Page 25 of Winter Longing
“Aside from my aunt—Aunt Rosie, I think I mentioned her already—I don’t have any other close family. My mother passed when I was in second grade.” He shrugged. “My father died of lung cancer about ten years ago.”
“Ye lament the loss of yer mother more than yer father,” she guessed.
Stunned by her astuteness, wondering how she’d arrived at her guess, Cole questioned it.
And now Ailsa shrugged. “Yer voice changed, seemed graver when ye mentioned yer mother’s passing.”
That did not surprise him, so much as the fact that she noticed it. “My mother was...she was great, smart and funny, and all about family. My father, on the other hand, was...not any of those things.” But he didn’t want to get into that, drudging up all the unkind history of his relationship with his father. “All right, so I live in my own house. I drive to work in a car. I—”
“What is yer work? Ye are a craftsman?”
“A craftsman?”
“Ye are nae a knight, told me nae to call yesir. Ye dinna ride and carry nae sword, so ye are nae a common soldier. Ye are nae of the clergy, I dinna believe. But ye are more... refined than a framer. Ye might be a craftsman.”
“Actually, I’m a fireman,” he said.
“A fireman?”
“Yep. In...well, in my time, we have fire...I guess you might call them fire brigades?” He ventured, but her expression hinted that was not the case. “A fireman’s job is to respond to a variety of emergencies, including fires, medical matters, hazardous material issues, and road traffic incidents.We also get calls for search and rescue for people trapped or injured. It’s not just putting out fires, though that's a big part of it—we do a lot of first aid, saving lives, and community education, with the goal of preventing disasters before they happen.”
She listened carefully, but he couldn’t read her polite expression, didn’t know whether she comprehended anything he’d said. So then, he didn’t think he should bother getting into hisotherjob, with the Bandits. How would he ever explain the purpose of that, let alone the specifics of professional sports?
Catching a glare from Anwen while he consumed more of the food covering his trencher, he thought to ask Ailsa, “So, is Anwen your...sister?”
Ailsa showed surprise at his guess.
“Anwen is my maid.”
“Oh. Shit, really?” At Ailsa’s show of greater surprise, he explained. “I only mean, she’s kind of bossy with you, kind of like an older sister might be.”
“She was my nurse first and then my tutor, essentially, meaning she spent all my young life fostering me, plenty of time to ascend to her commanding role.”
Cole considered her, measuring her tone and inflection, coming to a decision. “You love her, but she annoys you. You resent that she still treats you like a child, even though you are clearly an adult.”
“Ye are nae far off in yer assessment. She is guid-hearted, but she laments the loss of control she has over me.” She leaned in toward him, whispering even lower, “She runs with every tale—every imagined indiscretion or wrong—to my brother, and I swear sometimes I just want to....to pinch her. Hard.”
Cole chuckled at this, having expected that she would threaten something a little more dangerous, maybe a slap or a dismissal. Pinch her? Not punch her?
Being from seven hundred years in the future, unsure how long he might stay, and fully aware that this could in no way be considered a date—despite the private conversation they'd enjoyed throughout the meal—Cole was sure of only one thing: if this had been a first date, he’d definitely be wanting a second.
Chapter Eight
Cole woke to a thin strip of light streaming in through the narrow, frosty window of the small rectory bedroom. The cold had crept in despite the heavy woolen blankets and furs piled on top of him, and though it wasn’t bright white, he thought he saw his breath above him as he stared at the timber ceiling. A surge of disappointment swept through him, and he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Last night he’d fallen asleep hoping that he’d wake up back in his own bed at home, or even at the hotel in Scotland, finding that the last few days had been some long and fantastic dream. But the stone walls, the simple wooden furniture, and the smell of the woodsmoke told him otherwise. This was still...wherever here was. He still hadn’t sorted that out. Or made peace with it.
He swung his legs out of bed and fumbled for his clothes, the same ones he’d been wearing since he got here, the only clothes he had. The jeans felt stiff, and his shirt carried a faint scent of greasy food and the hall’s smoky torches and fire. Last night, having no other choice, he’d turned his boxer briefs inside out. What he wouldn’t give for a washer, or a change of clothes. He might need to figure that out soon, though he didn’t know how on earth he’d manage it here.
Ailsa would know, he guessed.
Pulling on his clothes, he found himself lingering over thoughts of her, recalling snippets of the conversation with Ailsa over supper. Though she seemed a true part of this world, she had something almost modern in her spirit, a quickness and wit that fascinated him. Cole was fairly certain she’d tried as much as he had to hide the curiosity, and he’d found himself captivated by her small, amused smiles and the way she’d catch herself glancing his way when she thought he wasn’t looking.His confusion and anxiety over his situation was huge, but he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed being around her. She was intelligent, a little fiery, but guarded, as if she’d already learned to be careful with the people in her life.
Sighing at the thought of another day spent in a place and time that was so implausible and unfamiliar, Cole grabbed his coat and made his way through the narrow and low-ceiling hallway, stepping into the winter chill outside. He hoped that Ailsa might have worked something out to go out on another search for Tank, but didn’t know how to find her if she didn’t come to get him. Certainly, he didn’t feel comfortable enough to simply walk into the castle looking for her. Or, what? Knock at the door and ask to see her?
Cole sighed, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets as he made his way outside. If he stayed idle too long, his thoughts would keep circling back to the bizarre reality of where—orwhen—he was. His thoughts were still tangled enough that he knew he’d better do something useful today until or unless he did run into Ailsa; he needed busy work. Back home he was better able to manage any concerns or uneasiness, usually with a hard run that left his lungs burning or a heavy session at the gym to clear his mind. When life on the field got intense or after a long, grueling shift at the firehouse, he’d always had an outlet. And on the worst days, he’d throw himself into a home project—something he could start and finish with his own two hands to remind himself he was capable, in control.
But here, none of those escapes were available. There was no punching bag, no gym, no projects to tackle. The best he could do now was to find something physical, something that would burn up the tension threatening to gnaw at him.
Almost immediately, he noticed a small group of men standing by the outer wall. He approached the group bent over the corner of the castle, trying to figure out what they weredoing. The discussion among the five men was not in English so Cole could only guess what they were about, but when he was close enough, he saw that the base of the castle was in need of repair, some of the stone having fallen away. His approach drew the attention of the group, turning one pair of eyes after another, several of them filled with cool suspicion or outright hostility, the least of which was seen on the young guy he recognized from yesterday’s search party group, Davey, who greeted him with a head nod and not half the wariness of the others.
