Stolen Away_A Time Travel Romance

by Kamery Solomon

  We cuddled a while, until she drifted off to sleep, her tear streaked cheeks peaceful in slumber. As gently as I could, I disentangled myself from her, laying her on the bed and covering her before leaving the room.

  The sounds from the tavern below rose with the hazy smoke from the fire, spreading through the open rafters. Making my way down the wooden steps, I navigated the large group of merry people, goblets of whiskey in their fists and songs on their tongues. It warmed me to be in the company of so many Irish accents, listening to Gaelic, the sounds reminding me of my childhood home. It was as if my father sat in front of the fire, singing his favorite myths and stories from the homeland.

  Finding Mark and Randall easily enough, I slid into a seat at their table, motioning for a glass to be brought to me.

  “There’s been a slight change in plans,” I said by way of greeting, grimacing as I glanced at Randall. True to my word, he’d received fresh clothes and a bath, now appearing quite presentable. Still, the sight of him made my stomach twist unpleasantly. Where he’d looked the part of a filthy mongrel before, he seemed a well-to-do man now, and the haughtiness in his expression confirmed he knew so.

  “I’d prefer to not share what those plans are with ye present,” I told him coldly. “But, seeing as how I refuse to leave ye alone with my wife and I cannot simply put ye outside to wait, I suppose ye will have to listen.”

  He rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his drink, and focused elsewhere, clearly bored with what it was I had to say. I was struck with the impression he kept his true agenda hidden, waiting to gain what he wanted from our partnership. Perhaps it would be safe to send him to the alley . . . No. It was too risky, on too many levels.

  Steadying myself, I focused on Mark. “Ye’re returning to Paris,” I informed him, gently.

  Eyebrows rising, he peered at me questioningly. “Why?”

  Smilingly lightly, I waited for the server to leave my drink on the table before continuing. “Ye’re going to clear our names. If ye’re up to the task, anyway.”

  Randall, who was listening intently, snorted. “And how do you propose he do that? Rowan MacDonald witnessed you taking me from the pit with his own two eyes. If it weren’t for the blockade you arranged outside, he’d have caught us before we could even call it an escape.”

  “Aye, a lot of what we’ve done has relied on luck,” I agreed reluctantly. “This plan is no different, unfortunately.”

  Returning my attention to Mark, I exhaled. “It will be no easy task. If they haven’t already realized ye must be with me, ye will have to tell them ye were.”

  He folded his arms. “Again—why?”

  “Because.” I paused, glowering at Randall for a beat, wishing I could keep him in the dark. “I need ye to explain something to William MacDonald for me. I believe he’ll listen to ye better, especially since ye’re so keen to take his side on things.”

  Randall emitted a low whistle, grinning. “All these years and you’re finally going to come clean.” There was the smallest bit of annoyance in the statement, but it was overshadowed by surprise. Curiosity threaded itself into the equation as he went on. “Is destroying me worth your own ruin, Tristan?”

  “What is he talking about?” Mark looked between the two of us, displeased.

  “Tristan did a few Black Knight worthy things when he was younger,” Randall replied with glee. “With me. They killed his brother, Callaghan, and would surely send him to the gallows, should your Grand Master discover the truth” His amusement faded, caution replacing it. “Why share it now? You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

  Forcing myself to ignore him, my blood boiling at the simple way he’d laid bare my greatest transgressions, I gazed at Mark again. “I want MacDonald to understand why I did it. He needs to know our business in Éire no longer concerns simply Randall, but the treasure he has so callously allowed to be taken by Black Knights. I want ye to tell him exactly what I’ve done in my past and tell him where to find me here. At the very least, it will clear yer own name of any blame.” I took a gulp of the whiskey, clearing my throat as the liquid burned inside me. “Should I be fated to dance a hangman’s jig, Samantha will at least have ye to care for her. Her and . . . our child.”

  My heart skipped a beat as I stared at him, my mouth instantly dry at the consideration of Mark raising my daughter. It was a dagger in my chest, the image burned into me. My soul cried to do whatever it took to make sure such an offense didn’t occur. However, making sure my family was taken care of in my absence was more important than easing my own fears.

  The realization of what I was saying hit Mark slower than it did Randall, the latter snorting and taking a drink, as if disgusted by the news. He then shoved from the table, knocking his cup over. As the alcohol dripped onto his shoes, he sneered at me. “I’m going upstairs,” he announced. “I’ve had quite enough of this conversation.”

  The vast number of instances Sam had shared her nightmares with me, the visions which he’d plagued her with, flooded into my mind. He’d kissed her and told her they were meant to be together. As he glowered at me, I could see he wasn’t disgusted with the revelation of her pregnancy. He was angry.

  You took her from me. His words from the boat slammed into me.

  “Stay away from her,” I warned him, the hair on the back of my neck rising as I glared at him. “Ye’ll not go anywhere near her.”

  “Why?” he goaded me. “It’s not like I can do anything to her that you haven’t already.”

  Shoving to my own feet, I lunged across the table, missing him by mere inches. His laugh echoed in my ears, our fellow patrons examining us warily.

  “Ye’ll go nowhere near her,” I growled, slapping my palm on the table. “I’ll stop ye if I have to. I don’t care how much attention it draws.”

  His nose twitched and then huffed as he straightened his shirt. “I’ll wait outside the door,” he snapped, shoving his hair to the side. “You can see me on the landing if you like.” He sauntered away then, eyeing anyone who stared at him dangerously.

  Mark, watching him go, shook his head. Then, he examined me. “Sammy’s pregnant,” he breathed. “She was so sure she wasn’t when I spoke with her.”

  “There is no doubt. A child grows within her as surely as the sun will rise in the morning.”

  He fell silent, his features conflicted and gaze darting between Randall upstairs and I across the table from him. After a moment, he set his goblet down decidedly. “Tell me everything,” he ordered seriously. “I will do my best to make the Masters see your point of view.”

  It seemed cramped in the boat with the three of us for some reason. I hadn’t been bothered by sharing the space with Samantha, but as soon as Randall sat between us, it was like everything was too close for my comfort.

  Especially the distance between my wife and my enemy.

  Mark left for Paris when we shoved off for Dublin. It was a rough goodbye between the two of us. He hadn’t been as understanding as Sam when it involved my past. The news of my betrayal made his face lose its color. He’d demanded to know if Samantha was clear about what I’d done, as if he expected her to have abandoned me because of it. I couldn’t fault him for that. I’d expected her to as much.

  All the same, he’d agreed to go back to The Order and share what I’d told him. With any luck, when I emerged from the Otherworld with Randall in tow, the Templars would be waiting to meet us in Dublin. The two of us could stand trial together and lay bare our transgressions at last. Then, should I be condemned to death with the bastard, MacDonald would at least have the means to finish him.

  Sam hadn’t been too keen on the new path, either. She didn’t understand why I was suddenly willing to bare my darkest secrets, how I could return Randall after we’d struggled so much to keep him hidden and under our control.

  She didn’t cry when Mark left, but she’d hugged him tightly and told him to stay safe. I couldn’t stop the stab of jealousy I felt at the sight. Would that be how she
greeted him after I died? Would they continue on, raising my child as if I’d never existed?

  Pushing the thoughts from my mind, I sighed. Of course they wouldn’t. If I were to die, it would destroy my love, just as surely as losing Rachel had.

  Lord, let them understand, I prayed in the dark night. At least, give me the chance to explain myself fully.

  Bundled in a blanket with Sam, I tightened my hold on her, smiling softly as she exhaled and nestled into my side. She offered me more comfort than she knew.

  Randall stirred as well, his forearms and feet tied tightly together underneath the blanket he’d been given. I didn’t expect him to run, but I also didn’t trust him to not have another episode and try to press himself on Samantha.

  Glowering, I stared at him, watching until I was sure he was really sleeping. There was a level of comfort we’d started sharing in each other’s company and I didn’t like it. I needed to be a better keeper. The safety of my family and the future of my own life depended on it.

  Eventually, I did drift off to sleep, the warmth of my wife’s body soothing any aches and worries continuing to bother me.

  As it was, when I woke later, ahead of the rising sun, I thought I was still dreaming. Someone was murmuring quietly, the confession pained but so breathtakingly truthful that I didn’t realize it was Randall who was speaking until I came to my senses.

  “I am consumed by you, Samantha,” he lamented. “Morning, noon, and night. You are all I think of. You light my every morning, your laugh filling my soul with such joy, I believe I could jump into the sky and fly. I want so desperately to love and be loved by you.”

  The words began to tangle together, the sound strangled as he continued, malice filling him. “I despise you for it. Do you think I want to stoop as low as you, to lower myself by wanting you? To be like O’Rourke?” He guffawed, the sound harsh, but muffled. To his credit, he appeared to be attempting not to wake us. “I have pleaded with the gods, informing them of your treachery, begging for them to send another who will banish these accursed emotions I have for you. Yet, they do not. They must mean to make me suffer before you, until you realize the error of your ways.”

  He sniffed, betraying the fact he was crying.

  A cold ball formed in my stomach, but I kept my eyes shut and breathing even. While my body screamed to stand and beat him for his language, my intuition begged me to remain still and listen to what he had to say. Perhaps he’d give something away by mistake, when he believed no one was listening.

  “And now, you’re carrying another child for the Dog. Why must you wound me so, Sammy? Does it bring you pleasure, causing me pain? Is that why you cut off my hand? Why you shot me?” His breath caught, bitter humor on the tip of his tongue. “You could hurt me in so many better ways, love. I could show you a pain so pleasurable, it’d make you forget you ever even knew a man named Tristan O’Rourke.”

  My lip twitched, outrage filling me at his improper speech. But, I remained silent, hoping he’d say something useful.

  Instead, he sniffed, a shudder passing through him. “I hate you,” he finished bitterly. “I despise you for what you’ve done to me. What you’ve turned me into.”

  He fell silent then, barring a few sniffs and sobs. After a few beats, I dared to peek at him through my lashes.

  He hugged himself, rocking back and forth, tears flowing down his face, his eyes wide, as they’d been during his last episode.

  “Quiet,” he muttered. “No talking today.” Suddenly, he spun around, glaring at me with a bloodthirsty stare.

  My chest rose and fell in the same rhythm, eyes barely open, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

  Cautious, he slowly turned back, talking to himself.

  “We’ll have it soon,” he whispered. “And then we’ll finish it.”

  The Hill of Tara was a ways outside Dublin, which resulted in us camping the night before we arrived at the place. Sam could sense my nervousness, I was sure, which made me more on edge.

  Randall’s words plagued me. I couldn’t think of what it was he could be wanting, what he was waiting for, why he’d come along with me and shown little to no resistance.

  Then, it hit me like lightning as we slept under the trees. The Otherworld was the home of the old gods—beings Randall could steal blood from and strengthen himself with. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t realized it before then. I’d assumed Randall didn’t want any more of the stuff, after being infected by what he consumed. I should have known he’d revel in the power, though.

  Now, staring at the tall stone stuck in the ground ahead of us, the sun shining on it like a heavenly beacon, I cursed myself for bringing the bastard along. He’d surely try to escape as soon as we set foot in the Dark Isles. Perhaps he’d go to Avalon, to rally the Black Knights. I was walking into what might be a full on war and had nothing but my pregnant wife with me.

  Distressed, I glanced at her, squeezing her hand in mine.

  “This is it?” she asked, unimpressed.

  Chuckling, I nodded. “Aye. The Hill of Tara. I suppose it is not worthy of awe to one who does not know what they seeing.”

  “And what is that?”

  Pointing at the large pillar, I grinned. “That is The Stone of Destiny. Éire has crowned her High Kings here since the beginning. It is said, when a worthy High King steps upon the base of the stone, it will shout with joy at his presence.”

  She scrunched her nose, unconvinced. “What did the people do if it didn’t?”

  Pausing, I laughed, her question surprising me. “One king is fabled to have stabbed at it when it did not cry for his son,” I answered. “It remained silent for a while afterword.”

  “Not surprising,” Randall muttered, reminding me of his presence behind us. “Old wives tales and ridiculous bog jumper thinking, claiming a rock can shout.”

  Rolling my eyes, I glanced over my shoulder at him. I’d tied his arms against his sides and attached a rope to his midsection, so I could pull him along without fear of him running.

  He hadn’t been very happy or compliant with that order.

  Rubbing the spot on my brow where he’d head-butted me, I grimaced.

  “The witch said to stand on it and announce yourself,” Sam reminded me. “Then you can bring us through with you.” She was a bit confused. “I don’t know exactly where you’re supposed to do it. There isn’t exactly anything here that screams ‘Entrance to the Otherworld’ to me.”

  Agreeing, my earlier wave of nerves wash through me. Peering at her, I lowered my voice. “Ye don’t have to come with me, love. It will be safer, for ye and the baby, if ye stay here and wait for me to return. Ye can take shelter in the old fort or church here. I will try not to be long.”

  Beaming, she lifted my fingers to her mouth, kissing it. “Where you go, I go. End of story.”

  Sighing, I accepted defeat once more. I passed Randall’s rope to her and squared my shoulders.

  Moving up the grassy hill, I tried to ignore the pounding of my heart in my ears. It was as if I could feel the magic in the air here, my eyes playing tricks on me, imagining tiny fairy creatures appearing at the edge of the woods across the clearing, watching me with interest.

  The stone itself loomed ominously before me. It was about my same height, the base of it surrounded by long, rectangular tiles that jutted out in a circle. It was impossible not to picture the great men that must have stood where I was about to, their resolves strong and determination a force to be reckoned with. This was where Éire claimed her heroes, her leaders, and those that would save her from the dangers of her enemies.

  To say I felt unworthy was an understatement.

  Hesitating at the base, I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Then, I stepped onto the platform.

  Nothing happened. There was no sensation of unexpectedly being taken by the magic or even a breeze brushing by. The sun continued to shine and Randall snorted behind me, amused.

  Clearing my throat, I extended my palm a
nd carefully laid it on the relic. My voice didn’t want to work for some reason, getting stuck inside me, and I shook myself. Then, quietly, I made my introduction.

  “I am Tristan O’Rourke, son of Aiden O’Rourke, member of The Order of the Knights Templar.”

  The silence was pierced by a great howl, the sound coming from everywhere, and I stumbled back, caught off guard. The hum persisted, shaking my very bones.

  Lia Fáil was shouting for me.

  Confused, I glanced at Samantha, watching as she covered her ears, flinching against the clatter. Randall twisted his head back and forth, grimacing, unable to save himself.

  My eyes raked past the tree line again, seeing the fairy creatures dancing and celebrating at the vibration, kissing each other and bowing low to the ground, showing reverence to me.

  Frozen, I knew this was a terrible mistake. I was a no one, a simple servant to The Order. I’d been born into power, yes, but never claimed it. Despite the Stone of Destiny’s proclamation, there was no way I was who it deemed.

  Stop! I wanted to shout. You’re wrong! I am not the High King! The words wouldn’t leave me, though, my entire being riveted on the sound that pierced me straight through.

  The ground began to shake, rumbling on all sides, opening, the pillar sliding to the side in the rush of movement. A great cave collapsed in, tunneling far into the ground, the ferocity with which the earth shuddered causing me to lose my footing.

  Finally, the sound stopped, taking the earthquake with it. Everything was eerily still and quiet, nothingness ringing in my ears.

  “Sam,” I called hoarsely, turning to where she’d been standing.

  “I’m here,” she answered, brushing herself off as she climbed across a small ridge that had formed between us. She pulled Randall behind her, the prisoner coughing and shaking earth from his hair. “What was that?”