Page 30 of Winter Longing
“Spain?” Tank muttered, exchanging a look with Cole.
“Yes, Spain,” Father Gilbert said firmly. “It is the safest, most plausible option. And if you are wise, you will keep your heads down and draw as little attention as possible.”
Cole nodded slowly, the priest’s words sinking in. “We’ll be careful. You won’t even know we’re here. And you’ll keep our secret?”
Father Gilbert hesitated again, his gaze piercing. “For now. But mark my words—if I suspect you mean harm to this place or these people, I will not hesitate to act.”
Cole exchanged a glance with Tank, and the two men nodded slowly. They were still caught in a web of confusion, and apparently one of danger, but the priest’s warning made sense.
Father Gilbert turned to leave but hesitated, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto Ailsa. “And you, lass, are no fool. You know your brother’s nature. His protectiveness over you burns hotter than any fire in any hearth. If he sees you lingering too often in the company of strangers—these strangers—he will take notice. And when he does, it will not end with mere questions. It will bring scrutiny they evidently can ill afford.”
Ailsa opened her mouth to respond, but he held up a hand to stop her. “Do not mistake my meaning. I do not doubt your intentions, only your foresight. If you care for their safety—and your own—you must tread carefully, meaning you must distance yourself.”
Cole shifted uncomfortably but said nothing, sensing the truth in the priest’s warning. Ailsa’s lips pressed into a thin line, her chin lifting slightly in defiance, but she didn’t argue.
Satisfied that his words had sunk in, Father Gilbert straightened and pulled his cloak tighter around him. “Come along, lass.”
Again, Ailsa looked as if she wanted to argue, but eventually bowed to the priest’s command, sending a half-smile to Cole and Tank before she followed Father Gilbert into the keep.
Cole turned and met Tank’s wide eyes.
“We have to get out of here,” Cole concluded.
“Yep,” Tank agreed. “Preferably, before we get killed.”
Chapter Nine
Not knowing what else to do after Father Gilbert and Ailsa left, and with the courtyard nearly empty, Cole led Tank to the small room he’d been given at the back of the chapel. Tank followed, his broad shoulders brushing the edges of the narrow hallway as they walked. But as they passed the open door to the chapel itself, Tank stopped short, his jaw slack as he stared into the dimly lit interior.
“Unreal,” Tank muttered, his voice low and reverent.
Cole glanced back, recognizing the same awe he’d felt when he’d first peeked inside. The chapel, though simple, was steeped in an otherworldly atmosphere that brought home the extraordinary concept of being in another time.
The interior was constructed of rough-hewn stone, the walls cool and damp to the touch, their uneven surfaces bearing the marks of crude tools. Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, darkened by years of smoke from the iron sconces that held flickering candles. The chamber smelled of wax, damp earth, and faint traces of incense, lending the space a weighty, spiritual feel.
At the far end, an altar stood, draped in a coarse woolen cloth embroidered with a simple cross. Above it, a tall but narrow stained glass window let in a thin stream of winter light, casting a pale glow over the rough-hewn crucifix affixed beneath the window. Benches made of unpolished wood lined the nave, their surfaces worn smooth by countless worshippers over the years.
Tank shook his head, his usual unshakable demeanor replaced by something close to wonder. “Feels ancient,” he said as he backed out of the chapel.
Inside Cole’s borrowed room, while Tank now took in these sparse surroundings, Cole asked for a full accounting of whathad happened to him. Sensing his friend needed warmth as much as he needed to talk, Cole bent at the fireplace, stoking the fire and adding another clump of peat. “I’m listening,” he said, straightening as the flames leaped higher.
Tank joined him at the hearth, extending his hands toward the growing warmth. For a moment, he stared blindly into the fire, the flickering light casting sharp shadows on his face. “Like I said, I woke up—had to have been out for a while 'cause I was covered in snow—and started looking for you,” he began, his voice low. “Problem was, nothing looked familiar. I didn’t pay enough attention to my surroundings at first, so I had no clue which way I was going.” He flexed his fingers toward the heat, a frown tugging at his lips. “I realized pretty quick I’d been walking in circles. After that, sorry to say, dude, finding shelter became priority number one. I holed up in a cave for two nights. Spent all day searching—for you, for food, for anything. Came up empty.” Tank shook his head and shrugged at the same time. “Then I heard them. Weirdest damn noise—didn’t even recognize it at first. Turns out it was a group of riders, galloping like bats out of hell. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. Naturally, I ran the other way. But I was weak—too weak to outrun them.” He paused, his jaw tightening, the memory clearly unsettling. “When they caught up, they pulled swords—freaking swords. I had no idea what kind of medieval crap I’d stumbled into, but I knew I wasn’t going down easy. I fought back—what else could I do? Then everything changed when that kid got hurt, and I helped him. But it’s all good—well, me and them are good since I helped rescue that kid. But otherwise...everything else...”
Cole nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Briefly, he relayed his own tale, how he’d wandered near the castle and was discovered by Ailsa and another woman, but then had passed out. He advised what little had transpired since then, and then asked of Tank, “When did you start to suspect you...?”
“That I wasn’t in the twenty-first century?” Tank finished for him, his tone calm but tinged with unease. “Not right away, not when Sinclair and his army found me. But it didn’t take long after that. Just...everything. The way they dressed, the way they talked. The fact that they rode horses and carried swords instead of driving trucks and packing rifles. And the stuff they talked about—wars, feuds, kings...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It didn’t add up. Got me wondering.” Tank turned slowly, his eyes sweeping over the room. “But, Jesus...” he murmured.
“What?”
“I can’t—that is, I never...” He swung round a baffled frown toward Cole. “Would you ever have imagined?”
Frustration and confusion twisted inside Cole. He felt like they were missing something obvious, some logical explanation that hadn’t presented itself yet. “But itcan’tbe possible,” he insisted, desperation creeping into his voice.
And then, reminiscent of a happy scientist discovering something thought not to exist, Tank exclaimed in a whisper filled with awe, “It is, though. We’re here, living it, so it must be.”
Cole stared at him, concerned about Tank’s state of mind, what seemed now a dawning appreciation for what they’d accidentally, unknowingly done.
They discussed the possibility and probability for another entire minute, Tank willing to embrace it as real, while Cole fought with every fiber of his being to have it explained more realistically.
