TWENTY-TWO
“I didn’t think I’d ever find this place. I’ve lived here for years and had no idea it existed.”
Connor watched as Mellie came into the pub. Her hair curled around her face, making him wish to wrap it around his fingers. She wore a pink dress, completely unaware of the men’s eyes following her as she walked over to him. Connor wanted to take every one out into the lists for daring to look at his woman.
“Aye, Fitz told me about this place. Ye just missed him, lass. He and Tracy are moving to Florida, where ’tis warm all year, to live on the water.”
Connor thought of Mellie as his, but he could not keep her. The longer he stayed in this time, the more he felt he was dying, coming apart from the inside out. So many hours he’d searched for a way to go home, all to no avail. Though he found many stories of people disappearing without a trace, people who’d gone to work one day and never returned. Had they tired of their lives and vanished, or perchance they too found themselves ripped from this time and taken to another? Where might they have gone?
Connor finished the glass of whiskey and nodded to the barkeep. “Another, Angus, if ye please.”
Mellie eyed him. “Whiskey. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted the stuff.”
Connor and Angus grinned at her.
“Then ye must try a wee nip,” Connor said as Angus poured. The smell made him miss his homeland.
She took a sniff and blinked. “Wow, this smells really strong. I don’t usually drink anything other than wine or a little bubbly.”
But she took a sip. He watched her as she took another, and then she looked at him, a look of wonder in her eyes.
“It’s not at all what I expected. It’s strong, like fire going down my throat and warming me in my belly. It would be perfect in the winter, but I think it’s going to make me sweat buckets when we go outside.”
A hiccup escaped, and she giggled. “Though I shouldn’t say ‘sweat buckets.’ My grandmother would say I glisten or I glow, but never sweat.”
He watched as she finished the glass, then nodded at Angus to pour her another. This one went down quicker, as it usually did with whiskey. Connor saw she was swaying back and forth.
“Fitz is your only friend here, isn’t he? You must miss him now that he’s leaving.”
“He was a good friend. When we were sent home, he helped me find ye.”
Connor ached to talk with her about his home and his time. He wished to tell her of the Thornton women and what he knew of them, that they had traveled through time, and a part of him thought how wonderful it would be to take her home with him, to make a home in the Highlands to protect her and care for her.
Angus poured another glass without Connor asking. With the price on his head, Connor thought he might not be able to provide her with a life as good as hers here. They would be moving around the country until he found a home for them to settle or made amends with the McTavish, settled the dispute in the clan, and yet he knew what was coming. Yes, he would be long dead and turned to dust when Culloden happened, yet how could he take her to a place so full of violence?
The violence here was different. It was more brutal, given the weaponry, and yet hand-to-hand combat did not happen much. Men did not carry swords. Mellie made him leave his sword behind, but his daggers he wore at all times. He had gotten a tailor to fashion him a leather sheath for his jeans to carry the blades.
The man who made them attended fairs and markets, and was happy to make them in exchange for Connor helping him with his swordplay. He had found many men interested in learning to fight with a sword, and now spent his days in the park teaching others or going around to what was called a “renaissance fair,” which he found amusing.
Modern women and men pretending they came from an earlier time, jousting and fighting in tourneys and feasting. And while some of it was accurate, much of it was not. But mayhap ’twas because this was playacting, and they knew they were going home to a different life. Where in his time, ’twas real. Life and death. One tourneyed and fought for gold to better himself.
Fitz had taken him to a shop where people took things and got money, hopefully to come back and get them later—a pawn shop—and Connor had found what he was looking for there. A collector whose wife had left him for another needed money, so he sold the sword and daggers. Connor was most pleased to find them.
“Mistress, I do not think you should have another drink. ’Tis stronger than you’re used to.”
She waved him away and signaled Angus, who grinned.
“Have another. Enjoy the night.”
Connor glared at the man. “You should not encourage her. ’Tis the first time she’s had whiskey.”
“It will do her good.”
“Yes, it will do me good. Give me another,” Mellie slurred. She tapped her feet to the music playing in the background. Connor had talked to the men playing the instruments, and as they played songs, he found there was dust in his eye. It must be dust, for he did not weep like a woman.
Mellie slid off her seat, turning in slow circles in front of the men playing, singing along, off-key, making everyone hold their ears, but with a look from Connor, not one dared say a word.
Truth be told, she could scare any banshees away that might be lurking, so terrible was her voice, yet he found her enchanting, and smiled watching her. She was deep in her cups. Connor paid for the drinks and went to fetch her.
“It’s time to go. You’re going to feel awful in the morning.”
“Do we have to? I was just having fun.”
Connor shook his head, unable to keep the grin from spreading across his face.
“I’m going to remind you in the morning you said this. Do not curse me when you wake.”
She skipped out of the pub and into the night. It had rained earlier, and the air was warm and moist. Mellie sang off-key under her breath, weaving back and forth as they walked home. They had come to the park when she pulled him into the green sanctuary.
“Come on. I want to show you something.”
Connor knew unsavory men were in the park at night and could be dangerous. He must be on guard so no harm would come to her. He followed along, laughing as she bumped into him.
“Can’t you walk straight? You keep bumping into me.”
“My pardon, lass.”
“Harrumph.” ’Twas the same sound he made, and he laughed hearing it come from her.
“See that you walk straight.”
She brought him to a part of the park he’d never been to before, a fountain with a mermaid caught in the waves. The water coming out of the waves around her was beautiful, the tile blue, and with the moonlight shining on it, the water looked black. There were benches around the fountain, and Mellie ran her hand through the water and leaned over the edge, reaching in her bag and throwing coins into the fountain. Then she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, swaying. Connor caught her so she would not fall.
“I’m making a wish. This fountain is magic,” she whispered.
Connor looked at her and then at the fountain. It did not seem magical to him—he did not see any spirits—but what did he know of this world? It was the first time he had heard her mention magic. She said she did not believe in such things, and he wondered what she kept in the locked room that she would not allow him to see.
“Aye? Tell me about this magic.”
“You have to throw three pennies in, close your eyes, and make a wish. It must come from your heart, and if it’s a true wish, then it will come to pass.”
Connor eyed her dubiously, not quite believing, but then again, what did he have to lose?
She handed him three pennies, her hand warm in his. “It has to be pennies. Only pennies work. I don’t know why, but that’s the rule.”
And so he took the pennies and closed his eyes, thinking. Did he wish to return home? But would it be one wish if he also wished to bring her with him? If he only was allowed one part of the wish, would it be to go home and leave her behind?
Connor thought, and before he could dwell on it overmuch, he threw the coins in the fountain and made the wish.
’Twas verra late by the time he pulled Mellie from the bench on the fountain.
“We must go home. You work tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s right, aren’t you teaching people to play with swords?”
He grinned. “Aye, play.”
If only she knew. Boys were taught to fight with swords, not to play, when they were small, to defend themselves, their families, and the ones they loved.
He took her arm as they walked through the park, and she yawned and rubbed her eyes.
“I need to wake up.”
He couldn’t see the pink on her face, but he could feel the heat in her hand as her fingers twined with his. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to sweep her up his arms and carry her home.
She giggled, pointing to the swings she had shown him before. He changed direction, taking her that way.
“Aye, we can stay for a moment.”
She sat on the swing, and he pushed her gently. “No, faster and higher.”
He obliged. She was full of adventuresome spirit, always wanting to experience every moment in life, and yet she hid it. Only in moments when she dropped her guard did he see this part of her. Otherwise, she held herself close, never letting others see what was inside and how much she loved life. It was as if she were a shadow of herself, except when she was in her cups, as she was tonight.
He wished to bring out that part of her all the time, for she was full of fire and light. Her eyes sparkled, and he wanted nothing more than to lean over and to pull her close, kiss her senseless, take her to bed, and show her with his body how much he loved her.
Connor stopped. Love? Nay, he did not love her. ’Twas only because she had been kind to him. Nothing more.
Mellie jumped off the swing. “Come on. Did you know I used to hold the record for the number of cartwheels in a row when I was in junior high?”
He blinked at her, unsure of what she was talking about. Did she pull a cart? But then she ran, and suddenly her feet were in the air, her hands on the ground, as her feet went over her head. Mellie laughed, the pure sound of a child, warming him from the inside out. Over and over she did what she called cartwheels until he lost count and she fell over on her backside.
“That was so much fun. I haven’t done that in ages.” She stood up and swayed, and this time he swept her up in his arms. “What are you doing? I can walk.”
“Can ye?”
He put her down and watched her fall over, so he swept her into his arms again.
“You may wish to walk, but the ground willna let you, mistress. I will carry you home.”
He held her in his arms, the night creatures rustling branches as he stroked her hair and held her close. Mayhap his wish would come to pass.