Anywhere in Time (Magic of Time Book 2)

by Melissa Mayhue

  He shrugged, his anger fading in the face of her worry. He pulled her into an embrace and ran his hand over her unruly curls.

  “Doona be so foolish in the future, wee Elf. I’d have yer word upon it.”

  He needed to hear her swear to it. Swear that she wouldn’t slip away again. Swear that she wouldn’t take such foolish risks again.

  “You’ve my word,” she said, her voice muffled as she pressed her forehead against his chest. “I’ll never again slip out in the early morn without letting you know first.”

  Good. Perhaps she’d learned a lesson. Although, now that he thought upon it, her vow had been a little more specific than he would have liked to have heard. He would have questioned her on that, but the sound of a throat clearing just inside the trees brought them both to attention. A moment later, a tall woman wearing the uniform of the Palace Guard stepped into the clearing.

  “I hope I haven’t interrupted at a bad time,” she said, though her expression indicated no such qualms at all. “I am Darnee Al’ Oryn, sent by Dallyn to provide you escort. It seems I have arrived earlier than our agreed-upon time.”

  “So you have,” Syrie said, stepping away from him and clasping her hands behind her back. “But none too soon for us. We’ll gather our belongings and be ready.”

  “It would seem Leala is preparing a meal for you,” Darnee said, lifting her nose to the air and sniffing. “I’ll await you in the woods. Feel free to take all the time you need.”

  Patrick didn’t blame the Fae for fading into the trees. The thought of eating one more meal prepared by Leala made him want to run away, too.

  “The sooner we’re away from here, the safer it will be for our hostess,” Syrie said.

  Perhaps she’d read his mind.

  “Agreed.”

  He’d be the first to admit to taking the coward’s way out as he went directly to collect their things, leaving Syrie to make their excuses to Leala. Within minutes, they were on their way, waving their farewells to their hostess before slipping into the forest to find their guide.

  Darnee waited well back out of sight within the shelter of the trees. As they approached, she once again sniffed the air, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

  “I could swear I smell that woman’s cooking even out here,” she murmured as she turned to lead them to three horses tied in a clearing.

  The Faerie captain was right. Even he could smell it.

  “The odor does carry,” he said.

  Next to him, Syrie sighed and held up a bag she carried. “Leala insisted on sending some along,” she said. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, since she’d been working on it all morning.”

  “We leave it here,” Darnee said, already sitting on the back of a large white horse. “We take nothing that could implicate anyone.”

  With a growing respect for their new companion, Patrick took the bag from Syrie’s hands and tossed it into the woods before helping Syrie up onto the back of her mount.

  “You ken she has the right of it,” he said, forestalling any argument Syrie might be preparing. “The smell alone would leave a trail any could follow.”

  “I know,” she said, obviously fighting the need to disagree. “It’s just that she was already so disappointed. I’d hate to think of her finding this and believing that we threw it away. Which we did.”

  “You’ve a soft heart, Elesyria Aĺ Byrn,” Darnee said. “Not what I expected at all.”

  Syrie accepted the judgment without comment, something that surprised Patrick. Either her tolerance for her own kind was much higher than her tolerance for Mortals or she was beginning to learn the value of keeping her thoughts to herself.

  Whichever the case, he was grateful. Should the two women disagree, he’d be forced to Syrie’s defense, and, quite frankly, the idea of taking on the formidable captain was more than he was prepared for without a good night’s sleep under his belt.

  Chapter 24

  Darnee’s mount carried her down the trail and into the darkening gloom of the trees until, after one last wave of farewell, she seemed to simply melt into her surroundings.

  One down, one to go.

  Syrie maintained her outward composure as she and Patrick returned to the cabin where they would be staying, though she felt as if her insides were racing much faster than her body could ever move. The anxiety she’d hoped to eliminate with her visit to Nally had only continued to grow over the course of the day.

  “The fire’s gone out,” Patrick said as they entered the cabin. “Do you want any more of the stew Darnee made for us before it goes completely cold?”

  Syrie shook her head. Just the smell of the stuff left her feeling nauseated, without thinking of it cold and congealed.

  “I take it that cooking is no’ a skill that’s highly valued by Faerie women,” he said with a smile. “At least, that’s what I’m beginning to think considering the ones I’ve met.”

  Syrie shrugged a careless response, wishing for nothing so much as for night to settle over the cottage. The sooner that Patrick took to his bed, the sooner she’d be able to sneak away for her rendezvous with Nally. She’d begun to worry that Darnee was going to spend the night watching over them, since it had taken her so long to take her leave. Slipping past Patrick was going to be challenge enough. She certainly hadn’t liked the idea that she might have to evade two of them.

  On top of everything, there was that damned promise she’d made to Patrick nagging away at her sanity. She’d done her best to keep the oath she gave as specific as possible when she spoke the words. True, he’d asked for, and he expected, that she wouldn’t leave again without telling him. But in her oath to him, she’d been very careful to indicate that she wouldn’t slip out in the early morning. Yes, it was nothing more than a technicality she clung to, but it was the only thing she could think of that would allow her to do what she needed to do and still keep him safe.

  Though she needed the information only Nally could give her, the one thing she wasn’t prepared to sacrifice in her quest to rescue the Goddess was Patrick. In fact, if ever she were forced to choose between the two of them—

  “Syrie!”

  Her head spun around to look at the man who’d called out her name, jerking her from her reverie.

  “What?” she asked, trying to recover the emotional balance she’d lost as her thoughts had wandered to the possibilities of what fate might await her Patrick.

  “I doona ken where you were just then, but it certainly wasn’t here with me. Do you care to share what it is that’s troubling you?”

  “The list is too long,” she muttered.

  The smile slowly lifting the corner of his lips told her he’d heard her comment, whether she’d meant it for his ears or not.

  “You worry yerself overmuch, mo siobhrag,” he said, crossing the room to pull her into his embrace. “Darnee appears a trustworthy ally. Dallyn seems a good man. A good ally, as well. When he’s gathered our force, we’ll determine the best plan to free yer Goddess. With her aid, we’ll put an end to those who would see you harmed. Then, when we’ve accomplished what we’ve set out to do, you and I will go home and get on with our lives, aye?”

  “We will,” she agreed, allowing herself to relax into his arms.

  Not even being called an Elf could ruin this moment with him. No more than she’d ruin it by sharing her fears that any plan they might put together had equally as much chance of failure as success. Nor was it the time to discuss a future that might well end here in Wyddecol before it had any real hope of beginning.

  She wouldn’t allow herself to worry over how thin a line she trod between truth and lies in going forward with her plan. She wouldn’t dwell on how angry he’d be if he awoke before she returned this night. She refused to consider how she risked his trust forever with her actions, even though she followed a path designed to keep him safe.

  This moment was a time meant for them. One tiny piece of time they could carve out for their very own.

>   She rose up onto her tiptoes, sliding her fingers up from the base of his neck, to thread into his dark, silky hair. She met no resistance as she guided his head down to her. His lips covered hers and she felt herself slipping under the lovely, dark water that was Patrick. Enchanting. Mesmerizing. All-consuming.

  Her head dropped back as his mouth left hers to trail a heated path down her throat. Cold air danced over her skin as the soft cloth of her gown slipped down one shoulder, quickly replaced with the heat of Patrick’s kisses.

  He lifted her from her feet, to carry her to the small bed in the corner of the room. On her back, she stared up at him as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor before covering her body with his.

  “I thought that damned Faerie was never going to leave us in peace,” he murmured, heat filling his gaze as he leaned over her. “And now that we’re finally alone, I intend to drive all yer worries from yer thoughts.”

  A warmth, comforting and exciting, filled her as his mouth covered hers once again, his tongue tickling over her lips, demanding they part to allow him inside.

  His plan was working just as he’d said, stealing away any thought of what was ahead. This was their time, a moment carved out between what had been and what was to come, allowing nothing more than the pleasure they felt to fill their minds.

  His hands slid from her bare shoulders to her waist, a slow, erotic movement that sent shivers of anticipation through every bit of her body. He’d just slipped his hands beneath her, to lift her hips when the pounding began.

  “By Freya,” Patrick growled. “Whoever it is, I’ll rip his arms from his body and beat him senseless.”

  Syrie caught her breath, somewhere between a sob and a giggle, as he rose to stomp to the door, pausing only long enough to grab his shirt and drop it down over his head.

  By the time their guests entered, she’d moved to stand by the darkened firepit, her gown adjusted into place. It had been much more difficult to eliminate all traces of emotion from her face and her mind, but she felt confident that she’d been successful.

  At least, she hoped she had been.

  Patrick, on the other hand, still wore the dark frown that marked his displeasure.

  “You’ve allowed your fire to go out,” Dallyn said, stepping close to stare down at the cooled embers.

  “Little wonder,” one of the two men accompanying him said. “There’s no wood. I’m surprised Darnee would overlook such a detail.”

  They wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d been here to see how both she and Patrick had done their best to hurry the Faerie soldier on her way.

  “I’ll see to it,” the third responded, stepping back out into the evening chill.

  “I’ll help Devlin,” the first said as he also made his way out the door.

  “Ah well,” Dallyn said with a sigh, slipping out of the heavy cloak he wore to toss it in the corner. “As they say, many feet make light work.”

  “What?” Patrick asked a moment after Dallyn slipped out the door. “No matter. Best I help them so we can hurry them through whatever it is they want. I’ve no desire to spend my night entertaining.”

  “Haven’t you?” Syrie asked, unable to keep the smile from her lips.

  “No desire to entertain that lot,” he said, returning the smile before ducking out the open door.

  Syrie sat in a chair, listening to the sounds of chopping wood and men’s voices, enjoying the feel of the silly smile still hovering on her lips. It would be all too easy to regret the loss of the moments she’d longed to share with Patrick, but likely this interruption was for the best. The last thing she needed was to be too distracted to leave when she needed to for her meeting with Nally.

  And, without a doubt, being alone with Patrick was one major distraction.

  She reached for the cup on the table, surprised to see her hand shaking so noticeably as she picked it up. The damned quivering insides had returned to plague her.

  She had little time to fret over the nasty, anxious feeling washing through her gut before the men returned. They each dumped an armload of freshly chopped wood onto the hearth, leaving Dallyn to busy himself building a new fire.

  “Our friend Dallyn has brought the first of our new allies,” Patrick said, indicating the two newcomers. “Larkin and Devlin. He thought it would be good for us to meet so we wouldn’t be concerned if we should see either of them here without him.”

  “My pleasure,” Syrie said, extending a still-shaky hand to each man in turn.

  Dallyn finished with the fire and, after what seemed an eternity, the three took their leave.

  A glance at the full moon outside assured Syrie she hadn’t long left before she’d need to make her getaway. But before she could even hope to make that happen, Patrick would need to be soundly asleep.

  After he closed the door, he turned to her, pulling her close once again.

  “Now, where were we before their untimely visit?” he asked. “We are ever-plagued by unwelcome interruptions, are we no’?”

  “We are,” she agreed, knowing there was yet one more to come.

  When he bent to kiss her, she turned her head into his chest.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, as she’d known he would.

  “I’m exhausted, Patrick,” she said, realizing the truth of the words as she spoke. “My body is buzzing like it’s filled with bees and I want nothing more than to escape into sleep. I’m sorry if I disappoint you.”

  Again, all true, even though sleep would be long-delayed for her this night, denied until after she’d done what she needed to do.

  “I can help with that,” he said, for the second time tonight sweeping her off her feet to carry her to the bed in the corner of the room.

  This time, he laid her down and drew a blanket up over her, tucking it under her chin.

  “Sleep well, mo siobhrag,” he said, before dropping a kiss on her forehead and moving away. “We’ve a lifetime for you to make up for any perceived disappointments, aye?”

  He lay down next to her, his arm protectively wrapped around her. Any other time, she would have given every earthly treasure in her possession to spend her night exactly like this, his warm body curled around hers. Too bad she couldn’t simply enjoy it now.

  She forced herself to still, to relax against him, in hope of lulling him into his own slumber. She waited, unmoving, until the sound of his breathing had changed, growing slower and louder.

  Once she was convinced that he slept, she carefully slipped out of bed, pausing only to stuff her pillow under his arm to take her place. Stepping back, she surveyed her handiwork. It would do. It would have to.

  As quietly as possible, she made her way to the door and outside, breathing normally again only after the door was shut behind her. She sprinted across the open ground and into the trees, trying to make up for lost time. One glance back assured her that all was quiet. Patrick hadn’t awakened. Her plan had worked.

  Once again, luck had been on her side.

  * * *

  Damned stubborn woman!

  Patrick sat up as the door closed, pausing only a moment to give Syrie enough of a head start that she wouldn’t realize he followed. Foolish woman. Didn’t she know he’d realize the minute she moved away from him? Didn’t she realize he knew her too well to be fooled by her meek agreement to do as he asked of her? That was as far from the behavior he expected from Syrie as was…as was her breaking the oath she had taken not to risk her safety by sneaking away again.

  Though, now that he replayed their conversation in his head, he realized that the oath he had sought from her was not the oath she’d actually given. Typical Fae wordplay, if ever he’d seen it. He’d thought it odd when she’d first agreed, but he’d let it go, wanting the issue to be settled.

  So who was the foolish one now?

  He was, if he allowed her to get away from him, alone, with no protection. There would be time enough to deal with the tricky wordplay after he had her safely b
ack at his side.

  Grabbing his sword and sheath, he headed for the door, shocked when it opened before he could get there.

  Dallyn stood there, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Was that Elesyria I saw disappearing into the forest?” he asked.

  “Aye,” Patrick said, slipping the sheath onto his back. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to collect my cloak. We’ve an inspection tomorrow morning, and this is part of my uniform.” Dallyn flashed a sheepish grin as he crossed to retrieve the forgotten item. “Where has Elesyria gone?”

  “Damned if I know,” Patrick said, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. “Though I’ve a guess. I hate to be rude, Dallyn, but I have to go now or risk losing her trail.”

  “And that would be where?” Dallyn asked, following him out the door. “This guess of yours as to her destination?”

  “Early this morning she slipped away to meet with an old friend. Nally, I believe she called her. I suspect they didn’t get to finish their conversation in the time they had. I suspect Syrie has gone back to meet with the woman again.”

  It might have felt like an eternity that Syrie had been missing this morning, but when he considered travel time, she really hadn’t been gone very long. Certainly not long enough to have done more than pass along some superficial greetings, which wasn’t at all what she wanted. She wanted information. Information that she felt she could trust.

  “That would be Nalindria Re’ Alyn, I assume,” Dallyn said. “One of the Temple Maidens who served with Elesyria. It should be easy enough to track her, if that’s the case.”

  Easy? Thanks to the time they’d wasted, unless Syrie was very careless in covering her tracks, following her would hardly be easy, even with a full moon. Not unless…

  “You know where to find this Nalindria?”

  “I told you she was a Temple Maiden,” Dallyn said, pushing ahead of Patrick to lead the way. “She lives at the Temple of the Goddess.”