Stolen Away_A Time Travel Romance

by Kamery Solomon

  Somewhat faint from the unexpected turn of events, I sank to the floor, feeling as if all the air had been robbed from me. My head spun, anger and nausea rocketing through me all at once. I wanted to scream and punch things, too, to let the Grand Master know just how mistaken he had been in this decision, and that I wouldn’t stand by him any longer because of it. Instead, my body simply refused to do anything, the room swimming as my vision clouded.

  Tristan was at my side in an instant, his arms around me. The anger seemed to rush from him, his embrace protective and loving. His eyes softened as he gazed at me, his fingers brushing my face. When he spoke again, it was much softer and pained, but still directed to the man in front of us.

  “When I voted ye into your position, I did so with the thought that ye, of all people, understood what it was to lose that which ye held most dear. Ye have lived with that pain for decades, suffering an agony that I have known for only a brief time, before. I believed, if given the chance, ye would save any others from having to endure such sorrow, no matter the cost. Now, I see that ye do not care to help anyone but yerself and yer plans.”

  Tears gathered in my eyes and I placed my hands on either side of his face, peering at him. I shared in his disbelief at MacDonald’s inaction. The man knew what we had been through, what horrors Thomas Randall had subjected us to. At this moment, it felt like the person who should have been one of our closest allies had chosen to side with our worst enemy.

  We were completely alone in our convictions.

  Another sigh reached our ears. MacDonald’s voice sounded unconvincing to me, the words hollow and pained. “Things must change if we hope to have any real progress. I ken ye both dinna want to listen to me now. But, give me time. I am not working for myself. I am working to rid the world of this Black Knight plague entirely.”

  “You can’t,” I whispered, breaking away from my husband’s stare to glare at his leader, my voice growing in strength as I addressed him. “You can’t get Randall to do anything for you. He is always one step ahead, planning, toying with you.”

  “Be that as it may.” Captain MacDonald frowned, sitting. “Ye brought him here, with no idea of what to do with him. For that reason alone, I will keep him under lock and key. Ye have no need to fear him entering yer home, again. Now, I suggest we all return to our beds and get some well-deserved rest.”

  The words seemed to drag more tears of betrayal and anger out of me. I truly thought that he would understand, that he would somehow rid us of Randall forever, right when he first saw him. I had never thought that William MacDonald would examine the face of my abuser and decree that he could continue living.

  Tristan’s expression showed he was thinking along the same lines. With a shaky voice, he turned to his former captain and frowned. “If he escapes,” he said lowly, “and any harm comes to my wife, I will hold ye personally responsible. Ye will pay the price for his deeds. I swear it on the graves of my ancestors.”

  If the vow had any effect on the Grand Master, he didn’t show it. Instead, he rose from his chair and left the room, leaving the two of us in each other’s arms, trying to understand what had just happened.

  As I sat in the small garden of our new home, an unfinished and rather badly knit pair of red socks on my lap, I tried to think of some way I could lift Tristan’s spirits. He’d been upset for the past week, since we’d met with the Grand Master, keeping his replies short and to the point, even with me. The out-of-character behavior worried me, adding itself to a list of what felt like another million things I was trying to cope with.

  After a few days of racking my brain, trying to discover something I could do to rid us of Randall, I’d realized there was literally nothing I could do to stop MacDonald and his plans for the murderer. I wasn’t even allowed inside the Temple without an invitation, and Tristan had to be with me on top of it all. There was no map of the complex I could study and plan a break in with, and even if there was, what would I do once I had Randall? He couldn’t be killed and had more power and strength in his pinky finger than I did in my entire body.

  So, after deciding, frustrated there was nothing I could do about my current situation, I settled on something I could do—becoming the best seventeenth-century woman I could be. After all, once I did finally rid my life of Thomas Randall, I fully planned on building my forever home, bringing children into the world, and growing old, with a fat cat and knitting on my lap, while Tristan sat in the chair beside me. Those plans, though, required a few things from me now.

  First, I was trying to take on more ‘running the house’ duties. When initially faced with the prospect, more than a year ago, I balked at the idea. Now, though, learning how to be a housewife in the late sixteen-hundreds was something I was more than willing to do, if it meant I didn’t have to deal with magic, gods, or any other strange thing that shouldn’t be invading my life.

  Other problems arose as I attempted to remake myself. Abella was out of sorts, which I suspected had something to do with Mark. I hadn’t seen him since Tristan insulted him, but I was positive she had been to his home on more than one occasion during the past seven days. She seemed frazzled whenever she returned, though, and I was unsure what exactly was occurring during their visits.

  Abella had fallen for Mark almost as soon as she met him. Unfortunately, Mark had very openly told everyone he was in love with me, much to Tristan’s dismay and fury. Even though I denied any reciprocated emotions, and Mark had sworn he would never come between my husband and me, their relationship had been strained, to say the least, for a few months. I’d thought they were finally going to get along for good, and then Tristan called him a traitor and started shunning him from our daily life.

  Now, poor Abella was stuck in the middle, caring for Mark, remaining friendly with Tristan and me, and frantically insisting she still fulfil her duties as a maid in our house. Nothing I did or said convinced her she didn’t need to work for me. Most of the time, I felt like I was walking on eggshells around Tristan and her, trying not to bring up anything that would upset either of them.

  It was slightly infuriating, but mostly heartbreaking.

  Then, of course, there was Tristan. He came with his own list of issues, all of which I was happy to help with. The Order, the fact he was without a ship or position again, Thomas Randall . . .

  My train of thought stopped cold at his name. Anger coursed through me, an oath instantly coming to my lips. I bit back the curse, though, sucking in a deep, steadying breath. Any time I really stopped to think about how the man was alive and well, locked in a room somewhere here in Paris, my blood boiled. It seemed the universe was conspiring against me, mocking me with his presence and refusing to let me bring him to justice. It was all I could do to find something else to focus on and banish the fury from my mind.

  Hands shaking, I picked my knitting needles up and set to twisting the threads, breathing slowly for a few minutes before my thoughts returned to my new household and the position I was hoping to take over.

  One of Tristan’s jackets had a tear in it. I made a mental note to have Abella mend the piece. I wasn’t very good at fixing clothes yet, having not even mastered the art of putting them together, and her handiwork would be much better than anything I could do.

  Finally, I settled on the true reason I had this sudden burst of motivation to change. Though, when I thought about it, I wasn’t exactly shifting positions. I was getting ready.

  Placing my palm on my stomach, I smiled softly. After the time of healing I’d spent in Atlantis, I was ready to try to have children again. The spirit of Rachel, my beautiful baby girl, had promised she had sisters waiting to come join our family. As far as I was concerned, I was done waiting for life to sort itself out— I was ready to take that step, again.

  Of course, that was a conversation Tristan and I still needed to have.

  Sighing contentedly, I pulled my shawl tighter, trying to ignore the coolness of late fall, and continued knitting. Coming to the gar
den had become a daily ritual for me over the last week, providing some solace and a place to simply be. The fresh air helped me sort my thoughts, and I found the sunlight invigorating. Sometimes, I missed Arizona, thinking of all the sun, and fun, I had there. Paris was a much different place, but the sky was still the same sky, here or anywhere else, and in any other time.

  I did love the trees, though. There were so many of them, their branches swaying in the breeze, the leaves crisp smelling, and giving off a homey vibe. There hadn’t really been foliage like this back home, not where I had lived, anyway. It wasn’t hard to miss cactus; despite its prickly nature, I felt more comfort around plants that weren’t prone to attacking me at any given moment.

  Silence cocooned me for the next while, only the soft clicking of the needles reaching my ears. The house blocked the sounds from the street and the servants were inside, getting ready for dinner. So, when a man did emerge from the trees, I shrieked, not expecting anyone.

  “It’s just me!” The man held his hands up, as if to surrender, and then chuckled, flashing a wolfish grin.

  “Mark!” I scolded. “You scared me half to death!”

  Snickering, he slid his hat off as he leaned against a tree. “Sorry.” He was dressed in nicer clothes, which was usual for a meeting at the Temple, though he appeared as though he’d finally managed to convince whomever helped him dress to stop putting him in stockings. Instead, the elegant brown vest and coat covering his white shirt were matched with long pants. The thought of how hard he must’ve fought for those breeches made me smile, but then I remembered where he’d come from.

  Frowning, I snorted, not believing he was sorry for scaring me. “What are you doing here? If Tristan sees you, he’s likely to attack you.”

  All traces of teasing vanished, a quick flash of apprehension crossing his features before he nodded. “He’s still upset with me. I know. I needed to see you before he got home, though, to talk to you.”

  Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes. What did he need to tell me that he didn’t want Tristan to hear? It couldn’t be business from The Order. Tristan always told me everything that was happening, even if he’d been commanded not to. That left only one thing in my mind that Mark could be worrying about.

  “You’re not fighting with Abella again, are you?” Sighing, I bent and gathered my knitting from where it had fallen in my moment of fear. “Good grief, Mark. We’ve only been back for two weeks.” Sitting, I gave him my most disapproving stare. “How long are you two going to be at each other’s throats before you finally kiss her and get on with it?”

  Blushing, he coughed, gazing at the sky. For a moment, he said nothing, apparently caught off guard by my frank approach. Then, staring at me, he shook his head. “That’s not why I came to talk, but thank you for that,” he said, rather tightly.

  “Oh.” The heat rose in my cheeks and I twisted my hands in my lap, embarrassed I’d said so much. Being straight forward with Abella usually worked very well. I didn’t often use that method on Mark, and if this was any indication, he still didn’t like it when I did.

  Breaking the tension, he shrugged, a smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it.” Walking the few steps to the chair beside me, he sat, lounging back. “I wanted to talk to you about Tristan, actually. Warn you, more like it.”

  A cold drip of dread slipped through me. “What do you mean?”

  He pursed his lips, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Captain MacDonald has been rolling out quite a few changes this week. We’d been hearing about some of them through the grapevine, but the meeting today was to announce everything. Tristan was—ah—unenthused by the path our new leader is taking.”

  “So? He’s been that way ever since our last meeting with MacDonald.”

  Mark shook his head. “It’s worse now.”

  My shoulders dropped. “Oh no.” This wasn’t good.

  He didn’t need to say any more. Tristan was angry and would be hard to deal with for at least the rest of the day, if not longer. It depended on how bad the news had been, really.

  “What is he doing?” I asked carefully. “The Grand Master, I mean. Are you allowed to tell me?”

  He laughed. “Even if I couldn’t, I’m sure you would hear it from your husband before you slept tonight.” Then, his expression fell, and his voice softened. “He’s very upset, Sammy. He insulted MacDonald in front of the entire assembly and got his ass handed to him in return. It was made very clear that he is not a member in favor with the new leadership.”

  That information alarmed me. “What? After we served on MacDonald’s crew and fought by his side?” My breath caught when he didn’t answer. “Do you think they’ll ground him?” I pressed. “Keep him from sailing with a new crew?”

  Mark glanced at me then, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “They’ve grounded the entire Order, Sam.”

  My mouth popped open, eyes going wide.

  In response, Mark nodded, his gaze returning to the sky. “It gets worse.” He laughed slightly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Every Templar Knight has been ordered to Paris, to stand trial. The messengers left with the letters as soon as today’s meeting finished. In the next couple of months, the city will be flooded with men from all around the world, come to prove that they are loyal to the cause.”

  Floundering for words, I rose from my seat, moving a few feet away.

  What was MacDonald thinking? This plan was crazy! If was offensive! He would be lucky if the men didn’t vote him right out of office and pick a new leader. How would he even begin to complete such a task? A million questions and revelations about what this would mean for The Order swam through my mind.

  “What about those who can’t come?” I finally asked, glancing at him over my shoulder.

  He frowned. “Any man who does not present himself before the Grand Master will be considered a Black Knight and have a warrant issued for his arrest. The only exception will be those who can prove they are in poor enough health to not travel.”

  I shook my head, knowing we weren’t the only ones caught off guard by this news. “Many of them will take it as in insult to their pride and honor. William MacDonald isn’t going to make many friends with this.”

  Mark chuckled humorlessly. “I don’t think he’s in the business of making friends.” He smiled, sitting straighter. “He’s trying to gain control of a very unruly group of men, who’ve been left to do as they will for quite some time.”

  Something about the way he said it made me pause. Eyes narrowing, I regarded him, carefully. “What do you think about all this?”

  “Honestly?” He shrugged. “It’s not a bad idea. Risky, yes, but, either way, he’ll know where he lies with each and every one of the men under his control. If they answer his call, they’ll have to prove who they are. If not, they might as well wear the brand of the Black Knights.” Rubbing his forearm, he fell silent. Mark already wore the brand of the Black Knights, the sign burned into him by Randall.

  Compassion shot through me and I pushed my momentary surprise aside. It was my fault he wore the mark, after all. He had allowed himself to be inducted into the dark organization, to spy for and protect me. If anyone had to suffer the backlash from the scar, it should be me.

  It hurt my heart that Tristan had known all that and still taken the opportunity to throw it in Mark’s face.

  “No one will accuse you,” I said quietly, moving beside him and taking his hand. Squeezing tightly, I fought the urge to sigh in defeat. “There are many witnesses who will vouch for you, including me. Tristan, too, with some convincing. That brand on your arm is nothing more than a wound from a horrible time in your life. Anyone who would try to say different is crazy.”

  He laughed, the first real tremors of worry coming from him. His grip strengthened, his other palm moving to cover our joint ones. “This trial could very easily turn into a witch hunt.” His voice was a whisper, betraying the fear he felt at having to sta
nd before a group of strangers. “Innocent men could be found guilty. Men like me. I think that is why Tristan is so upset by it, partly.” The words became rougher as he spoke, finally cutting off abruptly, as if he were unable to think on the matter any longer.

  “And what’s the other part?” I prompted, feeling the need to change the subject.

  Releasing me, Mark met my eyes, his gaze even and unflinching. “MacDonald wants to use Randall to help identify the men. He has bartered a deal with him, to gain a list of traitors who were under his control and others he heard were rallying.”

  “Which means MacDonald intends to keep him alive for at least the next several months.” Interrupting him, I shook my head, shoving away from my seat. “And Randall could completely make up a false list! Most of the men who’ve followed him are dead! How can he be trusted with this task?”

  “There’s more.” Rising, Mark glanced at the house, as if checking for any sign of my husband. He sucked in a deep breath, turning his attention to me, and released it, slowly. “MacDonald has decided you will vouch for Randall’s claims. You’ll go over the list and meet with the men he names, if they are alive, and mark down any that you recognize from your time on his ship.”

  “What?” Shocked, I took a step backward. I’d never considered that Captain MacDonald would want to use me to help further his agenda. He had always acted like he thought I was better off not being involved with The Order, and was annoyed when I insisted I be allowed to know what was going on. Now I was a piece in his chess game?

  Anger surged through me once more. What was the man playing at?