CHAPTER ELEVEN
She awoke in a dark room. It took a moment for her to get her bearings. For one thing, she was not altogether sure she was alive. If Liam was dead, no doubt she’d faded into some limbo. Wherever it was lost souls went.
But limbo probably didn’t have fur coverlets on the beds.
Limbo probably didn’t have beds.
She felt around and found a bedside table with a candle and a flint, but she had no idea how to strike a flint, so she fumbled around some more until she found a window and yanked back the heavy drapes.
The moonlight flooded in and she surveyed her surroundings. She was in a modest chamber about midway up the south tower—as far as she could tell. And she was wearing a flowing nightdress.
She tried the door and, delighted to find it not locked, she looked out into the hallway. It wasn’t a hallway as much as a curving staircase. Voices wafted down from above, so she headed that way. The staircase ended at a broad door which was open. She peered in and knew this would be the laird’s solar. It was a large round room that took up the whole floor of the tower.
Dominic laid on the four-postered bed by the hearth. He was surrounded by several men.
Declan glanced up as she slipped into the room. He blanched. “Ye shouldna be here.”
She ignored him. “Is he all right?”
The other men took in her attire and their nostrils flared. Without a word, Declan found a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“It’s just a nightdress, she muttered.
“’Tis not seemly.”
She blew out a breath. It was a fricking night dress. It covered her from neck to toes. But still, her attire was the least of her worries. “Is he all right?”
“He hasna woken up.”
His chest was broad and bare. The knife had been removed but the wound was open and covered with… Her stomach roiled. “Are those leaches?”
“They are necessary.” An old man with a prissy expression sniffed. “To remove the evil humors.”
“Take them off.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Take them the fuck off.”
The doctor glanced at Declan, possibly in outrage, but Declan nodded. “Do as she says.” It gratified her that he took her side.
“Bleeding patients is crucial,” the doctor muttered, but he began peeling the nasty leeches off.
Thank God.
Seriously. Who knew where they’d been?
“Bleeding patients only weakens them. What he needs is that wound sewn up. A little antiseptic would not go awry.”
The doctor reared back. “I willna be responsible for his health if you doona listen to me.”
“Fine,” Declan said, leading him to the door.
Maggie was more than happy to see the doctor leave. Though she was far from a medical expert, no doubt she had a better grasp on healthcare than a man who believed in body humors and trepanning. Besides, she’d seen tons of medical dramas on TV.
Through the night, she did everything she could think of—everything she’d learned from Dr. Blake Braxton—from hot compresses to salt washes, but Dominic didn’t get better. He didn’t awake. By morning, his fever had spiked.
The next day it was worse, and by the third day, it was clear an infection was setting in. The wound was horrendous. Black around the edges and raw inside. What scared her to death was the red stripes fanning out, a sign that the contamination had entered his bloodstream, perhaps leading to sepsis. Sepsis was fatal.
Even without having binged on Game of Thrones and having watched Khal Drogo fade away, she knew, without medication, Dominic would die.
She glanced at Declan. “I’m worried.”
He nodded. He looked like hell. His handsome face was drawn and shadowed. His hair was a mess. “As am I.”
“He needs penicillin.”
“What is that?”
“It’s a common drug in my time.”
Declan froze. His face paled and his throat worked. “Your…what?”
Oh fuck. She hadn’t intended to say that. “I mean, in my country.”
“You said my time.”
She offered a toothy smile. “You misheard me.”
“I know what I heard.” His eyes went flinty. “Are you from some other realm? Some other time?”
She plucked at a hem. Shrugged. “Maybe?”
He crossed his arms and stared at her. He hummed with intensity. “Does Dominic know?”
“I…ah… Know what?”
“What you are? What you really are?”
“Yes.”
He stilled. “Does he…accept it?”
“I think he does.” She set her hand on Dominic’s. It was scorching. “We were just making peace over it when he was injured.”
“Where do you really come from Maggie from Seattle?” There was a thread of a sneer in his voice.
“Oh, I do come from Seattle. But Seattle about seven hundred years from now.”
His jaw dropped.
“Yeah. I was as surprised as you to find myself here.”
“How did you do this?”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t on purpose, I assure you. I simply stepped into a stone circle back home and landed in yours.”
“The stone circle. Is it some kind of magical place?” This he asked with the tone of a man who didn’t believe in magical places. Then again, neither had she. Until now.
“Probably more of a temporal displacement.”
His lashes flickered.
“Listen, Declan, if I can get back home, I can get the medicine Dominic needs. I can save his life.” Hope, excitement, rose in her breast. “Please Declan. Can you take me back there? Back to the circle?”
“Aye.” His eyes narrowed. “But what if you get home, and you decide you doona want to come back? Doona want to save him?”
Her heart clenched. “I will come back,” she rasped through a raw throat. “I have to save him. I can’t live without him. I…love him.”
For the first time, his harsh expression softened.
“I want to stay here. With him. Forever.”
A pity she didn’t know if Dominic wanted the same.
Hopefully, if her plan worked, if she could get home and being back the medicine he needed, she could save him. And she would have a chance to ask him.
And if he said no…well, she’d deal with that when the time came.
* * *
She and Declan left as soon as they could, leaving Ewan with Dominic and making him promise he would not let the doctor into Dominic’s rooms. The ride back to the hunting camp took much less time than it had in the cart. Within two hours, at a fast pace, they’d traversed the valley. Though they’d been riding hard, there had been time to talk, and she and Declan had come to some semblance of peace.
She even told him of her home on the hill, her cousin, Jenny, her grandmother and the horrific dog that had started all this. She complained again about having lost her locket that day, when he hefted her over his shoulder.
That he laughed did not help her outrage.
They found the ciorcal cloiche with no problem whatsoever. But as she stepped between the stones, Maggie didn’t feel it, the sizzle she’d felt before.
She whirled around, arms out, willing the magic to happen.
But it did not.
There was nothing.
Not so much as a whiff of it.
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” she said.
Declan stood just outside the circle so as not to interfere with her magic—such as it was. “Try recreating your movements.”
Maggie closed her eyes and tried to remember. Chasing the dog. Trying to catch him and then…
A chuckle filled the clearing. She stood and glared at Declan. He crossed his arms and tipped his head to the side. “Were you doing some kind of dance?”
“No. I was trying to catch the dog. And then my locket fell off and I bent to grab it—“
“This locket?” he asked, stepping forward and picking up the gold chain. The heart caught the light and flashed.
“Oh yes. That’s it—”
But she was speaking to no one.
For just then, Declan disappeared, and the locket with him.