Falling in Time Read online

  Being naked in his arms – for real – was both a wildly exhilarating thought and flat out terrifying.

  And not alarming without reason.

  Trying to be discreet, Lindy cast an assessing glance at her well-covered body. The sad fact was that, although Rogan was undoubtedly passionately in love with her in fantasy form, the real Lindy Lovejoy might just be packing a few pounds more than the dream edition.

  Sure that was true, her cheeks flamed brighter.

  How sad that her love of fish and chips had kept pace with her around Scotland.

  Not to mention haggis with neeps and tatties.

  Or steak-and-ale pie.

  Lindy frowned, wondering if she could just stay hidden beneath the covers forever.

  A notion that brought another, equally disturbing thought. How could she think in terms of eternity when she might only be here a nano second? She’d spent too many hours working at Ye Olde Pagan Times not to be well versed in the ins and out of the all things woo-woo.

  Her manifestation in Rogan’s time had surely upset the balance in her own world.

  Something somewhere wasn’t right.

  It was kind of like plucking a thread from a knitted sweater.

  No matter how carefully you pulled, a hole appeared.

  “Oh, God.” Dread tightened her chest and heat burned her eyes, blurring the richly appointed room and all its lush, oh-so-real-seeming medieval trappings.

  Rogan sprang off the bed. “What is it?” His gaze flew to her injured hands. “Are you in pain? Did I tie the bandages too tight?”

  Snorri barked, sharing his master’s concern.

  “Or” – Rogan jerked a glance at the door – “shall I call for the clan hen wife? Perhaps you hurt yourself worse than we know. You might be in need of-”

  “No.” Lindy stood, careful to snatch a pillow and hold it strategically. “I’m fine, really. It’s just that-”

  “Here” – Rogan swirled a plaid around her shoulders – “I’ll no’ have you taking a chill.” He strode across the room and yanked the shutters tight, dusting his hands as he turned back to her.

  But not before Lindy caught a look at the view. A cold drizzle was falling and she’d seen mist, lots of drifting curtains of mist. But she’d also seen endless rolling moorland and dark, rugged hills. A vast wilderness that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was also a landscape covered with thick woods.

  The Scotland she’d left hadn’t been anywhere near as forested.

  Needing to be sure of what she’d seen, she gripped Rogan’s borrowed plaid more tightly about her and went to the window, opening the shutters he’d just closed.

  She hadn’t been mistaken.

  She really was looking out at medieval Scotland.

  And if the scenery wasn’t proof enough, the deep silence was.

  Only a world truly empty of everything modern could be so still.

  And the texture of the air! Even with the damp gusting wind and all the mist, everywhere she looked, the world seemed filled with light and color in ways she’d never have believed possible. Almost like an uncut jewel, sparkling in its purity.

  Lindy gulped, her heart splitting.

  It was as if she’d stepped inside her own story.

  She so wanted to stay here.

  “Just what, lass?” Rogan’s arms went around from behind and he pulled her back against his chest. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

  Lindy bit her lip. She was not going to cry. “I- … it’s just that-”

  “Ho, Rogan!” The door flew open and a young man burst into the room. Big, hairy, and kilted, he looked like he’d just stepped off the set of Rob Roy or Braveheart. But for all his fierce appearance, the slack-jawed, owl-eyed stare he gave Lindy made him much less intimidating.

  “It’s herself!” He raised an arm, pointing. “Your dream vixen! You’ve described her so often when you’re in your cups, I’d know her anywhere.”

  “You’re forgetting your manners.” Rogan scowled at him. “MacGraiths know better than to gawk at women, whoe’er they might be.

  “This loon, if you’re curious” – Rogan glanced at Lindy – “is my cousin, Gavin.”

  “My lady.” Gavin bobbed his head, the crookedness of his smile revealing a chipped tooth.

  The introduction made, Rogan crossed the room in three swift strides and took the younger man by the elbow, turning him back towards the door. “Away with you now and hold your flapping tongue.”

  “I canna. Your da sent me up here with grim tidings.” Gavin broke free and swatted at his mussed sleeve. “One o’ the men just hastened in from Smoo. Lady Euphemia was walking along the cliffs above the cave and before he could call out a warning” - he paused, throwing a look at Lindy – “she slipped into one o’ the sink holes.

  “He swears he saw her go down and even heard her scream, but when he ran over to the edge o’ the crevice and peered in, she disappeared.”

  Lindy gasped.

  Rogan slid an arm around her, drawing her near. “The tide washes in and out of the sink holes. Have men searched the beach? Or, if there’s no sign of her there, have they taken out boats? She could have been washed out to sea and might be in the water around the cliffs.”

  “To be sure they’ve done all that, but they won’t be finding her.” Gavin sounded convinced. “She’s gone, sure as I’m standing here.”

  “No one can be sure until a thorough search is made.” Rogan started steering his cousin out the door again. “Others have fallen into the sink holes only to be found later, wandering the moors, as well you know.”

  “Did you no’ hear me, man?” Gavin thrust his jaw. “I said she disappeared when the guard peered o’er the edge, into the sink hole. He saw her right enough and then, like mist before the sun, she vanished!”

  “And how ale-headed was the guard, eh?” Rogan shoved his cousin out the door and slammed it behind him, this time sliding the draw bar in place.

  “I’m sorry, lass.” He turned to Lindy, reaching for her. “Dinna let Gavin’s blethering-”

  “I don’t think he was.” Lindy moved away, thinking again of sweaters and pulled threads. “That woman’s disappearance will be my fault. I came here and, as is the way with such things, someone had to be sent forward to my time.”

  She paused, leaning against a table. Guilt swept her. “It’s because of me that an innocent – “

  “Euphemia MacNairn lost her innocence the morning she awoke and discovered she had breasts.” Long strides brought Rogan to where she stood.

  He braced his hands on either side of her, caging her against the table. “I regret speaking poorly of her if she truly has come to harm. But you need to know, as you’ll hear it soon enough, that she was my clan’s choice for my bride. I resisted because” – he leaned close and kissed her, slow and deep – “I knew you’d come to me someday, somehow.

  “And” – he straightened, his expression solemn – “because Lady Euphemia was the last female I’d have wed, regardless. There’s no’ a laird or kitchen laddie in these parts, save o’ this clan, that she hasn’t bedded.”

  “But-”

  “I told you, Lindy-lass, no buts.”

  “Even so-”

  “None o’ those either.” Rogan shook his head. “Truth is, Lady Euphemia has been trysting with a shepherd who has a cottage in the next glen. She has to pass by Smoo Cave on her way to meet him.”

  Stepping closer, he cupped Lindy’s chin, lifting her face to his. “That’ll be what she was about. A pity if she fell into one of the sink holes. But she should have thought of the danger thereabouts before she traipsed across those cliffs.

  “Now” – he set his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her – “I’d hear what was fashing you before Gavin came bursting in here.”

  Lindy glanced aside.

  She still believed the MacNairn woman had been sent forward in time.

  And if so….

  “I don’t want to be re
sponsible for someone else’s misery.” There, she’d blurted the only honorable thing she could say.

  Rogan lifted a brow. “If Lady Euphemia has replaced you where’er it was you hail from, sweetness, I promise you, she’ll no’ be unhappy. Such females know well how to fend for themselves.”

  “Then….” Lindy considered.

  “Do you want to stay with me?” Rogan’s arms were around her again, pulling her close.

  So near that she could feel his solidness pressing against her.

  “You know I want that – to stay with you.” She leaned into him, unable to resist.

  “Then do.” He swept her up into his arms, carrying her across the room. “Stay here and be my wife.”

  “I will.” She didn’t care that the plaid fell from her shoulders as he lowered her to the bed. As for her few extra pounds, the smoldering look in Rogan’s eyes said he didn’t see them.

  Oh, yes, she’d marry him.

  In her heart, she already was his wife.

  She didn’t want to dwell on it too deeply, for fear of jinxing herself, but she believed that, after losing him in their Viking life, whatever powers watched over souls had now reunited them.

  For a moment, she wondered if such gods or their helpers might wear small black boots, carefully tied with red plaid laces.

  The thought made her smile.

  Seeing as she was here, she supposed it was possible.

  It was just a shame she’d not be able to put her experiences in a romance novel. She was sure that if she could, her book would be a bestseller. But then Rogan was throwing off his plaid and stretching out on the bed beside her, and she no longer cared.

  And as she opened her arms to him, pulling him down to her, she knew she’d never feel the urge to read or write a Scottish medieval romance again.

  After all, why should she?

  As of this moment, she was living one.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sue-Ellen Welfonder is a Scotophile whose burning wish to make frequent trips to the land of her dreams led her to a twenty year career with the airlines.

  Now a full-time writer, she’s quick to admit that she much prefers wielding a pen to pushing tea and coffee. She makes frequent visits to Scotland, insisting they are a necessity as each trip gives her inspiration for new books.

  Proud of her own Hebridean ancestry, she belongs to two clan societies and never misses a chance to attend Highland Games. In addition to Scotland, her greatest passions are medieval history, the paranormal, and dogs. She also has a heart for stray and feral kitties. She rarely watches television, loves haggis, and writes at a four-hundred-and-fifty year old desk that once stood in a Bavarian castle.

  Sue-Ellen also writes fun and sexy Scottish paranormals under the pen name Allie Mackay. She is married and currently resides with her husband and Jack Russell terrier in Florida.

  Connect with Sue-Ellen Welfonder:

  Sue-Ellen’s website: www.welfonder.com

  Her blog Tartan Ink: www.tartaninkblog.wordpress.com

  Twitter: www.twitter.com/ SE_Welfonder

  If you enjoyed this short story, Sue-Ellen has others available:

  THE SEVENTH SISTER

  A story of love, legend, and magic…

  In The Seventh Sister, down-on-her-luck American artist Maggie Gleason returns to Ireland, hoping to put old hurts behind her. Instead, revisiting the fishing village that enchanted her twelve years before only reopens wounds - until the unexpected appearance of roguish pub owner Conall Flanagan proves the Ancient Isle is a magical place where anything can happen and true love always stands the test of time.

  For a complete list of Sue-Ellen’s books, including a printable list, please visit her website: www.welfonder.com