A Fall Through Time (Stacey and Shane Mcleod, #1)
Read A Fall Through Time (Stacey and Shane Mcleod, #1) Online
Authors: Rikki M Dyson
Tags: #Fantasy, #Time travel, #romance
A Fall Through Time
By Rikki M. Dyson
All rights reserved
First Edition
T
his book or parts thereof are copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, Scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form for any commercial or noncommercial Use without permission from the author, except as provided by United States of America Copyright law
This is a work of fiction names, characters, places, and incidents either are the authors imagination or are used factiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental the publisher does not have any control or assume any responsibly to any third party or content. Any trademarks mentioned here are used in a descriptive manner.
Cover by Cora Graphics
Edited by Carolyn Dukes
I
want to thank a few people for their help during the writing years of the Trilogy. Jance Burge for proofreading my first drafts. Mary Bostick, RN helped with medical advice. Deana Collier my agent during the writing of the trilogy. She shared her advice and honest recommendations, which made my stories stronger. Carolyn Dukes my editor and a fellow writer C.M. Doporto who shared her knowledge on self-publishing. There are two special women in my life I want to thank, Patti Kissel who said my characters come alive for her. Finally yet importantly, Jess Burchell who has been my strong supporter through it all and my adviser on past and present England. I give my sincere thanks to both of these women for their friendship and unfailing encouragement.
T
he early afternoon, had brought in dark clouds over the dig at Druid’s Grove. The smell of wet dirt was pungent in the warm summer air. Professor Anne Rutledge, the director of the dig, was getting worried. She and her students had been excavating an old Roman villa since early spring; Stacey Scott and three other students were volunteers from Baylor University at Waco, Texas. As the swirling wind picked up force, and the first raindrops fell, one of the volunteer students from Baylor yelled, “Hey Professor do you ever have tornados in England?”
Professor Rutledge ignored the student as she shouted, “Stacey, grab hold of the tarp so we can cover the dig the last thing we needed is for it to fill with water.” As Stacey was running with her end of the tarp, the ground beneath her feet collapsed. The last words she heard, were those of Professor Rutledge saying, “Mind yourself; there may be a floor or cellar below.”
Stacey felt herself falling, spiraling downward as if in a vortex, and then she lost consciousness. When she came to, she opened her eyes, but the world around her started spinning, her stomach convulsed with nausea, so she lay back and closed her eyes. Slowly she opened them; cautiously she looked around and then sat up to get her bearings. In amazement, she could see that she was in a meadow of some kind. When she looked behind her, there stood an old Viking rune stone. She could read most of the symbols, but not all of them. Stay calm and don’t panic, Stacey told herself. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this. She remembered the dig, the dark clouds and the wind. It must have been a tornado that blew me here, she thought, wherever here is. Stacey stood up, and dusted herself off. She looked around wondering in which direction to go for help.
The sun wasn’t high in the sky, so she knew it wasn’t noon yet. Stacey had never been a person who panicked easily. She was very much a country girl having been born, and raised on a working ranch south of Waco, so the grassy terrain was no obstacle to her. Stacey started walking towards a stand of trees; she had just entered the woods when she stopped and listened. She was sure she had heard a familiar sound. She walked a little farther then started running, she had heard that sound all of her life; she couldn’t be mistaken about that. It was the whinnying of horses.
As Stacey burst from the trees, she saw a narrow road. Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked up and down the road. She couldn’t see the horses yet; however, she could still hear them. She turned and ran down the road a little way, then stopped dead in her tracks. She could not believe her eyes. Over a rise in the road came a troop of riders dressed in medieval garb, riding straight towards her.
Stacey stood and looked in all directions. She thought; these people must be making a movie, but she couldn’t see movie equipment, or people, other than the ones coming towards her. She started jumping and waving her arms hoping to get their attention. When they finally saw her, they stopped. They seemed more surprised to see her than she was to see them.
A big man dressed in a hauberic of chain mail dismounted his horse and started walking towards her. All of a sudden, she became frightened and started backing away. In her state of confusion, she forgot everything Mr. Chen had taught her. A voice in her head told her to run like the devil and that’s what she did. A quick look over her shoulder confirmed that the big man was chasing after her. She wondered how he could run that fast in what looked like chain mail. Within no time, he was upon her. He grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. Stacey was scratching, kicking, and biting at the stranger. She was fighting for her life, she thought. During their struggling, Stacey bit him hard and knocked him off balance and they both went tumbling into a ditch by the side of the road. Stacey hit her head against a stone and knocked unconscious.
A young man came running up to help and said, “God’s teeth, Sir Perceval, did ye need kill the wench?”
“Aye, Master Rodric, ere she scratched out me eyes.”
As the young man remounted his horse, a stately woman took command of the situation and said, “Hand the young woman to my son, Sir Perceval, so he may cover her near naked body with his cloak.”
A dignified older man smiled and said, “Sir Perceval, ride on to Dun-Raven and have ye wounds attended and inform the earl that we be bringing a guest.
Dun-Raven Castle thirteen-seventy
W
hen the party arrived at the castle, there was quite uproar of curiosity over the strange young wench they took upstairs. Eric, as curious as his castle folk followed his mother and asked, “Why upstairs Mother, she most likely be a serf.”
“No Eric,” his mother said. “I do not know who or what she be, however, one thing I am certain of, she be no serf, my son. Her hands are soft and her body be strong and healthy.”
In spite of her son’s objections, Stacey was taken to a front solar. Lady Margaret gave Lady Katherine, the castle chatelaine, a conspirator look and then asked a young servant girl to bring a cool cloth for the wench’s head. Lady Katherine was not sure of the wisdom of this move, but put the wet cloth on the young woman’s forehead as she be told. Then they all stepped back to wait for this strange young woman to open her eyes.
When Stacey started regaining consciousness, she put one hand to the goose bump on her head and the other hand on her forehead. She took the cloth off and looked at it, then put it back on her head. Stacey woke with some disorientation. As she opened her eyes and looked around, she was surprised to see a room full of people. “Are you people making a movie?” Stacey asked as she looked around.
They all looked at each other, then one of the women said, “We do not understand what you speak, demoiselle.”
“Oh that’s right, you people say cinema.” The tall woman shook her head not understanding. “Oh, then you’re performing a Shakespearean play,” Stacey said. She was so sure; they were actors playing a part.
“Demoiselle, we do not understand all the words you speak,” the woman said. Stacey was looking at her surroundings now that she could see more clearly. She was looking for a camera or something to confirm that these people were Shakespearian players. Otherwise, why would they be dressed in these ridiculously hot clothes?
Stacey looked at the people watching her; wondering what they were thinking. There were two women, an older man, a tall young blond man and a tall dark haired one with a full beard. He had cold, haunting dark eyes, but for some reason he seemed petulant and out of sorts. Stacey looked to the side of the bed where a beautiful Great Dane dog was trying to lay his head on the bed beside her.
“Hi, big boy,” Stacey said. “You look like Scooby-Doo.”
The big man didn’t like her talking to his dog, so he commanded, “Here Rolf.”
Stacey decided to get out of bed. When she threw the covers back, the women pushed her back on the bed and said, “No, no, demoiselle,” and covered her again.
“What’s wrong with you people?” Stacey asked, confused.
The young man and the older man had smiles on their faces; however, the look on the big man’s face was not friendly. Who put a burr in his breaches, Stacey wondered.
“How be ye called demoiselle?” The older woman asked.
It took Stacey a minute or two to decipher what she was asking. Their language seemed to be a mixture of French and old English. Finally, Stacey understood and said, “My name is Stacey Scott.” The woman repeated Stacey’s name. “Yes, that’s right,” Stacey, said.
The woman pointed to herself and said, “I am Lady Margaret and this be Lady Katherine. This gentleman be my husband, Lord Hampton and these be my two sons, Rodric and Eric.”
The younger son smiled and nodded his head, however, the older son just glared.
“Nice to meet ya’ll,” Stacey said. “Now may I get out of bed?”
“No, ye may not,” Lady Margaret, informed her. “Ye be wearing no clothes, demoiselle.”
Stacey threw the covers back mystified and said, “Yes, I do have on clothes.”
While the women were hurrying to cover Stacey again, the younger son, Rodric was smiling and giving the elbow to his older brother. When Stacey looked at Eric, he had a strange look in his eyes, a look of anger and distrust.
“Where be ye home?” he asked, “And how come ye here?”
“In London,” Stacey said, “And I think a tornado blew me here.”
“What be this tornado?” Eric asked.
“It’s a big wind like a whirlwind.” Stacey explained.
“Ha,” he said. “Me thinks ye lie, wench.”
Stacey glared at him and said, “Well, if you have a better explanation, I’d be very interested to hear it.”
Eric turned to his mother and asked, “What do ye plan to do with this wench?”
“I plan on finding her some clothing so we can have a mid-day meal, if ye gentlemen will excuse us,” Lady Margaret said.
The dog was back by Stacey’s bedside again and she was rubbing his head, which made the older son angry. “Rolf, come. Come now,” he commanded.
As the men left the room, Lady Margaret asked Lady Katherine, might Stacey Scott borrow one of her daughter’s bliauts?
Stacey was not as interested in clothes as she was in something to soothe her aching head. “Do you have an aspirin or something for my headache?”
“Yes, of course,” Lady Katherine said. “I will bring a potion.”
Stacey was lying in bed thinking and wondering, how she had arrived here and exactly where was she. Stacey asked Lady Margaret, “Where am I? Am I still in England?”
“Yes, of course, my dear. Ye be in Dun-Raven castle in Yorkshire.”
Yorkshire? Stacey had to think on that one. How in the devil did she get from London to Yorkshire? I cannot believe a tornado could blow me that far. Then Stacey thought, about the way these people were dressed and their speech. Their French was understandable, but they didn’t speak English that was familiar to her. Finally, she plucked up her courage and asked, “Ma’am, can you tell me what year and day it is?”
Lady Margaret looked at her strangely and said, “August1
st
, and the year is thirteen-seventy.”
Stacey could not believe her ears. The woman must be mistaken. How could this be? She
wondered. No, it couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be. I must be trippin,’ she thought. However, if this is real, there’s no way I can let them know I’m from the future they might burn me at the stake, thinking I’m a witch.