by Taylor Hobbs
“Which is why we need to leave tonight, while they are asleep and unaware. I know Lino took the horse, but is there any way you can get another one? Or should we leave on foot and try to borrow one later on?”
“We will have to walk, I think. Part of the Camino de Santiago will take us to Carral. We can be pilgrims if we are questioned by any of the Crown’s men.”
The opportunity to walk the infamous Camino. It sent a little thrill up Remy’s spine. The aura of mystery and reverence surrounding it still impacted people in her own time. Experiencing it in the past might be all the more potent. The experience would be rougher, more real and less commercialized. No guidebooks or hotels, no graduate students taking a semester off to “find themselves” with social media documenting every step of their journey. She would encounter true believers, drawn by promises of miracles they couldn’t understand.
Would walking it give them the miracle they needed to rescue Lino? Maybe it will nullify my wish, Remy wondered. Walking it as penance could balance out the bad juju she had coming her way to pay for the knowledge of Lino’s location. If only. Until then, step by step all the way on their pilgrimage, Remy would be on edge.
Bieito looked torn. “My poor father, when he awakes to find us gone…”
“But think how happy he will be to have both his sons home again,” Remy pointed out.
“It will be a difficult journey,” he warned. “And not entirely safe.”
“Do I get to wear a shell?” Remy asked.
“Shell?”
“Like the one you were wearing the first day we met. You told me that all pilgrims get a shell to symbolize their trip. Even though we aren’t really going to the end of the Camino, I still want one.”
“That is your only concern about the trip? Your shell? Here I am, thinking about food and supplies—”
Remy gave him a tiny smile. “I want you to make it for me.”
He gave a little chuckle, the first in a long while. “I would do anything for you, mi amor.”
“But before we get to that, I need to change out of this dress. Into some pants.”
Bieito blushed at the mention of Remy taking off her clothes, and Remy could tell that for the moment at least, his thoughts were no longer on Lino. Part of her toyed with the idea of stripping down to her underwear right there in front of him, and sending him to go get her an outfit she could travel in. Considering how strung out he looked though, she decided that now probably wasn’t a good time to throw in a heart attack on top of his stress.
Bieito cleared his throat. “I have a few items that might fit. It would be a good idea to disguise you as a boy on the Camino anyway,” Bieito said. “Though right now María will insist on getting you something suitable of hers to wear instead.”
“We just have to act like everything is normal and then sneak out tonight. Can you pack and hide enough supplies in the barn?”
“I will gather what I can. You will share a bed with María tonight. Father will insist.” So much for hoping we would be sharing a bed, Remy thought. If they were back in New York, or even modern-day Spain, the idea that it was improper for two people in their thirties to share a bed was laughable. The earnest way Bieito had looked at her…There was no telling what she would have done to him if left alone with him in bed. It’s been so long—
Bieito interrupted her daydream. “Wait until she falls asleep and then meet me here. Take care that none of the other villagers see you either. I want to be a good distance away by morning.”
Remy sighed. It’s a long walk to Carral, though. All sorts of things can happen along the way. Bieito seemed pretty old school in the way of romance, but she bet it wouldn’t take too much convincing to see the benefits of a more modern relationship. If his passion in the way he kissed her was any indication, more good things were sure to follow. It might make it harder for him to let go of the proposal though. Remy didn’t know if that was good or bad, or something she should feel guilty about.
“I’ll meet you back out here,” Remy agreed. “Don’t you dare leave without me.” Then she laid such a kiss on him she made her own knees weak and felt Bieito tremble underneath her touch. “Got it?” she asked.
He uncrossed his eyes and swallowed, nodding.
****
The family was so drained from the day that they mostly ate dinner in silence, and then everyone headed straight to bed. Each was too lost in their own thoughts to resume arguing, collectively agreeing to continue the discussion about Lino and Carral in the morning.
The bags under María’s eyes spoke of more than just one sleepless night. When the two women went to bed, the young bride’s eyes closed the moment her head hit the pillow. It was almost as though her body was shutting down in self-defense. There was only so much worrying a person could do before their brain decided that enough was enough. Remy waited until she was sure that María was too deeply asleep to hear anything, then she boldly walked outside of the room, never having changed into María’s borrowed pajamas.
There were no noises coming from the other room, so Remy assumed that Bieito had had as little trouble with his father. Or Bieito already left.
Under cover of darkness, Remy scurried to the orchard. There was nobody else there. I can’t believe he would do this to me! Remy’s anger flared at Bieito’s lie. It was such a Jack thing to do—assume he knew what was best for her. Were all men programmed to do this?
“Fuck.” The curse echoed through the trees. Can I find my own way to Carral? Which way do I go? I guess I can ask directions from people. Remy’s thoughts grew saltier as she stewed. Well, maybe I’ll just go home if he doesn’t want me here. Problem is, I already tried to go back home, and it didn’t work. I think I’m stuck here until I do whatever I was sent here to do. “Shit!”
“That is the opposite of stealthy, mi amor.” Bieito’s voice reached her from behind. He was walking from the direction of the barn. “You are here early.”
“Weren’t planning on ditching me, were you?”
“Not at all.”
Remy still couldn’t see Bieito’s face in the darkness, but she knew by the sound of his voice that he wore a hurt look at her distrust. “I have clothes for you,” he said, and then handed her a wad of fabric. “I wish they were nicer, like your dress, but I’m afraid that is all I have that might fit.”
Remy shook out a pair of slacks and a loose, billowy shirt, but it was impossible to tell what color they were in the darkness. “These will be fine,” she said, grateful to wear something that reminded her more of her own century. “Sorry for accusing you of leaving me.”
“Father fell asleep rather quickly, but I needed to gather a few extra supplies from the barn. Nobody saw you come down here?”
“Nope. Looks like the whole village went to bed early. Too much excitement for today, maybe.”
“I saw a few people by the main house, still discussing your painting.”
“And what did the critics think?”
“They think it is blasphemous,” he said. “But I can tell they are awed by it. They have never seen an image of its like before.”
“Blasphemous? I’ll show them blasphemous.” She turned around and moved her hair to one side of her neck. “I need your help. Can you unhook me?”
Bieito made a strangled sound in his throat. After a moment’s hesitation, Remy felt warm fingers stroke between her shoulder blades and move down to free her from her fabric prison. With a shrug, the sleeves dropped down to her elbows and left her back bare.
Remy sighed. “Ah. That’s better.” A wiggle and a shimmy later, the deep red dress was a pool of fabric at her feet. Slowly, she turned around to face Bieito, clad only in her underwear.
As she had hoped, his jaw had become unhinged and he was staring at her in what could only be described as utter disbelief. He reached out to touch the smooth skin on her collarbone, only connecting with his fingertips, as though he was afraid she would disappear at any moment. Part of Remy expected to disa
ppear, to be yanked back to her own time just as things were starting to get good. She remained there as he touched her, and a jolt of electricity ran through both of them.
There was not a scrap of insecurity inside of Remy. This is me. A bold invitation for Bieito to gaze at her as long as he wished. She had earned every curve, every freckle, and every wrinkle in her path to him. The fact that Bieito remained clothed while she stood mostly naked did not seem unequal. His gaze worshiped her.
If either of them leaned in at this moment―even to gently kiss―all control would be lost. Remy had no doubt that it would involve both of them unraveling into a frenzy as they finally gave into all their urges. Once they started, Remy knew it would be impossible to stop.
Their own little world was waiting for them; waiting to seduce them into leaving responsibility and reality behind. Remy had her world, Bieito had his, but there was a third, even more secret and exclusive option. A hidden world that only belonged to them. It didn’t force them to choose between either time period. It called to both of them under the cover of darkness, with an ever-increasing sense of urgency.
Just give in, a voice whispered in Remy’s head. You deserve this.
As Bieito’s dark eyes drank her in, Remy could hardly remember her own name. He didn’t seem to remember anything either, outside of the bare woman in front of him.
In a trance, she stepped out of the fabric rose at her feet. Time moved in slow motion as she closed the distance between them, their breath and heartbeats increasing in sync. Remy reached out to mirror Bieito’s touch on her collarbone, and her fingers connected with something familiar.
Bieito’s necklace. The Camino shell.
Like a slap in the face, Lino’s presence suddenly stood between them. A ghost forcing their bodies apart. Change came over Bieito, and he looked away from Remy in shame. Nothing ruined the mood like a little brother.
“I apologize, mi amor. Now is not the time for this. That you should think I dishonor my family―”
“No, I get it. It’s probably a good thing that you stopped us. I don’t know what I would have done.” Remy knelt down to pick up the pants. Shoving her legs in as fast as she could, she promised, “We’ll have time later.” She pulled the shirt over her head while Bieito watched regretfully. He sighed when she stood before him, fully clothed.
“You looked lovely in the dress,” he said. “But I think I prefer you in this. You look like you did on the day we first met, but now in my clothes. American, but Galician. A perfect blend.”
“I have to admit, I’m feeling more Galician these days than ever.” Especially because I’m stuck here. Might as well embrace it.
Like a gunshot, the sound of a stick snapping cracked through the night. Both Bieito and Remy froze, only their eyes darting back and forth, searching for the disturbance.
“What was that?” Remy mouthed.
Bieito simply put a finger to his mouth, motioning for her to stay quiet. Was there someone out there? Had they been there the whole time, even watching Remy undress? The thought of a voyeur witnessing what they almost did made Remy’s stomach a little queasy. What if our romantic moment had been unwittingly shared with some creep in the bushes?
It was a sharp reminder that the outside world was currently in an upheaval, with no regard for the private and wonderful bond developing between Remy and Bieito. It was not a safe time to be caught cavorting in the shadows. This creep could have weapons, or even try to kill them to avoid being seen. By this point, Remy was also fairly certain that should anything happen to her in Bieito’s time, she could say adios to her real life, too. She wondered if her body would be magically returned to her village, and who would be the person to find her. Sebastian, probably.
Her death would be a great mystery. Foul play involved, but no suspects or evidence. Nobody would dare try to restore the village after that. They’d all think it was cursed or haunted or whatever. It probably is, considering everything that’s happened since I bought it.
This narrative flitted through Remy’s head in the thirty seconds she and Bieito were assessing the situation. The artist’s imagination. Was there anyone more prone to thoughts of the fantastical?
Pushing thoughts of death deep down, she analyzed the evidence so far and came up with the conclusion that the village would help keep her safe. It doesn’t want to be abandoned and left to rot again. Remy was the link between the past and the present for the village, and she figured it gave her some immunity. Maybe. It needed her, right? Or maybe it wanted her to change enough in the past to change the future, then it would be done with her.
It was a gamble to assume anything, especially with lives at stake. Her death might be off the table, but serious bodily harm might still be an option.
It would also really, really suck if they never even made it out of the village or got to walk the Camino de Santiago.
Bieito was up on the balls of his feet, ready to launch toward an attacker at any hint of a threat, but none came. After another minute of this standoff, Bieito motioned for Remy to get behind him. He picked up his bag of supplies, and together they crept the rest of the way through the orchard and toward the path down to Ortigueira.
As they exited the trees, Remy looked behind her. She thought she saw the familiar silhouette of Jack watching them, but the wind shifted the shadows and the image disappeared. Just my conscience. A shiver ran up her spine. It felt like he watched her through the veil of time, searching the village for clues as to where she disappeared. He could look all he wanted, but she knew she wouldn’t be allowed back until she finished her business with Bieito in the past.
****
The pair walked at a brisk pace, without looking backward at the village behind them. They kept to the side of the road, ready to blend into the foliage should they run across anyone else out in the middle of the night. After the scare they just had in the orchard, Bieito had regained his hyper-focus on their mission, and they walked in silence.
Remy kept pace with him without issue for the first few miles. Ortigueira soon passed by them as they skirted the edges of the town’s borders. Part of Remy wanted to walk boldly through the main streets, just to see how it was changed from the Ortigueira that she knew and loved. She was sad that she couldn’t even see the vaguest of impressions about the town in the dark, especially because it was so far away. To stave off the boredom of putting one foot in front of the other, she kept herself occupied imagining what the inside of the city looked like.
Would the streets be familiar enough for her to navigate through without getting hopelessly lost? Some of the architecture was probably the same, especially the old churches. But her favorite restaurants, grocery store, and food carts would be absent, not scheduled to make their mark in Ortigueira for another hundred years at least. Maybe we can stop by on the way back, Remy consoled herself. It would still be the charming town she fell in love with, just in a different, more authentic way. With no guarantee of running water. Well, win some, lose some.
Running on adrenaline left no room for fatigue. However, once the sun started to come up and the excitement of escape wore off, the exhaustion started to creep into her bones. The warm rays hit, and she longed to lay down in the tall grass and sleep until the sun went down.
“How much farther today?” she asked.
“It is close to ten leguas to Ferrol from Ortigueira,” Bieito said, speaking for the first time since the orchard. His voice rasped with disuse and worry.
Leguas? What the hell is a legua? If he had said kilometers, Remy would have at least had to do some rough math to estimate the distance in miles.
He sensed her confusion. “We will walk an hour or two more, then rest for a siesta. I would like to continue onward until nightfall. I don’t believe anyone from the village followed us, but it is best to travel farther than anyone would expect.”
“Then we will keep going tomorrow morning?” Remy asked.
“Yes, with the rest of the pilgrims. It would be
more suspicious to travel at night, I believe. We can blend in with the other travelers once we are far enough away for anyone to recognize us.”
“How many days until we get to Carral?”
“At this pace, we will be in Ferrol in three days. Carral is another three to four days away from Ferrol.”
A week of walking. What would have taken Remy a scant few hours by car would take days traveling by foot. She hoped they would make it to Carral in time to intercept Lino from being captured and executed. But unless they magically happened upon a horse, it was impossible to get there sooner.
At least the walking gave them the impression that they were doing something and moving forward. Even though it felt like a snail’s pace, Remy wondered if it was better than driving there for a “hurry up and wait” scenario. They had a buffer of a few weeks from when the colonel’s rebellion started to when the revolutionaries were executed, but timing it perfectly was necessary for the least amount of damage, both for the people involved and the historical time line she was trying hard not to totally mess up.
****
Now south of Ortigueira, Bieito and Remy started to come across more and more travelers heading the opposite direction, mostly to trade.
“Good morning, pilgrims,” the travelers would say, nodding their approval at Bieito and Remy’s religious journey, as though they were part of some grand noble cause. Remy tried to remain as quiet as possible, lest something like her accent or her clothes made her memorable enough to bring as a story back to Ortigueira. After the fifth person wished them safe travels and offered them what little extra food they carried with them, Remy began to feel like a fraud.
Though her growling stomach was grateful for the bread and sausage she wolfed down, she wondered if Karma was going to come back and bite them for deceiving people. Thanks to strangers’ generosity, they hadn’t needed to break into the supplies that Bieito brought just yet.
His pack wasn’t as big as Remy would have assumed for a week-long journey. In fact, it looked worryingly small on his back. The path they took was through rural farmland, no other towns or villages in sight, save for the occasional farmhouse standing on its own.