Beyond Time (Highland Secret Series) (11 page)

“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 four 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.