Cuckoo in the Coven

f it is true,” he couldn’t believe he was even considering it, “how have you come back to 1820?”

She shook her head. “If I knew that...” She slumped and sat down again.

Every instinct in his body told him she was telling the truth, or at least believed in her convictions, but reason defied it. He squatted down beside her. “I want to believe you. I see your likeness in the miniature and the age of the cottage there, but I cannot wrap my thoughts around it.”

“You aren’t the only one. I moved to Cornwall and found myself living in a place where pagan traditions are kept alive and mysticism is everywhere, but this is far beyond my understanding.”

Her expression made his chest tight.

“You moved here?”

“From London. I inherited the cottage where we met. It was my grandmother’s.”

“The place was given to you, and you have no husband to claim it and keep it?”

“No. No husband, nor do I need one.” She smiled at him, seemingly more at ease. “Women in my time can do such things without the need for a man.”

“You perhaps, but not all women, surely?”

She covered his hand with hers. “Don’t worry, there are still some things we need men for.” Her eyes held mischief.

He laughed softly. “I’m glad to hear it.”

She was speaking the truth, as hard as it was for him to accept. But what did it mean? His mind moved beyond the obstacle of reason and ran with the possibility. “If your words are true, it makes our curious meeting even stranger, don’t you think?”

She nodded. “Oh, yes. I was asleep in my own bed, and then I woke up in your time.”

Yes, he saw it now, how shocked she’d been, standing there in her strange undergarments. They were different in every way, and yet they had been drawn together for some reason. There was an odd similarity of their situations though. “You are lost. I’m trying to find a home. We seem to share the fact we are wandering souls, Sunny, in search of our destiny.”

“Yes, it’s true,” she murmured, looking into his eyes. “I wonder if that’s why I’m here. I dreamt of you often, before. You spoke to me in the dreams, but I couldn’t understand the words, not until last night.”

Something inside him knotted. He felt drawn to her, and he also felt a strange sense of recognition, some sort of identification with what she had said. It was as if they stood together on the edge of something very significant, but what? What did this mean? He didn’t understand it, but he felt compelled to believe.

He moved closer and drew her in against his body with one hand, offering comfort. “I heard a tale about a man who had traveled from the future, in London last year. My sisters were all talking of him.”

“And what happened to him?”

“I have to admit I took little notice.”

Her face fell. “Me neither. I mean, I’ve seen time travel described in books and movies too, but never thought about it being truly possible.”

“Movies?”

She stared at him in silence for a moment. “Oh, never mind, it’s something from my time you don’t have yet. Kind of like books and pictures, together. Believe me, it would take hours to explain. I really wish we had the time, though.”

She rested her hand around his neck and looked at him so beseechingly his heart leapt in his chest and he drew her closer again, wrapping her into his arms.

“I will have to leave here soon. My voyage will begin today.” He spoke the words he felt inevitable, but he didn’t want to leave her. The idea of it had begun to feel very, very wrong. “Will you come with me?”

Her eyelids lowered. “I’d like to, really I would, but I can’t. I feel I must stay close to the cottage in order to return to my time. The cottage exists in both realms, so it’s the commonality. I can’t leave it.” Her thick eyelashes lifted as she met his gaze. She studied him for a long, silent moment, then reached out and touched his cheekbones, running her fingertips down to his jaw. “I’m so glad I dreamed about you at the cottage. I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

Her gaze was seductive, fast affecting him. “Good dreams, were they, lass?”

“The best.” Her eyebrows lifted suggestively, leaving him in no doubt as to her meaning.

Never before had he seen such passion in a woman’s eyes. The sight of it took a hold of him, firing his blood.

While he looked at her soft, rosebud lips, craving them, they parted. “Kiss me again, Cullen,” she whispered.