Beyond Time: A Knights Through Time Travel Romance Page 9

  But Claire was already standing in front of Connor. “How did you two meet?”

  “I became acquainted with Mistress Mellie at the museum.”

  Claire turned. “You are so lucky, and that accent is delish.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking up at him with her impossibly green eyes. “How long have you two been dating?”

  For a moment, Mellie thought Connor didn’t know what dating meant. It was too late to undo the lie, so she held her breath, anxious to hear what he’d say. He caught her eye and waggled his brows.

  “Not long. But she is the only one for me.”

  Claire sighed, and Mellie grabbed Connor’s arm. “Okay, bye. Have to be going now.”

  She hurried him outside and down the street, not letting go of his hand until they reached the water. There she sat down on a bench looking out over the harbor.

  “Why did you tell her we’re dating?”

  He shrugged. “I thought of ye often whilst I was imprisoned in Mint Hill.” Connor sat next to her. “You were in distress, and I wished to aid ye.”

  Mellie opened her mouth to tell him she was calling the cops so they could send the men in white coats, because he was still acting funny, but instead her traitorous mouth said, “Look, I need a boyfriend and you—” She waved a hand in the air. “You need normalcy. But there are strict conditions.”

  He snapped his gaze to hers, eyes narrowed. And before she could change her mind, she looked him in the eye and blurted it out. After all, desperate times and all that crap.

  “I kind of told my family we’ve been dating. It’s a long story, one I don’t want to get into, but I need a date for my big family reunion in a few weeks, on the Fourth of July.” She wiped damp palms on her pants.

  “Don’t worry; it’s not like I want to marry you or anything—in fact, this is a ‘no benefits’ arrangement. I just need you to be my pretend boyfriend until the reunion is over. Then you can go back to Scotland. What do you say?”

  Connor sprawled on the bench, taking up all the space. He lazily looked her up and down, one brow arched, a grin spreading wide across his face.

  “Would I bed ye?”

  “What? No, what part of ‘no benefits’ don’t you understand? There will be no bedding. My boyfriend dumped me over a month ago. On a stupid Facebook post. I’m so uninterested in a real boyfriend or any of the drama that comes along with a guy. Kissing and sex complicate everything. So forget it: no physical contact. None. At. All.”

  The amazing kiss came to mind, but she ruthlessly shoved it in a dark corner of her brain. This was business, and it would work out perfectly if he toed the line.

  “Harrumph.” The grin turned feral. “You’ll be begging me to kiss ye.”

  “Never.”

  He laughed, the sound rich and full, filling the air around them, cocooning them in a bubble.

  “You’re way too hot for me. I prefer average guys; they don’t run off with your friends. Well, the last one left me for another woman, but she certainly wasn’t my friend.” She looked him up and down. “No, you wouldn’t do at all for a long-term boyfriend.”

  Connor scowled. “Ye want me to woo ye but not to bed ye? Why should I say aye, lass? I need nothing from you.”

  She jumped as he bellowed at her. “Um, do you have a place to stay while your ID is sorted?”

  He opened his mouth then shut it. “Nay, lass.”

  “I’ll let you sleep on my couch until you can get a replacement ID and passport and make arrangements to go back to Scotland.” Where on earth did that come from? Was she like Aunt Jilly after all?

  The irritating man leaned over, elbows on his knees, not saying a word. The stubble on his cheek made her daydream of waking up on Sunday morning, eating breakfast in bed as they traded sections of the paper back and forth. She loved the Sunday paper—otherwise she was a complete online news person, but there was something about sharing an article, eating toast, and getting crumbs in the bed. He’d have tousled hair and sleepy eyes.

  “Lass?”

  Mellie was mortified to see her hand stroking his cheek while he looked highly amused, his eyes crinkling at the corners, mouth quirked up on one side.

  “I thought ye dinna wish to touch me.”

  She snatched her hand back and said in her most prim and proper voice, “It won’t happen again, trust me.”

  “As ye say, lass. Let’s be going.”

  She blinked at him, her mouth open, and shut it with a snap when she realized she must look ridiculous.

  “So you’ll do it?”

  “Aye, I will, lass.”

  She knew she was making a huge mistake. Mellie only hoped he wasn’t going to turn out to be some kind of serial killer, and a week from now the neighbors would call the police, complaining about the stench, and when the authorities arrived, they would find her head in the freezer and the rest of her body parts scattered across the apartment, as he gnawed on her arm and left muddy footprints on the sofa.

  A hysterical giggle escaped, and she shook her head when he gave her a questioning look.

  “It’s nothing. Come on, let’s go.”

  He had been looking around at everything as if he had never seen a small city before. A woman jogged by, and Mellie thought he was going to trip, his eyes bugging out of his head.

  “Do all women dress in such a manner?” He pointed to the retreating back of the jogger.

  “Of course. It’s hot. It’s just a sports bra and shorts.”

  Mellie lived on the other side of the harbor in what had once been an old sugar-processing plant and had been turned into apartments. She loved her place, with its exposed brick and wide, scarred floors. The view was what made it. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the harbor, and the terrace was fabulous. When she’d first rented, it was in an iffy part of town, and over the past couple years the area had improved. Now it was considered “eclectic,” which really meant there was still some crime, but nothing like a big city. She turned the key in the door and invited him in, rather like inviting a vampire to cross the threshold.

  “Please don’t let him murder me in my sleep,” she muttered.

  NINETEEN

  Connor eyed the array of implements in front of him and frowned. During his time at Mint Hill, a nurse shaved him. Before, he had shaved himself, so how hard could it be to use the blue razor Mellie left him? The can on the sink was for his face, to make it easier to shave. He shook it vigorously, as she had shown him before she went to the museum to earn gold.

  When he pressed down on the top of the can, blue foam covered the mirror and sink as he jumped back. Connor tried again, this time not shaking as hard, and managed to get a handful. He rubbed it all over his face, liking the way it felt—it was light and airy, and he blew at what was left on his hand, wincing as it landed on the mirror and floor. Mellie would be most displeased.

  Connor marveled at how smooth his face was after shaving. He splashed water on his skin, removing the last of the blue foam, touching his skin over and over.

  At Mint Hill, he was not allowed to linger overlong in the shower. Here there was no one bellowing at him to hurry. Connor still could not believe how water traveled through the pipes for him to use.

  The water was hot, and he snatched his hand back and looked to the other knob. One for cold and one for hot. At the other place, there was one knob and the water was only warm. He turned the cold until the water no longer burned. He had heard the Thornton women speak of showers. How they must miss such wonders. In truth, Connor thought the women were addled in the head when they claimed to come from the future. He would beg their pardon when he returned home. He did not know how far ’twas to travel from Silvercreek to North Carolina. He would have to ask Mellie when she came home from her work. He wished he had thought to ask more questions of the Thornton women. But how would he have ever known he would travel to the future? They must be wondering what happened to him, or did they think him dead?

  Connor tried to
remember what year the Thornton women had traveled from. He wondered, might he meet them before they went? Could he tell them to somehow give a message to him in his own time?

  Connor shook his head as he stood under the spray, letting it soothe his muscles, turning back and forth, pondering what he had been told.

  One thing he did remember: the women said they worried about changing history, so if he was to seek them out and said the wrong thing, might it change what had happened? Might they not go to the past?

  Thinking about the future and past made his head ache, so he looked at the bottles on the shelf. Opening one, he sniffed. It smelled of summer and roses.

  He read aloud, “Body wash, lathering and moisturizing.” Shrugging, he squirted it in his hand, and it ran down his arm. It was bright pink, and while he desired to be clean, he did not wish to smell like a woman.

  Connor rubbed himself with the gel, touching the foam as the scent of roses filled the air. He added more hot water, groaning as he eased for the first time since traveling through time. He looked at the other bottles—there was a shampoo, something called conditioner, and something called a moisturizing mask. That one was black, and he would not put it on his face.

  He poured a generous amount of shampoo in his hand and rubbed his hair, immediately realizing his mistake, for it was far too much, and the bubbles flowed all around him, in his eyes, making him wince. It stung, and his eyes leaked.

  “Bloody hell,” Connor said as he turned his face to the water to wash the foul stuff from his eyes. He was careful with the conditioner. Mellie had said it was to make his hair soft and easy to comb. She said she used it every time she washed her hair, so he would do the same. As he lingered under the water, feeling bad for wasting the precious resource, it turned cool, and he decided he should get out so Mellie would not have to heat more water for herself.

  Connor picked up a towel the color of the sea to dry off, groaning at the softness as he wiped the water from his body. He wrapped the towel around his hips and stalked into the bedroom, where she’d left him clean clothes.

  The pants were soft. Mellie had looked sad when she gave him the clothing. She said she thought she had thrown them away, but found them in a bag and said they would fit. They had been big on her boyfriend, and from the look in her eyes, he did not ask her more, but wanted to meet the man in the lists.

  The pants and shirt were tight, and the shirt stretched across his chest. Connor frowned, took it off, and pulled on the sleeves, starting as they ripped. But when he put the shirt back on, he could move his arms without feeling as if someone had tied a rope around them.

  Barefoot, he walked across the soft rug, marveling at how he sank into the softness. It was unlike any material he had ever seen in his life. He knelt down to run his hand across it. The wood beneath was warm to his touch.

  Connor sat in the large chair, legs hanging over the sides as he reached for the black rectangle she had told him would make the television speak. Connor hoped Mellie would return soon, for he was hungry.

  This television had many people to watch. Where he was before, there were only three choices. He touched a button and the scene changed. He did this many times, marveling at so many people to watch. Connor had picked up the black box to find something else to watch when the woman on the television confessed to tupping the brother, and that she had a baby no one knew about.

  Fascinated, Connor sat up, elbows on his knees, and leaned forward, straining to hear what the man would say. Would he cast her out? Beat her? Connor knew many men would kill a woman for such doings. But he did not; the man yelled and ran his hands through his hair while the woman cried, but then another woman came in the room, and just as Connor was about to find out what she was going to tell him, the picture changed.

  “Nay, I must find out what happened,” Connor yelled at the people on the screen.

  But then they were talking about food and how good it was, and it would fill you up. It looked so delicious that he swore he could smell it through the flat surface.

  And then the television talked about ale, and Connor’s stomach growled and he decided he must have sustenance before he found out what happened to the evil, lying wench on the screen. In the kitchen, he kept an eye on the box, not wanting to miss what the other woman was going to say. Did she know about the lies, the hidden babe? Connor had to know.

  When he opened the door to where Mellie told him he would find food, he was perplexed. At Mint Hill, servants prepared the food, but in the cold box, he did not see food. There were small things in packages and round containers, and he did not know how to get the food out, so he put them back.

  Then he looked at the things in the door and on the bottom of the box. Mayhap he would taste something and see what it might be. He opened the clear container, and when he smelled, his stomach recoiled. Something was dead.

  He looked around and saw where she said she threw refuse, and tossed it all in the trash. He moved to the next container. He had seven of them, but none of them were good. They were all rotten. He threw them away, and then he heard the woman’s voice and ran back to the sofa to find out what would happen.

  Unable to look away, Connor watched until other people interrupted again. Did this not make people angry? Not knowing what would happen next and having to wait to find out? How could they do such things and not expect a fight?

  Connor grunted and went to the kitchen. A shrieking noise was coming from the cold box. The door was open, so he peered inside and took out various jars. Pickles, catsup, mustard, horseradish, grape jam, hot peppers, sun-dried tomatoes, and what looked like cheese, though ’twas brighter than any cheese he had ever seen.

  Food was not what he expected here at Mellie’s home. He proceeded to taste each food, squirting the mustard in his palm and licking it, and tasting the catsup. He hoped it was not made of cats. For while many in his village said the beasts were the devil’s familiar, Connor had always liked the wee beasties, appreciating their ability to kill vermin around the estate and to keep his feet warm in the winter.

  The catsup tasted good. The horseradish? He prayed it was not made of horses as he took a big bite. Immediately fire spread through his mouth and his nose. He couldn’t breathe, his eyes leaked, and he ran to the sink, lunging desperately for the knob and drinking great gulps of the cold water to ease his pain. Why did she have such a thing? It seemed only dragons would be able to eat such fire in a jar.

  Connor closed it up and put it back, afraid to throw it away in case ’twas very valuable and she had purchased it from a wizard. Not that he believed in such things, but he would not tempt the fates. Jars were open on the counter as he tasted each food. The grape jelly tasted unlike anything he’d ever eaten. It reminded him of wine. He scooped it with his fingers, spilling it on the counter and the floor before he finished the entire jar. The pickles were also good, and he ate all of them.

  There was something called dressing and chocolate syrup left. Both tasted good. He opened the door above the big door and found a box called ice cream. He searched through the kitchen until he found a spoon, and then had to run back to watch the screen and find out how the story would end, only to bellow in frustration as they told him to tune in tomorrow at the same time to find out what would happen. How could they do such a thing and make him wait?

  All was not lost, for a new couple with different names talked of murder. Connor sat on the low table in front of the sofa, not wanting to spill the chocolate ice cream on the blue fabric as he ate, fascinated by what was happening.

  In this show, a brother was dead but not dead, and had come back for revenge. Another had been asleep in what they called a coma for a long time, and woke to find his woman was now with their father. And a sister had murdered her betrothed. So many things had happened. Maybe the Thornton women were happy to come to his time, where things were easier. Connor knew people had sex with others who were not their husbands or wives. But this? Having sex with others must be quite common. Did
Mellie behave this way? Then why was she sad about her boyfriend?

  Mayhap he must have died, for if he had been with another woman, she would yell at him and weep, and they would throw things, and the man would bring her flowers and what they called candy and jewelry, and then all would be well again.

  Connor would remember this was how everyone behaved in this day and age, and he would behave the same. For he must learn quickly how to fit in, in case he could not go back.

  TWENTY

  Connor groaned, clutching his gut. After all the things he had tasted and eaten, he wished to sleep. Rubbing his stomach, he looked at the mess he had left in her kitchen and frowned. She would be most displeased to find such disarray. He turned on the water to wash the dishes, like she’d showed him. There was something he was supposed to put them in that would clean them.

  What was it called? Connor looked around, but was not sure what she had told him. He opened something on the wall, but it had a rack, and he could not figure out how to clean the dishes. Mayhap he would wash them himself.

  There was a liquid soap that was blue, and it smelled of clothes hung in the sun to dry. He washed the dishes, squirting until foam bubbled up across the sink, across the counter, and onto the floor. Cursing, he found cloths and cleaned up the mess, though the foam was verra difficult to remove. Bubbles kept flying through the air. He could not catch them, and when he did, they vanished between his fingers.

  Once he had finished, he’d turned to look out the window when a grumble came from the kitchen. Sword ready, he stalked into the kitchen and stabbed the beast. It made a terrible screeching noise, metal meeting metal, a sound he was all too familiar with on the battlefield, and then it clanked and groaned.

  Connor stepped back and listened as the beast gave one or two more grunts and then ’twas dead. Satisfied he had destroyed whatever it was that would eat him, he put the sword on the table within arm’s reach in case another beast entered Mellie’s home.