A Stone in Time

by Kim Allred

  She tensed. Something was terribly wrong. The fog was so palpable, almost impenetrable. Shapes became distorted. She found it difficult to breathe. Terror gave way to bewilderment as Ethan faded away, and the ship disappeared into the mist.

  Keep reading to follow AJ and Finn’s journey through the mist in Keeper of Stones, Book 2 of the Mórdha Stone Chronicles.

  Keeper of Stones

  Chapter One

  The white sails, tied tight against the rigging, leaked enough flap to flutter in the light breeze. Tails of ropes swung in unison with the rolling of the waves, rocking the sloop tied to its moor. AJ Moore stared up past the sails and rigging to the sky as she watched the clouds. It was rare to see blue skies this time of year, or so she’d been told. Ireland wasn’t considered the Emerald Isle because of its sunny warm days.

  “Step away, AJ. Step away.”

  Two months, and two hundred years from her future, had seemed an eternity since the fog dissipated, leaving her disoriented, confused, and finally disbelieving. She was no longer in Baywood, Oregon. If Finn could be believed, which was not one of his strong points, she was in Ireland, and the year was 1802. The year of Napoleon, a mad king on the English throne, and continual wars—certainly no place for a twenty-first-century woman.

  Finn’s strong arms encircle her, warm and comforting. The light touch of his fingers skims her sweater, reaching for her stone necklace.

  AJ sprawled on the deck of the ship and watched the clouds float by, her skirts spread out around her. Her daily visits to the ship had become a ritual since the day they’d arrived through the fog. It wasn’t as if the ship could take her home. It had been in her future, jumping with her and Finn to this new time, and it was a link to what she knew.

  Desperation fuels Ethan’s voice as he calls out to her, his face struck by terror. Her brother, Adam, echoes the alarm, stretching his arm out to her. He never cared about her before.

  AJ shook her head to erase the memory like an old Etch A Sketch board. With the wood slats of the deck hard and unforgiving underneath her, she turned her focus to the clouds. The images shifted, first a turtle and then a horse. A hawk marred the forms, its flight breaking her concentration.

  She couldn’t shake the daydreams. It was going to be one of those days. The ones that led to a bout of depression. Stella would kick her ass for feeling sorry for herself. Stella believed in one day for self-pity accompanied by as many glasses of wine required to get through the night. Then move on. AJ had to believe that her friend would consider her current plight an exception to the one-day rule.

  The thickening fog distorts Ethan’s shape and muffles his voice. AJ can’t hear anything but a rushing sound, like holding a seashell up to her ear. Finn’s warm arms grip her tight. She strains to make out Ethan’s face through the haze, his alarm barely visible, a silent cry forming on his lips.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a breath of cool morning air, pulling her woolen wrap tighter. The late spring sun couldn’t break through the cold winds blowing in from the sea. The flashbacks didn’t come as often, but when they did, they hit her with a force as strong as the day the world as she knew it disappeared. The only way through it was to relive it and deal with the aftermath.

  With his arms ensnaring her, Finn touches the stone of his medallion to the stone in AJ’s necklace. Ethan and the dock fade into the whiteness of the mist.

  The sounds of footsteps snapped her back, and she turned her head to find the familiar dark shape set against the morning light. She threw an arm across her forehead to cut the glare from the sun and forced the tension from her muscles.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Finn’s voice was soft and distant.

  She waited, but he wouldn’t say anything more, not until he could determine her mood. She rolled her head away and swallowed the thickness clogging her throat. “It’s all right.”

  “I need to make a trip to town. I just wanted you to know where I went.”

  “I thought you were going tomorrow.” She tried to hide the bitterness. Her body ached with the need to go with him, to see other people.

  “We need oats. The horses will be expecting their grain.” He shuffled his feet. “And I thought I could take some of the extra loaves with me.”

  She couldn’t hold back the smile. When she first tried her hand at baking bread, it had been a dismal failure. Finn went to town regularly to keep them supplied in fresh baked goods. Boredom eventually set in, and she focused her attention to the task. She became so adept at baking, she couldn’t see the counters or tables for the number of loaves covering it, more than the two of them could eat. Finn took them to town, either to pay back the baker who supplied them in the beginning or to trade for other goods. She never asked.

  “We could use some other staples. Flour and sugar. Cinnamon if you can find it.”

  “All right. I’ll be back before supper.” He waited.

  She kept her head turned, staring blankly at the rigging until she heard his footsteps recede. She tired of these days where the past wouldn’t let go. The last two months had been filled with anger, depression, and then curiosity about her new surroundings. She went days without speaking to him at all. In the end, she cried, letting him hold her and soothe her and tell her it would be all right. She even fell back into bed with him, trying to find any comfort she could, remembering her life before this. After all he had put her through, her heart tugged whenever she saw him, even when they had an incredible fight and he knew to stay away.

  She bolted upright when she heard the hooves hitting the dirt path leading away from the cottage by the sea. Everything he did focused on her needs, her moods. It had taken two weeks before she caught on. And then she had pushed him, tested him. He never disappointed. She knew her guilt at her own mood swings would never compare to his guilt at bringing her back in time with him. It was done, and she needed to stop punishing him for it. They must discuss the future.

  Standing to watch Finn disappear from sight, she brushed her skirts that fell two inches too short and tugged at the sleeves that stopped short of her wrists. Her question of who owned the well-made dresses that hung in her wardrobe had been met with a grunt from Finn. She sighed as she turned toward the rock-edged bay that protected the cottage from winter storms. Finn promised they would leave soon, but he never mentioned a destination.

  Turning her back to the sea, she walked to the vegetable garden. Chores came before her daily cataloging of discoveries within the cottage. Unique household items written down with an old quill pen on any bits of paper she could find. All antiques, in her mind. She couldn’t abandon her passion for the old or the love of history her father instilled in her. She wanted to remember everything she could when she found her way back home.

  She grumbled at Finn as she pulled carrots, the fresh earth settling her. Through all her anger and tantrums, particularly during the first week of being completely inconsolable, he was there. She hadn’t known him very long before the time jump, as she called it, but she discovered her feelings for him still remained. During the days they didn’t speak, she watched him, the crease of worry on his brow with long stares out to sea. He spent infinite hours working on the old house, tending the horses and maintaining the ship. She watched him from the window, from the garden, and even from the ship, where she might magically disappear back to her own time. With all he tried to do, she couldn’t help but harbor anger at what he had done. She resented him for rebuffing her questions of how they came to be where they were, a place he seemed intimately comfortable with. He refused to speak of the stones.

  “You need to get settled and understand how things work here. Then we’ll talk about the stones.” Finn kept to this line, refusing to budge.

  “You owe me more,” AJ retorted with the same response, always to his retreating back, stomping her foot or kicking something for emphasis. She couldn’t help herself—she was a reporter after all. Or used to be.

  From the garden, she pa
used in picking lettuce and sat among the vegetation, letting the warmth of the sun wash over her as her hands dug into the soil, a worm inching its way over her fingers. She wasn’t one for gardens, that’s why she loved her apartment. No fuss, no muss. But she loved Stella’s flower garden, the odd-shaped paper lanterns swaying in the evening coastal breezes, and she longed to see it again.

  The day of her arrival in Ireland, when the mist had faded, her first glimpse of Ireland had been the single dock, the hillside covered with spring flowers, dotted sporadically with elm trees and oaks, and the well-tended cottage. Then she noticed nothing at all when the impact of what had happened grabbed her and threw her down the rabbit hole.

  Over the next few weeks she had examined the land, the cottage, and the sea, all nestled together in its own world. She witnessed the remoteness and desolation that matched her own spirit. Eventually, she came to appreciate the beauty, the imagery, and the tranquility that softened her anger and tamed her fear.

  Grabbing the lettuce and carrots she’d pulled from the garden, AJ made her way back to the cottage. It was time to leave this land and figure out how the stones worked. Whether Finn was ready or not.

  “The meal was exceptional.” Finn refilled the wineglasses and sat back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, hands resting on his stomach.

  “Thank you.” AJ sipped the wine and glanced at him over the rim of the glass. She couldn’t ignore the presence he made. He wore simple trousers and an old woolen shirt, and though they fit loosely, she had seen his muscles flex when he started the fire. A tightening in her core nudged her as she remembered her hands moving over his warm skin and hard muscles. He smiled at her, a slow, lazy grin softening his square jaw. As if on command, a lock of his sun-kissed brown hair slid over his emerald eyes, almost black in the low light. The tingle rose up, and she averted her gaze.

  “I thought we might go for a ride tomorrow.” Finn stared at his glass, his finger moving slowly around the rim as if the suggestion was nothing more than a casual thought.

  “Oh.” AJ lowered her head and stood, carrying the empty plates to the counter. It wasn’t that she didn’t like horses. They were fine as long as she stayed on the ground. Her first riding adventure required two weeks of recovery before she agreed to make a second attempt. She refused any further lessons.

  “You need to know how to ride. It will be noticeable if you shy away from them.” A hint of a smile creased the corners of his mouth. “You really are getting much better.” He busied himself with breaking off another piece of bread.

  She rolled her eyes as she swept the last of the bread away from him. “Now you’re just lying.”

  Finn grinned at her. “Aye, I’m ashamed I had to do that, but if it works, I’ll do my best not to make a habit of it.”

  She couldn’t hold back her own grin, even as she fought the growing panic of getting back on a horse. With the table cleared, she plopped down to finish her wine and mull over Finn’s suggestion. He refused to take her anywhere in the two-person carriage she had seen in the barn, forcing her to stay within walking distance of the cottage.

  “I’ll try. It would be easier if I could straddle it like you rather than sitting sidesaddle.”

  He shook his head. “That would bring more attention than not riding at all. If you would promise to ride each morning, I would be agreeable to shorter sessions.”

  She gazed toward the window, dusk settling over the hills shaded black against the sky. He offered a decent compromise, a way to discover what lay beyond those hills—a history she only imagined. She had decided only hours before it was time to leave. This was her opportunity to meet the challenge, to see if she could blend in. She met his waiting gaze. “All right. I can’t stay here forever. I need to find a way home.”

  Later than evening, AJ sat at the oak writing desk in their bedroom, hunched over bits of paper. She dipped the quill into the ink, pushing to finish the words that had bounced around in her head all day.

  “Come to bed. We have a long day tomorrow.” Finn pulled the covers over his broad shoulders and turned toward the wall.

  She finished the last few words and extinguished the lamp. Her bare feet scurried over the cool floor the fire never seemed able to warm. She missed the bunny slippers Stella had given her last Christmas. As she jumped into bed, the idea of rubbing her cold feet against his legs was difficult to squash.

  For the briefest of moments, she reached to run her hand down his back, to feel the solidness of him, to remind herself she wasn’t alone. He would be accepting of her touch even though his back was to her. It was his way of giving her space. She pulled her hand back and rolled to her side, waiting for sleep to come.

  Finn’s embrace tightens when she shows him the old antique necklace with the odd marbled stone. One that happens to match the unique stone set in his Celtic cross medallion.

  Her anxiety flares as she struggles to move out of his arms. She plucks at his hands, scratching at the arms that tighten around her like steel claws. A sheen of sweat glistens on her brow, and she strains against the restricting body. She can’t breathe. If she could just break free, clear her head, and get to Ethan.

  The thickening fog distorts Ethan’s shape and muffles his voice, but the soft words float to her. “Step away. Step away.”

  With his arms still ensnaring her, Finn touches the stone of his medallion to the stone in AJ’s necklace.

  She tenses. Something is terribly wrong. A rushing sound fills her ears as she watches Ethan fade.

  The mist consumes the ship, and the dock disappears, spiriting Ethan and Adam away. AJ’s skin prickles as an invisible force reaches deep inside her, pulling her as if the hand of Kronos reached inside her, grasping her spine and ripping it out.

  It couldn’t be real.

  The muscles of Finn’s arms constrict around her. The mist smothers her like a lead blanket, heavy and unmoving. She peers through the thickness of the fog, but there’s nothing there.

  Blinded by a bright, impenetrable whiteness, she reaches out to steady herself, but she can’t raise her arms. Her head dizzy, her stomach reeling, she wants to retch. She closes her eyes as the world drops away, her stomach spiraling with it. Her head rests against Finn, his body a rock. At least that’s something. She isn’t alone.

  Any comfort she might feel in his embrace evaporates. She struggles but can’t wrest herself from the straitjacket that binds her. Her eyes snap open.

  She calls out, “Finn.” The vortex consumes the word before it takes shape. Her senses scream, and when she knows she’s going to vomit, the fierce tug pulling at her lightens. The mist slowly dissipates, and Finn’s arms, while still around her, loosen their grip.

  AJ blinks to refocus. The mist disappears to reveal the mast of the ship, the deck, and then the railing. The sun breaks through to chase away the remaining fog. Her breath escapes in a rush as the dock reappears. Something isn’t right—Ethan and Adam have vanished.

  A well-kept house made of wood and stone sits a few hundred yards from the dock. Finn’s warm fingers circle her wrist, his thumb rubbing gently against its raging pulse. His words roll over her, soft as a gentle breeze, “Do you still trust me? I have a story to tell you sweet lass.”

  AJ shoved the covers from her, sitting up and clutching her nightgown. Her breathing was hard and fast, pounding against her ribs. She counted to ten, then repeated it two more times before her heart rate slowed. She wiped her brow, sticky with sweat.

  She whipped her head toward Finn. He reached for her before he turned in his sleep. Her nightmares were either becoming quieter, or he was getting used to them. When they’d first arrived in this time period, he would shake her from them and hold her tight. Now he barely stirred.

  She lay down, leaving the covers off to cool her body. After a few minutes, she dragged them back over her before turning to her side, her knees pulled up, waiting for the darkness to give way to light.

  Thank you for reading A Stone in T
ime. Look for Book 2 of the series, Keeper of Stones here.

  Stay connected to Kim to see what she’s up to with new releases, book signings and other treats by following her on Facebook, her website: www.kimallred.com, or join her newsletter mailing list.

  About the Author

  Kim Allred lives in an old timber town in the Pacific Northwest where she raises alpacas, llamas and an undetermined number of free-range chickens. Just like AJ and Stella, she loves sharing stories while sipping a glass of fine wine or slurping a strong cup of brew.

  Her spirit of adventure has taken her on many journeys including a ten-day dogsledding trip in northern Alaska and sleeping under the stars on the savannas of eastern Africa.

  Kim is currently working on the next book in the Mórdha Stone Chronicles series and her upcoming new sizzling romance series—Masquerade Club.

  To stay in contact with Kim, join her newsletter, follow her on Facebook, or visit her website at www.kimallred.com.