A Bridge Through The Mist

by Denise A. Agnew

  Mortified she’d let this man paw her and she’d responded to him, Alenna stepped back until she bumped into the table.

  "Why did you do that?" she asked, feeling the chill of the room now that he no longer held her within his arms.

  "To show ye what happens to cuif women."

  "Cuif?"

  He shook his head. "Foolish woman."

  "Foolish woman? I’m not a foolish woman."

  Taking a deep breath, as if he had trouble getting oxygen, he said, "Nay … I think ye are."

  "But—"

  "Do ye need another—" He stepped forward.

  "No!" She put her hand out. "What I mean is, I don’t let just any man kiss me."

  Alenna realized how this sounded as soon as the words came out. This savage man would think she’d enjoyed his kiss, his carnal embrace.

  God help her. She had more than enjoyed it.

  His gaze never leaving hers, he said, "Many men willna ken that. They’ll look at yer beautiful hair, and those green eyes, and they’ll want to taste ye as I have."

  He was right. Not about kissing her, but that she walked on dangerous ground if she thought she could move about in the fourteenth century with the freedom she expected in her time.

  She nodded. "I … I’m not familiar with your … with this place. I could make mistakes."

  The dangerous shimmer in his eyes diminished and was replaced by a twinkle of humor. "I think, lass, ye will be the death of me yet."

  The evidence lay in the heavy arousal straining against his trews. She looked away quickly. She couldn’t remember a man reacting this strongly and quickly to her. Then again, she couldn’t remember responding to any man this way.

  Alenna rubbed her fingers against her temples. She had to get back on track. He was a barbaric man of the fourteenth century! How on earth could she be this attracted to a man she barely knew? Insanity had to be the answer, because nothing else made a bit of sense. Perhaps once she’d talked to Elizabet, she would understand more about what was happening to her.

  "Could I speak with Elizabet?" she asked.

  Tynan tilted his head to the side. "Aye, I suppose ye might. Are ye in need of somethin’ only a female can help with?"

  Good. Let him think it was a female thing."Yes."

  "Aye."

  Trying to stifle a yawn, she put her hand to her mouth. "Go back to sleep, Alenna. I’ll stay in the chair by the fire." He walked to the fire.

  "But you’ll be cold—" She realized immediately it would sound like an offer to let him sleep with her again. She didn’t want him getting any ideas. "I mean … take the plaid."

  "Nay." He reached for the fur that lay over one chair and settled into the seat by the fire. "This will do for me."

  The feeling of tension left the room, and fatigue seeped into her limbs like liquid. She sank back onto the pallet rather than retreating to the colder back room. She covered herself with the warm plaid, but she didn’t expect to sleep. Before she could give another thought to the heat of his kiss and what the morning would bring, she sank into a deep slumber.

  * * *

  Tynan gritted his teeth and held back a moan. He shifted on the chair and fought against the throb in his loins. The ache subsided with excruciating slowness. Did the strange woman who lay on the pallet have the power to bewitch him? Was she a spy?

  A woman had not seized his senses this way since Florie. Since Mary had loved him, then left his soul in tatters. Mary had given him love … something he would never get back. Not from this woman. Not from any woman.

  Lust. Aye. ‘Tis lust and nothing more.

  He closed his eyes, but it was a mistake. Aye, Alenna fit against him in all the right places. Her full breasts and long legs had curved against him as he’d held her.

  Glancing over at the pallet, he felt a sudden urge to go to her. Lust was still slamming through him with a drugging beat as he stood and walked to the small bed.

  Covered with the plaid, she looked wee and defenseless. If he’d been like his father, or a goodly portion of the men in the castle, he would have taken her. He could have pushed her against the wall and rutted against her despite her wishes. But the very idea of hurting her made his stomach roil with disgust. Shame warred with anger inside his head.

  Her disregard for her own safety amazed him and put a fire of rage in his blood. Did this wench speak the truth? She didn’t look like any woman he’d seen before, and if he believed in evil witchery, he might think she’d been sent as a devil’s instrument.

  She was taller than most of the women and even some of the men he knew. Her hair lay short over her forehead and the rest hung thick and straight and just touched her shoulders. A strange ripe grain and golden brown, and the scent smelled like flowers. Delicate and pale, her skin seemed unmarred by the ravages of time for a woman her age. What sweet shelter had this wench seen to look so well?

  Alenna shifted on the bed. Afraid she would wake and find him staring down at her he stepped back. She moaned in her sleep, wrinkling her stubborn, wee, freckled nose as if she’d scented something unpleasant. Even the dimple in her chin spelled a willful woman. He wanted to kiss the little dent in the middle of her chin after he finished devouring her mouth.

  But two other features made his blood boil like a caldron over a fire. Spiked with long lashes, her green eyes had taunted him, and her sweet, soft lips moved under his with an inferno that might lead to his damnation.

  When he’d kissed her, he wanted to show her she was powerless against him or any man who chose to have her. Maybe she’d realize she needed his protection.

  Tynan cursed under his breath and knelt by the bed, drawn to her despite all efforts. He lifted his hand to touch her hair and stopped.

  A fair idiot he’d been. What on earth had possessed him to take liberties? He was as despicable as the men against whom he had warned her. Even if she was a spy, he could never hurt her.

  Kissing her had not brought a confession of guilt to her lips, but had brought an ache to his groin that still begged to be appeased. Nay. Moving in such a direction would lead to his downfall again. Twice before he’d let a woman enchant him with her loveliness, and both times had brought them the worst possible fate.

  He’d taken from Mary what no man had a right to, except for her guidman. Her future guidman, though, had seen her loss of virtue as a sin from which there was no redemption.

  A spike of almost physical pain sharpened in Tynan’s soul.

  Mary’s fate had been worse than anything he could have imagined from the result of one night of animal passion.

  Florie, on the other hand, had tantalized him with her humor and sharpness of mind. And although she had been with child when she came to be his lover, he would have raised the child even though it was not his babe. Instead, she had fallen in the path of someone evil. He felt a surge of anger as he remembered the day he had found her in the castle, raped and murdered. She’d been taken from him in one cruel, hateful blow. Two years had softened his feelings, and though he had never truly loved her, she had not deserved such a gruesome end.

  No.

  A woman who came to Tynan of MacBrahin’s bed was doomed to die.

  He couldn’t trifle with Alenna. She deserved to be intact and untried when she went to her guidman.

  Though past marriageable age, her face and body alone would spur hunger in every type of man, both scoundrel and honorable. Such a woman made danger for those around her. For that reason alone he would have to remain immune to her charms. Especially if she was a spy.

  Shoving away rampaging thoughts about tasting her once again, he got up from the floor and reached for one of the candles. Lighting it, he took it in to the other room and looked for the strange bag she called a fanny pack. He found the black bag and opened it, running his fingers over the strange ridged opening with the metal tab. It looked similar to the sealer on her cloak.

  Shuffling through the bag, he found a comb made of a hard substance and in a bright col
or he’d never seen. He tipped the strange bag over and several other objects fell onto the bed. All were made of an odd material and cut into small rectangles. He could not read a word on them. Most startling, still, was the rectangle with an image of Alenna’s face. Even gazing at it now filled him with a sense of awe. This alone did not prove who she was, and it heightened his suspicions as he gazed at her image. If this wasn’t witchery, what could it be?

  Turning away from the bag and its puzzling contents, he picked up the undergarments laying at the foot of the bed.

  He traced the lacy edge of the top, touching the round cups. Obviously they covered her—

  Tynan gritted his teeth as heat spilled into his groin. He bit back a moan. Tossing the top back onto the bed, he cursed and forced his attention to the bizarre cloak, tunic and trews she’d been wearing when he discovered her.

  Two questions plagued his mind like a fever.

  Was Alenna his savior, meant to protect him from certain death, or bent on destroying Baron MacAulay and all those at the castle?

  * * *

  Alenna jolted awake as someone tapped on the door. Fear rushed into her senses, and she sat upright with a gasp. As she turned toward the door, she heard the knock come again … a distinct rap like a code.

  "Fear not," Tynan said, getting up from his chair. He opened the door without hesitation.

  As she gathered the plaid tight around her, the young boy named Clandon entered the room. Dressed in the same ragged clothing as yesterday, Clandon’s unwashed face and dirty hair gave him the look of a street urchin. Her heart ached for him. Once again wide-eyed, he perused her like a curious puppy.

  "She’s still alive, sir?"

  Tynan tied up the front of his shirt. "Aye. Of course."

  "Good morning," she said, smiling tentatively at the boy.

  Open-mouthed, the boy simply stared at her.

  Tynan ruffled the boy’s already messy hair. "Where’s yer manners, lad? Have ye forgotten how to address a lady?"

  "Lady?" the boy gasped softly. "She’s a lady, sir?"

  Alenna felt the urge to laugh for the first time since she’d been dumped into the past. She let the short bark of amusement escape, then stifled it with her hand.

  "She’s a woman worthy of respect, lad," Tynan said.

  "He can call me Alenna," she said.

  Tynan’s brows winged together. "He’ll call ye by an address of respect."

  She sighed. "It’s not necessary—"

  "Aye, ‘tis needed."

  Perturbed by his adamant refusal, she crossed her arms. "Fine."

  Tynan looked perplexed, but ignored her. He turned the boy about and clasped his shoulders. "Ye’ll address her as mistress. She’s my cousin come for a short visit. She was set upon by thieves durin’ her travel, and her guidman was killed. She escaped and found her way here, by the grace of God."

  Clandon looked confused. "But sir, she is no yer cousin—"

  "Clandon, I dinna ask ye to think, lad. ‘Tis very important ye stay to this story for now. She may be in danger and ‘tis our duty as knights to protect her."

  For the first time she saw Clandon smile and his lips curved in a way that would, one day, dazzle the maidens.

  "Aye, sir. As knights we must protect her."

  Tynan knelt down until he was on level with the boy. "I need your help again, lad."

  Clandon nodded vigorously. "Aye, sir."

  "Search the ground outside and see if ye can find a garnet ring. If ye do, bring it here. It belongs to Mistress Carstairs. Also, would ye ask Caithleen to give ye clothes for Mistress Carstairs? Tell her ‘tis urgent."

  Clandon turned and rushed to the door. "Aye!"

  Before Alenna could blink, he was gone.

  "Thank you for asking him to look for the ring," she said.

  Tynan rose from his crouch and gave her a quick nod. A glower touched his brow and his finely carved lips, and she recalled the moment when he’d kissed her. Unbidden feelings of excitement poured back to her. As he continued to stare at her with a penetrating, brooding look, she shook off the memory of his lips touching hers.

  She cleared her throat. "The boy is very loyal to you."

  "Aye, he is that."

  "Is he your boy?"

  His eyebrows speared together. "I dinna ken your meanin’."

  "Is he your son?"

  Alenna might have expected a cross word or two. Instead he laughed, and the transformation from perturbed Tynan to amused Tynan stunned her. The grin spread over his face and turned his grim expression warm and companionable.

  "Nay. Clandon and Caithleen have been at the castle nigh on a year."

  "I take it they are very poor."

  "Aye. Most are."

  "Why does he do everything you tell him?"

  "He wants to be a soldier, and he believes doin’ all that I do will make him so."

  Another knock on the door sounded. Tynan went to the narrow window and looked out. "Elizabet and Johanna."

  As he opened the door and the two women stepped in the room, her stereotypical expectation of what they might look like shattered. She had imagined Elizabet as a woman with a sharp nose and wrinkled features, a cascade of unruly grey hair on her head.

  "Welcome," Tynan said to the petite women. And they were petite. Probably not more than five feet tall, if that. "I’ll give ye privacy. I must go out for a spell."

  As he left, Elizabet crossed to Alenna quickly, settling on a chair not far from the pallet.

  Elizabet’s face was round, but she was thin, and her small stature and angelic face made her look about nineteen. Her crystalline blue eyes held sincere concern, and her skin had a translucence that glowed with health. As silver as moonbeams, her fine hair fell in slight waves past her shoulders.

  "Are ye well this mornin’?" Elizabet asked, her voice clear and cool, like a soft spring.

  "Yes, thank you. Tynan said you took care of me yesterday. Whatever you’ve done seems to have worked. I feel much better."

  The small woman laughed. "Ye are most welcome. It must have been the tea." She pulled out a linen wrapped package and laid it on the table. "Drink one cup every day for a week and ye’ll feel to rights soon."

  "Thank you."

  Elizabet stared at Alenna for so long, Alenna began to wonder if something was wrong. "Tynan was right about ye. Ye do speak most strangely."

  Alenna smiled. "I’m not from here."

  Elizabet nodded but didn’t comment.

  Not eager to plunge immediately in to a discussion on whether there was a way back to the future, and if Elizabet might know the way, she said, "Thank you for giving me this dressing gown."

  "‘Twas Johanna who gave ye the gown. ‘Tis hers."

  Johanna came to stand by the bed. Alenna guessed the girl might be sixteen. Like her mother, she was pale, but with deeper blue eyes like lapis. Her sharp nose and compressed lips gave her a shrewish appearance that almost outweighed the almost ethereal quality of her looks. Her straight, ash blonde hair fell straight past her shoulders and down to her waist.

  Despite the disapproving look on the young woman’s face, Alenna decided to be as pleasant as possible. She needed friends, not enemies. "Thank you, Johanna."

  Johanna sniffed and nodded. "Ye are welcome."

  Elizabet’s gentle expression turned serious. "Tynan has not told us yer true name. When he asked for our help, he said that ye may be the one I spoke of long ago."

  "I’m Alenna Carstairs. He told me that you said I would appear to him one day."

  "Aye. I did. I have many ways of seein’ the truth, and I saw that ye would arrive from the beyond."

  Alenna searched for an easy way to ask her question. "You can see things most people can’t?"

  With an assessing look, as if uncertain how much to tell, Elizabet nodded. "I have been such since I was but a child. I see things that may be. That have been. When Tynan rescued Johanna and me, I knew he would meet a woman that would change his future. I saw
that ye would come and how ye would come."

  Alenna leaned forward slightly. "Tynan rescued you?"

  Elizabet touched the package of tea on the table, her fingers moving restlessly. "Aye. We were set upon by ruffians as we traveled. We had left from Edinburgh with no protector." A glimmer of something like pain shone in her expression.

  "We left my athair," Johanna said, a hint of animosity in her soft voice. She moved to the fireplace and stared into the flames. From this angle her jaw looked sharp and defiant.

  "Athair?" Alenna repeated.

  Elizabet threw a sharp look at her daughter. "My guidman. He was cruel. I vowed that I would leave him if he lay another hand on Johanna. He hit her."

  Sucking in a sharp breath, Alenna felt an ache of sympathy. She’d never been the victim of violence, but she’d known battered women.

  "It was good you left," Alenna said.

  Johanna turned from the fire and stared out the window. "If athair had been with us, no brigands wad have attacked us."

  Elizabet dawdled with the tea package and ignored her daughter. "Tynan will take care of ye, Alenna. Ye have no a thing to fash about."

  Alenna plunged ahead, eager to understand how she’d gotten here and how she might get back to her time. "You said you knew I would appear. Did you know I was coming from the future?"

  "Aye. I saw a great many things in my vision. I saw yer life. How the castle has changed in yer world. Wonders that most wadna believe."

  While her gut told her to trust Elizabet, she was suspicious enough of the world she’d dropped into to be cautious. "What did you see?"

  "There are odd ways of transport in your time." Elizabet held her hands out, as if thinking of a way to pantomime what she saw. "Ye have strange wagons that are no pulled by oxen or horse, yet they still move. And there are birds … metal birds that people fly in to go great distances."

  If "the wagons are not pulled by horse or oxen" hadn’t reinforced Alenna’s belief, the mention of planes would have. "You’re right."

  "How do we ken she’s the one?" Johanna asked, her tone full of disbelief.

  "I ken because I saw her face before I met her. ‘Twas in my vision."