Chapter 8
Eight
Deep breaths.
Not knowing wasn’t sustainable.
I sat in the same place as the first time I’d met Riven. Nolan had left. The shop was closed. My earlier bravado and curiosity gave way to fear but there was no help for it. This had to be done.
Flipping the book open to the same passage as last time, I read.
When hearts echo the same vow …
And that was it. Apparently intent mattered because I’d been picturing that inn, The Wild Boar, and intently attempting to find Rowan again. One second, I’d been sitting on the floor in my back room, and now I sat on a pile of hay in what looked like a barn. No, scratch that.
A stable.
Scrambling as best I could within a thick dress to the edge of the loft, I peered down to see at least four horses stabled.
The air was thick with the scent of hay and horse, warm and earthy.
Wooden beams arched overhead, rough-hewn but sturdy, and moonlight filtered through the gaps in the slats.
Harnesses and tack hung neatly on pegs, and a low whicker from one stall reminded me I was nowhere near home.
This time, I wasn’t surprised by his presence.
Rowan filled the door frame, noble and erect, like a prince or a king had just appeared, not just a knight.
Just a knight. You’re really losing it now, Lena. Let’s not aim too high, girl.
“You’re back.”
He strode toward the ladder that would take him up to me.
As I scrambled back, away from the edge, it occurred to me that this dress wasn’t just familiar from my last visit.
How had I missed it last time? It was the one I wore to a costume party my senior year in college.
Same color. Same gold trim. Just way more authentic-looking and a hell of a lot tighter, courtesy of a corset.
My boots were familiar too. They looked strikingly similar to a pair I’d just thrown out last year after finally admitting defeat.
Tall brown ones with the smallest of chunky heels.
Although these were actually more comfortable and, probably real leather. With ties instead of a zipper.
“Why are you up here?”
He finished climbing and sat surprisingly close to me, as if we’d been intimate before. I left before kissing him, but the compulsion was still there. Rowan’s very aura was strength and stability.
When he took my hand, I allowed it.
Wanted it. Mostly. There was a part of me that felt a little guilty too, as if I were being disloyal to Nolan. But I kept it there, needing his grounding.
“I don’t know. One moment, I was back in my time, reading Father Simon’s chronicle and then next … boop.”
“Boop?”
When he said it in that deep voice, all chain mail and strength, it made me laugh.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the first medieval knight to say ‘boop.’”
“If it means an age long past, then aye, I suppose I am.”
“Why do you hold my hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world?”
He smiled faintly, thumb tracing the inside of my wrist as if testing a memory.
“Father Simon says the soul knows its mirrors across time. That some hearts are … written twice.”
My pulse stumbled. “Written twice?”
“Aye. As if one life were not enough for what the heart swore to protect.”
He looked down at our joined hands. “You believe this is the first time we’ve met, Lena. But my heart remembers you.”
What did that mean, exactly?
“You told Father Simon about me? Did he think you were crazy? What did he say?”
Rowan looked into my eyes, saying nothing at first. I’d seen that look before, somehow. As if he were peering into my soul.
And liked what he saw.
“He said the world does not unravel, only folds. That those meant to meet will find the seam, even if it lies between lifetimes.”
The corners of Rowan’s eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “He also told me you’d ask that question. I would take you to him, but he is a two-day ride from here.”
I startled at that. “You don’t live here? Like close by?”
He shook his head, thumbs still circling my palm. “Nay, I do not.”
“Then why—”
“The reason I was compelled here tells me that what you say, about coming from another time, is true. Perhaps someday I will share the story with you. For now, ‘tis time for you to return. Also,” he added, as if remembering something. “Father Simon asked for me to tell you that the heart also seeks balance. Light cannot love what it doesn’t understand of shadow.”
I’d have asked Rowan what he meant by that, but before I could respond, voices echoed from below. Harsh. Angry. Rowan's expression shifted instantly, his hand moving to the sword I only now noticed leaning against the stable wall.
"Derricksons," he breathed. He pressed a finger to my lips, eyes locked on the ladder. "If they find you here, dressed as you are, they will assume you are a Waryn.”
My pulse hammered. This wasn't a romantic fantasy anymore. It was real danger.
"How do I get back?" I whispered urgently.
"I know not. But you must try. Now." His hand found mine, squeezed once. "Close your eyes. Think of your time." The voices grew louder. I squeezed my eyes shut, heart screaming, desperate to be anywhere but here.
The smell of hay vanished, but something felt wrong.
My hand was warm from where Rowan had held it.
The barn had dissolved, but I wasn’t in my back room but in the seat of an empty train car.
A caboose, maybe? It was raining outside so I couldn’t see much.
The darkness was almost … too dark. Unsafe.
When I looked down, there was dirt under my fingernails. Stable dirt. It was impossible. I shouldn't be able to bring anything back. Not warmth, not dirt. Not … hay? I picked up the small piece from my leg and inspected it.
"No, no, no," I whispered.
The thin golden strand sat in my palm, utterly real. The boundaries were thinning. Each time I went back, I brought a little more with me. First warmth. Then dirt. Now physical objects.
My hands shook as I turned the hay over in my palm. If I could bring things back, could I bring ... people? Could someone follow me through?
The thought sent ice through my veins. I'd been treating this like a game, like living out my favorite books. But Father Simon's chronicle was called The Keeping of Blood for a reason. Not preserving. Binding. Holding things across time.
And then I heard it. A heartbeat. Not my own.
It pulsed through me, steady and dark, calling to something inside me I didn’t want to name.
When I turned back around to inspect my surroundings, Riven was there, leaning against the doorway. A half-smile curved his mouth.
“Took you long enough, chérie.”