“Do you know why you’re here this time?”
He seemed to work out his response for a moment before replying. “I have a suspicion, but only time will tell, Gwendolyn.”
The sadness in his voice hurt her heart. She didn’t fully understand the weight he carried, only that it was a hefty one. She could be a sharer of that weight, if he would but let her in.
No more of those thoughts, she told herself firmly. Tonight, and for their time in the past (however long that was going to be), she was going to enjoy the company of the man she now understood why she could never have.
• • •
Reilly left Gwen in charge of turning the fish over the fire and quickly scouted the area for long sticks to create a bed for them. He still could only guess at what year they’d landed in; his plan was to head toward his childhood home and hope someone still lived there.
He had a feeling his mother would be waiting for him.
He wondered what his mother would make of Gwen. She knew so much about her already; he suspected that she knew Gwen was the one for him, though she’d never come out and said it before. She always asked what Gwen was doing, or where she’d been recently. His mother, he knew, was a little bit in awe of Gwen. Her independence, her strength of character, her desire to help others.
He felt the same.
He returned to the delicious smell of dinner, with Gwen gently shaking the basket over the fire, and began to set up the bed frame. Longer sticks on the bottom, filled in with smaller sticks. Test the resistance, fill in with more sticks. He made it a point to sleep off the ground anytime between August and May; though an unexpected warm front was always possible in the fall, more often than not it’d be a sudden frost, and he’d rather wake up without frostbite in case of the latter.
Once the frame was built, he pulled soft moss, lichen, and leaves to lay over it. By the time he was finished constructing, the fish was thoroughly cooked and Gwen was pulling it off the fire and laying it on a plate she had made of leaves.
“It’s not gourmet,” she laughed as she slid him a perfectly filleted piece, “but I bet it’s tasty.”
“Where did you learn to clean a fish?” he asked.
“Mozambique. Our group ran out of rations and one of the locals taught me how to clean and fillet fish in exchange for some English lessons.”
He chuckled; he shouldn’t have been surprised. “Your life experiences are indeed varied, Gwen.”
She snorted. “Um, I think this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black, yeah?”
They enjoyed their dinner in companionable silence, and when they finished, Reilly buried the bones. Then, with a glance to the nearly-full moon overhead, said, “If we turn in now, we should be able to start early in the morning and arrive by the noon meal.” A look crossed her face, but he wasn’t sure how to interpret it. “What ails you?”
She fidgeted. “Well, let me say that I don’t doubt your abilities at all. But what happens if someone tries to sneak up on us while we’re sleeping? Should we take shifts?”
Reilly reached behind his back and slowly pulled his sword from its scabbard, the sound making a satisfying cccchk sound.
“I’ve never been caught unawares. You may rest easy, knowing I am here to defend you, should the need arrive.”
Her pupils dilated and she sucked in a breath; Reilly’s chest puffed a little at her awe.
“Okay,” she whispered.
She lay down on her side on the bed, the sticks barely moving under the thick blanket of flora he’d laid, and he settled against her back. Carefully, he reached over her and laid his sword in front of her. “Now you’re protected on all sides. Sleep well, Gwendolyn.”
She murmured something, and within moments, was fast asleep.
Reilly, however, stayed awake long into the night, and took simple pleasure in the feel of her in his arms.
Chapter Ten
“How should I greet her? Do I curtsy? Do I shake her hand? Is that even done here? Do I hug her? Oh my God, what if I step on her toes when she hugs me? Will she hug me?”
The next morning, while Reilly silently erased all evidence of their fire and dismantled the bed, Gwen continued to work herself into a cold sweat over meeting his family. He smiled to himself as she gasped and jerked to a stop.
“What if your mom doesn’t like me? Oh no. I couldn’t handle that. I mean, I’m pretty likable, right?”
“Very likable,” he agreed, though she didn’t seem to be listening. He withheld his smirk as she paced nervously and wrung her hands.
“Maybe you could tell me a little about her, Ry. You’re not exactly forthcoming with the details. Is she sweet? Or tough? Does she speak English? What should I be expecting?”
She bumped into him, unaware of herself as she fretted, and he gently took her by the arms.
“Gwendolyn.”
She looked up at him, her eyes clouded with worry.
“Assuming she’s there, things will be fine. She speaks peasant’s English, so she will be able to understand most of your words, and you hers. A simple, ‘Pleasure to meet you, Mary,’ is all that is required of you. Nothing else.”
She bit her lip. “Should I call her Lady O’Malley?”
Reilly gave her an incredulous look. “Are you out of your mind? She’s not married to the laird. You remember how it’s done from the last time you were in the past—laird and lady titles only go to the leaders of the clan. Everyone else goes by first names, as we all share the last. Call her Mary. And no, there’s no need for a curtsy, she’s not a queen. She’s just a woman.”
Gwen’s eyes softened. “No, Reilly. She’s more than that. She’s your mother, and that makes her even more important than a queen. To me, at least.”
His heart clenched, and in that moment, he loved Gwen even more. He wanted to swoop down and claim her lips with his own to show her how much she meant to him. How much her words meant to him.
Because she was right; his mother was that important to him, too, and he wanted Gwen to like her, and her to like Gwen. They were more alike than not, though he couldn’t ever see his mother building a schoolhouse for poverty-stricken children. She was stern, fair, stubborn, kind, and loved him unconditionally.
All the things Gwen was…and hopefully would be in the future.
“What do you call her?” Gwen asked, her nerves returning.
Reilly released Gwen’s arms and continued to break camp. “Mam. It’s a form that’s still used in Ireland today.”
“And your sister?”
“Ah, Sorcha. She’s a good lass, though her tongue’s a bit sharp. She should be here, unless she’s visiting friends of another clan. And the Fates know not to send me to my da’s time period,” he added in his ask-me-no-more-questions voice. It was the same voice that made enemies think twice before opening their mouths, and all other men clamp their lips closed for worry of what might come if they don’t.
Unsurprisingly, it was ineffective on Gwen. “Why not?”
Reilly let out a long-suffering sigh. “Because, Gwendolyn, he asked me not to.”
His da wanted Reilly to always look forward, not back. “Though ye can travel freely throughout time,” his da had said as he lay in his sickbed, his face pale and his eyes bright, “I want ye to rely on your memories. Someday ye might not have this ability, and ye must keep the mind strong.”
While he’d understood the reasoning at the time, Reilly hated it. But he respected the old man’s wishes, and now all his memories were fuzzy. He couldn’t quite remember his da’s voice, but he remembered the feeling of security. Of pride.
It took Reilly decades to realize that he remembered exactly what his father wanted him to remember, so that he may one day recognize it again.
It took even more decades to realize exactly what it was—his soul.
“Okay,” Gwen replied slowly, in the tone of voice that he knew meant, I’ll let it go for now, but when you’re ready, I’d love to hear more. “So. How do w
e get there?”
Reilly surveyed their campsite, which now bore almost no trace of them, and brushed his hands on his léine. “We can walk or ride. Your choice.”
Gwen pursed her lips. “Horses seem to be a bit scarce at the moment, so that leaves us with only one viable option.”
“Ye of little faith,” Reilly chuckled. “We walk for now. In a couple hours, I’ll whistle and see what comes our way.”
“Because wild horses roam the medieval Irish countryside?”
“Because well-trained horses within hearing distance come when they are called,” he countered. “Ready?”
“Not really.”
“Don’t get cold feet on me now,” he said, mock-seriously. “You’ve already come all this way…doesn’t a few hundred years in the past seem like a long way to go, just to back out with a few hours left?”
“Oh, shut up,” Gwen laughed. “Let’s go, tough guy.”
He held up a hand. “A quick review of the rules, if you please.”
“Do we really need those still?” she asked. At his unyielding look, she scowled. “Fine, fine.”
“Tell me what you remember of them.”
She rolled her eyes. “I will do exactly as you say, when you say it, without questioning you.” She paused, then added quickly, “In public.”
“And the other rule?” he prompted.
She nodded. “We leave when you say we leave, and not a minute later.”
“Aye. They’re important for your safety, Gwen. I wouldn’t want your pretty neck severed.”
“Aw, you do care,” she teased.
“Only insofar as I don’t want to be the one to tell your parents that you weren’t on a safari somewhere.”
She tried to pretend outrage, but the flash of her teeth ruined the effect. She sobered. “Seriously, Ry, I get it. You have my word. This is your world, and after what Ellie went through, I am more than willing to be the helpless maiden here.”
“Helpless is hardly the word I’d use to describe you.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment, as I’m sure you meant it to be. Can we go already?”
He drew his sword. “Aye.”
• • •
Gwen stood nervously, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, and stared in wide-eyed amazement.
The smell of a peat fire thickened the air, and Reilly’s childhood cottage stood proudly, a wattle-and-daub, thatched-roof affair. It looked as though the cottage had sprung from the earth, which had in turn gripped the abode with lush emerald vegetation that extended up the walls. A beautiful, arched, solid entry door stood on the right side of the home. The long wall to the left held three tiny windows, each with a rustic flower box attached to the bottom. A dirt path extended from the front door outward, then wrapped around the dwelling and disappeared from view.
The cottage resembled Reilly’s present-day home so closely, she half-wondered if they hadn’t simply walked back into the future.
Gwen studied it a moment more, fascinated, and eventually let out a low whistle. “Well, well, Mr. O’Malley. Just when I think I’ve uncovered all of your secrets…”
He cleared his throat. “Aye, well…you know. It’s a good structure, so I thought by, uh, recreating it, it’d provide a safe place. For travelers,” he added hastily.
“And memories?” she guessed.
He gazed at it fondly. “Aye,” he admitted. “And memories, too. Let’s just be grateful it’s here, and that it’s occupied. Come on, I’d like to introduce you to my mam.”
Gwen’s stomach tumbled over itself as she slowly followed Reilly. Her throat dry, she remained silent as he called out a greeting in medieval Gaelic.
Someone answered from inside, and his face lit up. “That’s her. This is…”
His excitement was palpable, and Gwen couldn’t help smiling back. “Weird?”
“Unexpected,” he corrected her. “My worlds colliding like this. It’s wonderfully, fantastically unexpected.”
He took her hand and led her through the wooden arched door that was all the way to the right of the cottage. Stepping inside, Gwen was surprised to find that the long room was walled off halfway into the house, splitting the first floor into two rooms. In front of her was a matching door to the one through which they entered, presumably leading to the back gardens. To Gwen’s right, within arm’s length, sat a large, solid table with high-backed chairs tucked in around it. Above, in varying heights, bunches of drying plants hung from the low ceiling. More herbs lined the short wall, giving off a heady fragrance, countering the peat scent. To her left, the room held an empty, suspiciously modern-looking rocking chair. A basket overflowing with all sorts of materials sat next to it on the stone flagged floor, on which a beautiful spun wool rug lay. A long wooden bench was pressed against the back wall, decorated with fluffy, pretty pillows and blankets.
Gwen was enchanted.
An older woman serenely walked through the archway to the other room. Unmistakably Reilly’s mother, her features were softer, her stature not nearly as tall, and her pride nearly swallowing the entire room. Gwen bit back her smile.
“Ah, you’ve finally brought her to meet me! I thought the day would never come!”
Gwen gave her a friendly smile. “Hi. I’m Gwen—”
She was cut off by the strongest hug she’d ever received. When her vision began to swim, the woman released her and stepped back, eyeing her critically.
“You’ve the look of a Scot about you.”
Gwen pressed her lips together. The way she said “about” sounded like aboot, and she spoke quickly. Decisively.
Just like her son.
“I’m Mary,” she continued, oblivious to Gwen’s thoughts. “Welcome to me home. I’ve been waiting for years to meet you! Reilly, be a good lad and fetch us some ale? I’ve a batch all ready, sitting in the kettle by the hearth. Go on with you.” When Reilly good-naturedly kissed his mother’s cheek on his way to do her bidding, Mary gave his wrist a loving squeeze before turning back to Gwen. “My, you’re a wee thing, aren’t you?”
“It’s a blessing and a curse,” Gwen agreed.
“Och, I think I like you!” Mary looked her over, then ushered her to the bench. “Forgive an old woman, but Reilly’s told me so much about you, I feel like I’ve known you forever. You’re even prettier than he said, and he did say you were quite the most beautiful creature on God’s green Earth.”
Gwen blinked. “Um…he did?”
Mary took her own seat in the rocking chair. “Of course!” She made the word sound like cairse, echoing strongly of Reilly’s accent, and Gwen gave her a small smile.
“Well, that was very kind of him. He’s told me precious little of you, I’m afraid. Not that he didn’t want to,” she hurried to add, “but I’ve only recently found out about his, um…special talent.”
She flushed dark red. That came out wrong! Oh god, did she just make an innuendo in front of Reilly’s mother?
Reilly reentered the room at that moment, smirking at her. She must’ve looked as mortified as she felt, because he took pity on her.
“Gwen took a little trip back in time and needed a rescue.” He handed Mary and Gwen each a cup made from smoothed wood and continued, “Lucky for her, I was there to save the day.”
“He didn’t show up for three days,” she informed Mary.
Mary laughed. “Made you worry, did he?”
“Pfft. There was nothing to worry about,” Reilly boasted. Gwen chuckled, and he arched a brow at her. “There wasn’t.”
“Actually, there was, but that’s not what I was smiling at. Your mom and you say the word about exactly the same way. I always thought you said it strangely, even a little bit different than the Irish of our—my,” she quickly corrected, “time. But now I see it’s your own accent. Your medieval one.”
Mary beamed. “Aye, he was raised right proper by his da and me! Said his first word when he was less than a year, he did. ’Twas amazing. He spoke cle
arly just a few months after that. Smartest lad in the clan, to be sure, and the most handsome, too.”
“Mam,” Reilly protested mildly.
As Mary went on to tell all about Reilly’s childhood (the good, the bad, and the embarrassing), Gwen soaked in every last detail. Reilly brought food at some point, but Gwen was too enthralled with Mary’s stories to ask what it was, so she ate it as the daylight waned.
She traded stories of her own childhood, trying to omit anything that would be too difficult to explain to someone who had no knowledge of modern-day conveniences. She told of her parents, her lack of siblings (“a true tragedy,” Mary clucked), the people she knew, and the work she did.
It was one of the most pleasurable days she’d ever had, and all she’d done was listen, talk, and listen some more.
When the sun began to set, Reilly lit some oil lamps in the house and stoked the fire in the other room. Gwen couldn’t cover her yawn fast enough.
“Time travel does wear on a person,” Reilly noted. “Last night couldn’t have been comfortable for you. Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping.”
“Go, go.” Mary waved at her. “Tomorrow I’ll show you me garden and we’ll talk more. I’ve great interest in your bravery and helping with the unfortunate folk. I’d like to hear more about those places.”
“Absolutely.” She turned to Reilly. “Thanks. I’ll follow you.”
He led her into the other room, which consisted mainly of a massive hearth set into the far wall, which was fully opposite the table in the sitting room. Clay and steel pots and pans hung from these walls, and a large island stood in the center, clearly where food was prepared.
“I thought that these houses usually had farm animals in them,” Gwen whispered.
“Those are called longhouses, and they do. But my mam never kept any animals until after my da died, as he spent his days at the castle and didn’t have time to tend them.”
Gwen followed him up some rickety steps to the second floor, and he continued, “When she got around to having some, she hated having them in the cottage. I built her a little barn in the back where she keeps the cow and the chickens. I insulated it sort of like a greenhouse, so in the winter, the animals stay warm from the heat of the sun. And when the sun is too weak to warm it, Mam burns a peat fire in there during the day, and when it dies out, the barn holds the heat of the fire through most of the night.”
Falling Through Time: Mists of Fate - Book Four Page 18