Snowflakes in Summer (Time Tumble Series Book 1)

by Elizabeth Preston

  I nodded. His words were all it took. I felt the first tightening strike. Wave upon wave of enjoyment followed. Why was it not this easy with other men? He tossed me onto my back and took his own relief, his mouth open, his passion whispered in gasps against my neck.

  We lay together afterwards, my head rested on his chest. When our breaths evened, I spoke. “I visited a woman called Jean today, a friend of Ada’s.”

  “I know her,” he said, stroking my hair.

  Looking into his eyes, I said, “Do you know that her child is sick? Ada says that many of the children at Tor have this very same illness.”

  “Aye, the flux ’tis commonplace, is it not?”

  “Dysentery,” I murmured and shook my head.

  “Dysen . . . what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “’Tis a childhood illness, one that cannot be helped.”

  I pulled myself to a sitting position. “Where I come from, the flux is not an inevitable part of childhood. We know what causes it, most of the time, anyway, so we’re able to avoid it.”

  Bern sat up, too. “What causes the flux, Caitlin? Tell me.”

  “It’s simple. Most of the time it comes from unwashed hands. I know that the folk in Tor Castle wash their hands and faces before they eat, and that is good. But it’s also important to wash hands with soap before preparing food. And again after using the garderobe. Hand washing is especially important after any contact with sick people.”

  “That’s a lot of hand washing.”

  “I know. There’s more. Everyone needs to bathe their whole bodies—in tubs or in the loch, but not in the same stream where folks drink from, or get cooking water from.” The way he was looking, anyone would think I’d said the strangest thing.

  “Many o’ my clan believe that washing the body is akin to slighting God.”

  “I know, and that’s a shame. You Highlanders are a great race of warriors. My people cannot fight like you can. Instead of using our physical strength, we must use our minds. We’ve learned many things over the past few hundred years. We write down what we learn so that everyone does not need to relearn the same stuff over and over again. My people read about all the things they need to know. All this stored knowledge available to us means we have more time, frees us to learn and discover more.”

  He sat quietly, his head down. Had I said too much? Was this the moment he’d accuse me of being a witch?

  “What country do you speak of, Caitlin?”

  I closed my eyes. Of course I knew this question was coming. At the best of times, it was never far away, but at least by now, I’d had time to prepare a half believable answer. It was obvious that Bern did not think I was a Viking from the North. Nor did he think I was Scottish because I sounded nothing like him or his people. Equally, I did not sound like a Sassenach, even though I spoke a strange form of English. Bern really had no idea where I was from, and that not knowing was consuming his thoughts. I decided to voice my biggest fear.

  “I suppose you think that I’m a witch? I know that superstition and witchcraft are strongly held beliefs here in Scotland.”

  “You’re no’ a black witch. Nay. Your heart is too pure for that.” He picked up my hand and placed it over his heart. “Are ye some sort of seer, mayhap?”

  I had thought I might run with this explanation. But I also wanted to confide in Bern as much as I possibly could. I had so much information to share, so many ways I could help his people. If I labeled myself as “seer” I might be able to give him some of my knowledge and put it down to “seeing.”

  “I am a seer, of sorts. But I only see big events, so I can’t tell you what will happen in the lives of everyday people. I have no idea who will live or die. I can only see the huge things—like wars, and who will be king, and how illnesses are caused.”

  Bern nodded. “’Tis the big events that count.” His eyes were alive with interest, hungry for any knowledge that would help.

  “There’s more. This bit of knowledge should help keep your clan healthy.”

  He picked up my hand and began kissed my palm. Right now he seemed more interested in the smoothness of my fingers than in keeping his clan disease free. Even though what he was doing was distracting, I pushed on. “I want you to get rid of the under rushes on the floor. I know you put fresh rushes down every now and then, but they go on top of the old rushes. It is these old rushes that carry bad things: scraps of food, rats, fleas, human waste, all manner of horrible things are down there, in those old rotting grasses. Those under layers need to be cleared off the floors and burned.”

  His hand was rubbing my thigh now, his fingers inching up under my dress. My core was already beginning to heat.

  “How is it that you know about dirty rushes and disease but can’t even ride a horse, or milk a goat? ’Tis most strange,” he said, his teeth grazing my neck.

  “Everyone in my country is the same. Our lives are different so we know different things. In some ways, our lives are more complicated, so we need to know more complicated things.”

  “I will visit your country, Caitlin. I am determined about that. Ye will take me and I’ll no’ be put off. I insist. I am not asking, I am telling ye. We will ride or sail or walk if need be, even if the journey lasts from Candlemas to Samhain. I must see this strange land of yours with my own eyes and learn of your strange ways.”

  I drew in a deep, troubled breath. “No. We cannot ride or sail or walk to my country. That is not how we get there.”

  He was slow to ask the next question, as if he knew he might not like the answer. “Then how do ye get to your homeland?”

  Here goes, here was my way out, my escape route home. “If you’re prepared to help me get back to Doral Castle, I mean inside Doral Castle, right into the kitchen, then you can watch me go back home.”

  He grabbed hold of my arm. “What on earth do ye mean?”

  “I know that I sound absurd, Bern, but I’m prepared to show you how it’s done, how I get back and forth, from my country to yours.” My heart was pounding now, fearing that I’d overdone it, that he’s soon scream, witch, and then order me boiled. But I was fairly sure that he was developing feelings for me, a tenderness, and I was pretty sure he wanted me alive. Problem was, I was developing feelings for him, too. Already it would hurt to leave him. But I could think of no other way to get home, if not through him. I needed a way into Doral Castle, and by the sounds of it, I needed Bern’s might and reputation to manage that.

  “Are ye saying that if we go inside Doral Castle, we’ll be able to find our way t’ your country?”

  I nodded, then leaned over and kissed his bare chest. “My love, I know how this sounds, I really do. But I am not crazy. I am not a witch. All I have is knowledge. Can you find it in your heart to believe me?”

  He smiled. “I really want to, but ’tis nay easy.”

  “I know. Believing my story takes lots of faith.”

  He shook his head. “Not sure we’re taking about faith, here. Sounds like there’s one almighty tunnel built under the kitchen of Doral castle. Am I right?”

  That was almost believable, sort of. Maybe I could run with that idea. I hated lying to him, because I really liked and admired the man. But then, I also wanted to survive. Bern seemed to believe that I came from an unknown country that was accessible through one almighty long tunnel that no Scot, until now, knew about. I could already see his mind ticking over, thinking of the advantages of that tunnel during warfare.

  He smiled. “We will go to Doral Castle, and soon. I wish to see this giant tunnel for myself. And the two of us will journey through it till we reach this strange new country of yours.” He thrust his firm, beautiful arm around my narrow shoulders and hugged me tight. “I am already excited, lass. I love a stirring adventure.”

  I smiled, trying t
o seem enthusiastic, too. Of course I needed to get home, but Bern could not come with me, not all the way home. I wasn’t even sure I could get back myself. I didn’t know if I needed my Viking outfit or if the way home was by simply sitting on the bench seat in the original kitchen in Doral Castle. Looks like I was about to find out though, sooner rather than later.

  Most of all, I dreaded leaving him behind. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, I already had feelings, strong feelings for the man. I’d never find another like him, not anywhere, past or future. No one could hope for two Berns in one lifetime.

  He reached over and touched my lips with his mouth. I broke away. “Before we journey to my homeland, let me help the folk in Tor Castle first. There are things that must be changed. I must help before we go.”

  Bern was still trying to kiss me. “Mmmm,” he murmured, “like what?” I could tell he really wasn’t that interested. His chest was pressed into me and I was quickly losing interest in what I had to say, too. I kissed him back, the lust inside me blooming. Bern was only going to be in my life for a short while so best I make the most of our time together. I would make memories that would feed me, keep me nourished for months or even years. Back in the twenty-first century, all I’d have would be my dreams of him in my bed.

  Chapter 10

  Caitlin

  I spent the week that followed getting to know my magical Scottish man, and much of that time was spent in his chamber. I could not keep my hands off him, and he, equally, could not keep his hands from me. It became obvious over the week that Bern’s feelings for me were genuine. I could tell from a myriad of little things he did. He held my hand without shame of others seeing and kissed me once in front of the great hall of men.

  And there were the presents. I’d admitted to liking apple pie so the very next day, one of the cooks delivered a freshly baked, hot fruit pie to his solar. We ate it in bed. Yesterday he went off on his horse to see to the crops at the edge of his land and came back with a drawstring bag filled with wildflowers for me. I smiled thinking of my great hulking Highlander bending down picking one stalk after another. When he finally arrived back at Tor, I was down in my old chamber, the bedroom I no longer slept in. All my nights were spent with him now. But I was down there checking on my bag of Viking clothing, keeping the outfit safe.

  He’d blasted his way along the bailey, his boots crunching the stones, then into the hall. He arrived yelling my name. Soon enough he realized that I wasn’t there so charged down the hallway, headed for the spare bedchamber I was in. He roared into my room like a demented beast, upsetting the folk in his path. He saw me then and stood still. He released the breath he’d been holding and then his eyes closed.

  “There ye are.”

  “Did you think I’d left you?”

  “Aye.”

  We moved into each other, our chests pressed tight, his arms enveloping mine.

  “I want ye to promise me something.”

  He must have noticed the look of dread on my face. I hated making promises I couldn’t keep.

  “Promise that you’ll no’ try to run off to Doral Castle without me.”

  I nodded. “I promise.” I’d always planned to take him as far as Doral anyway, so I could promise that one with ease. I teased, “You don’t want to miss out on the adventure, do you?”

  He laughed and held me tighter. “Something like that.”

  I knew I was making light of his affection for me and I was ignoring my own feelings, too. The parting would be painful for both of us now, but eventually we’d have to separate.

  The following day Bern introduced me to Elspeth. Elspeth was the wife of one of Bern’s best men-at-arms, or had been until Elspeth’s husband had gotten himself killed in yet another skirmish with the Vikings.

  “You’ll warm to her, lass,” he promised me. “If there’s another wee girl in Tor Castle that’s anything like ye, it’s our Elspeth.”

  He was right, too. We bonded immediately.

  “Shall we ride off and visit the serfs this morn?” Elspeth asked, as if that would be an adventure I might enjoy. She’d told me about the poor conditions the peasants lived in, and how they would benefit the most from any information I had to share.

  “You know I can’t ride, Elspeth.”

  Her fists were already on her hips. “Well, ye best walk then.” I knew she was teasing. She was an accomplished rider so as long as she could manage a decent-sized horse, we could both share the one stallion. Elspeth and I wrapped small rounds of goat cheese and bunches of kale as presents for the poor and headed off.

  It did not take long to reach the fields tended by the serfs or peasants. What shocked me was the sight of the small children, children younger than ten working alongside their parents in the fields.

  “Look at all the children, Elspeth. They’re so young and they’re working already.”

  She smirked. “They’re not nobility, Caitlin. Of course they are working. And they’re not that young either. The lassies are nay usually put to work in the field till they’ve lived seven summers.”

  “Seven. That’s horrible. They should be learning to read and write.”

  She rolled her eyes. “They may as well get used to hard work because the serfs have a life time of it ahead. Not that they live as long as the castle folk, of course.”

  “What are they doing?” I could tell the topic was of little interest to her because she encouraged the horse to canter on.

  “Digging stones most likely. ’Tis their job to remove the small stones from the growing earth.”

  We stopped outside a modest huddle of houses, shelters much like the mud and daub hut I’d been imprisoned in when I arrived. Elspeth brought the horse to a stop, jumped down and then offered her hand. I slid down, too. A baby was crying in the distance and that sound was layered with the noisy chatter of infant children.

  A peasant woman popped out of one of the huts to greet us. She was carrying a new baby wrapped in swaddling. The child was bound up like a mummy with only its face showing. I’d read about swaddling of course and knew that in times past, children were wrapped like this till they could sit up. Medieval folk believed that swaddling was necessary otherwise arms and legs would not grow straight.

  “Agnes, this is Caitlin. She’s a favorite with our laird. I’m taking her for a wee run outside the castle and thought we’d stop by your home. We have a wee gift for your kin.” Elspeth fished into her bag and pulled out a cheese and kale bundle.

  Agnes beamed at the sight of the free food. “Miladies,” Agnes said, nodding to both of us.

  “It’s just plain ‘Caitlin’” I corrected, with a smile. “I’m not married to Laird Bern, and I’m not a lady either.”

  Elspeth laughed. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Not ever,” I whispered. “I’ll be heading off soon, back to my own country. It’s high time I went home.” Elspeth rolled her eyes and Agnes studied the free bundle of food, barely listening.

  Agnes accepted our gift. “I’m afraid I’ve naught to offer ye in return.”

  “We wish to talk. That will be payment enough,” Elspeth said, and I readily agreed. As if we’d consider taking anything from her! Poor Agnes was dreadfully thin, clearly undernourished. The woman needed every morsel of food she had.

  The sound of our strange voices brought more people out of their huts, and a gang of children came running from the forest. One of them was carrying a doll, a homemade toy that had been roughly carved from wood and then clothed in a dirty rag.

  “Can I see your poppet?” Elspeth asked, and mimicked cuddling a baby. The tiny child, who couldn’t have been older than four or five, beamed and offered up her toy to be admired. “My. She is going to be a bonnie one when she grows.”

  “Aye,” the girl answered.

  The little girl’s
friend popped out from behind the security of her mate’s back. She was wearing bedraggled clothing that would have been considered too torn and grubby to use as rags in my century. I couldn’t help thinking of all the clothing I’d thrown away, and all the outfits that hung unworn in my wardrobe at home.

  The girl spoke directly to me. “We were having a burial for my dolly.” She held up her own doll wrapped in a death shroud. The wee girl wore a tatty blanket over her head and I realized then what she was meant to be: a mourner in a funeral procession. The wailing we’d heard as we arrived was this small gang of girls play-acting, pretending to weep and wail as they buried their dead babies. I was stunned, too shocked to know what to say.

  “Do you like to paddle in the river?” I asked, changing the subject. “I used to enjoy stomping about in water when I was your age.”

  She turned her head to the side. I’m sure she found my words and accent strange.

  “Shall I show you how I can make a stone jump across the water?” I offered.

  She nodded so I led both girls to the brook. Agnes and Elspeth, still carrying Agnes’s swaddled baby, followed. I found the best flat, smooth stone I could and then jumped it across the shallows. The girls clapped. Such a simple thing, and they both looked thrilled. We hung around at the water’s edge, Elspeth chatting about the health of Agnes’s baby, and me, teaching the two girls a couple of rhymes. We stayed a while because it was sunny and because I got the feeling that these two small girls got very little attention. I ached to bring them food, and toys. I vowed to talk to Bern later, to see what could be done for them.

  Elspeth was more taken with the baby than I was. After a while, the mother went off into her hut and came out carrying a small bowl of something she called “pap.” She handed it to Elspeth. I couldn’t believe what Elspeth did next. She put the white pap mix into her own mouth, chewed, then using her fingers, pulled it out of her mouth. Then she placed the chewed pap onto the baby’s tongue. I knew my eyes would show my surprise so I dipped my head. Imagine someone in the twenty-first century letting a near stranger chew food for their baby!