The Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance (51 page)

It was easier to be naked in public if you had a tiny waist and a perfectly toned body. Mary had neither of these, and it was her own fault for avoiding the gym. Kevan, the man of the Daoine Sídhe, had vanished some time ago, and she was left trying to decide what to do. She couldn’t exactly make clothes out of the grass, and there weren’t any palm leaves lying around either.

Before long, she heard hoof beats approaching. Mary dived behind one of the standing stones, trying to hide what she could of her body. A man was on horseback, likely a historical re-enactor, given his simple clothing and the blue cloak fastened with a brooch. His blond hair was unkempt, hanging across his shoulders. His dark blue eyes were tired, like a man who hadn’t slept in years. Though he was tall and handsome, it was the bleakness that held her attention.

When he started to walk towards her, she held out her hand. “Wait! Don’t come any closer. I don’t have any . . . that is, I’m not wearing – Oh, damn it, just stay where you are.”

He startled, as though he were trying to puzzle out her words. “You’re real. Not a dream.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. Instead, she pleaded, “I’m in a bit of trouble here. Could you please throw me your cloak?”

Without questioning her, he unfastened his cloak and threw it. It fell slightly short, but Mary eased it towards herself with one foot. Only when she’d covered herself from neck to ankle, did she step out from behind the standing stone.

“Thank you,” she said. “I wish I had an explanation for why I’m not wearing any clothes, but the truth is, I’m not sure how I got here. Am I still in Ireland?”

He nodded. “May I come closer to speak with you?”

“I . . . um . . . yes, sure. Oh, and I promise I’ll give you back this cloak as soon as I can. I suppose you’ll need it for the re-enactment.”

His blue eyes narrowed. “The what?”

She stared at him. Utter confusion appeared on his face, as if he didn’t know what a re-enactment was.
Don’t panic, don’t panic. He’s just staying in character.

“I’ll give it back to you later,” Mary said. “In the meantime, maybe you could help me find my tour group?”

He shook his head slowly. “There is no one here. But if you’re needing food and shelter, I can give you that. Perhaps there might be a gown you could borrow.”

A gown? She gripped the edges of the cloak together. One minute at a time was all she could handle before going crazy. Was this the man she was supposed to encounter? The one who had to love her before the third day, or she would die?

“I appreciate your help.” She walked alongside him towards his horse. “What is your name?”

“I am Cian MacCorban, chief of the MacCorban clan. Or what’s left of them.”

Mary introduced herself, and Cian reached out to assist her on to his horse. When he swung up behind her, she was startled at his body warmth. Though it was early summer, the weather wasn’t as warm as the Florida heat she was used to.

His arms came around her waist to grip the reins, and Mary felt self-conscious at his inadvertent touch. Wasn’t this a dream? She’d had vivid dreams before. Surely this was one of them. But the sensation of riding a horse and feeling a man’s arms around her was all too real.

It felt safe, being with Cian. Though she knew it wasn’t wise to go off with strangers, she didn’t have a choice. If she
was
dreaming, then there was no harm in it. And if she
wasn’t
dreaming, then she was already half-dead to begin with, and it didn’t matter.

“Are you the man I was supposed to meet?” she blurted out. “The one waiting for me?”
Great, Mary. That made a lot of sense. He won’t think you’re crazy now.

Instead, his grip tightened around her waist. “I’ve seen you in my visions for over twenty years, Mary Samson. I’ve dreamed about you every night, wondering when you would finally be here.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t think of what else to say. It should have felt creepy, like he was a stalker. Instead, there was a strange sense of relief. She’d made her wish, and here he was – the man fate had paired her up with. If he’d been waiting for her for over twenty years, then it shouldn’t be so hard to make him fall in love with her, should it?

But she was supposed to love him back. And if she’d learned anything from her relationship with Garrett, it was that love couldn’t be forced. It either happened, or it didn’t.

She rode in front of Cian for nearly an hour before she saw a ruined fortress ahead. Built upon a small crannog, the ring fort probably housed ten to fifteen people. But as they rode across the bridge and through the gate, her suspicions sharpened. The place was falling apart, with hardly anyone to take care of it. Rotting hides and animal manure gave the place an indescribable odour, one that wasn’t at all welcoming. She saw only four other men, and they were all staring at her.

After Cian helped her down, she took in her surroundings. “Is this where you work? Is this a re-enactment village?”

“This is my home.” Distaste lined his face, as though he didn’t care for it either.

Though her brain warned her not to ask, she couldn’t stop herself. “Cian, is this real?”

“What do you mean?”

She swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her chest. “What year is this?”

“It is the Year of Our Lord 1173.”

No. No, it wasn’t possible. But it
was
as if she’d stepped back in time, into a medieval world where the men wore swords and the women sewed their own clothing. No modern medicine, no cars. No toothbrushes or personal hygiene.

Her brain was screaming. Maybe it was better to just let herself die. After all, surely they had toilets in heaven. She didn’t like primitive conditions, and the stone roundhouse certainly qualified as that. She’d never even been camping, for heaven’s sake.

Cian adjusted the fire, dropping more peat bricks on top of it. He gestured towards a pile of furs. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Make yourself comfortable.”

And though she promised herself she wouldn’t do anything stupid like pass out or scream, her knees buckled of their own accord, and she found herself crouching on the ground.
Breathe. Just breathe.

Cian was at her side instantly. “Are you all right,
a chara?”
He sat down, pulling her on to his lap.

She almost laughed. All right? She’d been sent back in time nearly a thousand years and he wanted to know if she was all right? If she recalled her history properly, they burned crazy women at the stake.

You’re already dead,
her conscience argued.
Well, almost.

It doesn’t mean I want to become a human barbecue.

“I . . . need a moment,” she whispered.

His hands moved to the sides of her face, his fingers threading through her hair. “It’s softer than I thought it would be,” he murmured. “And you’re prettier than the woman I saw in my dreams.”

She couldn’t answer because, at the moment, he was holding her like a cherished possession. As if he couldn’t believe she was real. His blue eyes were shadowed, his face haggard. But there was a fierce hope within his expression.

Her pulse quickened as she reached out to his face. What sort of man was he? His face was clean-shaven, unlike his kinsmen. The bristles on his face were starting to grow smooth. A small scar ridged the edge of his chin up to his lip.

This was a man who had waged battle upon his enemies, a warrior who lived by a different set of rules. And he was staring at her as though she meant everything to him.

“Cian.” She said his name, testing it out.

Before she could speak another word, his mouth lowered to hers. Softly, like they were reunited, he kissed her. Beneath the cloak, she shivered, her flesh rising up with unexpected arousal. He wasn’t the barbarian she’d expected. No, his kiss was seductive, alluring. She could kiss a man like him all night long.

You might have to do more than that,
her conscience warned. Three days was a heartbeat in time, barely enough for anyone to become friends, much less fall in love. But a kiss was a start.

He deepened the kiss, cradling her head as his mouth coaxed and tasted. “I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?” He broke free of her, staring at her swollen lips.

Mary clutched the edges of her cloak, not knowing what to say. “It’s not such a bad dream.” Even if he was a stranger, she felt an unusual connection to him.

A half-cocky smile tipped at his mouth. He released her swiftly. “I’ll hunt for our noon meal. In the meantime, you can look about for a gown or some clothes. Ask Brían, if you’ve a need for anything.”

He started to leave, but his gaze suddenly grew distant. For several minutes, he didn’t say a word, but stared at the whitewashed interior walls of the roundhouse. It was as though he’d fallen into a hypnotic trance, one where he lost track of the world around him.

Without warning, his hand curled into a fist, and he cursed in Irish. Cian slammed the door open, and Mary followed him outside. “What’s the matter?”

He stopped short. Casting a glance behind him, he said, “It’s nothing.”

Typical man. “You saw something, didn’t you?” His earlier admission – that he’d dreamed of her – made her wonder what sort of visions he had.

“I did. And we’ll not speak of it again.”

Cian kept walking, his stride quickening. Almost as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

The vision might well have been a razor blade, from the way it sliced through him, cutting to his heart. Cian had seen flashes of Mary, her eyes warm with an unnamed emotion, her arms welcoming. He’d seen her in his bed, her body flushed from lovemaking.

And he’d seen the moment the light had faded from her eyes.

She’d died in his arms, and the pain of losing her was unlike anything he’d known. Damn it all, he’d just found her. He’d sensed that she was the person he’d been searching for, the other half that would fill up the emptiness he’d lived with for so long.

He was so tired of losing loved ones, of foreseeing their deaths. Not again. It was better to live alone, where he didn’t have to endure the visions.

His cousin Logan walked alongside him, his bow ready. “She’s the one you told us about, isn’t she? Your bride.”

“I thought so at first. But I was wrong. She can stay for a few days, until her kin can find her.” After that, he’d not see her again.

“But you said –”

“I know what I said,” Cian snapped. Since they’d likely scared off any of the game, he didn’t bother keeping his voice low. “But I’m not about to let my curse affect her. If she stays, she’s going to die.”

“It might not be until she’s older. Years from now,” Logan argued.

“I’ve already seen it.” He closed his eyes, trying to will away the vision. “Perhaps if she leaves, it won’t happen quite so soon.” In the vision, she’d been cradled in his arms. The sooner he sent her away, the better chance that she would live.

“You’ve no control over another person’s fate, Cian. Only God can decide when a person is ready to die.”

“I’m tired of being God’s messenger.” He shook his head. “Leave me here, Logan. I’ve a need to be alone.”

Cian MacCorban might be living in a medieval pigsty, but Mary didn’t plan on enduring it. After exploring the ring fort, she’d found that most of the huts were abandoned. Only Brían remained behind. She’d attempted to speak to him, but he spoke little English. It didn’t appear to bother him when she entered each of the dwellings, searching for clothing. With hand signals, she got his permission to take a primitive pair of trousers and a long tunic. She hadn’t found gowns of any sort, and was rather happy about it, to be honest. She’d only get the dress dirty.

So, she’d tied the trousers with a belt made of rope and found a pair of gloves. Holding her breath, she began the arduous process of cleaning the ring fort. She ordered Brían to haul off the loads of waste and rotten carcasses. He didn’t argue, and she suspected that he secretly agreed with her about the need to make the place more presentable.

What she wouldn’t give for some disinfectant right now. She worked hard, scrubbing at a pile of soiled wooden dishes. After that, she swept the small roundhouse and straightened up all of Cian’s belongings. She believed in order and cleanliness. Once it was done, she felt calm, a stronger sense of control.

When the afternoon waned into evening, she waited for Cian to return. Her stomach rumbled and she was thirsty, but she wasn’t about to drink the pond water. Not without boiling it first, anyway.

Brían spent the remainder of the time sharpening his sword and knives. He was a quiet man, tall and observant. Even so, he didn’t think to offer her anything to eat. She wondered if there
was
any food at all. From the deserted huts, it didn’t look like it.

By the time Cian returned, Mary was having visions of her own. Hot fudge sundaes and steaming cups of coffee. Large sandwiches stuffed with meat, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes. Chocolate chip cookies.

She was not, however, envisioning a dead deer slung across the backs of the two men. Wincing, she turned away as they prepared to dress the meat. She’d had venison before and she wasn’t a vegetarian, but it didn’t mean that she particularly liked to see where her meat came from. Plastic-wrapped packages in the butcher’s aisle at the supermarket were just fine by her.