.

  “Grace I also need you to go and see Harry. Tell him to lift the floorboards in the small room next to the kitchen.

  “And you need to tell Kate to open the bottom draw of the desk. It has a false bottom to it. Tell her to look underneath it.

  “And Grace, don’t go to see the doctor, you really don’t need to.

  “With much love from beyond time,

  Grace Hamilton.”

  Grace stared at the writing in front of her, wondering how to cover up what she had done. Her heart pounded with the fear of discovery. What if George found this? She had defaced a four hundred year old portrait and didn’t have the slightest memory of doing it.

  Panicked, she lifted the frame and returned it to its place on the wall above the desk. She was going to have to register with a doctor; there was nothing else for it.

  First thing tomorrow, she promised herself that she would find some help. As she slid in between the crisp white duvet and the cotton sheet she wondered where the doctors would send her. She couldn’t possibly be allowed to roam the streets in this condition. She was a danger to herself and everyone around her.

  For the first time since she had left Jack, Grace fumbled in her bag for the anti-depressant tablets her doctor had prescribed. She popped the tiny tablet into her mouth knowing Robert would not come to her that night and she was right. He didn’t.

  A ray of brilliant sunlight streamed through the tiny gap where the curtains didn’t quite meet. Grace rubbed her eyes as she fought to focus on her surroundings. She felt calmer and in more control than she had felt in days. The portrait still hung on the wall where she had left it last night, but the eyes of Robert Hamilton were veiled.

  She remained curious about the character of the man who had filled her life for the past week and decided to stick to her plan and spend the day at the library. However she needed to find out if Harry and Kate existed and if so, how much they had seen of her derangement.

  Grace sighed, realizing the trip to the doctors would be necessary at some point but for today her old tablets had worked and she was back in control. She just had to remember that leaving Jack had not healed her. The tablets were an essential part of her life and without them she was very likely to end up institutionalized.

  George was in his usual spot behind the reception desk. He smiled and lowered his book. It was a new one. He must have finished ‘Bushfire’.

  “Morning George, sleep well?”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Evans. I did thank you, not enough of it though. How about you?”

  “Actually George I did sleep well last night, thank you,” she said. “I see you finished ‘Bushfire’.”

  “I did, last night, after you came in. It was gone midnight before I got to bed.”

  Grace smiled, recalling how many books had kept her awake until the small hours of the morning.

  “Tell me, George, how do you pronounce the title?” she asked, intrigued by the name on the cover of his new book.

  “The Ca-ho-kian, I think. An American customer gave it to me a few weeks ago, said I should be sure to read it.”

  “Well enjoy your new book, George and I’ll see you later.”

  She found the Olde Starre Inne off Stonegate, so that was real enough. What she didn’t know was whether Harry existed or not. She appeared to have no way of distinguishing reality from fantasy.

  Relief swam over her as she recognized Harry behind the bar, his cheerful face one large smile. That, she thought, was the first hurdle overcome.

  Cautiously, Grace made her way toward the graying man. His eyes shone as she approached the bar, and she let out a deep sigh, realizing that she had been holding her breath.

  “Grace, I have been trying to get hold of you. Kate told me what happened on Monday night. I am so sorry, girl.”

  Immediately, Grace’s heart sank as the experience of the medium came flooding back. Upset, she turned to leave but Harry rushed from behind the bar and grabbed hold of her arm.

  “Hey, girl, don’t go. Come and have a drink with an old man.”

  It would be rude to reject him and she couldn’t see the harm in it. He only existed in her imagination anyway.

  “OK, Harry, but I’m not bothered with anything strong. May I just have a coke please?”

  “Course you can. Do you want diet or normal?”

  “Normal, please, Harry. I could do with the sugar boost besides all those sweeteners aren’t good for you.”

  “Nor is sugar,” he teased.

  She smiled and took a seat at the bar. “I know and I do drink the diet stuff but I know I shouldn’t.”

  The pub was empty, just as it had been the first time she had been there, when she had seen Robert standing behind the bar, right where Harry was now. She smiled at the thought of his dark inviting eyes, the width of his shoulders and the long length of his taut toned thighs.

  “What are you smiling at girl?”

  “Oh, nothing, Harry, just a memory.”

  “Care to share it with me?”

  She shook her head. “No, not today, but I do have a message for you.”

  His eyebrows lifted in question. “A message, hey. That sounds ominous.”

  “I don’t know whether it is or not.”

  “Go on then, girl, what’s it?”

  “I’m to tell you to lift the floorboards in the small room next to the kitchen.”

  “Lift the floorboards? But why would I want to do that?”

  “I have no idea and you don’t have to do it. I’m just passing on a message.”

  “Funny thing messages.”

  “How so?”

  Harry turned to Danny behind the bar.

  “Do me a favor Danny, watch the bar for me. I’ve something that needs my attention. Grace, come with me, girl. I want to show you something.”

  Grace lifted her glass from the bar and slid off the high stool. She followed Harry through the pub and into the backrooms. He led her up the stairs and into the living quarters. He groaned as he bent and pulled the portrait of her and Robert from under the bed.

  “Here, take a look at the portrait.”

  Grace took the frame from him, examining the picture. It was as she had remembered it; a painting of her and Robert done some four hundred years ago.

  “I can’t see anything I haven’t already seen on this, Harry.”

  “Take a look at the back of the portrait,” he repeated.

  Grace knew what was coming. She had defaced another portrait. But what she couldn’t figure out this time was how she had managed to do it to this one. Fearfully she turned it over and read the inscription out loud. />
  “Dear Harry,

  “Grace is going to come and see you on the 15th December. It will be snowing outside when she arrives. (That was for Grace’s benefit as she is still convinced that she is mad). She will give you a message. Listen to her and act on it. As much for your own benefit as hers.

  “Oh and Harry, your uncle Robert says to tell you that he had no idea you were family. Between you and me he is very proud of the way you run the pub. But I worry about how much whisky you are drinking. Please make Grace a promise that you will stop drinking?

  “Your friend from beyond time,

  Grace Hamilton.”

  She wasn’t shocked. Grace was passed being shocked by anything anymore. She did agree with one sentiment from the letter however, and that was that Harry drank way too much.

  “Well, what do you think of that then?”

  “I think that I have gone crazy, Harry. You are just a figment of my imagination and I am somehow going around defacing seventeenth century portraits.”

  “I can assure you, girl, that I am as real as this here pub. As for defacing portraits, well you got me there because this certainly does sound as though you wrote it. But look at it, Grace. It’s faded so much it is almost impossible to make out the words. But they’re your words and they’re written with a modern hand and a modern pen. I would say, at a guess, a ballpoint pen.”

  She had to agree. The writing was faded and so were the words on the portrait in her room. She had neither the skill nor the knowledge to artificially age ink.

  “What do you think it all means?” she asked, wide eyed and confused.

  “Not being a genius or anything, I am going to make an educated guess. Grace you are going to go back in time.”

  The idea wasn’t foreign to her. She had repeated it to herself over the past week more times than she cared to remember. But that didn’t make it any less ridiculous.

  “Well that is all fine and dandy as an idea and it’s not a bad fantasy. But please tell me how I am supposed to go back in time?”

  Harry smiled and shrugged.

  “I don’t know Grace, but I do know that I was just told to listen to your message, so how’s about we shut up the pub and go lift a few floorboards.”

  “You know, Harry, I have some shopping to do, the library to go to and I would also like to get to see Kate this evening. I’m gonna leave you to it, if you don’t mind. Those boards have been down for four hundred years and I don’t think it will take you just five minutes to shift them.”

  “Right you are, girl,” he said, moving to hug her. “You take care of yourself, now. Do you hear me?”

  Grace nodded and hugged him back. “I’ll pop in after work tomorrow and see what you found. It’s all very exciting.”

  “Danny, lock up fella. I’m shutting up shop for the day. I’ll give you a call when I need you back,” Grace heard Harry shout as she left the front courtyard of the pub.

  When Grace emerged onto Stonegate she was shocked to find that the gentle snowfall of earlier had turned into quite a blizzard. She shivered and pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck. It was ten days before Christmas and the city heaved with the traditional bustle of the season. She looked up at the string of lights that adorned the street. They looked so beautiful when they came on. Christmas always took her mind back to her childhood. She supposed it must do the same for everyone. There was nothing in this world as exciting as the fantasy of Father Christmas. She sighed at the memory of how simple life had seemed back then. Children don’t question, they just blindly accepted, she thought, watching a young mother hurrying down Stonegate with her little boy’s hand tightly clutched in hers.

  The snow fell heavier as she made her way through the city, purchasing the items listed on the back of the portrait. She wondered dimly what they were for; but her mind was so far past the point of reason that she lost the thought almost as fast as she had it.

  The oversized backpack grew heavier until its weight on her back became a burden. She slung both straps over her shoulders and proceeded through the city.

  Night was falling fast and the pavements had become almost impassable with snow. Her shoes were totally unsuitable for the conditions and her feet burned with the cold. She headed away from the city and toward Kate’s house.

  Everything looked so different with a thick covering of snow on the ground. The house came into view. Grace made her way toward the door and knocked. A few moments later, Kate answered.

  “Grace! Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine. Do you mind if I come in?”

  “No, of course I don’t mind. Sorry, come in Grace. You look soaked to the skin.”

  Kate took Grace’s hand and pulled her through the door into the warmth of the hallway.

  “What on earth are you doing? No one should be out in this. Why didn’t you get a taxi? Do you want a glass of wine?”

  Grace nodded, wrapping her arms around herself trying to warm up. She moved to stand in front of the radiator, lifting her hands over the gentle heat that radiated from it. Her fingers burnt and she knew there was a reason she shouldn’t keep her hands in the heat but her mind had forgotten that reason and the only coherent thought she could manage was that she needed to get warm.

  “Here you go, hun. Get this down you, it’s mulled wine. It’ll warm you up nicely,” she said, handing Grace a large warm glass of red wine. “I haven’t boiled it, just heated it a bit.”

  “Thanks, Kate. This is lovely,” she said, taking a sip of the warm liquid and enjoying the heat it brought to her as it slid down the back of her throat.

  “You know, Grace, don’t take this the wrong way hun, but you look dreadful. Are you still feeling rattled by that silly old bat from Monday night?”

  Grace shook her head and took another sip of the warm wine.

  “No, I’m fine, honestly. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

  “Are you still having trouble sleeping in that room?”

  “No. Honest Kate, I’m absolutely fine. As I said, just need a good night’s sleep and I’ll be good as new.”

  Grace emptied the last of the liquid from the glass.

  “Want some more?”

  “That would be nice, thanks.”

  “Fancy watching a film?” Kate asked, returning with two filled glasses.

  “I can’t. It’s getting late and the weather is dreadful. I only came for a quick chat.”

  “No worries, Grace. Anything in particular you wanted to chat about?”

  “Well actually there was. It’s about your desk; you know the one that Robert made his wife.”

  “You mean the one that he made for you?”

  “Don’t mess around, Kate. That’s just daft and we both know it.”

  “How so? You know Harry believes you are going to go back in time.”

  “Think about what you are saying. It’s not possible. No one has ever done it.”

  “No one that you know about. People go missing all the time.”

  “Yes, they do. I did it myself, but I’ve not travelled in time. I just left my husband and moved to York.”

  “I wondered what happened. Thought it might be something like that but I didn’t like to ask. Figured you would tell me when you were ready.”

  “I hadn’t intended telling anyone. I hope you will keep it to yourself, Kate. Jack is a dangerous man and I can’t risk him finding me.”

  “Your secret is safe with me, hun. I promise, I won’t tell a living soul.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No worries. But it won’t matter one day because you won’t be here anymore.”

  “There is the chance the medium was right,” Grace said, feeling the sick knot in her stomach tighten.

  “I don’t mean that you’re going to die, you Muppet. You’ll be four hundred years in the past. He’s hardly likely to find you there.”

  “Enough, Kate. It won’t happen.”

  “If you say so. Here, give me your glass and I�
��ll get us both another.”

  Grace stared as the lights on the Christmas tree flashed in her eyes. They blurred and the colors blended like a halo around the tree. She could see the hazy outline of his face forming in the glow. His eyes found her and a gentle smile spread across his face. She lifted her hand and stretched her fingers toward him.

  “I love you,” he whispered as the hazy outline of his features started to fade.

  “Here you go, Grace,” she said, handing her friend the filled glass.

  Grace took the glass from her but continued to stare, unblinking at the tree.

  “Mesmerizing, aren’t they?” Kate said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  Grace blinked and the image faded. She was suddenly aware of the sound of the wind howling against the window.

  “I’d better not be too much longer, it sounds nasty out there.”

  “You want me to call you a taxi?”

  “No, it’s not far. I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure?”

  Grace nodded and took a few sips from the glass.

  “Can I use your bathroom before I leave?”

  “Course, it’s up there.”

  Grace picked up her bag and made her way toward the stairs. She shuddered as a gust of wind lashed against the landing window. ‘I certainly hope it’s stopped snowing out there,’ she thought to herself as she made her way into the bathroom.

  She looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. Her cheeks were sunken and her skin pale and grey. She turned the tap on and splashed cold water onto her face. It left the sting of a slap on her cheeks but she felt better for it. Opening her bag she found the anti-depressant tablets. She popped one out of its bubble and dropped the tablet into her mouth.

  “Feeling a bit better?” Kate asked as Grace returned to the room.

  “A bit, thanks,” she said, reaching for the backpack. “Kate, before I go, I have a message for you.”

  “OK, who from?”

  “Well I can’t really tell you that.”

  “Right,” replied her friend a little skeptically, “Can I just ask if Harry is behind this?”

  “This has nothing to do with Harry, although I did have a message for him as well.”

  “Cool. So what’s the message then?”

  “It’s... just that, you know the drawer in your desk?”

  “Which one?”

  “One of the lower drawers has a false bottom to it.”

  “Wow, who would figure? I’ve had that desk for years and I had no idea. How on earth did you find out?”

  “Don’t ask. It’s a long story. I’ve got to go now. It’s late and the weather’s getting worse. Just lift the false bottom of the drawer.”

  “OK, hun, I’ll lift it, promise. Now you look after yourself out there. Give me a ring when you get back to the hotel. Just to let me know you got there safely.”

  “Yeah, sure, will do,” she said, doing up the buttons on her coat and slinging the backpack over her shoulder. “Kate, would you mind if I take tomorrow off? I think I should see a doctor.”

  “That’s fine, hun. Things have slowed down a bit the last few days because of Christmas.”

  The wind howled around them as they hugged goodbye on the doorstep.

  “You sure I can’t call you taxi?”

  “I’ll be fine. Go on, get back inside, Kate, you’ll catch your death out here.”

  Kate laughed, “And you won’t? Come on, Grace, let me get you a taxi.”

  “Really, I’m fine,” she said, giving her friend a final quick wave before turning toward the street.

  Quickly disorientated by the dense fog and carpet of snow that blanketed the city, she found herself on a street that she didn’t recognize. Tired and struggling through the deep snow, she wished she had worn her boots instead of her trainers.

  Icy wind pounded her with snow, the air pierced her skin like a blade and the cold snow burnt her feet through her trainers as she plunged through the bitter blizzard. She blinked, trying to clear her streaming eyes and stumbled with the weight of the backpack. The snow-covered street was deserted but she cried for help nonetheless. The weak pitiful wail was swallowed by the howling wind as she stumbled again and fell to the ground.

  Tiredness crept into every muscle and bone of her body. She could hear the thudding of her pulse in her ears, felt the bitter cold of the snow beneath her hands and knees as she crawled along the ground. Terror gripped her as she sank exhausted into a snow drift. In desperation she tried to pull herself up, but the ache and weariness in her limbs prevented her from rising. Stuck on her hands and knees with the weight of the bag on back she noticed her crystal necklace swinging from her neck and illogically started concentrating on the pendulum swing of the crystal, forgetting all about trying to stand. There was a flash of lightening followed immediately by a clap of thunder that seemed to knock her to the ground, forcing all the air from her lungs.

  The falling snow started to spin, forming an ever tightening vortex of darkness around her, made all the worse by the recent blinding flash of lightening. She could hear the murmur of a voice somewhere in the distance as she desperately fought to keep herself from sleep. Her arm reached out in the direction of the voice and her fingers stretched to touch its source.

  In those final moments of life she felt his arm around her shoulders, his face so close that his breath warmed her cheeks. She heard the gentle rumble of his voice tremble in her ears as she clawed at the tiny hole of light, desperate to break through the darkness.

  As life drifted from her body and all conscious thought became dreams, her mind clung to the hazy image of Robert Hamilton.

  He lifted her lifeless body and carried her through the blizzard toward the city lights. Deterred by the late hour, driving wind and heavy snowfall most residents had abandoned the streets for the comfort of a warm fire and the shelter of their homes.

  Robert was grateful for the deserted streets and late hour as he approached the door of his house. He would have had a hard time explaining the limp body in his arms to anyone who might have enquired. Not to mention the strange looking sack he had found on her back.

  Gently he placed her on the mattress of his bed. He lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles slowly over her cheek. He watched the shallow rise and fall of her chest and knew, as sure as the sun that had just set, that she clung to life by a thread.

  Undeterred by propriety he removed her sodden clothes and covered her gently with the padded quilt from his bed. He placed a warmed brick wrapped in a cotton cloth at her feet and stoked the fire in the room, before removing his own sodden clothes and toweling his hair dry. Reaching for a clean shirt and trousers he hurriedly dressed so that he could examine the sack he had found her with.

  He couldn’t find an opening to the sack and assumed it had been stitched all round. He was puzzled by the strange leather and cloth that had been used to make it. His eyes wandered over her discarded clothes and her ruined shoes. He raised her hand gently and examined the bracelet on her left wrist. It looked to Robert like a timepiece, but he had never seen one so delicate and small. He rested her hand on his upturned palm and brushed his lips across her fingers. He wrapped his hand around hers and clutched it tightly to his chest.

  She gasped as her body sprang back to life. Her eyelids flickered as she fought to open them. She could feel him beside her, clutching her hand to his chest. She could hear the crackle of a fire and the howling of the wind as it lashed against the window. She was in a familiar yet strange place. Her heart raced with anticipation as her eyes opened to the recognition of Robert Hamilton.

  “Who are you and why have you haunted me so?” he whispered.

  “I’ve been haunting you? You’ve got to be bloody joking,” Grace said, sitting bolt upright in the bed. Realizing too late that she had nothing on, Grace grabbed for the blanket and pulled it up underneath her chin. “Where the hell are my clothes?”

  He raised his brows, casting his eyes lazily t
oward the wrought iron bedstead where Grace’s clothes hung neatly.

  “They were wet,” he replied simply.

  “So you just decided to take them off?”

  “You were catching your death.”

  She stared at him, her mind replaying what he had just said.

  “Wet? You just said my clothes were wet?”

  He nodded solemnly, a slight frown creasing his brow.

  “I found you, face down in the snow.”

  Color drained from her face, her eyes frantically scanned the dimly lit room around her.

  “Am I dead?”

  “No.”

  A surge of panic ripped through her.

  “Then I’m dreaming... which means I’m probably still lying face down in the snow,” she said, panic causing her voice to quiver. “I’ve got to wake up. Help me Robert! Help me wake up!”

  “You aren’t dreaming.”

  “I am! You’ve got to help me or I’m going to die.”

  “You are not going to die.”

  “I am! No one will find me. The snow is too heavy.”

  Her heart pounded and her head throbbed as she tried desperately to work out how to wake herself.

  He rose from the chair and stood beside the bed taking her shoulders in his large hands and holding her firmly.

  “You are not going to die and you are not dreaming. Do you hear me?”

  She could feel his warm breath on her face and a shiver passed through her at the touch of his hands on her bare shoulders.

  “If I’m not dreaming and I’m not dead, what am I?”

  Gently he let go of her and perched himself on the edge of the bed.

  “That’s what I would like to know,” he whispered.

  “Where am I?” she asked softly.

  “In my bed.”

  “That’s not terribly helpful,” she said, growing irritated with his curt replies.

  “Why don’t you start by telling me what you were doing out in that snow storm?” he asked.

  “Why don’t you start by telling me what you are doing here when you’re supposed to be dead?” she snapped.

  “And what makes you think I should be dead?”

  “You died four hundred years ago.”

  “Did I?” he said, raising his brows in mock surprise.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Well then, you are probably right. I should be dead.”

  “But you’re not?”

  “Very observant of you, Grace.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “I don’t know. But I could ask the same of you.”

  “I know your damn name because of that portrait,” she said, pointing to the picture above the mantle.

  He turned slowly to look at the portrait.

  “You have seen this portrait before?”

  “Yes, I have seen your portrait and to tell you the truth I am growing quite sick of it. It has brought me nothing but grief since I first laid eyes on it.”

  “I am very interested to know where you have seen this portrait, considering it has never left this room.”

  “It’s true,” she whispered with horror as her mind rationalized fantasy into probable reality.

  “What is true?”

  “All this,” she said, pointing around the room. “I don’t belong here. I’m not where I should be.”

  “Where should you be, Grace?”

  “At home... I don’t know,” she replied, pathetically, realizing mid-sentence that she had no idea where home was anymore.

  He shifted off the bed and moved toward a trunk in the corner of the room. Opening it, he removed a cream cotton shirt.

  “Here, put this on,” he said, handing her the shirt and turning his back to her.

  Grateful for the offer, Grace wasted no time slipping the shirt over her head. Getting out of bed she moved to stand in front of the fire.

  Robert came to stand beside her.

  “Here, drink this,” he said, holding a pewter mug out for her.

  “What is it?” Grace asked, as she recognized the mug from York Castle Museum.

  “Whisky.”

  “Oh, not again. It must be hereditary,” she sighed, waving the mug cautiously under her nose.

  “You don’t like whisky?”

  “No, but I’ll drink it.”

  He laughed softly. “I have no doubt you will.”

  Grace lifted her head and raised her eyes to look at the portrait.

  “I’m not a witch,” she said, suddenly.

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “But you must be thinking it.”

  “I don’t believe in witches.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “I thought everyone believed in witches in the seventeenth century.”

  “It seems you believed wrong,” he said, turning to face her, “You’re not from this time are you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you intend to come here?”

  “No... No, I didn’t intend to come here.”

  “Do you know how you got here?”

  Slowly she turned from the fire to face the man standing beside her.

  “No, but I did know I was coming.”

  “I don’t suppose you would care to share what you know with me,” he asked.

  “You won’t believe it.”

  “Try me, Grace,” he said, his voice so low she could hardly hear him.

  She lifted the mug to her mouth and swallowed the content. He slapped her on the back as she gasped and choked on the fumes from the liquid.

  “Sorry,” she said, still trying to catch her breath.

  The corner of his lips quirked in a gentle smile that reached his eyes.

  “Another?”

  She shook her head fervently.

  “I didn’t think so,” he said, pouring himself another.

  Grace sat on the rug in front of the fire, playing nervously with the oversized sleeves of the cotton shirt.

  Robert sank to the floor beside her, and propped himself up on his elbow, his mug resting on his bent knee. He stared at her for a while, his eyes searching intently.

  “What do you know, Grace?”

  She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with much needed air.

  “I was born and grew up in Derbyshire about four hundred years from now. I married a man called Jack Evans and we have a daughter. My husband is a cruel and evil man, or he will be... I left him a little over a week ago and moved to York,” she paused, taking her eyes off the flames of the fire and turned to face Robert.

  “You won’t understand any of this. In your time a man can do as he wishes with a woman. Things are different in my time. Women have a voice.”

  He raised his brows and lifted the mug of whisky to his mouth.

  “I have great respect for the women in my family,” he said, pausing as the liquid slid down his throat. “I don’t believe they are capable of fighting wars or chopping wood. But then there are many roles they perform which I cannot. I would no more ignore my mother’s voice than I would my father’s. Don’t presume to judge me, Grace.”

  “I’m sorry. I just assumed you wouldn’t understand.”

  “If I don’t understand you, I will say so.”

  “OK,” she said, nodding slowly.

  “So you fled to York a week ago?” he said, prompting her to continue.

  “Yes, I fled to York and when I got there I was lonely and frightened. It was getting dark when I got off the train...”

  “Train?” he interrupted her.

  “It’s a way of travelling... like a large carriage,” she said.

  “So you used this train to get you to York?”

  She nodded. “I was at the bottom of the steps of the Minster when I spotted the Cavalier.”

  “You have Cavaliers still?”

  Grace laughed and her mood immediately lightened.

  “The Cavalier is a hotel, Robert. It’s this place fou
r hundred years in the future.”

  “So you took a room in my house?”

  “I did and what’s more, I stayed in this very room.”

  “My room?”

  “Yes, Robert, your room, and your portrait is still there. But the fireplace has been boarded up.”

  “They boarded up the fireplace?”

  “There is no need for them.”

  “Do they not have cold winters anymore?”

  “Oh yes, the winters are just as cold but they have different ways to heat rooms. They pump hot water into metal panels. The panels get hot and that heat works just as well as a fire does today, even better in most cases.”

  “I think I will keep my fire,” he said, skeptically.

  She watched his eyes as they sparkled in the gentle light of the flames. A frown of confusion veiled them and the hint of something else, something she couldn’t identify, hid in their depths.

  “So you have been sleeping in my room?”

  “Well not exactly sleeping, thanks to that portrait... and you,” she said, rising from the floor and looking up at the portrait.

  “Me? How, Grace? How have I disturbed your sleep?” he said, standing and moving closer to her. They stared at each other, his eyes glistening in the firelight.

  Holding her gaze, he placed his mug firmly on the mantle.

  “Tell me, Grace? How can a man you have never met disturb your sleep?”

  His face was so close that she could smell the whisky on his breath; his lips hovered inches from hers. His hand cupped her cheek and then his long, strong finger trailed the line of her jaw coming to rest beneath her chin. His finger tilted her face and she swayed slightly. He put his hands around her waist and pulled her gently against him. She could feel the taut muscles of his chest against her, the racing of his heart, the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms around her.

  “I... don’t know.”

  “You don’t know, or you don’t understand?”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered breathlessly.

  “Then perhaps we can come to understand?”

  “Yes... perhaps, we can.”

  “But first Grace, I am going to kiss you,” he said, suddenly pulling her hard against him. She gasped, tasting the smoky tang of his lips as they crushed down over hers, searching, desperate and yearning.

  Then he released her gently, as if nothing had happened.

  “Now,” he said, “we may find understanding.”

  Her head felt light and dizzy as she sank back to the comfort of the rug on the floor. If history was right then she was going to marry this man. A man she barely knew but who, with just one kiss had filled the empty space that had been her shattered heart.

  He crouched in front of the fire, dropping more wood into the flames. It cracked and popped as he dug the poker into the glowing embers. She noticed the hard contours of his body as he idly lifted the logs, the wide expanse of his shoulders, his broad back which tapered to a thin waist. She had no doubt that this man had been a fighter and she shuddered at the thought of what that meant. How many men had he killed? She cast her eyes away from him and stared at the rug. Panic tightened in her stomach as the realization of where she was, and with whom, began to dawn.

  “Why did you kiss me?”

  He rose from the fire and lifted his mug off the mantle.

  “Did you not like it?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “If you didn’t dislike it then why question it?”

  “Because I want to know what made you kiss me.”

  “You, Grace, you are what made me kiss you.”

  “Why won’t you answer my question?”

  “I just did.”

  “No, you didn’t. You avoided my question.”

  He sank to the floor beside her on the rug, stretching his long legs out toward the fire and leaning back on his hands.

  “Alright, Grace. I will answer your question. I kissed you because I wanted to make sure you were real.”

  “Oh, so you do think I’m a witch?”

  “No. I have told you I don’t believe in witches.”

  “So if you don’t think I’m a witch what could possibly make you question whether I’m real or not?”

  “Because you have haunted me, Grace. Day in and day out you are there. I close my eyes to sleep and you fill my dreams and now you are here and I will be dammed if I know what to do with you.”

  “Well if I’m so much trouble I’ll just get my things and go,” she said, making to rise from the rug.

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her down.

  “Firstly, I didn’t say you were trouble and secondly you wouldn’t survive long enough to get to the steps of the Minster. You have not the faintest idea where you are and despite what you think, you know nothing of the time you are in. You’re not going anywhere.”

  She tried to pull away from him but he still had her arm in the firm grasp of his hand.

  “I said you’re not going anywhere. Now just sit down,”

  “I did a history degree. I know more than you think I do about this time,” she said, regretting them as soon as the words had left her mouth.

  The sides of his mouth curled in a smile as he let go of her arm.

  “Just sit down, Grace, please?”

  Tears filled her eyes as she realized he was right. She was trapped in a time she didn’t understand, with a man she didn’t know and she had less idea than he did what she should do.

  “Tell me what to do, Robert,” she said, as tears broke free and ran freely down her cheek.

  He moved toward her and brushed the tears from her face.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You are safe here, Grace.”

  “But you don’t want me here, how can I accept your help?”

  “I never said I didn’t want you here.”

  “You haven’t exactly said you do either.”

  “Alright, then I shall say it. I want you here, Grace.”

  “Out of obligation and duty?”

  “Why should I feel obliged or duty bound?”

  “I don’t know; because you found me, because you are an honest man and because you know I have nowhere else to go.”

  “Grace,” he said, raising his finger to her lips, “stop. I want you here because I have longed to have you here. For nights I dreamt of you, held you in my arms and loved you.”

  Their eyes locked and she knew he told the truth, for she had dreamt the same.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I heard your cry for help and when I looked I found you face down and covered with falling snow. Grace I am in love with you,” he said, his voice thick and hoarse with desire.

  She felt her breath catch in her throat, her pulse quickened and a wave of heat rose within her.

  “And I with you, Robert.”

  “May I kiss you again?”

  “Yes... yes, I would like that very much,” she whispered breathlessly.

  ******