Page 19 of So Close To Heaven
Because how did someone accept that she’d fallen through time?
How did a rational, modern woman—one who had driven stick-shift cars and filled out tax forms and read books about political theory in undergrad—suddenly nod and say, “Yes, that seems reasonable. A hike through the Scottish Highlands ended with me waking up in an actual medieval war zone.”
She closed her eyes, trying to slow her breathing, but the images and impressions flooded back—men with swords, horses with iron-plated tack, the press of Alaric’s arm across her body as they’d ridden through the dark. Lifeless, bloodied bodies. The scent. The accents. Even the cold, which felt different, deeper. None of it added up unless she believed the only explanation thatmadeany sense.
But how could she make sense of the senseless?
She rolled to her other side, ears straining in the silence. Every little sound felt amplified—the tick of water dripping against stone, the wind's breath against the eaves, some distant clang she couldn’t identify. A creak in the beams made her sit up slightly, heart kicking. It was nothing, probably the wind. Or maybe one of the soldiers posted nearby. But still, her ears stayed tuned to every faint shuffle, desperate to identify noises to know peace.
Her stomach turned. She pressed her palm to it, feeling the swell of her pregnancy, the undeniable presence of the baby who’d had no choice but to come with her through time. Her mind tumbled over the questions again: Was she delusional? Was this a coma? Some elaborate historical reenactment gone disastrously wrong?
But that didn’t explain how real everything felt. The ache in her joints. The smoke in her hair. The very elemental need to pee all day.
She stared at the stone wall, rough and ancient, perhaps older than anything she’d ever touched before. Her fingertips brushed the mortar. It was cool and solid, though little comfort it offered now.
She jerked her head around, toward the door, when another noise startled her, sounding entirely too close to the door to her cell. After a moment, when she heard nothing else, she settled again.
So what did it mean, if this was real, that she’d actually moved through time?
Her chest tightened. She simply had no idea.
If she was really in the first years of the fourteenth century, how was she going to survive? Good Lord, how could she possibly have a baby in the fourteenth century?
Time passed until her brain exhausted itself, and she began to drift off. She didn’t know if minutes or hours had passed since she’d laid down when she heard the faint creak of the door.
It opened just a sliver.
Ivy froze on the narrow cot.
A dark silhouette filled the gap, highlighted by those sconces in the corridor, and it took no time at all for her sleepy brain to recognize Alaric MacKinlay. She breathed again. He stood there a moment—silent, impassive. Maybe he was only checking that she was present, perhaps asleep.
“I’m awake,” she said softly, pushing herself upright on her elbows.
He paused a moment before the door opened wider, and he stepped inside just two steps.
“Did you find anything?” she asked, voice low. “Anyone?”
“Nae,” he said simply, the word as heavy as the stone walls around them. He didn’t elaborate.
“I’m sorry.” She watched him for a moment. His shoulders were damp with rain. His jaw was tight, the flickering torchbehind him casting harsh shadows along the angles of his face. “How far did you go?” she asked, uncertain why she felt so invested in strangers she had never met, nuns she couldn’t possibly know and the MacKinlay army, the laird specifically.
“Far enough for tonight. We’ll go out again in the morn.”
Ivy nodded.
He lingered a second longer, then stepped back into the corridor, murmuring something in Gaelic as he began to pull the door closed behind him.
“Wait,” she said, before she could stop herself.
She climbed out of the bed and approached him just as he paused and slowly pushed the door open again. The sharp iciness of the stone floor on her bare feet widened her eyes.
“Where are you going?” she blurted out and then caught herself, and asked a different question, to better get across what she really wanted to know. “Where are you sleeping?”
The question seemed to startle him.
“I just mean—you’ll be... close, right?” She was positive she would rest easier, sleep better, if she knew this strong, capable man were close by.
His scowl lessened, and he seemed to understand she was anxious. “Aye.” He paused and stared at her. “If ye...need, I can post a sentry just outside yer door.”
