SEVEN
Connor woke to find himself in a place unlike any he had ever seen. He was in some sort of metal box with odd torture implements surrounding him, and when he tried to sit up, he found he was tied to the bed.
“What madness is this? Let me up, ye whoresons.”
The woman he’d seen in the room full of weapons placed a hand on his arm, which comforted him. She leaned close enough that he could smell a fresh, clean smell with a bit of a bite. It tickled his nose.
“Easy, Connor. They’re taking you to the hospital. You’ve lost a great deal of blood.”
One of her curls stuck out from her head, and he tried to tuck it behind her ear but could not raise his arm. What sorcery was this? He’d never seen such ropes, and in such colors.
“Is this the Armstrong’s doing? I have gold to pay ye. Let me go.” He pulled against the ropes and heard a satisfying creak and then a tear.
“He’s ripping the restraints. Get the sedative.”
Connor did not know what a sedative was, but he was leaving this place with its strange people who spoke in an even odder tongue. Pulling again, he heard another rip, and was almost free when the man in blue stuck him with a tiny sword. For a moment he thought it was a bee, but then he could no longer hold his eyes open.
“What happened to me?” he mumbled. The lovely lass with the golden eyes spoke to him, her face full of fear, but he could not make out the words; she was far away. Where was the battlefield? Connor never believed he deserved heaven, but he wanted a chance to tell his side of things to the almighty before he was judged.
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.