Page 22 of High Stakes

Grass tickled my cheek and nose as I lay on my stomach, trying to decide if I was dead or just felt like it. When my arms and hands finally obeyed, I felt for my holster and stakes, relieved to find them still securely strapped to my side. The ozone tang of rain hung in the air and the muddy field in my line of sight smelled... terrible.

“It needs more manure!” a man yelled. I blinked until my blurred eyesight sharpened, focusing on a man walking alongside a plowed field, leading a horse beside him. With astonished eyes, he left the horse and trudged quickly through the mud toward me. “What in God’s name?” he breathed.

Two pairs of footsteps rushed toward me.

“Is she ill, Father?”

“I don’t know, but don’t ye get any closer,” the older man admonished. “Are you hurt, Miss? Have you suffered an injury?”

I whimpered in response, wishing it was as simple as that. Everything hurt. My pain receptors weren’t responding to my commands, which meant I couldn’t turn off the waves of agony radiating throughout my body. It felt like every bone in my body had shattered and been glued back together, and like that glue hadn’t had time to set. Tears flooded my eyes as I tried to move my fingers again. What if I was paralyzed?

A woman’s voice joined theirs. “Where did she come from? And, God’s breath, what is she wearing?”

The man’s voice shook. “I don’t know. One minute we were spreadin’ manure and workin’ it in, and the next, the sky and earth trembled. I looked up and there she was.”

The woman was quiet for a minute. “Don’t go near her. She’s ill. Could be plague.”

They continued to discuss me like I couldn’t hear them.

“She might be some sort of demon,” the older man spoke. “The earth shook. It trembled. And it was her that caused it.”

“She doesn’t have the boils,” the younger man argued. “As far as I can see, anyway.”

The woman huffed. “Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they aren’t there.” She was quiet for a moment, then she turned to the eldest man. “We can’t take the chance, Adam.”

Something sharp poked into my left hip bone. With great difficulty, I managed to shift my body an inch or two and ease the stabbing pain. I lifted my head and got a look at the three people hovering nearby. This wasn’t seven days ago. It wasn’t even seven years ago. “What year is it?” I croaked.

The young man crouched down so I could see him better. “It is the year of our Lord, thirteen forty-eight.” He rubbed his chest over his heart.

If I was reading him right, he wanted to help, but they were afraid. Not that I blamed them.

His mother and father looked to be in their fifties. She was slightly plump and wore layers of skirts, which she held up with trembling fingers as she backed away, waving for her husband and son to follow. “Come along. We can’t risk catching the black death.”

Adam hesitated like his son, but ultimately decided his wife was right. He turned his back and began walking up a small incline, limping slightly when he took a step alongside his wife.

Jacob lingered for a moment.

“Water?” I rasped.

“Jacob!” his mother cried. “Come along.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he whispered so only I could hear.

Eventually, I rolled over onto my back and glanced down to see that my communicator had been crushed on impact when my body slammed into the ground. One of the sharper pieces had dug into my skin, but my suit wasn’t bloody, so it must not have broken through.

It didn’t really matter that it was broken. It wasn’t like it would work in thirteen freaking forty-eight! I couldn’t message Titus and tell him when or where I was, and I couldn’t yell at Kael— which I really, really wanted to do— because travelling hurt like hell and there was no way his wimpy ass had gone back in time, even just twenty-four hours, and came back unscathed. Even the inside of my bones hurt. I didn’t know that was possible before now. I decided to lay on the ground until I felt better. Mostly because I couldn’t move without crying.

It felt like days until Jacob returned, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever been happier to see anyone in my life. By the time he returned in late afternoon, the sun had sunk slightly to the west. Judging by the falling leaves and cool temperature, it was autumn. He brought a leather pouch of water and threw it toward me, keeping several feet of distance between us. It landed right beside my head.

“Thank you,” I panted. He crouched a few feet away, watching as I laboriously pulled myself up. “Where am I?”

“Where did you come from?” he questioned.

“Please, just tell me where I am.”

He rubbed the scruff on his jaw. “Bloody hell, you’re near Edenshire.”

I froze. “You’re kidding.”

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