Page 6 of Fletcher

Lark glanced at Fletcher, who remained her one constant point of reference in this bizarre situation. His clothes still looked damp, as did his hair. He smelled like he’d just come from the beach. He also seemed to be very protective of her, glaring now and then at the guards they passed when the other men stared wide-eyed at her.

“The laird’s wife said this is the twelfth century,” she finally said to the seneschal, who simply nodded before he stopped in front of a large wood door with black metal hinges. “I’m on an island near the northeast coast of Scotland. An enchanted island created by your father, the Fae prince.”

He opened the door and ushered her inside. “’Tis all truth, lass.”

“I didn’t drown in Central Park.” She looked around the room, which was large and furnished like a medieval bedroom. The floor, made of the same golden stone as the rest of the castle, looked like molded beach sand. “An enchanted ring belonging to the laird’s first wife brought me here.”

“Aye.” He let go of her hand and went over to lift a thick piece of paper covering the window, which was tall and narrow. “You didnae believe Lady Valerie?”

Lark’s knees finally gave out, and she dropped on the floor, where she discovered the beach sand-colored stone was actually ice-cold. Fletcher reached her a moment later, and lifted her before carrying her over to the big bed, where he sat down beside her. She leaned against him, pressing her cheek to his strong shoulder, and closed her eyes. Being held by this gorgeous man should have made her nervous; but it seemed like she belonged in his arms. How long had it been since someone had simply held her?

It has to stop now. I know it can’t be real. Things like this are special effects in fantasy movies. I’ve gone crazy. When she opened her eyes Fletcher was still there, and so was the medieval bedroom. Or all this is real, and I am stranded on an enchanted twelfth century Scottish island.

If she were honest with herself, she’d take real over a psychotic break any day. But how was she going to survive in the Middle Ages living in a castle with magical people on an island that no one knew existed? If she left, would it disappear forever like Brigadoon?

“I ken ’tis a great shock for you.” He rubbed her arm with one hand, slowly and carefully, as if she might break. “You neednae ponder such now. I shall fetch some water and a clean gown for you to wear. Do you wish a meal?”

Fletcher sounded genuinely worried about her, Lark thought absently, looking up at his stunning face. No one had done that since Uncle Matt died; Lawrence had always glossed over any troubles she mentioned to him, while Kate had spent most of the time griping about her own problems. In sharp contrast to them the seneschal seemed entirely focused on her, his gaze shifting over her features with obvious concern.

“Never worry, lass,” he told her, as if he could read her mind. “I shall look after you.”

“You’re a very nice man,” she finally said, because at least that much was true, and on impulse reached up to kiss his cheek. The smooth warmth of his skin added another checkmark to her everything-here-is-real list.

The seneschal went still. “Tell me your age.”

“I’m twenty-seven.” Why would he want to know that? As he bent his head she added, “I know I look a lot young–”

Fletcher’s mouth touched hers, silencing the rest of what Lark meant to say. The smell of him, warm and male, suffused her as his lips parted hers. Time seemed to disappear as he stroked and tasted her with his tongue, slow and deep and without hesitation, as if they were already dating and ready to take it to the next step.

I’m not dating him. I don’t even know him.

His hands moved through her damp hair, his fingertips caressing her scalp and ears and neck. His touch and his mouth sent hot, unfamiliar desires rushing through her as she gripped the front of his still-damp tunic. How could she let him do this when they’d only met an hour ago? What if he was married?

Today was supposed to be my wedding day.

That thought acted like someone drenching her with a bucket of icy water. Lark drew back, abruptly ending the kiss, and for a long moment just stared at him. The kiss had been a little too real. So was he, with his dark golden eyes turned to bronze and his hands cradling the sides of her neck, as if he meant to kiss her again.

“Why did you do that?” she asked him.

“Forgive me.” As he looked all over her face, he drew a strand of her hair from her cheek. “Now I ken you’re a woman grown, I couldnae resist.”

“Are you married, or involved with someone?” As he shook his head relief made her sag. “Neither am I.”

Instead of taking that as an invitation to kiss her again, he abruptly stood. “Rest now, lass. I’ll return with what you need.”

I need you to tell me why you kissed me. Lark watched him leave, and as soon as the door closed she wanted to chase after him. She held back only because part of her still feared this all might be coming from bashing her head on that planter. If so, in another moment she’d wake up in Central Park, abandoned and alone. Maybe I was always supposed to end up that way.

She reached up to touch her lips, which still throbbed from the pressure of Fletcher’s mouth. Then she gingerly palmed the linen bandage the clan’s healer had wrapped over her wound, which didn’t seem as sore now. She clearly remembered hitting her head, so the injury had to be real, just like everything and everyone else. Could she be dreaming, then? How would she know the difference? Remembering something she’d watched online about lucid dreaming, she reached up to pinch her nose, and then tried to breathe through it.

If you can still breathe, you’re not awake. If you can’t, it’s real.

Tears welled into her eyes as she tried to inhale, but couldn’t. The reality check, along with all the suppressed misery of being abandoned at the altar and then mugged in her wedding dress, suddenly crashed over her. She slumped over and pressed her face against the bed linens to muffle her sobs.

How long she wept, Lark didn’t know. All the tragedies the jinx had thrown at her had taught her to hold back her emotions, but this seemed to be tearing her apart. She cried so hard her entire body shook, and then she couldn’t catch her breath or stop. Pushing herself up from the bed, she stumbled over to the window slit and looked out at what seemed like endless forests framed by huge, dark waves of the mountains beyond them.

I wish someone would love me and stay with me forever.

Do you wish live?