Page 11 of Here in Your Arms
Emmy led Rose through a side doorway and down a corridor, turning around a corner before Emmy stepped into a large, warm kitchen, its packed earth floor seeming as solid as stone for decades or possibly centuries of footfalls. Thick wooden beams above were blackened with the smoke of countless meals. The hearth fire blazed, drawing Rose’s attention, in awe to see so ancient a structure and its many compartments—several built-in cubbies for ovens, two bays of fire as the ‘stove’—in use.A long, scarred wooden table sat in the middle of the room, cluttered with clay bowls, wooden spoons, and the remnants of the evening meal. A collection of black pots and kettles hung from hooks near the hearth, their surfaces dulled with use,
Two women bustled within the chamber. One, taller and leaner with graying brown hair, was kneading a round of dough, her capable hands working the pliant mass with brisk efficiency. The other, plump and ruddy-cheeked, was tending the fire, her sharp eyes darting up when she heard the door creak open.
“Ach, there ye are,” the ruddy-cheeked woman said, addressing Emmy. “And who’s this, then?” Her shrewd gaze flicked over Rose, taking in her pale face, her bewildered expression, and—a frown developing—her jeans and tennis shoes.
“This is Rose,” Emmy introduced, glancing toward the hearth and a few suspended black kettles, as if gauging what might be left from supper. “She’s hungry.” Emmy pointed at the plump woman, smiling affectionately, and said to Rose. “That’s Agnes. You willnevergo hungry in her presence. And this,” she added, sidling close to the taller woman, her smile becoming more playful, “is Maud, and she—”
“—has work to do,” Maud interrupted, arching a brow at Emmy before turning her gaze to Rose, assessing her with an expression that, while not exactly unkind, was certainly less indulgent than Agnes’s.
Emmy grinned. “Maud rules the roost here, Rose, and while she pretends she’s all tough and scary, she’s actually a softie underneath.”
Rose smiled wanly, offering a quiet, “Hello.”
At the sound of Rose’s voice, Maud’s frown sharpened while Agnes swiveled swiftly from the hearth, where she’d been ladling something into a wooden bowl.
“Jesu,” Agnes gasped, crossing herself. Her little round eyes jerked to Emmy. “Are ye attractin’ more of them?”
Emmy reacted quickly, defensively. “Me? Agnes, I had nothing to do with this—how could I?”
Maud’s nostrils flared, her gaze still locked onto Rose. “Ye’re tellin’ me another one’s fallen through time? Just like ye did?”
Rose’s eyes widened and she gaped at Emmy. “They know?”
Emmy smiled gently at Rose. “Yes, almost from the start. It was Maud and Agnes—and Ailis, I’m not sure where she is—who kept me from completely losing my mind.” To the hard-working maids in the kitchen, Emmy said, “Ladies, please recall how frantic I was in those first few days. Rose has...just arrived”—she paused and turned a curious frown onto Rose—“how long have you been here?”
Rose shrugged, not exactly sure. “Maybe a day,” She ventured, having no idea how long she’d lain in the forest, unconscious. “Er, almost twenty-four hours, I guess.”
Emmy opened up her hand to the older women, as if to say,See?
“There you have it,” Emmy said. “She’s still traumatized because it’s all so new, and because it was only in the last hour that I explained what I believed happened to her.”
Agnes crossed herself again.
Maud thinned her lips and glared at Emmy. “I kent it was just ye, lass. If ye’re inviting others—and somehow now I’m in danger of being sucked through time, tossed around, landing somewhere I dinna ken—I’ll nae take kindly to it, and I’ll hold ye to blame for it.”
Emmy was unruffled by the woman’s harsh attitude, literally waving her off by flapping her hand. “Maud, I have nothing to do with this, and we only stumbled on poor Rose—it wasn’t like she camehere, to Dunmara. Anyway, the point is, let’s be kind andpatient and help Rose and not worry about things that haven’t happened and are probably unlikely to happen.”
Once again facing the hearth, her back to the room, Agnes murmured, “Who’d want to take her?”
After a narrow-eyed glare at Agnes’s back, Maud wanted to know, “And what does the laird say about this?”
“He’s the one who found her, actually,” Emmy said. She addressed Rose, still hovering near the door. “Sorry, we’re being rude. Come on in. Sit down.”
“Aye, and we’ll fix yer hunger, lass,” Agnes declared pleasantly, bringing the bowl to the wooden table. “Sit yerself down, and we’ll see ye fed proper.”
Because the kitchen was wonderfully, blessedly warm, Rose shrugged off the stolen shawl and began to unbutton her coat. Emmy came forward and took the shawl and then Rose’s coat when she took that off, and then gaped at Rose, looking her up and down.
Rose glanced down at herself, wondering if she was in worse shape than she thought. But no, her lavender blouse was surprisingly intact, the pointed collar, columns of ruffles, and the pearly buttons all neat and clean. Her jeans, however, were another story, wrinkled and mottled with mud stains from the knee down. Her tennis shoes had fared no better in the fourteenth century, the rubber soles and the three white stripes of her Adidas sneakers streaked and caked with mud.
She glanced up at Emmy, a blush rising.
“Oh, wow,” Emmy said, a smile curving her mouth. “You really are from 1978.”
Rose exhaled a breathy laugh, nervously pulling down the tapered, ruffled end of her long sleeve.
“Sit, sit,” Emmy said quickly, shaking herself out of her seeming fascination. She pulled out a tall stool from beneath the long table and moved it in front of the bowl Agnes had set down.While Rose sat, Emmy darted away, still holding Rose’s coat and the shawl, and returned to the table, setting down a small metal spoon.
“They didn’t have these—not for eating—when I first came,” Emmy explained. “But I’m slowly bringing a few necessities to Dunmara...well, maybe they’re more luxuries.”
