CHAPTER ONE
The scent of wood smoke and cooking fires drifted through the early evening air as Noah Wheeler made his way home. Just ahead, the small village of Havenwood hummed with a peculiar mix of inhabitants, plucked from various times and places.
His adoptive mother called what they’d all experienced,time-travel, but even after five years, Noah was still struck by the peculiarity of seeing a woman in pioneer dress drawing water from the well, while nearby a man in medieval clothing chopped wood.
He considered how strange his own colonial clothing, speech and customs must have seemed to everyone else when he and his sister first arrived.
Children’s laughter echoed from somewhere beyond the meticulously tended fields, their games a blend of ancient and modern play, made even more interesting by the abundant mix of languages and accents.
Adjusting the weight of the two pheasants slung over his shoulder, Noah made his way down the narrow path toward their stone cottage as the last of the setting sun cast longshadowy fingers across the community’s patchwork of crops and tidy gardens.
Like the rim of a wheel, the fields surrounded the village forming a protective buffer. Inexplicably, the motley collection of structures at its center seemed to make a cohesive whole. Just like the diverse people who, through no choice of their own, now called this place home.
Over an unknown span of time they, like he and Emily, had arrived on a moonless night, thrust into this timeless realm without warning or explanation.
Though he missed his parents desperately, the life he’d lived with them seemed more and more like a dream than reality.
He still remembered the difficulty he and Emily had adjusting in that first year. If not for Taran and Paige Fleming taking them in, adopting them, Noah couldn’t imagine what the outcome might have been. Although twenty-one at the time, a man grown, despite his vow to protect his sister, Noah knew he could not have succeeded on his own in this strange new world.
Looking back, he knew they’d have managed somehow to survive in this extraordinaryother-world, but they certainly wouldn’t have thrived as they had with the Flemings.
Little more than a decade younger than Taran, whose experiences deemed him worlds older and wiser, Noah had become far more skilled under his adopted father’s tutelage.
Under their care, Emily had blossomed from a terrified, almost non-verbal eight-year-old to a cheerful, loving thirteen-year-old who literally doted on Taran and Paige’s son, Brody.
Emily was flourishing here and Noah loved watching it happen. She could be a child one moment, as in tune to Brody as if she were five herself, and at the same time a woman-in-training as she mimicked Paige’s every move and gesture.
She was special, his Emily. And his determination to protect her and his new family had never been stronger.
As he got closer, the familiar evening bustle of the village tinged the air. Children’s laughter, the clang of cooking pots, and snippets of conversation floated across the fields.
But as Noah approached their stone cottage, nestled, unlike the others, on the outskirts of a field, something felt wrong, sending a warning tingle through his belly.
Where were the usual scents of supper simmering over a fire? Or Brody’s animated laughter, or the sweet sounds of Paige humming softly as she went about preparations for their evening meal. Or Taran working outside to take advantage of the last light of the day. But most stark of all, the lack of Emily’s laughter.
She hadn’t felt well when he’d set out this morning. But he’d thought it only temporary. Although, in truth, shehad seemed excessively tired of late, falling asleep easily, not as quick to engage with any of them. If he allowed himself to scrutinize her behavior, she hadn’t really been herself for days. Even weeks.
Seeing only a dim glow from the windows, he picked up his pace, concerned over the unusual silence.
Heart thudding against his ribs, he pushed open the wooden door, squinting into the dim interior. A single candle flickered on the otherwise empty tabletop. No plates or bowls sat ready for their meal. Nothing bubbled in the pot hanging over the dying embers in the hearth.
Paige sat in a chair with Emily curled on her lap, her arms wrapped protectively around the child as if she could hold what ailed her at bay by sheer will.
A chill crept over Noah’s skin.
In the corner, five-year-old Brody stacked blocks with unusual quiet, as if sensing the vulnerability in the air.
Noah dropped the game birds and crossed to Paige’s chair in three long strides, gently pulling Emily’s hair aside to reveal her face, flushed and hot to the touch. Her usually bright eyes wereglassy and unfocused beneath the compress Paige pressed to her forehead. She’d always been small for her age, but in Paige’s arms, she seemed impossibly fragile.
Noah’s stomach clenched. “How long has she been like this?”
“The fever spiked an hour ago,” Paige whispered, her violet eyes swimming with tears. She’s having intermittent bouts of chills, and her lethargy seems to get worse by the day. I’ve noticed subtle changes in her over the last few weeks, but…I hoped against hope that…”
Her voice caught, and she looked away.
“That…what?” Noah demanded. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Taran burst through the door with water sloshing over the edge of his bucket. “’Tis icy cold, Love. Direct from the river, just as ye asked. What would ye have me do wi’ it?”
