Page 28 of Winter Longing
Cole had only known her for a day, but he already felt a pull toward her, something more than just admiration for her stunning beauty or her kindness toward him. He felt oddly protective of her, and he found himself hoping—no, silentlywilling—his friend to keep it respectful. He knew Tank meant no harm—he’d never cheated on Doreen, but he was single again. But Ailsa didn’t belong in the same category as the women Tank usually flirted with during their nights out back home. She was...more. More real, more innocent, more sincere. And the idea of Tank seeing her as anything less made Cole’s jaw tighten.
Even as the thought crossed his mind, Cole felt a pang of guilt. He had no claim to Ailsa, no right to feel protective or territorial. Still, he couldn’t shake it. He wanted Tank to see what he saw—Ailsa’s quiet strength, her easy grace—and respect it, not ruin it with any of his usual antics.
Ailsa surprised him by bringing up—very directly— the secret Cole had shared with her, his suspicions that he wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
As the courtyard emptied, Ailsa leaned forward a smidge toward Tank and lowered her voice. “Do you also believe ye’ve traveled through time, sir?”
Tank stiffened, the question seeming to hit him like a blow. Very slowly, he asked, “What did you just say?”
“I asked if ye believe ye’ve traveled through time,” Ailsa repeated, “as Cole does.”
Tank looked at Cole, his jaw tightening. “What the hell?”
Cole sighed, the weight of his own confusion pressing down on him. “I didn’t tell her—well, I asked her the year. I needed to understand—”
“And I told him it was marked as 1302 presently,” Ailsa supplied helpfully, seemingly unperturbed by Tank’s sudden edginess.
“Thirteen hundred and two?” Tank repeated, his voice low and disbelieving.
“Apparently,” Cole said, when Tank seemed to look at him for confirmation. He was very familiar with Tank’s confusion, which he still grappled with himself. “It makes no sense, obviously, but... look around, it’s also the only thing thatdoesmakes sense.”
Tank’s face hardened, a flicker of anger and disbelief crossing his features. “You just believed her?”
Now Cole frowned, defensively of Ailsa, for Tank having just suggested that she lied. “Do you have a better explanation? Look around—at the castle, the people, the clothes. This isn’t...this isn’t right. It’s notourtime.”
Tank shook his head slowly, running a hand over his bearded jaw. “No. No, it’s not possible. Time travel? Come on, man. That’s—”
“Crazy?” Cole finished for him. “Yeah, I know. You think I wanted to believe it? You think I don’t still wake up hoping this is some screwed-up dream? But don’t tell me you haven’t considered it, certainly not if you’ve spent even just a little bit of time with Tavis’s army. On horses. Carrying swords.”
Tank’s silence stretched for a long moment, his hands flexing into fists at his sides. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter but no less strained. “I don’t know what is... what happened, but yeah, I recognized that something was different.”He looked at Ailsa and seemed to measure her character with a hard gaze. “You’re not lying about what year it is?”
Ailsa shook her head, her expression softened by what Cole believed was sympathy for Tank’s sudden misery. Very gently, she said, “Ye are both troubled by this. But does the truth nae lie before ye? What ye see and feel—does it nae convince ye?”
“I don’t know what to think. But yeah, I considered it. But...but if this is real...” His voice trailed off, his words heavy with uncertainty.
Cole exhaled, his own confusion resurfacing. “If it’s real, Tank, then what? What do we do?”
A gasp from Ailsa drew their attention, but her gaze was focused beyond them, abruptly turning Cole and Tank around, ready to confront a threat.
There stood the solemn man Cole had noticed earlier, the one he thought might be the priest Ailsa had mentioned.
“Shit,” he muttered, widening the man’s already startled gaze, leaving Cole to assume the man might have overheard their quiet conversation.
“Ailsa, lass,” the man said calmly, his speech ten times more English than either Cole’s or Tank’s. “Come to me.”
Away from Cole and Tank, Cole guessed he meant.
“Father Gilbert,” Ailsa protested, “these men are nae dangerous. They are—”
“Deranged, would be my guess,” said the mild-mannered man. “A danger in itself.”
Cole took offense. “We’re not crazy,” he insisted heatedly. “We’re...just lost. And just as confused as you.”
“Who’s this guy?” Tank wanted to know, adopting an intimidating pose, the kind one assumed in a bar late at night when some drunk got out of hand. He straightened, lengthening his body to its full height, half a foot taller than the priest, and brought his thick hands together in front of him, cockinghis head. Cole almost expected Tank to crack his knuckles in a sinister manner. It was all for show, of course. The priest and Tank had just traveled together with Tavis, so they must have met.
Ailsa stepped between the three men. “Father Gilbert, ye have nae been properly introduced. This is the man we found two days ago, Cole Carter,” she said, speaking quickly as if to ward off a coming fight. “He is returned to guid health and pleased to be reunited with his friend, Hank Morrison.”
The man didn’t so much as blink, though he did pass what Cole considered a sanctimonious gaze over both him and Tank. “And they are not deranged, though both believe they have come from another time?” He asked, not bothering to hide his doubtfulness.
