A Twist in Time (11 page)

A Twist In Time – Da Vince Time Travel 01

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He was breathing through his mouth. “You did not send for Brad to fix the metal wheels. How will I go back?”

Tricky, especially in Latin. “Jake thinks Brad will take you to prison.”

“Your lover would imprison me?” He almost relaxed. “I will tell him I do not want you.”

“Gee, thanks.” That cut a little too close to the bone. She’d always known she wasn’t movie star material. But did he have to be so blunt? “He is not my lover.”

Galen shot her a look that might have meant she must think him stupid. “Woman,” he insisted.

“We will go to this Brad. I will make him fix the metal wheels.”

The hills rose up around them north of the bridge. The sky had lightened to that pearly quality it got just before sunup. The grass covering the hillsides showed itself vibrant green. Sausalito would appear down to the right at any minute. Why couldn’t Jake have moored his boat there instead of way up at the top of the bay? Probably because the docks at Sausalito had turned into a cozy neighborhood. People lived on house boats that hadn’t moved for thirty, forty years.

Not the first choice for a secrecy and paranoid specialist like Jake.

“It is . . . of no matter that you do not want me. Brad has a bad friend. They want you because

. . . you are from another year. They will not . . . let you go back.” Was that true? Was she doing the right thing, running away? Then she remembered Colonel Casey’s cold eyes. This time, Jake might be right to be paranoid.

“I will fight them with the sword of Jake.” He stated it simply, as if she would be a fool to think he wouldn’t win such a battle.

“You are not . . . enough strong. They will bring . . . other men. We . . .” What was the word for hide? “We go far. You heal. Then . . . you can fight.” Except they would have guns and he had a sword. She couldn’t let him face off with Colonel Casey, ever.

Running away was difficult for him. She could see his jaw working. In the end, he took in a long breath and let it out. His shoulders sagged a little. “Until I heal. Where do we go?”

“We go to the boat of Jake.”

“I will heal. Then will I fight whoever comes. Brad will fix the metal wheels, and I will go back to the battle.” He nodded to himself and sat back in the seat. Apparently he felt better now that he had a plan. It made him feel in charge of his fate. Like anybody was in charge of that.

She’d love to have a plan besides just hiding out. While Galen healed, Brad would be working to fix the machine. Maybe Casey could get another diamond. Would Casey care about finding her and Galen if he had the working machine? Jake thought so. If they did escape Casey, Galen would never get back home to his family, to the woman he probably had waiting there, to the
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battle that seemed so important to him. And Lucy’s life was gone, too. Who was she, without the bookshop, with her only two friends in life, Jake and Brad, lost to her, too?

How foolish was it to decide on an impulse to power up a frigging time machine and visit the past? How had she gotten so obsessed with Leonardo’s book and his machine and the possibility of . . . escape? Was that what she’d really been obsessed with all along? Escape from what? Was her life so bad? Or was it just . . . ordinary?

What matter? It was all gone forever now.

The whole world might be changed if Brad and Casey used the machine. Would she even realize it? Maybe she’d never know the way it should have been. Jeez, but she hated these time-travel conundrums.

The sky was fully light now. She glanced to Galen and saw that the rocking motion and noise of the car had sent him into an exhausted sleep. Gone was the hard warrior. His expression was soft. His long eyelashes brushed his cheeks. He had dark circles under his eyes. He’d pushed himself to exhaustion, wounded as he was. She’d been practically carrying him by the time they got down to Jake’s car. And he was a load.

She wished she could indulge in the luxury of sleep. He might have fought a battle, time-traveled, and had surgery in the last twenty-four hours, but she hadn’t slept in she didn’t know how long. And time travel really took it out of you. Or maybe it was just the constant rush of adrenaline. Not exactly the quiet life of a book lover. To keep awake, she consulted the directions she’d gotten from Jake, scribbled on a pad with a Realtor’s name and picture at the top. The exit was off Highway 37 all the way at the top of the bay. It wasn’t technically even San Francisco Bay up there, but San Pablo Bay once you got past the narrows at Point San Pedro.

They had maybe an hour before they got to the marina. Not far.

But not far to what she didn’t know. What the hell had she gotten into?

Someone was attacking! He hit out with his right hand and felt pain stab through his shoulder as he came fully awake. A sling prevented him from landing the blow.

“Hey, you almost got me, buddy.” The woman jumped back, red blooming in her cheeks. Her eyes were the clearest green he had ever seen. Just now they were snapping in anger. What was she saying? Why couldn’t the woman speak Latin?

“Do not wake a warrior in this way,” he grunted, and pushed down the pain from his shoulder.

He sat forward. The cart was stopped, thank Loki. She had been leaning in to wake him through the open door. Behind her, masts dipped and bobbed against a blue sky. Good. They were at the mooring of Jake’s boat. The torture of this Hel-begotten cart was ended. He struggled out, pushing her anxious hands away. The woman was always trying to control him.

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But when he stood, the rocking masts wavered and blurred. Before he could protest, she slipped in under his good shoulder and steadied him. “I can walk, woman,” he grunted.

“If you fall, how will I . . . take you to the boat?” She seemed exasperated. She was right. Tiny as she was, she’d never get him up if he passed out.

He realized in that moment how dependent he was on her. He did not speak the language of this cursed place. He knew nothing of the workings of the carts. He had no coins with him. How would he eat without her? Beg on the streets when he did not speak a language any here could understand? The empty feeling in his belly was not from lack of food. He gritted his teeth as she pulled him forward, but he did not push her away. He would have to put up with her for now.

How difficult was it to put up with a comely wench? They were always willing to do his bidding, as long as he satisfied them in the bed box. He was good at that. The masts steadied as his head cleared. He limped ahead, leaning on her as little as possible. He would bed her and bend her to his will as soon as he was able. Then she would do his bidding. Perhaps this Brad had not Galen’s broad experience with pleasing women and that was why her temper was so bad. This Brad probably did not know what the women of Gaul had taught Galen.

She had taken out one of the small, serrated pieces of metal that were actually keys. She opened the lock on a metal grid fence and pushed open the gate, then closed it behind them and pulled him down the dock to the left. He was breathing hard and sweating. He hardly recognized the shiny, sleek white craft moored here as boats at all. There was little wood in sight. His mind registered their lines, how they rode in the water. They would be fast. Very fast.

She paused and compared her scrap of parchment with the signs in Arabic numbers at the head of each dock. “Wonderful,” she muttered as she did when she spoke her own language. But he knew that word.

“
Thu understandath
wonderful?” Surprising.

She looked up at him in equal surprise, her arm around his waist still supporting him. “I understand that.” And he understood her. It was the third time they had truly communicated.

She spoke Englisc, no matter how warped.

She nodded and he could feel her relief. “Better than Latin. We might have a chance.”

He understood the first part. “
G d. Betra thone
Latin,” he repeated. Her inflections were different, but the words sounded the same. When she talked fast, like to the man in green, it wasn’t just that so many words were unfamiliar. It sounded like gibberish, as if she didn’t know that words should have the emphasis only on the first syllable.

She looked around and pushed down the dock. She counted under her breath as they passed each boat. His leg was dragging. He wouldn’t make it much farther, and if he fell he was like to crush her. “
Hw er is se b t
?” he panted.

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She looked up to him, blinking. “There,” she said, nodding at the last dock. She must have understood him.

He might have known it would be the farthest away. He got there. Barely. The boat looked to be more than forty feet long, shiny white, with bright canvas dyed blue with woad covering what must be furled sails. It was moored to the dock with surprisingly light ropes made of some slick, bright yellow material. He slung his leg over the light lines that formed a small fence at the edge and stepped down onto the rocking deck with his good leg. At least he didn’t fall. He did not want to humiliate himself in front of the woman. Still, he leaned against the cabin as she used another key to unlock a hatch.

She pushed it open and peered inside. “Uh-oh, ladder,” she said, looking worried.

She must think him weak as a mewling babe. He could negotiate a
hl eder
. He pushed her aside. But he gripped the small rail with his good left hand until his knuckles were white as he descended into the cabin. It was surprisingly spacious. He didn’t have to duck his head.

“Learn some manners,” he heard her mutter just behind him in her own language. That he didn’t get. Didn’t have time to try because his legs didn’t want to obey him. He stumbled to a bench with a cushion at a small table and sat heavily.

“Okay, big boy. We’re getting you to bed.” Then she switched to Latin. “Stay here.”

What an ungrateful wretch. Pushing her aside like that. Like she wasn’t the one saving his hide.