He heard the sound of water, and without thought his feet turned toward the sound. The wool would fetch a good price, enough to see the mill rebuilt.
A scream shattered the silence. ’Twas a woman. Christian ran toward the noise to see a woman sink under the water. He kicked off his boots, dropped the sword, and dove in, gasping as the cold stole his breath.
The woman surfaced and went down again, the dress dragging her down to the bottom.
Christian grabbed hold of her and pulled her to him. “Halt. I have you.”
Untamed green eyes looked at him as she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth. Her teeth were chattering so hard that he thought she might bite through her blue lips. Senseless from the cold, she muttered foolish words he dismissed, until one word in particular made him blink.
Cold much colder than the river flooded through his body. Nay. It could not be. ’Twas not possible.
For Christian would swear he had heard her say the wordsphoneandcar. Unfortunately, he knew both words. His brothers and cousins were married to women who knew well those words.
Yet if she was what he thought, why was she dressed so? As he pulled her onto the bank and rolled her to her side, helpfully patting her on the back, he cursed in every language he knew. Hedid not have time for a future girl. Did not want the aggravation or the trouble she would cause. For they all caused trouble.
She retched again, mumbling foolishness.
“Apologies, my lady.”
Green eyes glared up at him. The color of the forest, deep and full of womanly secrets.
“You’re going to crush my bones if you keep pounding me on the back like that.”
Abashed, he stopped. “We needs get warm or we will freeze. Can you stand?”
“Of course I can stand. I’m not helpless.” She got to her feet, swayed, and fell, crying out. Christian caught her before she hit the ground.
“Mayhap I should aid you, lady.” There was pain in her eyes and the way her mouth tightened made him ask. “Are you injured?”
She was cradling her hand to her body.
“When I fell, my nail ripped off, and I cut my leg when I rolled down the damn hill. And I think I also twisted my ankle. I hate the country.” Her skin was clear and smooth, the color of a fresh winter snow. Her eyes fluttered closed.
Christian let out a long, weary sigh as he carried her, knowing he was now responsible for her. Let him be wrong and she have a husband or chaperone looking for her. Saints, he prayed she was not a future girl. He was betrothed, and should not note how fetching she looked when she scowled at him.
As he carried her to his makeshift camp, Christian looked for signs of a struggle. Finding none, he sighed, building up the fire to dry them both. The light on her hair reminded him of winter wheat, the locks curling over her shoulder. He looked closer to see pearls woven in the strands. Nay, she must be a lass run away from a husband or set upon by thieves. Her form was pleasing—not that he lingered overlong. And her dress, it marked her as a merchant or minor noble, but he was certain he had heard the words, hadn’the? Or perchance he mistook what she said? When she woke, he would have speech with her and find out.
While he watched her slumber, he made a choice. He would not tell her who he was. He would be Christian, the wool merchant. Not a laughingstock. The names Christian Thornton and Lord Winterforth would not pass his lips. Once they arrived home, he would summon aid. Her sire would come for her…or he would send for his brothers, and their wives would know how to send her back to her own time. He would marry his betrothed and not think on her again.
The girl cried out, and he gathered her in his arms. For a moment the ever-present loneliness within him receded. Christian cocked his head. There was an odd noise, one he had not heard before, that came from her. The sound was faint. He leaned close and noticed a fine bracelet on her arm. It was the source of the sound. Ear against the bracelet, he heard the ticking sound. It grew fainter and fainter until it stopped. There were numbers on the bracelet with lines pointing to them.
A clock. Unlike any he had ever seen. So small. Why had it stopped moving? The tiny clock loomed large as all of England as the knowledge settled within him.
The fates were laughing at him, for she was from the future.
Ashley woke warm and content,feeling safe and secure. Her eyes fluttered open and she jolted the rest of the way awake. The man holding her wasn’t Ben or the model—he was the man who’d saved her from drowning.
The events of last night flashed before her eyes. She remembered rolling down the hill, cutting herself, and then the awful bridge giving way, dumping her into the frigid water. It had been so cold, the frigid waters stealing her breath, squeezing her lungs,and the dress—it was so heavy that it pulled her down even as she frantically tried to keep her head above the water.
The man mumbled in what sounded like French as she eased herself from his arms. He rolled over, and she took a moment to look at him, noticing his face and hair. The blond was almost an exact match to her own color, and just as long. Memories flooded in, and she knew he had blue eyes, full of concern as he told her not to worry, he had her. And in the moment she had utterly believed him, knew she was safe. Why were they in the woods? Was it some kind of primitive campsite? Was he a backpacker or—please not—a homeless guy?
Ashley leaned over and sniffed. He didn’t smell of body odor, more like smoke and earth and male. Wow, he had long, thick lashes. Why did men always get the perfect lashes when women had to shell out thousands over their lifetime on mascara?
He was dressed in something similar to what she’d seen in Mary’s shop. Then she remembered: the theater. But why camp out dressed in costume? So many questions.
“What time is it?” She looked at her watch and blinked back spots, feeling faint as her world tilted. Her watch had stopped at four thirty. It was obviously morning, which meant she’d missed the party and lost out to Mitch.
“My phone.”
