Marley strained to see through the sheets of rain, to make out shapes, sounds, something that would let her know what was coming. But she had only that tickle in the gut she’d learned to trust these last weeks.
“Get back,” snapped Ian.
She looked around in time to see him trying to stand. His eyes shone silver in the dark.
What can you do with nothing left? She opened her mouth to ask, and everything changed.
Ian was gone. She felt a swift kick of panic that quickly shifted to dumbfounded shock. Instead of the cave, she stood on a cobbled street, in a city out of some period film. Cut-stone buildings, joined like row houses, rose several stories into the air. Above their roof lines, she could just spy a castle on a hill in the distance. A half dozen people in—Jesus, were those breeches and…what were they called…frock coats? One middle-aged gentleman tipped his tricorne hat to her as he walked by. Marley just stared. She realized her own clothes were different. She wore some old-fashioned dress, heavy with layers of brocade and lace over a corset that dug into her ribs.
What. The. Hell?
A doorway opened across the street. Ian stepped out. But not her Ian. Instead of the short, military cut, his glossy hair flowed nearly to his shoulders, long enough now that she could see faint hints of red in the strands. He was dressed in a kilt of blue and green plaid. A band of the same plaid wrapped up and over the shoulder of his fine linen shirt, affixed with some kind of silver pin. She didn’t know what all the bits and baubles were called, but he was clearly dressed up for some occasion, and he was nothing short of mouth-watering.
Catching sight of her, his eyes widened, and he hurried across the street to take her arm. “Ye weren’t supposed to be here.” His burr was much broader than she was used to hearing.
“What’s going on?” she managed.
“Not here,” he said, tucking her arm in his.
They passed other houses, shops, more people in the apparel of the period. Horse-drawn carriages and buggies clattered over the cobblestones. Passing a shop window, Marley caught sight of her reflection and started. She wasn’t herself. The reflection showed someone taller, with coiffed blonde hair and softer features. Marley held tighter to Ian’s arm. Freaking out on a public street simply wouldn’t do.
A couple of blocks past a tavern, Ian cast a furtive glance around and dragged her under a stone archway and down a dark, twisting passage that might well have been the start of some medieval maze. They emerged into a little courtyard in the center of a tight cluster of buildings. Dusky light filtered down from the scrap of sky above, but not enough to banish the long shadows.
Ian turned to her, taking both her hands and tugging her close, laying his lips on hers. Marley thought it was hardly the time for a kiss, but she went with it because the whole experience had the surreal quality of a waking dream. He might have looked different, but he tasted like Ian, kissed like Ian. There was comfort in that.
Breaking the kiss, he stepped back just enough so he could beam down at her. She’d never seen him look so unabashedly free and happy.
“Darlin’ Susanna.”
Marley went cold at the sound of another woman’s name on his lips.
“I’ve spoken wi’ your father. He’s given his consent for us to wed.”
She stared at him without a clue what to say or what was going on. But he was still talking.
“—O’ course we’ll have to wait for the banns to be read, and I’m sure your mother, bless her, will want time to plan. She cried when the deal was done. Worries about my carrying ye away like some savage to my keep, as if the estate doesnae have a proper house and furnishings. But your father knows I shall be laird one day.”
Her head spun.
God, he looks so in love. So young.
He finally ran down and gave a baffled little smile. “Say something, love. This is what ye wanted, isnae?”
Something bittersweet and sharp twisted just beneath her heart. Yes, she wanted this. In her own time, her own place, with him, she wanted this. But he so clearly believed her to be someone else.
Marley laid a hand on his cheek. “Ian—” She broke off as she caught sight of the men in the shadows behind him.
Before she could shout a warning, they rushed out and grabbed him. She stumbled back. Ian struggled with two of them, jamming an elbow back. With an oof, one man let go. Ian reached for his sword, but the guy was back on him in seconds. He clearly wasn’t as fast or as well-trained in this reality as he was in hers. As she had in Gatlinburg, Marley screamed. But though the sound reverberated through the enclosed space, no one came running.
As the echoes of her scream faded, a third man stalked toward her, eyes flashing a predatory gold. Marley backed up, patting at the dress. But of course there was no stun gun or pepper spray tucked away in her bodice. The man smiled and lunged for her. Marley lashed out, aiming for his nose, but he deflected the blow and wrapped a meaty arm around her, lifting her off her feet.
“Let me go, you bastard!”
“Oh, ho! Such language for a lady.”
Marley continued to struggle as he turned back toward the fight.
Ian held a long, thin knife, and he warred for control of it. He was losing with these odds.