Daughter of Time: A Time Travel Romance

by Sarah Woodbury

  Then everything speeded up as the car slid into the cut and then through it.

  An abyss opened before me—a yawning blackness that gave me the same hollow rushing in my ears I’d felt in the morgue. A lifetime later, we were through it or across it—whatever it was. I registered gray-blue sky and sea before the car bounded headfirst down an incline and skidded into a marsh. It came to an abrupt halt as the world flipped forward. Instinctively, I threw up my hands to protect my head but the steering wheel rushed at my face. I tasted plastic and blood—pain, and then nothing.

  Chapter Two

  Llywelyn

  In the year of our Lord, twelve hundred, and sixty-eight. May God go with you. The priest’s parting invocation for the close of evening mass echoed in my head as I took the steps two at a time up to the battlements of Castell Criccieth. Darkness was coming on and I was looking forward to seeing the sun set over the water to the southwest. They say that we, the Welsh, are always caught between the mountains and the sea. On a day like today, with the wind whipping the sea into a froth and the snow-covered peak of Yr Wyddfa—Mt. Snowdon—towering above the castle, both tugged at me.

  I breathed in the salty air, feeling its humid scent. In truth, I loved it all. It was as if my boots had been planted in the soil of Wales and no power in heaven or earth could move me from this spot.

  My small corner of Europe had been threatened, encircled, and enslaved by kings of many nationalities since Caesar first crossed the channel into England over a thousand years before. Throughout it all, we Welsh had, in turn, fought and run, thrown ourselves upon our enemies, and hidden in our mountains. Each foreign king had eventually discovered that our resistance to his rule was as inevitable as the rain, and our place in Wales as permanent as the rock on which we stood.

  And now King Henry of England knew it too. The triumph of my ascendancy was like a fire in my belly that would not go out. Every month that passed allowed me to more strongly grasp each hamlet, each pasture and village in Wales as my own.

  As I stood on the battlements, the wind in my hair, the words my bard had pronounced at the New Year’s feast rang again in my ears, each stanza crashing over me like the waves that hit the shore below: There stands a lion, courageous and brave . . . Llywelyn, ruler of Wales. Was I too proud, too full of hubris, that I heard these words, long past the ending of the feast?

  The sun was reddening as it lowered in the sky and I turned my back on it to look up at Yr Wyddfa, its snowy peaks now pink from the reflected light. It had been a sunny day, unusual for January, and this was a rare treat. I was just turning to look northeast again, when a—what is that thing!—surged out of the trees that lined the edge of the marsh abutting the seashore to the west of the castle, beacons shining from the front of it, and buried itself headfirst in the marsh.

  Stunned, I couldn’t move at first, but the unmistakable wail of a small child, faint at this distance, rose into the air. Afraid now that the—thing? chariot?—would sink into the marsh before I could reach it, I ran across the battlements to the stairs, down them, out a side door of the keep, and into the bailey. I spied Goronwy ap Heilin, my longtime counselor and friend, just coming into the castle from under the gatehouse and I strode toward him.

  “My lord!” He checked his horse, concern etched in every line of his squat body. He was dressed in full armor, his torso made more bulky by its weight. His helmet hid his prematurely gray hair.

  I hesitated for a heartbeat and then threw myself onto the horse behind him. Goronwy gathered his reins and chose not to argue, even though he had to know that his horse couldn’t carry the two of us for long.

  “We must hurry,” I said.

  Goronwy spurred his horse back the way he’d come, out the gate and down the causeway that led from the castle to the village. We trotted through the village and turned left, trying to reach the point where the vehicle had gone in.

  While Castell Criccieth itself was built on a high rock that could be reached by a narrow passage, the marsh associated with it was legendary. The pathway fell off dangerously into a sucking swamp, fed by an unnamed underground stream that seeped its way to the sea. I’d not lost anyone in it recently and didn’t want to lose anyone now, but as we came to a sudden halt along the road as it turned, I wasn’t sure what to do.

  The wail of the child was more evident the closer we got, though it was no longer constant but punctuated every now and then by silence. Perhaps he was tiring, too exhausted to maintain his cries. I could imagine him gasping for air between breaths as a child does, especially when he is unsure if anyone is coming to help.

  “By all that is holy!” Goronwy said, seeing the vehicle for the first time. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. A chariot of some kind, carrying two from the looks.” It had four wheels, as wagons do, two of which spun slowly, high in the air. The vehicle had moved so fast and without any visible means of propulsion that I couldn’t imagine what had thrown it out of the forest and into my marsh in the first place. It was coated in a sturdy material that wasn’t wood, and was, unaccountably, blue in color.

  Goronwy took in the situation in a glance and gestured to the point where the chariot had driven into the marsh. “By the trees, my lord,” he said. “It looks as if the ground is more solid there.”

  “Yes. Keep going.”

  We continued on the road until it reached the trees and then along their edge until we stopped only a few yards from the chariot. The sun was nearly down now and I cursed myself for forgetting a torch. We dismounted and I took a step toward the chariot, but my foot immediately stuck a few inches into the mud. To put my weight down further would ensure the loss of my boot.

  “Careful, my lord,” Goronwy said.

  I stepped back. “We’ll find another way.”

  Goronwy spied several fallen logs in the woods that edged the marsh and we lugged them towards the marsh to act as a bridge between us and the chariot. Urgency filled both of us so with me in the lead, we stepped carefully across them to the chariot. I touched one of the side walls of the vehicle, hesitant, noting that it curved away from me, smooth as the water in my washing basin.

  “Now what?” Goronwy said. “Do you need my help to get them out?”

  Goronwy was concerned because the narrow bridge we’d built was sinking into the marsh under our combined weight. For us to stand together on one end might doom the both of us. I peered through the clear glass that separated me from the baby in the rear of the vehicle and from the woman in the front seat. The light of the setting sun reflected off the glass and I could see fingerprints smudging the window. The sight struck me as so commonplace that it gave me confidence.

  “No. Stay where you are.”

  I surveyed the expanse of incredibly worked metal of which the vehicle was composed. As I studied it, I realized it was not all one piece as I’d first thought. It had been put together in sections, and then the pieces of metal attached together. Still, except for two black elongated objects aligned with each other half way down the sides, there was nothing to hold onto. I grasped one of them, hoping it was what it looked like: a latch.

  I pulled on it and miraculously, the door to the chariot opened. I had to duck into the doorway since the chariot had a roof that was two feet less than my height. The girl slumped over a wheel affixed to the wall in front of her. I pulled her back into her seat and frowned at the line of blood across her forehead. Except for the one wound, I couldn’t see any other injuries. Her eyes were closed, however, and she was unconscious. It surprised me, in that half a second it took to look her over, that she was an ordinary girl, admittedly dressed strangely and half my age, but there was nothing about her that told me why she would be driving this incredible chariot.

  A black strap of yet another material unlike any I’d ever seen held her in her seat. I fumbled to find its ties, grateful for the bright light coming from the ceiling of the chariot. I was ready to pull my knife to cut through the straps, but almost as an aft
er-thought, noticed the strap ended in a large red square near her waist. I pressed it. The strap released and the woman slumped sideways. I slid my arms around her back and under her knees and pulled her to me, lifting her out of the chariot. Then, carefully balancing on the logs, I cat-walked back to Goronwy and transferred her to his arms.

  He had waited patiently, as if this task was the most normal thing in the world for us to be doing. He held the woman, but otherwise didn’t move, since his position on the end of the log allowed me to balance near the chariot. “She’s beautiful,” he said, checking her from head to toe as her head lolled back on his forearm.

  I gave him a quelling look, though it wasn’t like I hadn’t noticed. Her long hair was shot with every shade of brown imaginable and though her long lashes were down-turned in sleep so I couldn’t see her eyes, I had no difficulty imagining them gazing at me. She was slender as an unwed girl, but she looked so much like the girl behind her, she had to be her mother.

  “So’s the little one,” I said. I moved back to the chariot, sliding one foot forward and then the other, but as I did so, the pressure in the marsh shifted and a sucking sound pierced the silence. The chariot sank another foot, tipping forward so now it lay only a few degrees off vertical.

  “Is there time, my lord?”

  “I will not leave that child to die,” I said. “I don’t think the risk to me too great.”

  Afraid that movement near the front of the vehicle would upend it further, and at the same time worried about getting caught in the chariot’s draft if it did sink into the marsh, I pulled on the latch to the rear door, which opened just as had the door in front. Although the child appeared to be in some kind of special seat designed expressly for her small size, a red circle sat in the center of her chest. Hoping that there was a system here, I pressed it and as in her mother’s case, the straps released. The rear wheels were so high in the air now that the opening in the vehicle was at chest height—making it easy for me to reach into the chariot, but forcing me to lift the child from her seat with only the strength in my arms.

  “Come, cariad,” I said.

  Her eyes were wide as she reached for me, but she appeared unhurt. I pulled her to me and she wrapped her arms around my neck, swiveling her head to the left and right as she took in her surroundings.

  “My lord.” Goronwy’s voice sounded a warning behind me and I took a step back, away from the chariot, and then another, my arms clutched around the little girl.

  The pounding of my heart at last began to slow as Goronwy and I backed off the logs. “How do you want to do this?” Goronwy said, the woman still in his arms. “She’s not a sack of turnips, but she’s heavier than one.”

  I set the baby on the ground, pleased she’d stopped crying and was willing to stand sturdily on her own feet. I crouched to speak to her. “Stand here. I’m going to take care of your mother.”

  All I caught of the girl’s reply was one word, similar to Mam: Mammy, I surmised, though I didn’t know of any children who called their mother that.

  I mounted Goronwy’s horse and Goronwy passed me the woman. I settled her across the horse’s withers. Because the girl wore breeches, I could rest her directly in front of me, with her back leaning against my chest, and her head tucked under my chin. While her clothes were entirely too provocative, in this case I was glad she was wearing them. Otherwise I would have had to cradle her in my arms or hike her skirt up past her thighs, which might provide us with a pleasant view, but was even more immodest.

  I wrapped one arm around her waist and grasped the reins with the other. Goronwy bent down for the child, who allowed him to pick her up, her little arm wrapped around his neck as she’d wrapped it around mine. She said something to Goronwy that I didn’t catch and he answered in an undertone.

  Then I saw his face. The look was one of pure panic, but he revealed a hitherto unknown adeptness with children and shifted her to his hip.

  “I’ve got her, my lord,” Goronwy said. “Though I’m not sure she understands the words we’re saying.”

  “She’s very young.”

  “She spoke to me just now in a language that was unfamiliar,” Goronwy said. “I couldn’t even begin to tell you what it was.”

  “English?”

  “No,” Goronwy said. “At least no sort of English I have ever heard, even lisping from the mouth of a child.”

  “When her mother awakes, we’ll have some answers.”

  “We certainly have many questions. Most pointedly, what is that vehicle?”

  “I would add, “How did you fall into my marsh? What are those strange materials, metal, and clothes?”

  “Could they be English?” Goronwy said, leaping ahead to the most crucial question. He strode along beside me, he and the girl finding a rhythm to his walk as she continued to take in her surroundings. “Returning crusaders have brought many new discoveries to Europe from the east. When I was last at Dinas Bran, I met such a man—he opened his own tavern, of all things—who told me of a glass through which one could see far distances. I very much would like one of those.”

  “I will look into it,” I said. “Right now, our concern is somewhat more mundane. We need to get these two to the castle safely tonight, but come daylight, we must return to the vehicle with the woman. She has much to explain, both what it is and how it works.”

  I directed the horse towards the causeway, aiming for the road we’d left and anxious not to stray into the bog. Since Goronwy was unhorsed, I rode more slowly than I might have otherwise. I was never outside the castle without my guard and felt strangely vulnerable, almost naked, without them.

  We’d reached the road when Goronwy suddenly stopped and spun around. I reined in, and then heard what had gained his attention: another sucking sound, louder than when we’d stood on the logs. I looked back. It was as if the vehicle were in a tipped up wheel barrow, sliding its cargo even deeper into the marsh. In three heartbeats, the light in the interior was extinguished, and then in a rush, as if a giant mouth had opened beneath it, the chariot disappeared.

  It was almost a prayerful moment, though my priest certainly wouldn’t have liked me saying so. Goronwy, more aptly, cursed. “By the arse of King Solomon, now we’ll never discover its mysteries, beyond what the woman can tell us.”

  “I’m glad we weren’t close to it,” I said soberly, clicking my tongue to get the horse moving again.

  “Any delay and the woman and her child would have died,” Goronwy said.

  “It was only by chance that I was on the battlements. I was thinking of other things and watching the colors change on Yr Wyddfa when it appeared.”

  “Chance, my lord? I think not,” Goronwy said, but anything further he thought to say was cut off by shouting in the distance. A company of my men galloped out of the village and into view.

  “Prince Llywelyn!” One of my captains, Hywel ap Rhys, called. Another soldier held a torch in his hand as they trotted up to me, eyes widening at the girls in our arms.

  “All is well.” I held up a hand to my men and Hywel closed his mouth on his questions. All of my men knew better than to disobey, but there would be no stopping some of them later. Hywel himself was a son of a noble house and believed himself all but my equal, though I was a prince and he a mere baron. Many times, I cursed the independence of the Welsh nobles, even the ones who fought by my side. Especially the ones who fought by my side.

  The men fell into formation around us. We certainly formed a strange company. Goronwy and the girl continued whispering to each other and finally Goronwy spoke up. “I believe her name is Anna.”

  “You believe?”

  “Well, it still isn’t clear what language she’s speaking. She appears to understand bits of what I’m saying, but I understand nothing of her words except ‘Anna.’ I have reassured her, to the best of my ability, that her mother will be well.”

  We filed through the village, quiet now that it was full-dark. A few heads poked out of doorways. Hywe
l nodded at the blacksmith, who stood under the eave of his shop to watch us pass. We trooped up the hill to the castle and along its circuitous road to the gatehouse.

  The bailey, once we reached it, was in turmoil. “You surprised us all, my lord,” Hywel said as he dismounted. He was tall, even for a Welshman, with the biggest feet any of us had ever seen. From the moment he joined the company we’d called him Boots. Half the men had probably forgotten his real name.

  He reached for the woman, whom I allowed to slide off the horse. He was more than capable of bearing her weight, but when I got down myself, I quite deliberately took her back from him.

  As we’d ridden up the road, I found myself going over in my head the sudden arrival of the girl and her child in my head, and agreeing with Goronwy that what others ascribed to chance, I was willing to view as a gift from God. Or the devil, I supposed. It wasn’t something I would ever mention, not even to my closest advisors, but in the thick of the moment it wasn’t always easy to tell the difference between the two.

  All I knew was that I didn’t want to let her go. The feeling was a new one, and yet, I’d learned to trust my instincts and knew myself well enough by now not to fight them. I’d had many women over the years—more than I could count, truth be told, which I’m sure had kept my confessor busier than he’d liked. But I’d not welcomed one into my bed in several months and hadn’t truly cared for any woman for much longer than that. I’d attributed my disinterest to my advanced age—and a natural evolution toward more circumspect and judicious taste.

  With the girl in my arms, I strode toward the inner bailey which housed my private apartments, my men parting before me. Goronwy matched his steps to mine as we entered the great hall. Tudur ap Ednyfed Fychan, my steward, stepped toward me and bowed.