His offer seemed innocent enough, but she wasnae quite that helpless, yet. Or was she?
Several frustrated and painful minutes later, peppered with a litany of less-than-ladylike utterances, she finally gave up. Och! ’Twas infuriating to have to ask for help! Blast this dreadful day, these injuries, and these miserably tight jeans! It seemed everything she touched stole precious time from her. Her earlier clumsiness would cost her a day at the least. A day her family mayhap dinnae have.
She'd finally managed to remove her own clothing, awkwardly and painfully ease the jeans over her tender, throbbing knees and wiggle them halfway up her hips. But she couldnae quite make the final hitch to pull them that last few inches to fasten them. Angrily, she yanked on her OWEN’S BAKERY Tee-shirt, gave up, and called for help.
“Sean?”
His instant appearance dinnae surprise her. “I'm afraid I need yer help, after all. Could ye start with my shoes?”
He glanced at her new attire but dinnae comment as he knelt at her feet and slipped her left shoe on. He hesitated with the right. “Yer foot was twisted a bit when ye fell. I dinnae wish tae hurt ye, if ’tis too sore.”
She rolled her ankle. A little stiff and achy, like everything else, but thankfully nothing more. “ ’Tis fine, I think. Go ahead.”
After Sean eased the shoe in place, she held out her hands. “Now, if ye’ll help me stand, I’ll finish tucking and zipping."
His brow furrowed. “Zipping?”
’Twas her turn to look confused. Even though his traditional kilt dinnae use one, he should still know what a zipper was. She'd only been in this century a few weeks and she'd learned to recognize and use the extraordinary tool.
She wished she could take such a wonder back with her. But she kenned well enough, all she learned and experienced here could only be carried back in her memory. The witchcraft charges against her mither and sister would be naught, compared to the charges they would lay against her if she were caught with, or even spoke of, the wonders she'd seen here.
And here was Sean, looking and acting as ifhe'dcome from another time, as well. Not that she minded how he looked. Not one bit, she mused, casting a quick glance at him. But, if she’d somehow been cast through time, was it not possible he had, as well?
Nae. ’Twas ridiculous. Likely, he’d simply lived an isolated life. She shook her head, exasperated by her thoughts. Why should she care if he dinnae ken a zipper? “Help me stand, please, and I’ll show ye.”
Sean slipped an arm around her waist, lifted her as if she were naught more than a wee bairn, and kept his hands at her waist to help her balance since her stiffening knees dinnae want to straighten completely. Crouching a bit awkwardly, with sore hands, she struggled to pull her jeans together and zip them closed. Sean's eyes followed her actions but she couldae worry about what he saw, beyond the zipper. The Tee-shirt hid most of it, anyway. Besides, she’d never see him again, after today.
She motioned wearily at the kirk wall. “I’ll just lean against there, if ye’ll be so kind as to gather my things?”
With his own bag slung over a shoulder, he scooped her discarded clothing into a bundle and handed it to her. “Ready then?”
“Almost.” She glanced at the opening in the outer wall, struggling to accept this delay. She still couldnae believe she was allowing a complete stranger tocarryher all the way to the village. She’d thought perhaps she could walk, at least part of the time, but she hadnae even managed standing on her own.
“We'll only travel ashortdistance and then rest,” she instructed, still doubtful he could carry her that far.Which route would be wisest?Was she foolish to travel with a total stranger on the shorter, abandoned back-road she’d been using? Although, as he’d already pointed out, if he meant to harm her, he’d have already done it.
“If we take the old, abandoned road Owen showed me, ’twill save both distance and time. Although there’s no hurry,” she added quickly, to give him an excuse to rest. “We’re free tae take what time we need.”
The lie tasted bitter on her tongue and Kenna wanted desperately to spit it out before it choked her. She'd been racing time since she arrived, desperate to find her way back to the year 1597. Pretending to belong in this astounding century in order to survive had taken all her cunning and skills,andused up every drop of her limited patience. She’d been in a state of perpetual terror. For her family and herself.
And now, she had a ‘would-be hero’ on her hands who refused to let well enough alone. She kenned she should be grateful for the help he offered, but all she could think about was her mither and sister; innocent victims of a savage witch hunt.
They’d been targeted, caught, and condemned. Sent to burn. Just one week remained before their sentences were scheduled to be carried out. If it wasnae already too late. What if, in the hysteria of the time, the dates had been moved up? Or usurped entirely, by a frenzied mob?
The thought made Kenna’s stomach churn until she existed in a constant state of nausea and anxiety. Already, the clothes she'd arrived in hung loose on her body. And the problem of being in the right clothes for the right century, had become a tedious burden. Twenty-first century clothing in town. Sixteenth century attire for any hope to get back through time, and once there, the ability to blend in.
She'd tried to replicate every detail from the moment she’d been shoved through whatever portal or passageway had brought her here. She wore the same clothes, afraid to wash or change them in any way. She let her hair fly wild and loose, just as it had been the day they’d all been rounded up and accused by a pack of fevered zealots.
But to no avail. She’d failed every attempt to return to her own time.
Still, she came every day, put on her old clothes and tried with all her might to find the exact spot and ideal conditions that would take her back. And when she absolutely couldnae come, she donned the clothes of this century and tried her best to fit in.
Pretending to be alone with no family, dinnae take any trickery. But pretending to belong here, did. If it hadnae been for the incredible generosity of Owen McIntyre she couldnae have managed.
The day Owen found her, she’d been desperate and terrified, wailing like a wee bairn at the ruins of the wall. He took her home, fed her, gave her a place to stay and even offered her work. And when she dinnae ken he could do more, he'd given her what he called an ‘advance’ to purchase some clothes and whatever personal items she might need.
Owen McIntyre was her true hero. Not that she dinnae appreciate Sean helping her through the results of her clumsiness today. But he'd soon be gone. A good thing, she reminded herself. She couldnae afford any more distractions. Time drained away at a horrifying speed.
What she really needed was a miracle or two. For once she wished the accusations were true and she really was a witch.
