by Jackie Ivie
“Of course I’m not! I must look like it, though! I mean, look at my hair! I probably look more like a banshee!”
She was completely wrong.
She didn’t remotely resemble a witch. They were hags. And she was the furthest thing from a banshee he could imagine. He’d have pegged her as a woodland sprite from folklore, perhaps a little fairy like those purported to flit about a forest on a summer night. Dancing on the mists. A man could spot them if the moon was full. The weather just right. And he was supremely lucky.
But that was fanciful. Nothing about Elena looked anything other than deadly serious.
“Oh, my God! How can this happen? I’ve been dumped into a hotbed of religious superstition! Just when I’m thinking it might be really cool to be stuck in 1790! I mean, I’ve got a fantastic bod, no cancer in sight, and a really hot guy. I started thinking how bad can things be, anyway? And this happens?”
“I do not understand. What exactly has happened?”
“I need to leave, Morrigan! I can’t stay! I just can’t!”
“We cannot leave. We are snowed in.”
“I don’t mean that way! I know we’re snowed it! I can hardly move out there! The snow is waist-deep. It filled my boots! My feet are wet and cold. I’m wet and cold. And I’m a mess. I need a bath. My hair washed. Combed out...but – what am I saying? I can’t stay that long. I have to leave. Now! Using the same portal that brought me here! I just need to figure out how!”
“But...your ship sank. You were pulled from the ocean.”
“I don’t mean that! I mean—ah! I can’t even explain what I mean!”
“Please. Elena. You speak too rapidly and your words are strange. I need to assign meaning.”
“And that’s exactly why I have to leave!”
She twisted in place. Wrung her hands. Her gaze flitted about the meager contents of his croft. Touched on him. She looked panicky. And her words didn’t clarify much. If anything, things were more perplexing.
“What is?” he finally asked.
“I say incomprehensible things, Morrigan, because I’m not who you think I am! I can’t guard my tongue twenty-four-seven! I’ll slip up. Say strange things. And why? Because I am strange. And I just found out you burn women for being strange! You call it witchcraft! And I even fit the part! Crap. I really could use a bath.”
“We were soaked to the skin just last eve.”
“That’s your idea of a bath? Well. Fine. You might have been soaked in rain and snow, but I sure the heck didn’t! I’m crusty with brine. And what-all else. I mean look at me!”
Her bosom was heaving. Her chemise filmed her skin, highlighting every bit of her perfection. Her hair was a cloud of darkness, framing her. Her eyes sparkled with emotion. He’d been trying not to look and she required it?
Morrigan looked over her head at the top of his doorframe. “You look beautiful,” he managed to answer.
“Oh! This is impossible! I can’t explain. I can’t even think. I am so screwed. I really need a bath. I really need to work on my hair. And – it’s just a guess – but bathing is probably one of the things you people assign to a witch.”
“Once we wed, no one will call you other than wife.”
She looked upward. Took several lengthy breaths. When she looked back to him, her eyes glistened like the deep onyx gemstones. And then he realized why. She held back tears. The last thing he wished to do was make her cry. His heart immediately seized up inside his chest, as if a fist had grabbed it and squeezed.
“Morrigan, please? I said it last night, but I’ll repeat it. You are very sweet to propose. But the answer is the same as last night. I can’t marry you.”
He swallowed. “I am an honorable man, Elena. I took your maidenhead.”
“And I am a grown woman who knew what she was doing.”
“Elena, please. We must wed. You do not understand. Your beauty will make women jealous. That is why they called you names. And now you stay with me alone in this croft. We will wed. I have arranged it for tonight. Sooner, if the priest finishes with last rites and can attend to us.”
“But I can’t marry you! It would complicate an already impossible situation! You can’t go back and change history. I mean...what if there were children?”
“You do not wish...babes?”
He was reeling. The fist around his heart held it so tightly, every beat sent ache. And he’d failed at preventing her tears. He watched a teardrop slide down her cheek and drop off her chin. She licked at the one that followed. She was shuddering, too. And then she looked back up at him and sent the pressure inside his chest to agony-level.
“I’m sorry, Morrigan. I can’t wed with you. I can’t even tell you why. I can’t explain anything. I’m too afraid.”
“Of...me?”
“Of everything! You don’t understand. Nobody does.”
She swiped at her cheeks with both hands. Lifted a lock of her hair and then dropped it again. Frowned. And that’s when he knew exactly what to do.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘You do not wish babes?’
Did he really ask her that? And had she really given him reason? Losing a baby had nearly destroyed her. Sometimes, she’d wished it had. Her ex, Donald had told her to ‘get over it.’ He hadn’t understood. Nobody did. Not the well-meaning people who’d told her she was still young, she’d have another. Even the grief counselor had felt like a waste of time. She hadn’t even thought about having a baby until she’d been pregnant, and then – after the stillbirth – it became the most important thing in her life. She’d felt like an empty shell. Every day had dawned gray and ended black.
She didn’t think it was possible to get over losing a baby.
All she could do was find a way to live with it.
She’d finally learned how and eagerly looked forward to checking her pregnancy tests, and then the cancer had come calling...
Crap.
She needed to stop this. It wasn’t reminiscing. It was torment. And none of it bore the slightest resemblance to her current situation. If she accepted that she’d gone through a time portal and landed in a new reality, she needed to relegate what had happened to another realm. Consider it as something that happened to someone else. No. It was something that would happen. It wasn’t the past. The entire series of events were hundreds of years in the future.
Elena stared at the last of her porridge before shoving it into her mouth. She’d let it get cold. It was gag-inducing. She washed the bite down with a swallow of the concoction he’d called tea. It didn’t smell like tea. Didn’t taste like it. But the drink was warm. And wet. It could have used some cinnamon, though. And some honey.
She should have thought of it earlier. She had both items in the spice basket. Elena shuffled through the little sewn packets that looked like sachets, before picking up another honey piece. She popped it into her mouth, sucked on it, and then spun around. The top of the stool was wide. Slick. She nearly slid off before catching it with a grab at the table again.
That probably looked as silly as it felt, but she didn’t have an audience. And it wasn’t entirely her fault. Morrigan had tucked her feet into the blanket after he’d slit the rawhide bindings of her boots and pulled them off. He hadn’t given her much room with the rest of his wrapping job at all. He handled her way too easily. She probably should have struggled, or at least balked. But she’d been battling inner demons at the time. She didn’t have any fight left for him. She wasn’t used to being five-foot-nothing, either. Waifish.
Heck.
She was practically ballerina-size...
Except for this bosom.
Elena looked down at where her cleavage peeked above the blanket. Shook her head. Looked back at the fireplace. The flames looked lower. Now that she considered it, the entire room felt a bit chilly. Maybe she should put another log on. It felt like Morrigan had been gone a long time, at least an hour. She didn’t know when he’d return. He’d been very mysterious. He’d planted her on this stool. Told
her to eat. Stay bundled. He’d be back.
She watched wordlessly as he’d donned the fur coat as if he wore something besides a kilt, shoved his feet into enormous, solid-looking boots without worrying over socks, and then he’d looked back at where she perched. It was then that he’d winked. The man was gorgeous. Looking at him caused all kinds of reaction. A wink was enough to jumpstart an engine.
If they existed.
And she hadn’t been fighting tears.
Elena sucked on the honey square. It was a nice treat. But she’d need to floss and brush at some point. Floss was easy. Figuring out a toothbrush could be problematic. And it would create comment. She had a lot of pitfalls ahead. She could ignore a lot, but going without dental hygiene wasn’t going to be one of them. Telling time was another thing she needed to figure out. She didn’t have any method at the moment. Even if the sun had been out, there wasn’t even a window in this—.
This—.
Hmm.
She needed to find another moniker for his home. She’d been calling it a hovel. Shack. Hut. But right now, it looked pretty darn nice.
Something smacked against the door. Elena jumped. Then it happened again. With the third one, she knew it was knocking. Finding an opening for her legs took time, and effort. The blanket might as well be sewn shut. She hadn’t even found an edge when the door flew open, sending a blast of wintry air with it. Flames leapt behind her, highlighting Morrigan as he stepped in, turning to set a large trunk beside the one he’d brought last night. He held the door open with his butt as he brought in a large bucket full of snow. Another one followed. He moved enough that the door shut behind him, but seconds later he walked in again, this time carrying not only another bucket of snow, but what looked like a wooden cask on his shoulder.
He’d brought wine? Well. Getting drunk sounded like a grand idea.
“Oh. Good. You are still here.”
Elena gave a half-smile, although it didn’t matter. He wasn’t looking. “Where would I go?”
He grunted. Set the pail down and then lowered the keg. She’d been wrong. It was about three-fifths of a keg. The edges weren’t smooth, nor were they the same shade as the rest of the wood. It looked like somebody had recently taken an ax to it. Apparently, getting soused on wine was not on the menu, but something even more wondrous might be. Her heart quickened. Was that a tub? And had he brought snow to melt?
The keg didn’t look large enough for a child, but she could work with it. And it sounded heavenly. She was probably glowing.
Morrigan ignored her as he removed the coat. That flexed all kinds of muscle. He didn’t look toward her before turning around, either. He raised his arms to hook the fur from the rafter again. Then he pulled off his boots, one at a time. His little kilt wasn’t hiding much. Elena’s jaw dropped slightly. It didn’t seem possible, but she must have forgotten this part. The guy was unbelievable. Gorgeous. Ripped. Manly.
Wow.
He was going to make spectacular babies.
Elena was blushing as he turned back around, her flush making everything warm. And here she’d worried over temperature.
“I’ve fashioned a tub for you,” he told her. “It should work.”
“Oh, my.”
Her eyes filled with stupid tears again. She blinked rapidly until they cleared. He’d hefted two buckets and gone past her to the fire. She watched soundlessly as he settled them atop the rock hearth. Picked up a fire-poker. Worked at the fire. Lifted another log and placed it at the back. All of it showcased muscle. Might. He turned and caught her watching. He must have read her expression correctly because his eyes widened and he immediately dropped his gaze. And then two spots of color darkened his cheeks. Something shifted in the fire behind him. He jumped slightly. Elena almost giggled.
“I didn’t know you were a MacGyver,” she finally commented.
He glanced up. Looked back down. “I’m not. I am KilCreig.”
Elena laughed delightedly. He glanced up at her before looking away again.
“I’ve brought more of your belongings.”
“Really?”
“I cannot get them all. Even if I could, I have no way to transport, or even store them. Not here.”
“Cedric would probably balk, too,” Elena added. “And you’d allow it.”
“Cedric has yet to awaken.”
“We’re stealing them while he sleeps? How...fortuitous.”
She tried to keep the censure from her voice. She knew it wasn’t successful as his flush deepened.
“Cedric does not sleep. His head took a bashing last night. He struck the mast.”
Elena gasped. She remembered something he’d said. It had gone right over her head at the time. “Wait. You said ‘last rites’. When you mentioned the priest and—.”
Marriage. She finished silently.
“Aye.”
“Was that for Cedric?”
“No. The interpreter. He is worse hurt. May not last the day.”
“I’m sorry. Not about Cedric, but the interpreter.”
She was, too. She didn’t know him from Adam, but aside from Morrigan, he was the lone man who’d come to her aid against Cedric. That alone was reason to mourn.
“Cedric may not awaken.”
“I don’t wish him ill, all right? I’m just—the man tried to kill me. And he would have if you hadn’t been there. Um. Will he recover?”
“His family hopes as much.”
“He has a family?”
Morrigan nodded.
“Is that why you don’t challenge him? Take over leadership?”
Morrigan grunted. That was a cute masculine affectation that could get really old, really fast. Elena regarded him solemnly for long moments.
“That is not an answer.”
He took a deep breath. Lifted his head. Grabbed her attention. A solid sensation of heat blossomed throughout her chest. Spread from there, sending a very pleasant tingling with it. She could probably blame the clear, crystal blue of his eyes or the directness of his gaze. Maybe it was his stance. Hands on hips. Feet slightly apart. It could be due to the fact that he wore such a little piece of material or how the firelight behind him caressed every inch. She nearly sighed before catching it.
This is ridiculous. She needed a bath. Her teeth brushed. Decent attire. The last thing she should be thinking of was a lovemaking session. But, oh! It sounded nice.
“I am a stranger here, too, Elena. My destiny does not lie with this village. I have a different future.”
“I think I heard those lines in a movie once,” Elena teased.
“What?”
“Sorry. Um. I was thinking aloud. But...this explains a lot. Uh. About your character.”
He straightened. Pulled in a breath. That just put more of his abs on display. That was a really nice view. And he really should put more clothing on if he didn’t want females to notice.
“’Tis a good thing you speak our language...albeit strangely. This would be a bit more difficult.”
“What would?”
“There was a letter of introduction enclosed with the trunks. The interpreter read it before he—uh. Well. Before. I have it now if you’d like to see it.”
Elena shook her head. It was pointless. She didn’t speak or read Spanish. Yet.
“How much of your past do you remember?” he quizzed.
“Uh...”
“Do you remember anything from the New World?”
“Oh. That past. Absolutely nothing.” That was true. Her tone reflected it.
“You are a woman of great wealth. Position. And substance. Or...you were.”
“Really?”
“Your name is Margarita Elena Esmeralda Juana de Bodquin.”
He stopped as if she was supposed to say something. Elena actually grunted but stopped the smile that followed.
“You are a member of the Bodquin family. Is that familiar to you?”
“No, but I sound very important.”
“
He is the Viceroy of New Spain.”
“New Spain?” Where the heck was that?
“He controls the Spanish colonies in the new world. All of them.”
“All of them?”
Her eyes were huge. He nodded.
“Oh. My.”
She didn’t know what to say. Was there something she could say? Hadn’t that been most of South America, all of Mexico, and part of the southern U.S.? Holy crap.
“Your marriage has been arranged to Jose Manino, the Count of Flobanca. These trunks were part of your trousseau.”
“Is that...good?”
“He is one of the most important men in the Spanish court. A royal minister. I have even heard of him.”
“Oh.”
“He is very old.”
“Great. Sounds like my wedding night will be un-fun.”
“Fate has changed your destiny, Senorita. You are not wedding the Count of Flobanca.”
“I’m not?”
“Oh, no. You are not wedding with any man save me. Tonight.”
He lowered his chin and regarded her. His upper lip was lifted in a snarl. A round of shivers accompanied his statement. They added immeasurably to the tingling sensation she was already suffering. She’d never seen anything to compare him with. She didn’t even try.
“And...that is a problem?”
Her voice was breathless. It was true. It felt like he’d just stolen not only her ability to breathe, but every bit of available air.
“Your family may not approve of our union.”
“Oh. Well. Do we really have to tell them? I mean, can’t we just burn the letter? I can go back to being anonymous?”
He stiffened. That just defined more of his physique. She didn’t have the vaguest idea of why, so she just blazed on with words in a conversationalist tone.
“Um. Is my water warm yet? And...perhaps? No. It’s too much to hope.”
She’d seen steam rising. It was doing a fantastic job of coating his body. And that was doing a perfect job of tying her tongue in a knot. The man had too much in his arsenal, and she was directly in the firing line.
She was afraid she’d be drooling if this kept up.
“What?” he asked.