Page 12 of Here in Your Arms
Rose smiled her thanks and did so again when Agnes placed a wedge of brown bread in front of her. Rose bent and sniffed at the contents of the bowl, which resembled any modern-day stew, she supposed, and then sagged in relieved joy at the savory scent, and for the first real meal she’d had in... however long it had been since she’d last eaten. Her first taste was surprising, a rich combination of flavors, none of which she could confidently name, and bits of tender meat. The coarse, dense bread was fabulous at soaking up the broth.
Rose felt eyes on her and glanced up to find Maud studying her like a hawk as she ate, her thoughtful gaze not entirely charitable at the moment.
“Good Lord, Maud,” Emmy complained as she laid the shawl and coat across a clean part of the table, “stop trying to figure her out—your stare is lethal sometimes. Rose is simply as lost and as confused as I was.”
Maud offered no reply but did drop her gaze from Rose.
“Whether ye want to or nae, lass,” Agnes spoke up, “ye best get used to it. Seems time’s got a strange way of tanglin’ itself up in these parts.”
Emmy sat down on a stool next to Rose, smiling warmly at her. “I think in order to help you make sense of this—as much as possible—that we should—”
She paused, her gaze arrested on the doorway.
Her husband, Brody MacIntyre, stood there.
He didn’t step into the kitchen but remained in the doorway, and somehow he still managed to shrink the room. All eyesjerked to him. He didn’t speak right away, but he didn’t need to—his dark, evaluating gaze swept the room once, flickering over Rose with a mysterious expression before it landed on Emmy, and stayed there.
Agnes snickered good-naturedly as she flung a cloth over her shoulder, letting it rest there. “Nae ever seen a man so much in the kitchen as this one, always looking for that one.” She inclined her head toward Emmy with a knowing grin.
Emmy, unperturbed, batted her lashes and said airily, “He’s in love, Agnes, and how could he not be?” Emmy teased, rising from the stool and making her way around the table.
Agnes chuckled while Maud rolled her eyes and muttered something unintelligible.
Rose kept her gaze on Brody MacIntyre. He remained as severe looking as he had earlier, all sharp lines and quiet intensity, but there was something behind his dark eyes that gave Rose pause. His gaze was riveted on Emmy as she walked toward him in such a way that made Rose’s breath catch slightly. He looked frighteningly serious, yet there was a quiet reverence in his expression, an unwavering devotion that softened the harshness of his features. He watched Emmy as if she were the only person in the room—as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered.
How sweet, Rose thought, adjusting her opinion of him slightly.
With another fleeting glance at Rose, Brody tilted his head toward the corridor, his meaning clear without words. Emmy sighed theatrically but obeyed, following his direction. He placed a firm hand at the small of her back as he guided her out into the low-ceilinged corridor.
Neither Maud nor Agnes reacted to Brody’s abrupt—wordless—summoning of his wife, suggesting this was not a rare happening.
Rose, however, was markedly curious. She strained to listen, catching only pieces of what seemed a fairly heated conversation. Emmy’s voice was urgent but calm, and Brody’s was low and firm.
She overheard something about...the lass, the resemblance, he needs to be told.
And then other words, heard only in snippets, that meant nothing to her.Druimlach...On the morrow... Tis nae for us to decide.
Rose’s stomach turned slightly, her pulse quickening. Were they talking abouther? She had to assume they were.
Maud, possibly sensing that Rose was attempting to eavesdrop, plopped the kneaded dough into a large wooden bowl and heaved a vocal sigh. “Ye come from the same time as our mistress, do ye?”
The question was loaded to the brim with doubt and suspicion.
Rose cleared her throat, shaking her head, feeling weary again suddenly. “No. Well, close to her time, but about forty years earlier, I guess.”
“And what?” Agnes asked, perhaps prompted by Maud broaching the subject to have her own questions answered. “Ye felt the air shift, same as the lass did? Felt ‘something was off’ as she says, and then... then ye simply woke up here? With us? Er, in our time?”
Rose shrugged, suddenly curious about Emmy’s event. “Yeah, basically, that about sums it up. Well, I’m not so sure I felt anything different in the air, so to speak. But the lights flashed and,” she shrugged, recalling as much as she could from that moment inside the reading room, “and then everything was bright white for a moment. I felt as if I passed out. And...yeah, I woke in the forest—I guess not too far from here. But before I was...here, I was in Glasgow in...1978.”
Once more, Agnes made the sign of the cross over her ample bosom.
To hopefully relieve some of the rampant suspicion aimed her way, Rose shrugged again, and declared weakly—the truth, “I don’t know any more than you do, any more than that. I can’t explain it.” Her lips trembled as helplessness overwhelmed her.
Emmy returned to the kitchen then, her wide—possibly purposeful—smile faltering as she caught sight of Rose’s face. “Oh, no, honey. It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.” She marched directly around the table and approached Rose, wrapping her arms around her as she stood beside her.
Afraid and still terrifically confused, Rose leaned into her, trying valiantly to prevent herself from crying. Emmy’s warmth and compassion were welcome, though it did nothing to quiet the chaos in her mind.
“I know,” Emmy said. “It’s terrifying. It’s hard to understand. But, Rose, I’m here for you and I’m going to help you through this.”
