Chapter Five
“Love isn’t soft like those poets say.
Love has teeth which bite…”
~Stephen King
Angel had heard the tumble and crash of furniture. By the time she reached the bottom steps, Brian had already escaped the house. Granny called for him to come back, but he didn’t respond. The gate banged against the fence as he disappeared down the street.
“What happened?” She plunked her butt onto the bottom step, struggling to pull on her shoes.
“I spoke aboot his circumstances too soon.”
Granny’s brogue thickened…not a good sign. Angel fumbled tying her laces. “What circumstances, exactly?”
She could barely contain her excitement. “He’s like grandpa, isn’t he? He’s a time-traveler.”
“It would seem so.”
“I knew it. I just knew it when I first laid eyes on him. Oh, good Lord, Granny, you must have scared him to death.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I did. When I mentioned the date, he panicked and bolted out the door.”
“I’ll find him. Don’t worry, I’ll bring him home.”
“Angel, if I’m correct about his origins, he’ll be in a very fragile state. I bungled my attempt to help him understand what has happened. Please do better than I did, but don’t overwhelm him with your enthusiasm.”
Enthusiasm? Perhaps so, but right now she needed to find him. Angel ran out the door, thought to get her car, then decided it would waste too much time and took off at a fast clip. It didn’t take long before she heard shouts and brakes screeching. He couldn’t be too far ahead. She turned a corner and saw Brian fall when a car hit him, but before a gasp left her lips, he jumped up and took off at a pace that defied his injuries.
Thank God, she loved track and had won the city championship three years in a row. Unfortunately, his speed far outpaced hers. When she turned the next corner, she had to ask people whether they’d seen a mad, kilted man running down the street. By the time she spotted him again, his gait appeared slower though obviously still determined to escape. But to where? Where did he think he was going? Several blocks of busy streets separated them. She realized he would soon reach Golden Gate Park and then it would be harder to find him. If he didn’t slow down soon, keeping up with him would become impossible. Evidently, an injured Highlander could best her at her top physical condition.
She watched in horror as several cars nearly hit him again. Still too far ahead to hear her, she called out his name anyway. When she failed to check for traffic and jumped off the next curb a car almost slammed into her. The man in the car jumped out cursing at her while another car blocked her passage.
“Sorry, sorry, gotta, go, can’t stop. Emergency.” She spun backward and turned in a circle maneuvering between the vehicles. When she turned toward the woods of Golden Gate Park, Brian had disappeared into the trees.
She ran down the path, turning her head left and right searching for the now familiar muted greenish-blue and brown wool plaid. Brian’s tall stature and muscular build should make him easy to find, but her efforts failed to locate him. She stopped a few joggers until one said he’d seen a man fitting her description run off the path. When she asked for specifics, he just waved his hand indicating somewhere along the western edge of the trail. After another fifteen minutes with no sight of him, she started to backtrack and stepped off the trail to wind through the trees and bushes.
“Brian. Brian, can you hear me? Please answer.” Panic assailed her at the thought of not finding him. “Dammit, Angus Brian Cameron, answer me right now!” Squawking seagulls offered the only reply.
Exhausted, she slumped against a tree and slid to the ground. “Where are you, Brian? Please answer me.” No one could possibly hear that whispered plea.
Eyes closed, she leaned against the tree and listened as the wind ruffled through branches overhead. Then she rolled over on her belly and scanned underneath the thick brush. There! A weird clump of greenish-blue and brown cloth peeked out between a wide tree trunk and a cluster of wild rhododendron bushes. She crawled under the prickly branches and found Brian rolled into a fetal position, unconscious, with streaks of blood staining the dirt. She touched his shoulder gently, afraid he’d wake thrashing and ready to fight. He didn’t move.
“Brian,” she shook his shoulder. “Angus Brian Cameron, wake up.” When he didn’t move, she lay down behind him, wrapped her arms around his muscled body, and carefully moved his hand from his ear.
“Brian, you have to wake up now.” He moaned and tucked tighter into a fetal position.
“That’s it. Wake up. It’s me, Angel. I need to take you back home. You are too big to carry, and I didn’t bring my car.” He moaned again but didn’t move.
She leaned up on one elbow and wiped sweat and dirt from his brow. She bent to his ear, “Brian, it’s Angel.”
She didn’t know what possessed her to kiss him, but she began to feather light kisses over his temple, down along his jaw and back up. When she reached his ear, she sucked his earlobe between her teeth and bit down. Lightly at first, and then she nipped his neck at the juncture of his shoulder, this time with more force.
He rolled over until she found herself partially pinned beneath his hard body, staring up into eyes as green as the overhead canopy. His burnt chestnut hair fell over his forehead in disarrayed clumps. Her breath stopped, but she didn’t flinch or turn away. She held his gaze, his beautiful, startled gaze. The hard body pressed against her chest and hips did strange things to her insides. He dipped his head and pressed a light brush of lips over her mouth, then glazed her lips with his tongue until she opened her mouth and welcomed his intrusion.
When he lifted his head for breath, she attempted a bit of levity, always her awkward first response to passion. “You’re not supposed to make a girl run all over creation trying to catch you.” She looked down at his leg pressed between her thighs where his erection hardened against her hip.
“And I think you’re bleeding all over my jeans.”
Interminable seconds passed before he moved or spoke, his penetrating glare terror-laced. Then he rolled onto his back and threw his arm across his forehead. “Forgive me m’lady, but I thought ye just bit my lug and shoulder. Either I’m delusional, or just a glaikit bastard.”
Angel sat up, dusted off her jeans, and laughed. She knew those terms well; her grandfather had used them often when disparaging his fellow Scots or when referring to what he termed “stupid young dandies.”
“Well, that may be so, but your glaikit-bastard-self needs to get up off your arse and come home with me. Now.”
He dropped his arm and stared at her in open-mouthed shock. She stood up and offered him her hand. “A lot of things have changed in the world, Brian. Women can and do curse freely now, just like men, if they wish to. They can even bite your lug and neck.” And thoroughly enjoy the encounter. Nothing in her experience explained the visceral attraction that drew her to this wild, fierce man but drawn she was. “You’ve suffered a terrible shock, but you’re among friends. We’ll be your family for as long as you need or want us. You’ll be alright, I promise.”
He still didn’t move. “Please, take my hand and get up. You’ve reopened your wounds and probably caused no shortage of additional damage, and I can’t even offer you a ride because I left my car at home.”
* * *
Granny M met them as they re-entered the house.
“I’m sorry I upset ye, lad.” She led him back to the room from which he’d escaped; Angel still nestled beneath his shoulder helping him limp toward an unknown destiny. He hadn’t uttered a word of thanks to the lass—his angel, who had come to his rescue for the second time in this torturous, agonizing day.
Granny took his other arm. “Come into this room and let me explain the plumbing so you can shower. After you’ve cleaned up, we’ll calmly discuss things over a nice cup of hot chocolate.”
She stepped through a partially ajar door into a room with a small window about six feet up the wall. Sparse light entered, leaving the room in soft shadow. Her fingers flicked against a plate on the wall and the room burst with light as if she’d lit several braces of candles, yet no candles burned, and she’d struck no flint. He couldn’t repress flinching at the sudden brightness, but she didn’t seem to notice or chose to ignore his discomfort. Angel tightened her hold at his waist.
“This room is a bathroom. In your time, you might have called it a garderobe, though those facilities wouldn’t have been so fine. This switch provides the lighting.” Granny flicked it a few times extinguishing and re-illuminating the source of light. “I’ll explain that in more detail later.”
Then she lifted the lid on a porcelain white seat partially filled with water. “This is where you do your business.” Angus just shook his head; he’d seen commodes of wood and even one of porcelain in his life, but not in a room as lavish as this one. Certainly, no lady or chatelaine would discuss such delicate matters, they’d instruct servants to provide this information to guests. Perhaps the servants attended other duties because he’d yet to see a servant anywhere in the house.
“After you’ve completed your business, simply push this handle, and the waste will flush away.” A demonstration caused water to whoosh from the bowl then refill quickly as if by magic. She moved to a glass enclosure where she pulled open the door. “This is the shower; these handles will provide fresh hot and cold water. Watch carefully.” She turned the handles explaining the way to get the right temperature, and a fountain of water gushed forth.
The unflappable Lady Sinclair, known to all as, Granny M, continued her explanations in a calm steadily assuring voice, while his limbs and mind ached as though enemies had stretched his body on a torture rack.
From a shelf beside a mirrored counter holding another porcelain bowl, she pulled down a thick, dark-blue bundle of cloth. “This is your washcloth and drying towel. She picked up something beside the porcelain bowl, “a bar of soap to clean those wounds you can reach, the water will wash the others well enough until we tend them.” She tapped her fingers on the porcelain bowl, “this is the sink,” she explained, turning the handles and causing water to gush forth there as well. “For quick ablutions, but today you need to stand in that shower for a while.” Then, evidently finished with her instructions, she stepped out of the room.
He looked up at the polished surface above the sink and scrunched his forehead as he observed his image with Angel still anchored at his waist. This was no hammered tin or copper plate. This surface reflected their images to perfection, more precisely than the greatest artist could have rendered. They both looked disheveled, he the worst, with matted hair and dried blood everywhere. She also sported blood on her shirt and dirt and leaves in her hair.
“It’s just a mirror—a reflective likeness.” She reached forward and traced a perfect arch outlining their images with a long slender finger. Angel addressed his haggard sunken reflection in the mirror. He knew the word from Old French, mireoir, to reflect, but he’d never seen any surface so flawlessly capture one’s image.
“You’re doing just fine, Brian. Don’t fret. We’ll be able to help you and answer all your questions. Just give it a little bit of time. Trust me, all will be well.” She squeezed her hand against his waist again. The strength of her grip and heated body pressed against him penetrated his dazed mind. She anchored him as nothing and no one else could. If he trusted nothing else, he knew he could and did trust her…with his life. How had that happened in less than a day’s acquaintance?
Granny M returned, placed a basket on the counter, and hung a plush white robe on a hook. “Place your soiled clothing in this basket.”
She assessed him from head to foot. “You’re close in size to Angel’s brother. I’ll set fresh clothing on the bed for your use. They may not be perfect, but they’ll do until we can find something better. I’ll soak your clothing, and we’ll see if they’re salvageable. Do you have any questions?”
Yes, yes, I have a thousand questions. His head spun, and he wanted to scream, but instead, he released Angel, straightened his back, and politely answered, “No’ right now m’lady.”
“Good, I’ll return shortly.” She turned to leave.
Brian found words difficult to form. “Thank ye for yer…hospitality. I… apologize…” he couldn’t finish his sentence and shifted from foot to foot.
“Not to worry, lad, no apologies needed.” She patted his arm. “Now step into that shower and scrub off the grime. Don’t take too long, though; we need to tend those injuries as quickly as possible.”
Angel glanced at him one last time as she walked away. “I’ll be waiting outside the door. Yell, if you need me.” He wanted to scream her name out, beg her to stay beside him. What the hell! I’m losing what little sense hasn’t already spilled out of my head.
A stream of warm water cascaded over his body, reducing the tension and relaxing his muscles. Dirt and blood washed down his limbs and pooled at his feet as he leaned his forehead against a cool, tiled wall. His mind screamed denials at every image and recollection of the last few hours.
The women seemed kind, serene, completely unfazed by that ridiculous story about time-travel, especially his angel. He’d nearly committed an unthinkable act of battle-lust when he’d woken to the sting of her teeth on his earlobe. Then she’d bit his neck. What possessed her to behave so brazenly? She was otherwise sweet, gentle; everything a lady should be despite overly direct manners and bizarre dress.
Time-travel, time-travel, time-travel. He repeatedly hummed the words into the enclosure. Ridiculous! Yet what else could explain the terrifying things he’d witnessed. Could the future really be so frighteningly different from his time? On further thought, everyone kenned of people who’d gone missing from places, especially around the standing stones. Had they truly died by the hand of an enemy or, as Angel and her granny suggested, mayhap they’d experienced what had happened to him and slipped through time. Who could really say? What a hellish mess.
He turned his thoughts to Angel. Feisty—no other word described her unperturbed reaction to his appearance in her life. A fiery ray of sunshine in this otherwise terror-filled day, her smile, her joyful demeanor, her quiet beauty gave him hope and nudged his meanderings to more lustful thoughts as he recalled her supple body lying beneath his only a short while ago.
“Ach, mon, gather yerself and stop lusting after the lass who saved yer life and whose family shelters ye.” Angus turned off the water, shaking his head at the marvel of drawing water with the turn of a handle. The wonders he’d already seen awakened a curiosity and desire to explore more of this strange world.
After soaping down and rinsing, some of his wounds started to bleed again. He decided not to soil the plush white robe and wrapped the large dark blue towel around his hips.
While sorting through the clothes left at the foot of the bed, a knock sounded at the door.
“May I enter, lad?”
“I’m not dressed, m’lady.”
“Are you covered?”
“Aye, ah...” he didn’t finish before Granny opened the door. “I think something from that stack will work,” she pointed to the cloths beside him. “But first we need to tend your injuries.”
A man equal to Angus’ height and breadth of shoulder entered behind Granny and extended his hand in greeting. “Hello, I’m Angel’s father, Alistair Adair. I can see Granny did not underestimate the extent of your wounds. We need to tend those immediately, lad.”
Angus firmly grabbed the man’s forearm in a typical Highland style of greeting. Their words still baffled him. Everything about Granny’s presence in his room screamed impropriety, but he attended the civilities. “’Tis an honor to meet ye, sir. I’m verra grateful for the courtesies yer family has extended me.”
“We’re glad to help you, young man. Now, throw that robe around your shoulders and follow me to my surgery. We’ll have you fixed in no time.”
Angus followed Alistair across the hallway and into a spacious room with bookshelves lining one wall, a large wooden desk sat in front of the shelves with a set of double glass doors on one side. On the other side of the room, a raised narrow bed on metal legs stood beside another sink. Next to it, stood a glass-fronted wardrobe containing multiple shelves filled with bottles, linen bindings, and other items he could not identify.
“I’m very sorry to hear of the loss of your father, Brian. I know my words are inadequate to acknowledge all you’ve lost and all you’ll need to endure to acclimate to your new situation. Try not to fret overmuch.”
Alistair gestured toward the narrow, metal bed while he pulled open a black leather bag. “If you’ll please lie down on the table, we’ll dress your wounds.” The man removed the towel from Angus and laid a cloth across his privates. Granny entered and closed the door behind her.
“These slashes along your thigh, left arm, and here on your back require stitches. You may need a few on your head as well. I’ll tape and wrap all other injuries. Granny is a passable nurse as is our Angel, so she’ll assist with the bandaging.” Angus turned abruptly expecting Angel to enter and observe his indecent state.
Granny caught his movement and startled glance at the closed door. Unable to suppress her laughter, she stepped toward him. “I’ll be assisting, lad.”
Alistair inserted a long needle into a clear tube containing liquid. “This will relieve the pain. It may sting a bit when I administer the injections.
“Granny briefly filled me in on your situation. I’m sure that coming three hundred years into the future has thoroughly knocked you off-kilter and left you questioning your sanity. It may take a while for you to absorb everything, but we’ll do our best to help you adjust. I encourage you to accept our invitation to remain as our guest for however long it takes to settle into this world.”
“De ye ken others who’ve…traveled through…” he couldn’t finish the question.
Granny answered. “Aye, I’ve kenned a few, my own dear husband for one. That’s a story for another time.” They stitched and bound his wounds while Alistair discussed a wide range of topics, most of which Angus only partially understood.
Finally, he seemed to find his tongue “Is there no way to return?” Granny just patted his arm and excused herself from the room.
“Not that we are aware. This is an extremely rare situation.” Alistair patted his shoulder reassuringly. Don’t worry, son. Give yourself time to adjust. Everything will sort itself out eventually.” Alistair handed him the robe and led him back to the other room, while he fought the urge to vomit on his benefactor.