Love Across Time (4 page)

The second man, an older, hairier version of the first, clamped a hand on Abby’s friend’s shoulder, and asked, “How be the lassie?”

“Nary a change.”

Did the older man mean her? She’d gotten up and around several days ago and had even stopped using crutches. The physical therapy had done wonders for her mobility.

“She cannot fight much longer. The fever has stolen her strength. She grows weaker with each day that passes.” The pinched-faced woman’s strident tone sounded hopeful that the person she spoke of would give up the fight for life and just die.

“I ken, Aunt.”

“Her father will want the dowry returned if she does not live.”

Aunt, what’s-her-name’s voice held the sharp edge of disappointment. And what did she mean by ‘dowry.’ According to Mrs. Bixby, dowries were the uncivilized practice of securing a groom for a daughter in past centuries.

“Aye. I ken.”

The softly spoken words tore at Maggie’s heart. Entranced by the silent sadness on his face, Maggie wanted to tell the woman to hold her tongue. Couldn’t she see the young man grieved over some loss he’d suffered and show him a little compassion?

“You will not return the dowry even if she wakes up witless.” The volume of the woman’s voice rose with each word. “The contract has been sealed and
”

The older man placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, and she fell silent. “What weel ye be doing lad?”

“What any mon would do.”

The ambiguous answer fell into soft murmurs between the three. A moment later, the older man, his palm planted firmly in the middle of the woman’s back, more or less shoved her from the room. A faint smell of smoke filled the air when the door fanned open then closed.

Had Abby sent her friends to carry her off after she’d passed out in front of the mirror? Had she gotten these people to play out some macabre performance to liven up Maggie’s dull existence? Until she found out where Abby had taken her, she didn’t want to confront this man or anyone else. She forced herself to breathe steady and feigned sleep.

She felt, more than heard, the scar-faced man return to her side. The shadows beneath her eyelids shifted as he leaned close to peer into her face. Under the covers, goose bumps rippled over her arms when soft wisps of his breath fanned her cheek before his lips brushed her forehead. Satisfied she still slept, he settled back into the chair. Peeking under slightly raised eyelids, she watched him. Elbows on his knees, large hands cupping his face, he mumbled in a strange language.

Moved to compassion by his anguish, she tried to lift a trembling hand to offer comfort but gave up the effort. Why did she feel so weak? Had she overexerted herself when she’d walked to Mrs. Bixby’s room to say goodbye?

This had to be Abby’s idea of a joke. Yet, why wasn’t she here instead of this strange man? Nothing made sense. Questions with no answers swirled in her head. The past and present merged into a convoluted nightmarish dream.

Who were these people? They couldn’t be her family. Surely, when she saw her family they would trigger some spark of memory.

Worry depleted her strength. Sleep, the place where no pain or troublesome thoughts distressed her, beckoned. Although she dreaded her next awakening with uncertainty, she closed her eyes and willed sleep to set her life back into its proper order.

The next time she woke, she would be safely back at the therapy center, with Mrs. Bixby down the hall ready to recite one of her favorite stories, and with Abby flitting in and out during the day taking her vitals, not here in this strange place with its stranger people.

Tears threatened again when she remembered Mrs. Bixby’s son had taken her home earlier this morning, and Abby had left for her holiday. A horrible realization intruded into her dismal thoughts.

What if Abby hadn’t kidnapped her? What if this was real? What if by some twist of fate she’d truly been propelled into her nightmare? Her head pounded with questions. Who would miss her with Mrs. Bixby gone and Abby on vacation?

Beside her bed, the soft murmur of strange words continued. Tears rolled down her cheek. Would she ever find her family?

Curiosity demanded she learn the truth. Fear demanded she remain awake. Exhaustion demanded she sleep. An odd lethargy stole her will to act, to run, to scream.

~~~

Awareness came slow. Sleep, Maggie decided
except for ones final rest
must end and life resumed. Afraid of what she’d see, she peeked through her eyelashes. Still the same room.

Sweat trickled between her breasts and thighs. The bedclothes were soaked. She shivered. Dampness surrounded her.

A hot bath, preferably one filled to the brim, sounded wonderful. The last few days at the center, she’d spent hours soaking in the facilities large bathtub, emerged in frothy bubbles.

An inner alarm warned her that she wasn’t alone. Her hands clenched under the sheeting. She glanced at the man seated beside her bed and her breathe escaped in a whoosh. He was the same man as before. Her gaze darted over his massive form. Dark hair secured at the nape of his neck left his features exposed to her scrutiny. The jagged scar didn’t repulsive her. The mark only added character to his rugged features. If this was Colin, Abby’s friend, she was sorry she hadn’t agreed to meet him sooner. Her attraction to the hunk was instantaneous.

Gathering her courage, she gazed into his eyes and stared into, not blue or brown, but ebony eyes;
c
enters so dark they gleamed like volcanic rock. His long aquiline nose flared with a quick intake of breath.

“Och, lass you’re awake.”

He rose from the chair and sat on the edge of the bed, gathered her into his arms, and peppered tiny kisses over her face. No cry of, “surprise, Abby kidnapped you” just the simple statement of.... Och? Abby’s friends wouldn’t use the word ‘och’ or speak with a Scottish brogue.

Ignoring the tingling reaction his kisses created, she struggled for release. He drew back, gently laid her back on the pillow and tenderly soothed stray strands of hair from her face. She caught a glimpse of confusion and uncertainty in his dark eyes before he masked the emotions behind a steady stare. He eased himself off the bed and stood.

“Who....”

Her tongue felt thick and heavy. She tried to moisten her lips only to encounter hard chapped skin. A large hand cupped the nape of her neck and tilted her head forward. A cup touched her lips, she gulped the cool liquid and enjoyed the relief it brought to her parched throat. He pulled the cup away before she’d quenched her thirst.

“More.” This time when she spoke the pain in her throat had eased.

“Nae, too much at once. Ye can have more in a moment.” His thumb gently brushed away a drop of liquid from her chin before he rested her head back against the pillow.

“Who are you?”

Heavy eyebrows scrunched over his dark eyes. “Who do ye think I be?”

“How should I know?” She looked around. Where was Abby? “Where am I?”

Resentment at waking up in a strange bedroom with a strange man hovering over her, stirring her senses and making her want to throw herself back into his arms, strengthened her resolve to find Abby and tell her she didn’t appreciate her idea of a joke. This had turned into something other than a night of fun out on the town she’d promised. Braced on her elbows, Maggie tried to climb out of bed.

“Easy, lass. Ye’ve been ill.”

Calloused fingers grasped her shoulders and lowered her back onto the pillows, which to her dismay, wasn’t hard. A stray kitten had more strength than she did.

“Ye’re wet. I’ll get ye a fresh gown and a basin of water. Ye can sit in the chair while I change the bedding.”

With a flick of his wrist, he flipped back the covers with a familiarity he apparently felt entitled to. She screeched a protest and used what little strength she had to scramble for the thin blanket. With a firm grip on the edge, she yanked it to her chin. Had he noticed how her gown clung to her damp body, or how the thin material outlined every curve?

“What do you think you’re doing?” Outraged, she glared at him. Although, she’d had male nurses, they had allowed her a mediocre of modesty. This man left her none, and her body reacted in ways she’d never experienced; except in her dreams.

“Ye need out of yer wet gown,” he reasoned.

“You will have to leave first,” she demanded.

“But I be....” He didn’t finish the sentence. Long, blunt fingers stroked his chin as he regarded her carefully.

“You are what?” Was he about to admit that he’d helped Abby kidnap her?

“Ne’er mind.” He gazed at her intently for a moment then whirled and strode toward the door.

“Wait! Where am I, and who are you?”

He turned to look at her. Confusion etched his rough features. “Ye, truly dinnae ken?”

“No.” The scoundrel had avoided her question with the professionalism of a politician. She wanted...no she required answers. Now.

“We’ll speak later. Let me get someone to help ye get more comfortable.”

Raw hurt had glittered in his dark eyes before he shut the door quietly behind him. Although, moved by the pain she’d witness, she still didn’t have any answers. She glared at the closed portal. What she needed was a bath.

Uh…did he say a basin of water? Her groan of disappointed echoed in the room. Scrub the idea of a bathtub filled to the brim with bubbles to soak away the stiffness in her cramping muscles. Apparently, a sponge bath was the best he had to offer. At least he had gone to get Abby.

Alone, she inspected her surroundings more thoroughly. The bedside table no longer held a tiger-clawed lamp, only a small candle stub. No ceiling fan whirled above her head to cool the small room.

She subdued the panic building in her. Where in Tulsa would Abby find a place like this? Frantic, she searched her mind to remember the last thing that happened before she woke inside her nightmare. Eyes closed, she envisioned her room at the center. Curious to examine the clothes she’d worn the night of her accident, she had dressed in the nightgown and attached the brooch. The ring had slid onto her finger as if designed specifically for her small finger. The memory of a swirling mist gathering around her, whirling, sucking her deeper into a vortex of dark writhing shadows rushed at her with the force of a violate storm. She had felt herself splinter, come apart

The door opened, and the sensation vanished.

“The Laird tells me ye be awake and in need of changing.” A woman, in her fifties, with salt and pepper colored hair, slipped inside and shut the door.

The old woman made her sound like an infant with a soiled diaper. Then again, she felt as weak as a newborn. Her weakness puzzled her since she had been strong enough to walk without crutches for the last three days.

The large boned woman shuffled across the room, a basin of water in one hand and a tray of food in the other. She set both items on the table and pulled a chair up next to the bed.

“Where is Abby?”

The woman frowned
as if she found her simple statement hard to understand
then shrugged.

“The lass be a friend of yer’s?”

“Yes.”

This elderly woman didn’t look anything like the cleaning personnel in the therapy center, and the man hadn’t fit the description Abby had given of her friends, Travis and Colin. Didn’t these people understand she needed Abby to explain that this was a joke and not real?

“Nae lassie here named Abby.”

“But
”

“Ye sit in the chair and wash while I remove the bed linen.” The woman ignored her protest. “Me name be Ursula. Liam said ye seemed a might confused. ’Tis no wonder with the bump ye received on the head when ye tumbled down the stairs. It must’a scattered yer wits amid the stars.”

Before she could comment on that outrageous statement, hands grasped her under the arms and lifted her into a sitting position. She had no time to react before Ursula’s arm swept out, swung her legs over the side of the bed and carried, more than assisted, her into the chair. The old woman was stronger than she appeared. The wet gown disappeared over her head with one flick of Ursula’s arthritic fingers.

Maggie snatched a blanket to cover the front of her nakedness. The seat still held the warmth of the man who had sat in it only moments before. Through the chairs wooden slats heat from the fireplace rippled along her chilled back.

“There ye go. Ye wash, and old Ursula will have ye to rights in nae but a wink.”

Soiled bedclothes fell to the floor with a soft whoosh. Ursula flipped, spread, and tucked clean linens onto the narrow bed, fluffed the pillows, and threw the covers back on the freshly made bed.

It was rather awkward to wash under the blanket, but she managed to scrub every speck of skin clean with a small cloth and warm water. Ursula held out a nightgown. With the cover tucked around her, she lifted her arms.

“You said I fell down a flight of stairs?” She mumbled from beneath the folds of the soft linen. Why hadn’t Abby told them she’d been in a car accident? Her newest-best friend had a lot of explaining to do.

“Aye. Cracked yer skull wide open ye did. Broke yer left leg, and only the Good Laird kens what else. Ye’ve been asleep e’er since.”