Chapter 6
Six
What the hell?
If this was supposed to be a medieval fantasy, and Riven looked the part, a knight appearing made sense. Being abandoned definitely did not. Being abandoned, however, was not on my bingo card.
The three extremely dirty, rough-looking guys—and that was being generous—started toward me. Knowing I should run, my legs wouldn’t move. These guys had swords at their sides and something about them told me they weren’t bound to the same knightly code as the Waryn.
If I hadn’t been prepared for that, I definitely wasn’t prepared to be scooped off the ground and tossed onto a horse.
In the movies, it looked so effortless. In reality, as we rode away from the tavern, my ribs protested every jostle, my hair whipped into my mouth and my thighs were probably already black and blue.
The smell of leather and smoke surrounded me, mingled with something that was all him … warm, alive and kind of reassuring. I didn’t dare open my eyes at first. Because if this wasn’t a dream, then I was officially the heroine of a book I hadn’t agreed to be in.
When I finally did, the forest was nothing like home.
The trees denser, the moonlight slipped through in a sky indescribable in modern terms. Slowing down, we came to a clearing that could easily be the scene from one of my books.
Setting me down, my knight led his massive horse to a tree and tied him off as I watched.
Was this really happening?
I smoothed the green velvet of a gown that could win every Halloween costume in history. The gold rope detail on its long sleeves and neckline were incredible.
“I thought you left.”
“Apologies,” he said, walking back toward me with purpose. “Sir Rowan Waryn,” he bowed. “At your service.”
Wasn’t I supposed to curtsy to him? I had no idea. With a little one, awkward as hell, I replied. “Lena. I mean, Lady Lena.”
If this was my fantasy, I might as well lean into it.
“Lady Lena. Where is your escort? And where do you hail from?”
His words were like silk, asked practically but with the same tinge of adoration as Riven. I was pretty enough, but not enough to have guys tripping over themselves to want me. This had to be some sort of fantasy, dream thing.
But the blood, the bite, was real.
“From another time,” I blurted, only belatedly realizing that if this really was medieval Scotland, I might be burned at the stake as a witch.
I was terrible at this ‘living out my fantasy novel’ thing.
His eyes flicked toward me then, sharp and curious, as if I’d spoken a forbidden word. “There are places,” he said quietly, “where devotion bends time itself. When two hearts echo the same vow, the veil thins, and one may walk where another once wept.”
He knew something.
“Do you believe that?” I asked, heartbeat stuttering.
He sighed, stepping forward.
With Riven, excitement ran through my very veins as he touched me. Sir Rowan was entirely different. When he reached out and lifted my chin so I was staring up at him, an entirely distinct feeling coursed through me, sending a shiver up my back.
The look he gave me was pure devotion, as if we hadn’t just met. Like he would cherish and protect me until the end of time. His fingers lingered on my chin. Without thinking, I reached up to touch them, wanting to feel him.
Sir Rowan dropped both our hands, together, but threaded his fingers through mine, pulling me close.
“I hadn’t, before now. The words are from a chronicle kept by a learned man who is rarely wrong.” He looked away again. “My family keeps its stories.”
“The Waryns?”
“Aye.”
“Who is this man?”
He held my hand still, and although I was in a different place and time, no part of me felt unsafe. Not with him.
“Father Simon. Have you heard of him?”
I shook my head. “No. But I believe I have his chronicles, in my time.”
How did he not think I was crazy?
“Tell me about it.”
I opened my mouth to speak and then realized something. “Wait, where am I? Is this Scotland?”
His expression made me laugh. “Nay, Lady Lena. We stand in the borderlands of Northumbria.”
“So England. It’s called Northumberland now. I mean, in my time. I’ll be honest, I’m surprised you believe me. That you don’t think I’m crazy.”
His mouth curved into a smile. “Mon c?ur sait ce que mes yeux voient.”
I blinked. “And that means?”
“I thought you wished to speak French?”
“I don’t know a lick of French.” He stared at me, not understanding. Still holding my hand. “I don’t speak French,” I clarified. Although him speaking it was more than a little sexy.
“My heart knows what my eyes see.”
He said it like a vow, like something older than both of us.
Maybe it was.
“What do they see?” Knowing I could be accused of fishing for compliments, I didn’t care.
“A woman not from anywhere I’ve ever been. An erudite whose intelligence mingles with her romanticized version of the world. Don’t allow your need to reconcile them hold you back, mon c?ur.”
He said it in the same tone Nolan used when he called me baby.
“What does that mean?”
“Little heart.”
Okay. This was bonkers. I had to know. “Why do you like me?”
His head tilted to the side as if that was the craziest thing I’d asked, as opposed to, ‘Where am I?’
“I don’t like you,” he said finally, with another step eliminating the space between us. Our bodies touched, and if he leaned down, our lips would too. “I am in love with you, Lena.”
That made no sense. We hardly knew each other. But as his head moved toward me, my eyes closed, knowing it was going to be the best kiss of my life. Everything about him screamed protector, and a sexy as hell one at that.
It was hot.
He was hot.
And I was about to kiss him.
Or not.
Just as I felt his breath on my face, the crisp air changed to something that smelled like the perfect beach day and coconuts. My eyes whipped open.
A Bath and Body candle. My kitchen. Without even realizing it was happening, I’d come back.
The book was still open on my counter, just as it had been before I left.
But instead of tossing it to the side, I closed my eyes.
Remembered the feeling of Rowan’s near kiss, and mustered enough courage to open them and peek down at the pages.
Sure enough, the words stared back at me as they had since the lightning strike. Modern enough to decipher. Slightly … off as I attempted to focus on them. But definitely not the same old English as the book I’d purchased.
Slamming it shut, I jumped up from my stool and circled the island, as if attempting to make sense of how this might work. Not ten seconds into my musings, the doorbell rang. I ran to my phone. Eleven thirty. Minutes, not hours, had passed.
There were also more than one worried text messages from Nolan. So when the front door opened, the doorbell a warning he was coming in, I wasn’t at all surprised to see him appear in my kitchen.
“I just saw your texts.”
“Jesus, woman. You scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m fine. Just,” I waved toward Father Simon’s chronicles. “Just reading.”
He crossed his arms. Nolan knew me better than that. I was lying, and he could tell.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”
“Lisa’s done.”
Good.
Thankfully, I hadn’t said it out loud. I’d only pretended to like her for his sake.
She was way too flighty for him. Nolan needed someone with depth.
He might be handy and part-owner of a hardware shop, but one thing we’d always connected on was our mutual love of thinking about the world and our place in it.
Erudite.
That’s what Rowan had called me. It didn't matter Nolan went to community college, dropped out after two years or was allergic to books. He was just as much a deep thinker as me.
And I loved that.
“What’s going on with you?”
Except … his eyes were the wrong shade of blue.
My fingers drifted to my lips before I could stop them, as if I could still feel Rowan’s almost-kiss, the warmth of his breath against my skin. The scent of smoke and pine had followed me back … faint but real.
“Lena?” Nolan’s voice softened. “You’re shaking.”
I blinked hard. “It’s just been a long week.”
As he moved closer, laughing too brightly. “Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”
Nolan watched me a little too long, the way he did when he was trying to solve something.
“It’s more than that.”
He was right, of course.
“Come here baby,” he said, the same way he had when my last boyfriend had turned out to be a love-bombing, gaslighting narcissist, and I finally figured it out.
I fell into his chest as easily as a kitten who hadn’t yet realized she could rebuff its owner and still be queen of the household. His arms wrapped around me, warm and safe, and for a moment, Riven and Rowan and the book melted away.
And there was just Nolan.
My best friend.