Page 51 of So Close To Heaven
Ivy went still. Her stomach dropped. She hadn’t rehearsed this part, hadn’t even considered this question though she realized she certainly should have. But no, not once had she even thought about how to explain to another lost soul what had happened, or where she’d landed. “Oh, gosh,” she stammered, her hands tightening on the blanket. “That’s...that’s kind of complicated. I don’t even know where to begin. But listen—”she leaned closer, earnest, “you’re safe. And you’re not alone. I promise you that.”
The woman’s lashes fluttered, her strength already spent. She closed her eyes, her breathing evening out as if sleep had already called her back.
Ivy sank back slowly into the chair, her heart pounding, staring at the pale face against the pillows. She didn’t know who this stranger was or what her story might be—but she knew one thing with sudden, unshakable certainty. She wasn’t the only one out of place in this century.
Her smile returned, though, as certainty gripped her. The woman, whoever she was, was going to be fine.
Chapter Fourteen
The keep and all of Caeravorn was certainly quieter with the armies gone.
From the open shutters came the steady wash of wind off the water and, faintly, the distant clink of metal from somewhere outside. Ivy sat in the chair she’d hardly left, leaning back to allow her expanding belly space. Idly, while her gaze was held by the blue sky beyond the window, she considered again names for her daughter. She couldn’t decide between Lily and Olivia.
A wisp of movement caught in her periphery and Ivy turned her gaze to the bed.
The woman’s eyes were open, soft gray, clear now, and once more trained on Ivy.
“You’re awake.” Ivy leaned in, keeping her voice calm. She’d worried that she might have overwhelmed the woman with her excitement hours ago. “Hi. I’m Ivy.”
The woman’s lips parted. No sound came out at first. Ivy stood, reached for the waiting cup of water on the bedside table and slid a hand beneath the woman’s shoulders, helping to prop her up a bit.
“Just a sip,” she said. “You’ve had a fever for a day and a half.”
The woman drank, coughed once, and sank back. Her ash-blonde hair fanned across the pillow.
“How...long?” she whispered.
“Since yesterday afternoon. You’ve slept most of it.” Ivy laid the back of her fingers to the woman’s forehead, then her cheek. Cool. Thank God. “No fever now.”
The woman’s gaze traveled the room, and Ivy grimaced, suspecting plenty of questions would follow.
Her gaze returned to Ivy with a flicker of alarm. “Where am I?”
“Caeravorn Keep,” Ivy said. “On the west coast of Scotland. You were found up in the mountain, apparently, and brought here.”
“Found,” the woman repeated, as if testing the word. “By whom?”
“A traveling tinker.” At the nonplussed expression, Ivy explained, “Think...repairman with a cart, with the personality of a used car salesman.” The corner of Ivy’s mouth tugged. “He did the right thing, though, bringing you here. Do you...remember anything? About what happened—how you ended up in the mountain?”
The woman blinked, her brow pinching. “I... I don’t know. It’s foggy.” She pressed her lips together as if chasing a memory, then shook her head faintly against the pillow.
“That’s okay,” Ivy said quickly, smoothing the blanket near her shoulder. “Don’t push yourself. You’ve been through a lot.”
The woman’s eyes drifted, scanning the room once more, the stone walls, the wooden beams above, the glassless window letting in a long, narrow rectangle of pale daylight. Her gaze darted back, uncertain. “My phone?”
“I didn’t see a phone with you,” Ivy said carefully. “You came with nothing but the clothes on your back. And, um... phones wouldn’t work here anyway.”
The woman frowned faintly. “No service?”
“Right.” Ivy gave a small, gentle nod, choosing her words with care. This wasn’t the moment to dump the impossible on someone still pale and weak from fever. Best to wait, see what the woman herself remembered.
“Is there a land line here?” the woman asked.
Ivy winced. “There’s not. I’m sorry.” After a moment, sensing the woman’s increasing anxiety, Ivy thought to distract her.“Obviously, you’re from the States. Were you—are you—just vacationing in Scotland? How long have you been here?”
The woman’s brow furrowed, as if wading through fog. “Vacation,” she said meagerly. “With my husband.” A pause, while her brows furrowed. “We were separated—I’d been searching for him for days, but nothing...nothing seemed right. Nothing made sense.” Her fingers curled slightly into the blanket. “I can’t piece it together.” She exhaled sharply, frustration flickering across her face.
Ivy’s chest gave a sympathetic squeeze. Oh, God! A husband. Someone waiting, searching, someone she loved. That was a wound Ivy couldn’t begin to patch, not with any amount of cool cloths or calming words. And it set their circumstances in such stark relief—this woman, ripped from someone who might even now be desperate to find her; Ivy, who had slipped through time with scarcely a ripple in the world she’d left behind. She’d had no grand delusions about her flaky mother or absent father scouring all of Scotland for her, no frantic family plastering missing posters across cities and towns.
