“It’s not at all what I expected. It’s strong, like fire going down my throat and warming me in my belly. It would be perfect in the winter, but I think it’s going to make me sweat buckets when we go outside.”
A hiccup escaped, and she giggled. “Though I shouldn’t say ‘sweat buckets.’ My grandmother would say I glisten or I glow, but never sweat.”
He watched as she finished the glass, then nodded at Angus to pour her another. This one went down quicker, as it usually did with whiskey. Connor saw she was swaying back and forth.
“Fitz is your only friend here, isn’t he? You must miss him now that he’s leaving.”
“He was a good friend. When we were sent home, he helped me find ye.”
Connor ached to talk with her about his home and his time. He wished to tell her of the Thornton women and what he knew of them, that they had traveled through time, and a part of him thought how wonderful it would be to take her home with him, to make a home in the Highlands to protect her and care for her.
Angus poured another glass without Connor asking. With the price on his head, Connor thought he might not be able to provide her with a life as good as hers here. They would be moving around the country until he found a home for them to settle or made amends with the McTavish, settled the dispute in the clan, and yet he knew what was coming. Yes, he would be long dead and turned to dust when Culloden happened, yet how could he take her to a place so full of violence?
The violence here was different. It was more brutal, given the weaponry, and yet hand-to-hand combat did not happen much. Men did not carry swords. Mellie made him leave his sword behind, but his daggers he wore at all times. He had gotten a tailor to fashion him a leather sheath for his jeans to carry the blades.
The man who made them attended fairs and markets, and was happy to make them in exchange for Connor helping him with his swordplay. He had found many men interested in learning to fight with a sword, and now spent his days in the park teaching others or going around to what was called a “renaissance fair,” which he found amusing.
Modern women and men pretending they came from an earlier time, jousting and fighting in tourneys and feasting. And while some of it was accurate, much of it was not. But mayhap ’twas because this was playacting, and they knew they were going home to a different life. Where in his time, ’twas real. Life and death. One tourneyed and fought for gold to better himself.
Fitz had taken him to a shop where people took things and got money, hopefully to come back and get them later—a pawn shop—and Connor had found what he was looking for there. A collector whose wife had left him for another needed money, so he sold the sword and daggers. Connor was most pleased to find them.
“Mistress, I do not think you should have another drink. ’Tis stronger than you’re used to.”
She waved him away and signaled Angus, who grinned.
“Have another. Enjoy the night.”
Connor glared at the man. “You should not encourage her. ’Tis the first time she’s had whiskey.”
“It will do her good.”
“Yes, it will do me good. Give me another,” Mellie slurred. She tapped her feet to the music playing in the background. Connor had talked to the men playing the instruments, and as they played songs, he found there was dust in his eye. It must be dust, for he did not weep like a woman.
Mellie slid off her seat, turning in slow circles in front of the men playing, singing along, off-key, making everyone hold their ears, but with a look from Connor, not one dared say a word.
Truth be told, she could scare any banshees away that might be lurking, so terrible was her voice, yet he found her enchanting, and smiled watching her. She was deep in her cups. Connor paid for the drinks and went to fetch her.
“It’s time to go. You’re going to feel awful in the morning.”
“Do we have to? I was just having fun.”
Connor shook his head, unable to keep the grin from spreading across his face.
“I’m going to remind you in the morning you said this. Do not curse me when you wake.”
She skipped out of the pub and into the night. It had rained earlier, and the air was warm and moist. Mellie sang off-key under her breath, weaving back and forth as they walked home. They had come to the park when she pulled him into the green sanctuary.
“Come on. I want to show you something.”
Connor knew unsavory men were in the park at night and could be dangerous. He must be on guard so no harm would come to her. He followed along, laughing as she bumped into him.
“Can’t you walk straight? You keep bumping into me.”
“My pardon, lass.”
“Harrumph.” ’Twas the same sound he made, and he laughed hearing it come from her.
“See that you walk straight.”
She brought him to a part of the park he’d never been to before, a fountain with a mermaid caught in the waves. The water coming out of the waves around her was beautiful, the tile blue, and with the moonlight shining on it, the water looked black. There were benches around the fountain, and Mellie ran her hand through the water and leaned over the edge, reaching in her bag and throwing coins into the fountain. Then she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, swaying. Connor caught her so she would not fall.
“I’m making a wish. This fountain is magic,” she whispered.
Connor looked at her and then at the fountain. It did not seem magical to him—he did not see any spirits—but what did he know of this world? It was the first time he had heard her mention magic. She said she did not believe in such things, and he wondered what she kept in the locked room that she would not allow him to see.
“Aye? Tell me about this magic.”
“You have to throw three pennies in, close your eyes, and make a wish. It must come from your heart, and if it’s a true wish, then it will come to pass.”
Connor eyed her dubiously, not quite believing, but then again, what did he have to lose?
She handed him three pennies, her hand warm in his. “It has to be pennies. Only pennies work. I don’t know why, but that’s the rule.”
And so he took the pennies and closed his eyes, thinking. Did he wish to return home? But would it be one wish if he also wished to bring her with him? If he only was allowed one part of the wish, would it be to go home and leave her behind?
Connor thought, and before he could dwell on it overmuch, he threw the coins in the fountain and made the wish.
’Twas verra late by the time he pulled Mellie from the bench on the fountain.
“We must go home. You work tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s right, aren’t you teaching people to play with swords?”
He grinned. “Aye, play.”
If only she knew. Boys were taught to fight with swords, not to play, when they were small, to defend themselves, their families, and the ones they loved.
He took her arm as they walked through the park, and she yawned and rubbed her eyes.
“I need to wake up.”
He couldn’t see the pink on her face, but he could feel the heat in her hand as her fingers twined with his. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to sweep her up his arms and carry her home.
She giggled, pointing to the swings she had shown him before. He changed direction, taking her that way.
“Aye, we can stay for a moment.”
She sat on the swing, and he pushed her gently. “No, faster and higher.”
He obliged. She was full of adventuresome spirit, always wanting to experience every moment in life, and yet she hid it. Only in moments when she dropped her guard did he see this part of her. Otherwise, she held herself close, never letting others see what was inside and how much she loved life. It was as if she were a shadow of herself, except when she was in her cups, as she was tonight.
He wished to bring out that part of her all the time, for she was full of fire and light. Her eyes sparkled, and he wanted nothing more than to lean over and to pull h
er close, kiss her senseless, take her to bed, and show her with his body how much he loved her.
Connor stopped. Love? Nay, he did not love her. ’Twas only because she had been kind to him. Nothing more.
Mellie jumped off the swing. “Come on. Did you know I used to hold the record for the number of cartwheels in a row when I was in junior high?”
He blinked at her, unsure of what she was talking about. Did she pull a cart? But then she ran, and suddenly her feet were in the air, her hands on the ground, as her feet went over her head. Mellie laughed, the pure sound of a child, warming him from the inside out. Over and over she did what she called cartwheels until he lost count and she fell over on her backside.
“That was so much fun. I haven’t done that in ages.” She stood up and swayed, and this time he swept her up in his arms. “What are you doing? I can walk.”
“Can ye?”
He put her down and watched her fall over, so he swept her into his arms again.
“You may wish to walk, but the ground willna let you, mistress. I will carry you home.”
He held her in his arms, the night creatures rustling branches as he stroked her hair and held her close. Mayhap his wish would come to pass.
TWENTY-THREE
Living and working in the city, Mellie had sold her car, as she and Greg had agreed it made more sense to have only one car that they paid outrageous parking fees for. She hadn’t gotten around to finding a new one, especially since she’d rarely driven his car, always afraid she’d hit something. Instead she relied on public transportation and the various apps on her phone to book a ride or catch a taxi when she needed one.
She and Connor had spent the day wandering around the harbor. She’d taken him to the main drag, all the upscale shops and the section of boardwalk with all the touristy stuff, where they’d gotten the famous french fries. The look of bliss on his face had been worth it. She’d always loved them, but hadn’t eaten them since she’d dated Greg.
He was a health fanatic, regularly biking fifty to seventy miles a week, never letting processed food or junk or sugar pass his lips. And while she tried, in truth she was a hedonist—something he’d told her several times when he caught her eating dessert or something else he deemed unworthy.
Mellie wasn’t overweight—she needed to lose ten or fifteen pounds at the most—and was fine with the way she looked. She couldn’t understand all those women who constantly worried about their weight. She was average and was happy being average. It seemed an awful lot of work to stay skinny nowadays. Why not enjoy life, eat the ice cream when she wanted? Who would look back on life and say, “I should have skipped dessert”?
Though she would never drink an entire bottle of wine or eat a whole chocolate cake again as long as she lived. She cast her eyes heavenward, sending up a promise.
As time passed, Mellie stalked Greg on social media less and less. She really liked Connor, but he made her feel so much…whereas Greg was Greg. She needed someone like him, not Connor.
As they left the pricey tourist area of the harbor, Mellie took Connor into a shop Greg had always turned his nose up at, but she thought they had great clothing.
The guy who owned it was British, a distinguished older gentleman, and something about Connor’s demeanor and tone instantly perked him up. He must’ve thought Connor was visiting from across the pond and was someone important, for he immediately catered to Connor, and before she knew it, she was sitting in a chair, watching with amusement as Connor tried on clothes and the men discussed the proper fit.
She’d seen them conferring, and the man had told them to come back and pick up the jeans and pants at the end of the day.
He’d had those goofy leather sheaths sewn into the jeans and pants so he could carry his daggers around at all times. The owner of the shop was having some type of harness made so Connor could wear his sword on his back. He said it was for his workshops, and she rolled her eyes. Boys and their toys.
The owner, probably thinking it was some eccentricity of the rich, didn’t say anything—he simply smiled at her and shrugged. Connor paid as she looked at all the money he had in his pouch. No matter how she tried to get him to carry a wallet, he refused, preferring the purse at his waist.
“At least let me give you the boots.” Connor stroked the leather. “I do not really need them.”
“You do. It will be cold in a few months, and if your passport still hasn’t arrived, you’ll be happy when the wind blows across the water.”
He said his memory still hadn’t returned, and refused to see a doctor. A niggling worry told her he was keeping vital information from her, but she ignored the warning.
She handed the boots to the Englishman. “We’ll take these. And he’ll need the sheaths for his blades in these, too.”
“Right, madam.” The man rang them up, and she paid, happy to do something nice for Connor. While Mellie constantly worried about having enough money to live on, when it came down to it and someone needed something, she was generous, knowing that what she did would be repaid in karmic goodness at some point.
At least, she hoped it would—after Greg, she wasn’t so sure she hadn’t done something to seriously piss off karma.
Later that day, they picked up the purchases and spent the evening watching Game of Thrones, which Connor couldn’t get enough of.
The next day, she asked him if he wanted to go out on the paddleboats. When he looked at her curiously, she explained what they were, and his eyes lit up. They rented a paddleboat and spent the afternoon in the harbor. Then they took one of the water taxis across the harbor to the older part, where there were cobblestone streets and an assortment of quirky restaurants and shops that she knew he would enjoy.
She got him one of her favorite street vendor foods, a hot dog wrapped in bacon, smothered in chili and cheese, with pickles on top. She grinned as he sighed in bliss. It was something she hadn’t eaten since she dated Greg.
“You have… On your mouth.” Connor pointed.
Mellie wiped, and the napkin came away clean.
“Let me, lass.” With his thumb, he touched the corner of her mouth and showed her a bit of chili she’d missed.
Energy crackled between them, and sounds faded until it was just the two of them. Then a group of kids on skateboards whizzed past, breaking the moment.
Heat bloomed across her face. Mellie stepped back.
“Thank you…for that.”
He winked at her. “Aye. Anything for ye, lass.”
They walked on, wandering in and out of shops, looking around, and Connor gawked at the people in the shops, jumping when a car went by too fast.
He looked so longingly at one of the touristy horse and buggies that she surprised him, and they took a ride as he talked to the man, examining the horse. The man, recognizing a fellow enthusiast, let Connor take his time, answering all his questions. While they talked horses, Mellie was content to people-watch. Was his town in Scotland so different from Silvercreek?
As they walked, she decided it was still light enough they could go see the fort. She knew Connor would enjoy it. And as long as they left before sunset, they’d be fine. It was located in a sketchy part of town, and she didn’t want to be caught there after dark.
It was getting late, so there were only a few people around, and Connor and Mellie basically had the place to themselves as they wandered around. A guide came up to them, and Connor asked him a million questions.
He and the guide talked animatedly as she paid for the tour. Mellie had been on it several times, so she was content to listen to them talk as her mind wandered. Connor would call America young; she thought about other European countries and countries in Asia and the Middle East, and how old their cities were. They probably looked at America as a bratty toddler or moody tween. She wondered, as all those countries had risen to power and then fallen throughout time, had her country’s time come?
Was the US going to lose its place as a superpower, be relegated to
the sidelines to watch another country rise and take its place? What would it mean for her country? Would it accept its new place in the world, or fight to hang on and make it a more painful transition? The political climate was so crazy that she wondered how things would shake out, and worried about her job. The arts was always one of the first places funding was cut.
TWENTY-FOUR
The next weekend, Connor spent the day teaching a group of executives how to wield a sword. One of them had attended an event Connor held at Honeysuckle Park and raved about it, telling his friends how it would help them get ahead at work.
When Mellie told him how much to charge for the classes, he’d blanched, horrified at the amount, but she’d been right—not a single person blinked when he told them the cost, and as time passed, she noticed he no longer stumbled over the price.
Word traveled fast, and Connor was making really good money. Mellie worried that he would never get his memory back. What if he had a girlfriend in Scotland and didn’t remember her, and then one day his memory came back and he left her to go back to his first love? Not that she loved him…she was helping him out. He wasn’t the right guy for her. Mellie had decided she wanted someone calm, like Greg was, but nicer. Not a guy who made her insides squishy and her world tilt whenever he was around.
Four a.m. came. He kissed her goodbye, whistling as he got ready to leave. Ever since that first night, they’d slept in the same bed after she woke to hear him calling out in his sleep on the sofa. He’d only settled when he pulled her close. After that, if he didn’t sleep next to her, he had nightmares of being locked up and never seeing the outdoors again.
Mellie liked falling asleep with his arms around her, listening to his heartbeat and waking up to those gorgeous eyes. Nothing further had happened—she wanted to take things slow, and he’d made the comment she was the kind of woman a man “took to wife,” not some wench he tumbled, never to see again.
Then he’d tease her and say she must beg him to kiss her, as that was their agreement. That was when she’d hit him with a pillow. The man made her laugh until she cried. The way he mixed up terms and used archaic words—was it because he was from Scotland, or part of the memory loss?
Beyond Time: A Knights Through Time Travel Romance Page 11