Beyond Time: A Knights Through Time Travel Romance Page 4

  And then sleep claimed him.

  When he woke, Connor was in a bright room as blinding as a summer day, but he was inside. The light was coming from above. It hurt his eyes to look at the tiny suns.

  The daggers he’d taken were on a table, along with his boots and plaid. Why was he undressed?

  A fine cloth covered him…almost all of him. His arse was uncovered, and ’twas a good thing he was lying down, or everyone would admire his form.

  There were strange things attached to his body. He thrashed in the metal bed, but they had tied him down tight to torture him.

  This hell was full of loud noises, people coming and going, many dressed in white, but it was no convent. The smell of blood and death filled the air until he thought he would choke on the stench.

  Why was Melissa scared? Was it for him? The thought made him feel oddly protective of the lass. There was something he should remember, but no matter how he tried, he could not think why he should know this awful place. Unable to lift his arms or legs, he heard a strange noise, and then his body refused to move.

  “I’m dying. I canna bear this hell. I beseech ye, free me.”

  He succumbed.

  Mellie tapped a foot as she waited to hear how her thief of a coworker was doing. Talk about a memorable first day. It was one he’d never forget. To think she thought he was homeless or suffering from some kind of mental illness. Surely there was an explanation for him taking the dirk?

  “There goes your overactive imagination again.” It was what her brothers always said to her whenever she swore there was someone in the woods or a strange shape in the water. She couldn’t help it—ever since Santa brought her a book of fairytales when she was eight, she’d always believed there was more to this world than a person could see or touch. Too bad Mellie had never experienced anything remotely magical.

  “Mellie? I didn’t realize you were the one who brought in our interesting patient.”

  “Peter. Hi, didn’t know you were working here. Thought you were still in DC?”

  The doctor taking care of Connor was someone Mellie had met a while back when he briefly dated Amy. He was older than her, in his early thirties, and always seemed to leave in the middle of dinner. Being the low guy on the totem pole at the hospital, there were a lot of times he couldn’t show up for events and holidays, which in turn made her friend grouchy. It didn’t work out between them, though Mellie and Peter remained friendly.

  Privately, Mellie thought Amy should cut the guy some slack, given his profession, but then again, what did she know? She’d been dumped on social media, so obviously her judgment was faulty.

  “Been here six months. How’s Amy?”

  “She’s good. Currently single.”

  He shook his head, pushing the glasses up his nose. “It wouldn’t work. I’m even busier than I was then. It’s hard to date when you work all the time.”

  “Tell me about it. So how’s my coworker?”

  He ran his hands through his dirty blond curls, making him look like a hedgehog woken up in the middle of a nap. “He’s your coworker? Since when do museum employees wear kilts and carry weapons?”

  Mellie yawned, wishing she had a change of clothes. It had been a long twenty-four hours. “He’s supposed to get kids interested in history. You know little monsters—pull out a sword and they’re all ears.” She laughed.

  “Talk about staying in character. He was speaking what I’m told is Gaelic, and then he knocked out one of my orderlies, screaming about demons from hell. Had to sedate him.” He glanced at his vibrating phone before blinking at her. “Where was I?”

  “Sedating my coworker.”

  “Right.” He consulted a chart and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s get a cup of coffee and I’ll fill you in.”

  Mellie paid for Peter’s coffee and her sweet tea. He led her to a booth and took a long sip. How did doctors manage on so little sleep? If she had to function on less than seven hours, she was running on empty, cranky and prone to plotting knocking over the delicious pastry food truck that parked outside the museum during the week.

  The adrenaline had worn off, leaving her shaky, not to mention the stress of the breakup and being locked in the museum…and the storm. It was catching up fast, and all Mellie wanted to do was go home, climb into bed, and wake up a week from now.

  “I’m a bit perplexed. This guy, it’s like he came from some remote corner of a third world country.”

  The look on Peter’s face made her lean forward—not that she was eager to find out more about Connor; she was simply concerned for a coworker.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s malnourished. But that's the least of it. There’s a tremendous amount of damage that has been done to his body. Old injuries, bones that were broken and never properly set, more scars than I’ve seen on most soldiers. The wounds were crudely stitched, as if he was somewhere without access to a hospital or doctor. And while I’m not a dentist, he doesn’t have a single filling, which at our age is surprising, yet he has all of his teeth.” When he finished running his hands through his hair again, it stuck out like hers in the morning after a restless night.

  “That’s odd. I thought he said he was from Scotland, or maybe I assumed, given his accent, but he’d have modern medicine there, unless…”

  “What?”

  “Maybe he’s from one of those communes where they don’t believe in medicine or doctors?”

  Peter looked thoughtful. “It’s possible. Better than my first thought.” He chuckled. “I’d swear he came from another time, some kind of ancient warrior, but I’m at the end of my shift and the kilt and weaponry probably influenced my subconscious. He had an awful lot of weapons on him—overkill, if you ask me.”

  Mellie laughed. “Those little bloodthirsty monsters will probably be all about the weapons. Uh, how many did you find?” Had he stolen the daggers and other priceless artifacts along with the dirk? Had he taken the job just to rob the museum?

  Peter counted off on his fingers. “A big-ass sword, two dirks, three daggers, and a tiny knife. They all looked old. Is he one of those crazy re-enactor guys that takes history way too seriously? Where’d you guys find him?”

  “I have no idea. He was a new hire that was supposed to start next week, but he showed up a week early.” Mellie had known Peter long enough to know he wasn't just being the concerned doctor; he was genuinely curious.

  “Didn’t he have any identification when y’all cleaned him up?” she asked.

  “Nope, not a thing on him except some pouch at his waist which held a little knife, a bunch of ancient gold coins that look really valuable, and an old piece of bone.” He laughed.

  “Guess he really wanted to get into character.”

  But Mellie’s doubts came back full force. Connor was good-looking and obviously up to no good. If he was stealing from the museum, she’d see him in jail.

  “Can I see him? My boss, Jacob, will be by later today.”

  They left the cafeteria, Peter waving to a passing doctor. “I’ll take you back. But Mellie?”

  She threw away the trash and turned around, noting the pucker of his lips. Why couldn’t a nice guy like Peter be interested in her?

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful. You really don’t know anything about him. The guy might be staying in character, playing a part, or he might be suffering from mental illness. He acted as if he’d never seen the inside of a hospital before.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him.” Not to mention she’d be checking the weapons they found on him to see if they belonged to the museum, along with the coins he was carrying.

  “Here’s my card in case you don’t have the hospital number or my new cell. If you need anything, give me a call.”

  “I appreciate it.” Mellie trailed Peter down the corridor, lost in thought, barely noticing the antiseptic smell or everyone looking tired and sick.

  EIGHT

  “Wow, y’all don’t mess ar
ound. He’s really knocked out.” She grinned at Peter. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  “Funny, we try not to kill our patients.” Peter leaned close to Connor before straightening up, a goofy laugh escaping. “He’s fine.”

  At that moment, Connor opened his eyes and pulled her close. A squeak escaped as arms sculpted from marble encircled her, cutting off the squeak. Those all-knowing indigo eyes bored into her, and peace flowed through her veins. So this was what it was like to feel safe. Protected. Cherished.

  Her heart thumped, sounding like the bass of a radio turned up too loud. Heat bloomed across her skin, awareness sharpening and she noticed every detail. His chest heaving, the stubble on his face, the scars, and then her focus shifted as his lips met hers. No, that was entirely too polite. He claimed her. Capturing her mouth, declaring “mine” with his mouth as he pulled her halfway onto the bed and his chest, the monitors beeping in time with their heartbeats.

  With one arm, he held her, the other hand kneading her backside as heat flowed through her, turning her to liquid and making her think of summers in the South, sleeping porches, and mint juleps. When his tongue took possession of hers, she twined her hands in his hair, kissing him for all she was worth, the sounds around them fading until all she heard was the sound of two hearts beating as one, the scent of the ocean filling the air along with leather, wool, and horse. A groan escaped his throat, making her feel more powerful than any ancient goddess.

  Then a sound intruded, someone clearing their throat, then coughing. Slowly, Mellie came back to herself and pulled away, dazed, only to see the most masculine look of pure satisfaction she’d ever seen on a guy’s face.

  “What on earth is going on here? Miss, you need to get off him. Now.” A nurse scowled at them, Peter burst out laughing, and Mellie slid off Connor to applause from the guy in the next bed, who was hooting and hollering.

  “You go, girl. Get some.” He winked at the guy. “Dude. I’m gonna have to try that move.”

  Horrified by the spectacle she’d made of herself, Mellie felt like her head was on fire, her cheeks burning, and still she could smell what she realized was the scent of him. Another nurse stomped off, and Mellie swore she heard the woman call her a shameless hussy.

  “I don’t… Well. That was awkward.” She straightened her clothes and did the only thing she could. Fled. She called out over her shoulder, “I’m going to get a bottle of water or maybe a dump truck full of ice.”

  “Get me some, girl. I need a cold shower,” the guy next to them hollered.

  A low rumble sent hummingbirds darting to and fro in her stomach.

  “Nay, come back, lass. I wasna finished.”

  Her feet were already taking her back to him when she stopped. Oh no, what on earth was happening? Unwilling to think about it, Mellie broke into a run before she heard another word.

  On the way back to her coworker, she heard the commotion before she reached his bed. There were six or seven orderlies all around trying to hold Connor down without getting slugged. He was bellowing in Gaelic again.

  Then he saw her, and like the Hulk after being touched by the Black Widow, he calmed, switched to English, and demanded, “Where are my blades?”

  “Connor. Stop. You’re in the hospital. Remember the storm? You were hurt. Stop thrashing around this instant before you tear your stitches.”

  He glared at Peter and sneered. “Bloody English, always taking what doesna belong to them.”

  An orderly ventured too close and took a fist to the nose, and blood streamed down his face before they sedated Connor again. Mellie didn’t think; she pushed between the remaining orderlies, placing a hand on Connor’s arm. Wild eyes met hers and she willed him to calm.

  “You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. They’re trying to help, to heal you. Can you tell them how you were injured?” She waved a hand around him. “All this damage couldn’t be from the storm alone.”

  “Longbow, one of the Armstrong’s men, bloody bastard.” He pointed from his hand to his shoulder. “Blades. Three cowards.” Then he shrugged. “The rest I know not. Now come, lass, and let me tumble you.”

  “Careful, Mellie.” Peter took her arm, pulling her back from Connor’s long reach. “Knew we should have kept him restrained.”

  The guy in the next bed, who she’d heard was in a gang and had been shot, looked impressed. “Damn, dude, you’re a total badass.”

  Connor bared his teeth like a wild animal. The heavily tattooed guy held up his hands. “No offense, bro. It’s all good.”

  Connor made a sound in the back of his throat but stopped lashing out, instead totally focusing on her, and yet she had the feeling he could tell her what everyone in the room was doing. Why wasn’t the sedative kicking in?

  Peter took a tentative step closer. “We’re going to keep you overnight, run some tests.” He leaned close to Mellie. “I’m ordering a psych evaluation.”

  She took Connor’s hand in hers, distant memories rolling through her: Aunt Jilly being taken away in the middle of the night, lots of screaming and broken glass.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “Maybe you hit your head? Do you remember you’re supposed to start work at the museum next week?”

  “I am in hell. This wretched place could be nothing else.” Connor clapped his hands over his ears as an alarm went off. Peter nodded to one of the nurses, who injected something into the IV. Connor blinked for a moment before falling back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut.

  “He’ll be out for a while,” Peter said. “Can I talk to you a moment?”

  With Connor out cold, the commotion died down, the gang member in the next bed turned his attention to the TV, and unease made it difficult for Mellie to breathe. She followed Peter down the corridor until they were far enough away that no one would hear them.

  “Go home and get some sleep. You went above and beyond, coming here with a coworker you don’t even know.” He sighed. “Look, I don’t want you hanging around this guy. He’s dangerous. Even the gang member was intimidated by him.”

  He made a face. “The way he slobbered all over you, disgusting. Like he was going to devour you.” Peter peered closely at her. “Though you didn’t seem to mind it too much. Is that the kind of guy you go for? The Neanderthal type?”

  “Shut up, Peter. You’re crossing a line. I was surprised, that’s all, and while he might be a lunatic, the guy sure knows how to kiss. I’ve never been kissed like that in my entire life.” Laughter bubbled up, the sound of someone coming unhinged.

  With a frown, he looked at his watch. “The authorities will be here shortly. They’ll find out who he really is. Did you know he told one of the nurses he was in a battle in Scotland? In 1334.”

  “In 1334? That’s funny. Come on, Peter, you said it yourself: he’s staying in character. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  But he was interrupted from saying anything more as alarms sounded, echoing down the corridor. A nurse, face red and out of breath, skidded to a stop in front of them.

  “Doctor! That crazy man, he’s escaped.”

  A terrible feeling went through Mellie. She knew who they meant. And sure enough, they entered the room to find Connor’s bed empty, the shooting victim in the next bed laughing so hard, he was wiping his eyes.

  “He tore out like the po-po were comin’ for him, guns blazin’.”

  Peter took his glasses off. “What did I tell you? Your coworker is a criminal and a very disturbed person.”

  “Isn’t it possible he hit his head and can’t remember who he is?” Quit defending him, Mellie thought. Just because he kisses like he invented the act doesn’t mean he isn’t a thief or crazy.

  “He may be suffering from temporary amnesia, but now I’m of the mind he’s disturbed and a criminal. He pretended to be your coworker and broke into the museum to rob it.” Peter pointed to the table by the bed. “Look, he took the coins and weapons with him.” He then pointed to the empty space where, in
deed, all of the blades were gone, along with the coins, though he’d left the kilt and shirt.

  She fingered the material, looking closer at the shirt. It was handmade. What kind of thief went to that much trouble? Mellie caught the eye of the guy in the other bed, who shook his head.

  “I didn’t see nothin’. That guy’s badass.”

  She chewed her lip, making a decision she would probably regret later. “I’m going to see if I can find him.”

  Peter shook his head. “You haven’t changed. Still taking on hopeless causes.”

  Instead of answering, Mellie made her way out of the hospital, asking along the way if anyone had seen a man fleeing, hands full of swords and knives. And the niggling worry followed along, warning her, but she ignored the voice, fingers pressed to her lips.

  NINE

  A dazed woman grabbed Mellie’s arm as she ran out of the hospital.

  “Did you see that hottie with the open gown running down the street? I haven’t seen a backside that fine since I was in high school.”

  “Which way did he go?”

  The woman pointed, a dreamy smile on her face. It was the same for several blocks—Mellie looked for people with various expressions of shock, surprise, anger, or anything other than the usual blank leave-me-alone face that people wore when walking down the street. In the middle of Honeysuckle Park, she found him.

  “No, don’t. He’s injured,” she yelled, running to stop the four cops from hurting Connor, who was crouched, teeth bared, swinging a sword with one hand and holding a dagger with the other. He looked like a painting come to life, and for a moment she simply admired his form. Then the shouting snapped her out of daydreams of a knight carrying off the damsel in distress to a land without social media or cell phones.

  “Whoa, look out, Jones.” But Jones was too late, and took a smack with the sword. So Connor wasn’t trying to kill them—he purposely made sure to angle the blade so it wouldn’t cut. Another cop landed on his back in the grass, spitting blood, and then, just as fast as it had begun, it was over.