Page 4 of Stay with Me

Her chest tightened, and she released her prisoner, stumbling backward until she bumped into the door. Had the taste of the holy water done this to her? Was she really seeing into the past, or was she hallucinating?

As she grasped the iron bars, their solidness told her this was all too real and not a dream. Was she in a time overlap the way Harrison had described? He’d mentioned that a person traveled back to the era they last thought about and to the location where they were in the present.

Had she gone to 1382? And if so, was she in the dungeon? After all, that’s what had existed in the lower levels of Reider Castle long ago.

Harrison had insisted he’d experienced a few time overlaps into the past after ingesting only a miniscule amount of holy water. He claimed the crossings were brief, lasting only a minute or two.

Was that what was happening?

The man pushed himself up from the ground, his movements slow and stilted. He wore loose-fitting wool leggings with boots laced up over stockings. But his chest was bare. And as he stood,the candlelight fell across his back, revealing numerous bloody welts.

He’d been savagely beaten. By a belt. Maybe a whip. Or whatever instrument was used in the Middle Ages for punishment. No one deserved to be hurt so badly, not even a criminal.

With a grimace, he straightened and faced her, the shadows falling across his features. As he pulled himself to his full height, he squared broad shoulders that only seemed to highlight his rounded pecs and bulging biceps. At least a head taller, he exuded a powerful presence, as if he was an important person.

If he was trying to intimidate her, it wasn’t working. She wasn’t afraid of him. He was injured and unarmed. Even if he hadn’t been at a disadvantage, she could fend for herself. With her police training as well as her blackbelt in kickboxing, she’d learned to fight better than most.

His gaze stumbled over her tight shirt and jeans, and his sights jumped back to her face. “Who are you?”

“Sybil Huxham.”

“Did my brother send you to seduce me?” He seemed to be using great care not to let his attention drop below her chin. She supposed her modern clothing would appear odd to someone accustomed to women wearing dresses.

This wasn’t the time or place to worry about modesty, not when he was in trouble and not when she needed to find out more information about him before the holy water wore off. “Who are you and why are you in the dungeon?”

He crossed his arms, which served to emphasize each taut and well-defined muscle in his chest and arms. “If you do not know the answer to those questions, then you are clearly not from here.”

His stilted, formal way of speaking revealed more than anything else that he was likely of the aristocracy, maybe evena nobleman of Reider Castle itself. Had his brother done this to him? The man he’d called Simon?

Ultimately one thing truly mattered. “What crime earned you the beating and lockup?”

“I serve my king and country, but my brother is not so honorable.” The clipped words were loaded with gravity, almost desperation. “He has twisted his own crimes and blamed me for his treachery, condemning me to die as a French spy.”

Although a dozen questions immediately surfaced, she squelched them. She was losing time, could almost feel the lab and Isaac’s presence behind her, pulling her back. Besides, she’d learned to read people well over the years, and the earnestness in this man’s bearing and expression told her he was telling the truth. That was all she needed to know.

She rattled the door. “I’ll help free you.” She didn’t know how yet. But she’d work out something.

In the passageway outside the cell, the wall had gaping holes in some places and was crumbled in others with large piles of rubble. The low ceiling, too, was a patchwork of beams that appeared to have been hastily secured in place.

Was this due to the earthquake aftershock in 1382, the one that supposedly Ellen had experienced in the dungeon? The conditions certainly attested to a recent catastrophe.

Bright lights flashed on the wall, numbers that read 11:11. Was that the digital clock in the lab?

Sybil rubbed a hand over her eyes, and when she removed it, fluorescent lights blinded her.

The dungeon was gone along with its musty scent. Instead, the waft of strong coffee hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of antiseptics. Warmth and brightness dispersed the coldness and darkness. And there wasn’t a trace of the man anywhere. Just Isaac in his rolling desk chair in front of the computer, and she was still on the hospital bed.

She hadn’t been gone long. Maybe a minute. Two at most.

Gone? That wasn’t the right word for what had happened to her, since her body had remained in the present. But how else could she describe the strange experience?

Her vision blurred again, this time with an overwhelming exhaustion. She lowered herself against the partially raised bed, closed her eyes, and let sleep claim her.

Sybil shivered. As her lashes fluttered up, she glimpsed dark walls and an earthen floor. Confusion sifted through her.

At the sight of a man lying on his side, his head resting on his arm, her mind cleared. She was seeing the dungeon and its prisoner again.

His eyes were shut. But the light of the candle revealed his face more clearly than the last time. Handsome features, a well-proportioned chin and forehead with dark brows puckered together. The thick layer of stubble around his mouth accentuated his lips.

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