She didn’t move. He leaned over her chest and listened to her heart, trying to ignore the feel of her small, soft breasts under his ear. This wasn’t the moment to think about her breasts…even though he’d never forget the long, slender legs, and the soft curve of her belly, and something he’d never seen before that covered her intimate parts—something short and silky.

  Aye, all that could confirm indeed that she could be from the future… Her clothes, the bloodsucking metal thing, the needles that injected things into her…

  Her bright-purple purse lay in the grass…perhaps it held something that would wake her up. Rummaging inside, he found another small purse. It was made of hard, snakelike leather. Within were rectangular objects of different colors and some sort of letters painted on them—very straight letters; he’d never seen anyone write letters like that. He wished his father had allowed him to learn his letters so he could read what was written there.

  Then there was a small blue book, with more strange words written on it. As he opened it, the pages had beautiful images and colors, and on one page was Bryanna—a painting of such incredible skill and beauty that it looked exactly like her.

  He stared at Bryanna, stunned. These all looked like things from another time. Mayhap she was telling the truth. When they’d met, she’d thought this all wasn’t real, which meant she probably hadn’t believed it herself that she’d traveled to another time.

  That was why she’d married him.

  Everyone knew there was no treatment for the sugar sickness. People went blind from it, lost the feeling in their limbs, and, eventually, died.

  Ye bring death everywhere ye go, lad, came his father’s voice again.

  Darkness was consuming him, thundering in his chest, raging in his limbs. Desperation, grief, and sadness were rolling over him like a black blanket. “Shut up!” Raghnall yelled.

  A few of his people who were setting up camp in a small grove raised their heads at his yell. They were situated on top of one of the mountains because it was a better defensive position—just in case. Young lads and lasses had been sent to collect dry sticks and branches for firewood, while a few campfires were being started here and there. Teasag had put a field pot with water over the first campfire. He knew Eanar rode out to scout the surroundings, to make sure there were no unpleasant surprises.

  “What?” Bryanna said as she rose to her elbows and looked around. “Did I say something?”

  Raghnall dropped her things back into her purse and shifted to sit next to her. “Lass! Are ye all right?”

  Gently, he supported her with his arms and pulled her into a hug. It was so good to feel her, warm, and moving, and alive. She smelled like something fruity, a pear perhaps. He remembered hearing somewhere that people with sugar sickness smelled fruity and their urine and blood tasted sweet.

  “I’m fine. Thanks for helping me there. You might have saved my life.”

  “Saved yer life? Nae, lass. If anything, I am probably the reason for yer fall. I kidnapped ye and dragged ye away from the rock that would take ye back home.”

  She looked up at him. Her eyelids were heavy, but her eyes were alert. “So you believe me?”

  He sighed. “Aye. Despite everything that I ken, I do.”

  She blinked at him several times. “Why? What made you change your mind?”

  She seemed like she wasn’t even breathing. “I looked through yer things. Yer strange wee plates with numbers and letters…the painting of ye made so artfully, there aren’t any artists these days that have the precision and the talent. The materials on ye, yer wee needles, and this…thing…that drinks yer blood. Everything about ye, yer speech, the way ye carry yerself… Ye’re a stranger, an outlander. Despite what I kent before, aye, there are things that are hard to explain and ye’re one of them.”

  Teasag came to stand next to them and stared with wide eyes at Bryanna’s black case and strange cylinders still spilled in the grass. “Lady, are ye unwell? May I be of help?”

  Bryanna shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you for your concern. My husband is all I need now.”

  Teasag nodded and walked away, still throwing puzzled glances at them. With some small good fortune, none of his people had been close enough to see her fall or watch him push up her dress and use the strange needle on her. Now they were too busy setting up camp to pay the new lord and his wife much notice.

  My husband is all I need now… Her words brought warmth into his chest. When he met her eyes, he noted how much more relaxed she looked, how she sagged against him in relief.

  She rubbed his arm with her thumb. “You’re not going to put me on a stake for witchcraft or something? Or put me in a dungeon?”

  He chuckled. “Nae, lass. I…” He cleared his throat. “I wilna. It turns out, ye’re the perfect wife.”

  Color returned to her face, lighting up her cheeks like a flame. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Angus wanted me to marry to prove I can settle down and be responsible. But I never wanted a wife. And I accepted that condition only to get my lands back.”

  “You never wanted a wife? Why? Isn’t that what everyone is expected to do during this age?”

  “Aye. But I… I just never wanted a family or bairns of my own. I like being alone.”

  Ye bring death with ye everywhere ye go, rumbled his father’s voice inside his head. Imagine if ye fathered a child. Poor bairn.

  He shook his head, willing for the voice to go away, then continued, more to shut his father up than to explain things to Bryanna. “And ye told me ye want to return home, aye?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, then, I wilna stop ye. If ye tell Angus and my family that our marriage is real, that is, that we consummated it, he wilna have a choice but to accept ye as my wife. And then nothing will make him take Tigh na Abhainn back from me. Then, ye can leave this time and go home. I’ll help ye clear the rubble if ’tis nae yet done.”

  Although he said that, part of him wasn’t so eager to help her get back home. He liked her, he admitted to himself. Despite his resolve not to develop any feelings towards her, he had. That sense of joy and sunshine he had around her was addictive. He’d come to enjoy sleeping in a bed with her, despite his struggles to keep his hands off her. He enjoyed teaching her to ride and singing to her. She always took in information like she was starving for it.

  And once or twice, she’d hummed along to his songs, and her voice was beautiful.

  “What do ye say, Lady Bryanna?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Sure, I don’t mind telling Angus that we consummated our marriage. But I’m pretty sure he already knows I’m from the future. I think I’m not the only one.”

  Raghnall blinked at her. “What do ye mean?”

  “Well… It’s not my secret to tell. But I’m sure you probably had your suspicions.”

  Raghnall frowned, thinking. Sir James…with his odd English and his odd mission to find Lady Rogene and David… Claiming he was an officer of the law or something… Was he from the future?

  And if he came to look for Lady Rogene and David—he knew them. Only, if he was from the future that would be where he’d know them from, right? So, were they time travelers, too?

  Raghnall shook his head. How could Angus and Catrìona have kept it a secret? And David himself, who’d become a friend and a sword brother.

  “Aye. I do have my suspicions,” he said darkly. “I’ll need to have a serious conversation or two once we arrive.”

  Woodsmoke from more campfires filled the air. The sounds of people talking quietly reached Raghnall’s ears. He saw Eanar return, and as he jumped off the horse, he approached them. “Are ye all right, Lady?” he asked Bryanna.

  “Thanks. I’m fine.”

  Despite their initial misunderstanding, Raghnall came to like the man more and more. “Is everything clear, Eanar?”

  “Aye. We should be all right. Though people are worried. Uprooted from their homes like that… Bairns are scared.”

  Raghnall nodded. “Aye. I ken.”

  That was how he had felt as a fourteen-year-old lad being forced out of his home. As Eanar walked away to the camp, Raghnall studied Bryanna, looking for any signs of her being unwell. “Are ye truly feeling better?”

  “I am.” She sat straighter and looked around, then began gathering her things into her black case. “Insulin keeps me alive. It’s the hormone that my body doesn’t produce. Thankfully, they found a way to make it in the future, so my life depends on it.”

  He sucked air into his lungs. “And if ye stay here, without that…insu…lin…ye will die?”

  She nodded without looking at him. “Yep. Pretty much.” Then she gave a small chuckle. “It sucks.”

  It sucks… That probably meant it was shite. Poor lass. His heart ached for her. Living with a constant threat that didn’t come from an enemy but from your own body… And especially this woman, so full of light and life.

  “Ye dinna deserve it, lass,” he said as he helped her put back her odd purple cylinders. Their fingers touched, and their eyes met. He could sink into the golden green of her eyes, bright and sparkling. “Ye should have a full life in front of ye…anything ye want. Anyone ye want.”

  Her skin was so smooth under his fingers, and she was so close to him…soft and bonnie and feminine. There were her lips, half open, calling for him.

  Resist the call, he commanded. She’s not yer real wife and she’s going to leave soon.

  What harm would one little kiss do then, if she was going to leave soon?

  His body agreed. He reached to her, cupping her jaw, and, as though she had the exact same thought, she moved towards him, too. Like a hammer and an anvil, they came together, their mouths connecting, their arms wrapping around each other’s bodies.

  Unlike their previous kisses, there was no hesitation, no shyness, no holding back. Her lips met his with the same level of hunger that had been torturing him for days. They were soft, and her tongue tasted sweet, and it stroked his, caressing, playing, coming together and retreating. The taste of her, the scent of her filling his nostrils, the feel of her feminine body in his arms, brought fire deep within his veins.

  He wanted her, aye. He’d wanted her for days. But it wasn’t just lust. It was the need to bathe in her light, to own her by giving pleasure to her, to watch her fall apart deliciously under his careful guidance. Never had he felt this need, this hunger, this ache for a woman. Not even with Mòrag.

  He was ready to tear her clothes off and take her right here and now—and she wanted him, too. He could tell from her grinding, and the small whimpers of distressed pleasure that came from her throat and drove him mad.

  But he couldn’t. Not after she’d been ill like she had just now. And not under the trees of a forest somewhere in the Highlands, when all his people could see them.

  No. This woman deserved silks and a bed of feathers.

  And no stolen glances from strangers.

  With the effort of will that compared to tearing his own arm from his body, he stopped the kiss and leaned away from her. Her chest was heaving, her eyes were bright, and her lips were red and swollen from his kiss.

  He wanted to see her beautiful folds swollen and red like that, too.

  “I can tell ye one thing, lass,” he said as he cupped her face. “I like the idea of having ye as my wife more and more. ’Tis going to be very hard to let ye go.”

  Chapter 16

  Bryanna held a wooden bowl with her dinner—stew made of oats boiled with parsnips, wild garlic, and onions. Not particularly appetizing, but she was grateful to get something warm and comforting into her stomach. It was dark around them, and only campfires were chasing the night away. Families and neighbors sitting around the campfires were talking and eating their food.

  Raghnall was by her side, staring into the flames, mindlessly chewing a piece of bannock that Teasag had packed earlier that morning. Eanar and Teasag sat across from Bryanna, talking about something and clearly teasing each other. The air was filled with the scents of woodsmoke, stew, and roasted bread.

  Even though the fires and the smells were comforting, the sense of danger, of desperation and fear, hung over the camp like a dark ceiling.

  Bryanna looked over her shoulder to the next campfire, where a mother had her two children, ages six and eight, in her lap and was rocking them, repeating something that was no doubt supposed to be comforting.

  Only, her voice sounded tense and worried.

  Bryanna touched Raghnall’s shoulder, and his dark gaze was immediately on her, sharp and focused like the scope of a sniper’s gun. A shiver ran through her. How could he be so warm and worried about her one moment, saving her life, and then the next be a cold, distant man.

  “Um…” she said. “I just wanted to ask if you have your lute with you.”

  He twisted his torso away and patted something on the opposite side. “Aye, I do.”

  “Everyone seems to be really on edge. It’s a terrifying situation, to abandon their homes, especially for children. I teach music to children where I’m from, and I was thinking, maybe you could play and sing to them? That might help them to calm down.”

  His eyes lit up, sparkling with red-and-orange flames reflected from the fire. “Ye teach music?”

  She picked up a small twig and fiddled with it. “I do.”

  His whole face changed—from a man with dark secrets and a burden on his shoulders, he transformed into a grinning boy. “What do ye play?”

  Bryanna’s own stomach tightened in excitement, as though he had infected her. She felt like a shy teenage girl who just got the attention of the most popular boy in school. She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and stared at the ground, a stupid smile spreading on her face.

  “Not a lute, but something similar, in a way… Have you heard of a guitar?”

  “A guitar? Nae.”

  “It’s also a stringed instrument, but the sound is different. Louder, I think. And depending on what the strings are made of, the sound can also be more intense. I also play piano, of course. Every music teacher must.”

  “And ye sing?”

  “Yes.”

  Please, don’t ask me to sing…she begged him in her head.

  “God’s feet, ye may be the most perfect woman that has ever walked this earth…” he mumbled, as though to himself, making heat burn her cheeks and neck. “Please, sing to me.”

  But shyness didn’t want to let her go, and although she sang and played for work, she shook her head. What if he didn’t like her voice? What if she sang the wrong note? Could she even remember a single song under his burning gaze?

  “If ye wilna sing to me, then sing to the children.”

  “I don’t know any medieval songs.”

  “Then sing something from yer time. I’ll try to pick the melody with my lute.”

  She bit her lip. This might actually work. She could sing him something super easy, like “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” The melody was basic and beautiful and soothing. This would be perfect.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it… Though it’s been a very long time since I sang when someone else played along.”

  “Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” she began, quieter than she would have liked, and Raghnall stilled so completely, he could have been a statue.

  “How I wonder what you are…” she continued, braver now, letting her voice gain strength.

  Teasag and Eanar quieted and listened to her, open-mouthed.

  “Up above the world so high…” She felt it now…that place within her, where she was safe, where she felt her soul pouring through her voice, where she knew she was connected with her audience, where she knew she brought beauty.

  “Like a diamond in the sky,” she sang, forgetting that anyone was watching her, or judging her, or listening.

  She kept singing the song, and distantly realized that more and more people gathered around the bonfire and that children stopped whining and crying. She saw Odhran, Eamhair, and their kids and smiled at them. The beautiful chords of the lute joined in, softly and hesitantly at first.

  And when she looked at Raghnall playing, he was watching her like she was his sun and his moon, like she led him and he was happy to follow.

  At some point, she didn’t know where his music began and her voice ended. When she sang the last word, she didn’t want to stop, so she started “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” over again. Children watched her with bright eyes and open mouths, women smiled dreamily, men wore thoughtful expressions.

  And then, once they started the song for the third time, Raghnall joined in the verse. He sang the first chorus with her, and then only hummed, but his voice was lower and hers higher, and the two of them intertwined beautifully.

  If voices could make love, this would be it. They were perfect. His, velvety, seductive, the baritone of a troubadour, and hers, a perfect mezzo-soprano, as she’d been told by her own music teachers. They complemented each other, teased each other, and created something unique, something beautiful.

  Something she never wanted to end.

  When they finished “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” their audience demanded more songs. For the first time since they’d left Tigh na Abhainn, Bryanna saw smiles on the faces of the children. And so she sang “Itsy Bitsy Spider,” and “Ring Around the Rosie,” and “Are You Sleeping, Brother John?” Finally, when the children were tired and, one by one, left Bryanna and Raghnall’s campfire, they stopped singing. Only, Bryanna didn’t want the night to end.

  Raghnall put his lute away. “Lass, ye have a bonnie voice, like a nightingale. I could listen to ye all night.”

  She chuckled. “Thank you. I love your voice, actually.”

  The word love hung between them, heavy and loaded.

  “Ye ken, I can barely get my mind around the fact that ye’re from another time. I dinna think I’ll ever recover when ye’re gone.”

  She wished she could say, Then don’t lose me… Let me stay… Let me be with you…

  But there was no way a diabetic could live in the Middle Ages. There was truly no future for them. Staying here with him meant death.

 

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