The Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance

Cindy Miles The Gloaming Hour

Savannah, Georgia

Present day

Are you awake yet?

Kylie’s eyes fluttered open. The hazy light of an approaching dusk filtered through the canopy of moss-covered oaks and looming pecan trees. She glanced around then inhaled. The sweet scent of magnolia blooms blended with the sharp tang of salt marsh, and a slight breeze, barely even there, stirred the reeds and sawgrass. A pine cone thudded to the ground. It’d only been the wind. It felt strange being back on the Vernon River. As childhood recollections crashed over her, she inhaled, and the scent of Granny’s fresh-fried beignets and peach cobbler drifted on a faraway memory. So vivid and real, she could taste the sugar on her tongue. If only other memories could be as sweet.

But, they couldn’t. Some reminiscences would haunt her forever.

She heaved a sigh and gave the porch swing a push with her bare foot. The gentle swaying coaxed her lids to fall, the creaking of the rusty chain lulling her back to sleep.

I need your help, lass. Wake up. Besides, you’ll miss the gloaming hour.

Kylie shot up out of the swing and glanced around. Her heart pounded, her breath hitched. “Who’s there?” The words squeaked from her throat.

Good God, woman. You’re sae bonny.

She whirled around and stared in the direction of the deep, accented voice. Nothing. The white verandah, in desperate need of a few coats of fresh paint and bare of the gauzy Boston ferns which used to hang from the rafters, sat empty. No one was there. But God, the voice sounded as though it’d been right in her ear.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Not only had she imagined a voice, she’d imagined it with a sexy Scottish burr. “You’ve lost your mind, girl.” Maybe it’d been her subconscious self calling to her, pulling her out of sleep. She loved the gloaming hour — that small window of time between day and night, when a haunting darkness stretched across the land, and burnt colours from the faded evening rippled the sky and canopy above. Stars peered out, and night birds called to one another across the marsh. Seventeen-year cicadas made their presence known, and crickets sang their sweet, eerie lullabies, and the sound floated over the salty air. A slight breeze rustled the sawgrass, sounding almost like a hushed whisper.

Aye, that’s better, girl. I knew you’d come round.

Kylie jumped and whirled around. Fear gripped her insides. “Who’s there? I mean it — cut it out!” She looked around, then grabbed an old fly-swatter hanging on the post. “I’m. armed.”

Deep laughter rumbled out of nowhere. Aye, an’ so you are, wee one. Another laugh. But put doon your weapon for now. I need you.

Kylie dropped her plastic armour and ran. Skidding around the corner of the porch, she flung open the door and jumped inside, then turned and bolted the lock. Her breath came out in harsh puffs, her chest heaving as adrenalin pumped through her veins. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, God, what’s happening to me? Why am I hearing voices?”

A heavy sigh broke the silence. My apologies, mo ghraidh. ’Twas no’ my intention tae frighten you.

Her pulse quickened and she cupped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. “Stop! Please, whoever you are, just go away.” She tried to swallow. “Leave me alone.”

As you wish.

Silence. Only the whir of a ceiling fan and her laboured breathing. Minutes stretched, her back aching as it pressed against the cool, hard oak. Silence. She took several deep breaths and cracked open one eye, then the other.

An empty room filled her vision. A haze filtered through the flimsy curtains, casting an uncanny glow on the long-ago abandoned home. Dust-covered canvas draped the old pieces of furniture left behind after Granny’s passing. A thready cobweb stretched across one corner of the kitchen breezeway. No man, no voice — and certainly not one with a Scottish brogue. “You’re going nuts, Kylie.” Finally, she eased from the door and inhaled several calming breaths. What had just happened? Was it too soon to have come back here?

With a determined shrug, Kylie pushed the strange incident behind her and walked through the old, familiar house — one she knew so very well. The light filtered through aged screened windows, and tiny particles of dust caught on narrow beams of light as they shot across the wood-planked floor and tongue-and-groove walls. Slowly, Kylie closed her eyes, and in place of the canvas-covered furnishings stood the living room she remembered, with her grandpa’s recliner, her granny’s rocker, and the old TV that sat on four legs at the far end of the room. She easily pictured the glass coffee table near the old green sofa, where her granny had displayed several china figurines. Birds. Cardinals to be exact. Her granny always loved cardinals.

An archway led into the kitchen and, for a moment, there was her granny, standing at the kitchen sink, staring out the window as she cooked. An old black rotary telephone hung on the wall.

How she wished she could go back to those days.

After a full day’s worth of work, the house was actually livable again. The canvas had been removed, cobwebs swept away, and the wood floors sparkled once again. She’d unpacked what few belongings she had, pulled Granny’s china down and washed it, and swatted out the old braid rugs thrown here and there throughout the house. And all without the first whisper of an unseen Scotsman.

At first, Kylie felt relieved at the absence of the voice. She’d been scared out of her wits yesterday. It’d sounded so. real. Where had it come from? And hadn’t he asked for her help?

Then, emptiness washed over her, and she found herself wondering more and more about it. It’d almost sounded familiar. Had she become so pathetic that the best she could do was imagine a man had spoken?

She glanced down at the long scars on both arms, thought about the matching one on the left side of her face. She ran her fingertips across the puckered line of skin and sighed. “Get a grip, girl.”

After a quick inspection of the house, she pulled on her Keds and headed out the door. She crossed the yard to the narrow, wooden dock and started down its path over the water. The outgoing tide left the marsh with the sharp, pungent tang of salt and sea life, the bubbling of oysters in the shoal, and fiddler crabs crackled far beneath her. Crickets serenaded one another through the trees, and a breath of air shifted across the water and teased the leaves of the pecans, oaks and sawgrass. Magnolia drifted by like a whispering caress. God, she’d forgotten how much she loved this place. No, she hadn’t forgotten. It’d been forced to the back of her memory, replaced by a terror she’d give anything to forget.

At the end of the pier sat the small, screened-in dock house her grandpa had built years back. She’d spent hours in there, wrapped up in one of Granny’s crocheted throws, playing with her Barbies or watching a summer storm creep across the marsh. Life had seemed simple then. Home-made ice cream. Blueberry picking. Simple.

She walked down to the dock, kicked off her shoes and sat down. Warm, brackish water circled her feet and legs. A thumbnail moon hung in the fading sky, and gulls cried out over the marsh. How calm the Vernon was compared to the bustling city of Atlanta.

Lass?

Kylie held her breath, then slowly released it. “No, not again. Not that sexy Scottish voice again. No, no no.” She shook her head. “No.”

A deep chuckle echoed across the water. So, you find my voice pleasing, aye?

She yanked her feet out of the water and jumped up. Nothing. There went that fear again, bubbling in her throat, threatening to steal her breath.

Do no’ bolt from me, Kylie. I willna hurt you. I need your help, if you’ll give it.

“How do you know my name? Who are you?” She swallowed hard. “Where are you?”

Forgive me, lass. Major Rory MacMillan. Now please, I beg you. Dunna bolt.

A blurry haze shifted near one of the dock posts — like the sun’s wiggly reflection off hot tarmac. Her heart leaped into her throat. She tried to run, tried to scream, but a paralysing grip held her tongue, kept her feet firmly in place. From the strange haze emerged a pair of long, boot-covered legs, braced wide apart. Narrow hips. A torso. Arms folded over a thick chest. Broad shoulders. Ridiculously broad shoulders. A head, with dark auburn hair pulled back. White teeth split his face in two as he smiled and gave her a low bow.

Kylie placed a hand to her forehead to keep her head from spinning. She lost her breath and hiccupped, felt herself falling, and, just before her eyes rolled back, she wondered why it seemed as though they’d met once before.

Rory grabbed the girl before she hit the dock. Soft and limp in his arms, he held her up and thanked the saints for the gloaming hour. ’Twas the only time o’ day when he could touch, taste, smell, feel.

He squatted down, keeping her firmly in his arms. The feel of her body against his all but knocked him over. He studied her closely. How Kylie had grown since last he’d seen her. Honey-coloured hair, pulled back like a horse’s tail, fell across his arm, and brows the same colour arched over closed eyes. Specks of cinnamon dotted her tanned nose and cheeks. He lifted a forefinger and traced the raised skin of the scar on her face. What had happened? Each arm sported the remnants of a wound. An accident of sorts, mayhap? He shook his head. Poor lass.

“Wake up, mo ghraidh.” He gave her a gentle shake, and her eyes fluttered open. Round and questioning at first, they quickly narrowed as she scrambled to get away. He allowed her to get up, then stood to face her.

Her blue eyes flashed as she regarded him. “Who are you? What kind of joke is this, huh? This is private property, you know.” She glanced around, then backed towards the wood-framed house at the end of the dock.

Damn, he hated that she feared him. He didn’t move. His poor knees wavered as he stared into her blue depths. “I need your help, lass. No harm will come tae you. I give you my word.”

Kylie could do little but stare — and try to look as though she wasn’t scared out of her mind. Yet at the same time, he fascinated her. It was the same thick Scottish brogue she’d heard earlier. “Why are you here? And why are you dressed like that?” High black boots, cream-coloured leather pants hugged heavily muscled thighs. And a blue coat with tails. he looked as though he’d been in the midst of a battle re-enactment at Fort Pulaski.

But good Lord Almighty, what a stunning man.

Instinctively, her hand moved to hide the scar on her face. His gaze followed her movement, and she felt her cheeks grow hot.

He lifted his stare to the darkening sky and sighed. “Your granny felt my presence, but could ne’er see me. I always hoped you’d be different.”

Fear gripped her. “You knew my grandmother? How can that be? I don’t remember you at all.”

He smiled and shrugged. “Nay, you wouldna. ’Tis only now you can see me, and ’tis a miracle at best.” He smiled, but his eyes pleaded. “I need you verra badly.”

A memory flashed before her, from the summer she turned eight. She’d been on the dock, at the very place she now stood. A voice. “Why do you think I can help you?”

Sombre grey eyes stared back at her. “Because you haven’t run away yet.”

As if she could. He towered over her, blocking her path to the house. Their gazes locked, and her insides screeched to a dizzying halt. She couldn’t take her eyes off his.

He moved towards her. “Please, lass.” He reached out his hand. “I’m desperate.”

Kylie stepped back, confused. His plea sounded heartfelt, and so very real. Kylie, he appeared out of nowhere. Another step back, and then the sound of wood splintering cracked the air before she could stop herself. She screamed as the dock gave way beneath her. Just as both legs plunged through the rotted wood, Rory dived and grabbed her hands.

“Please, don’t let me go.”

“Nay, girl. I willna.” As if they’d known each other for ever, he pulled her up and into his arms. His firm chest against her cheek, his roughened hands splayed across her back, moving in a slow rhythm.

Then, just as fast as it had occurred, his warmth seeped away, a cool trace of mist remained in its wake. The solidity of his body shifted, and Kylie leaned in to capture it back. She opened her eyes and looked up — and gasped. Rory’s image was growing hazier, thinner.

“Do you remember me, Kylie? You were but eight summers old.”

Kylie scrubbed her eyes, trying to clear her vision. Slowly, he began to fade. She reached for him. “Wait! What’s going on?”

’Tis all right, girl. I can still speak tae you. But I’ll no’ be able tae show myself again until tomorrow’s gloaming hour.

“Oh, God. ” Staring at the haze until it fully disappeared, she drew a deep breath and swallowed. “You’re a. ” It sounded crazy, stupid. But what other explanation, besides her pending madness, could it be? She could barely make herself say the word. It sounded absurd. But what else could it be? “Ghost?”

Nay, lass, no’ a ghostie. I dunna think I could solidify, were I dead. His light chuckle drifted over the marsh. I wish I could explain it, but that’s why I need you, Kylie. But you should head back tae the house, girl. Should you fall again, I willna be able tae catch you.

She shivered as a childhood memory assaulted her. The dock house, especially during the gloaming. A presence, perhaps — she couldn’t be sure. “I always felt something, but didn’t know what it was.”

He laughed quietly. Aye, your little nose would crinkle up whenever I’d come aboot.

She exhaled and closed her eyes. “I remember.”

Rory.

She opened her eyes. “What?”

My name’s Rory. An’ I’m desperate tae hear you say it.

A breeze rustled the reeds and cat tails, caressing her cheek as her heart pounded like a feral thing. Yeah, leave it to Kylie Robinson to be turned on by a dead guy. Or whatever he was.

“Rory.” She hadn’t meant for it to come out as a whisper, but it had. She wondered if he’d even heard it. Silence stretched between them as she walked across the yard and into the house. Dummy her, she’d forgotten to leave a lamp on. Easing into the darkness, she stopped after a few feet to gain her bearings.

Say it again.

Kylie jumped. His thick accent brushed her ear, surrounded and moved through her. Every nerve ending in her body hummed with awareness. What was he doing to her? She cleared her throat. “I, uh, thought you needed my help?”

Again that laugh. Sensual and strong, it filled the room and she’d never wished so hard that something could be real in all her life.

Aye, I do need your help, Kylie. Forgive me. You’re most distracting.

Breathe, Kylie Jane, she told herself. She moved until her fingertips brushed the lampshade. She pulled the chain and a dim light settled over the breezeway. A quick glance confirmed that indeed, she was talking to thin air. If he wasn’t a ghost, yet he was invisible, what was he? He’d certainly been very much alive on the dock — his warm, tight embrace still wrapped around her body. Yep. She’d gone and truly lost her mind.

Moving into the kitchen, she made herself a cup of tea and sat down at the table. She peered around the empty room. Again, she cleared her throat. “Rory?”

I’m right here, Kylie Jane.

Yeah, and seemingly right against her neck. Another deep breath. “I’m only called that when I’m in trouble.”

Rory laughed, this time a bit further away. I know. I heard your granny call you that more times than no’. Truce it is, lass. For now. I’ll no’ be able tae measure my behaviour in the future.

She gulped. A flirty apparition? She could understand that. “OK, so tell me how you think I can help you.”

Verra well. He let out a heavy sigh. I’m sae weary, girl. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been searching the river for someone to help me. No one’s been able tae hear or see me — save your granny — until you. I. canna seem tae remember things. One minute, my men and I were together, and then next, I was verra much alone.

“You’re a soldier?”

Aye. His voice moved closer. I left Nairn in the year of our Lord, seventeen hundred an’ sixty-five, where I joined the Revolution. I havena been back tae Scotland since.

“What happened?”

I remember leading my men through a wood, no’ too far from here. An ambush overtook us, killing several of the lads. We fought like mad, but were outnumbered. What few of us remained was herded into the Berkshire.

Kylie gasped. “The prison ship Berkshire?”

Aye, the verra one. How is it you know o’ her?

“I’m a professor of Georgia History at the University.”

Och, so you can help me then.

Kylie stretched and crossed her legs. “What is it, exactly, you need help with?”

I canna be sure, but all at once, I was leading my men into the ship’s belly. I was shoved from behind, and went sprawling into the pit of the Berkshire’s prison. Then, I was afloat, invisible. I could see my men, and the other prisoners of the Berkshire, and then. they simply disappeared. The verra next thing I knew, I was here.

Her insides chilled. “As crazy as it sounds, I think you must have stumbled into a time slip, or rift, or. something.” How unbelievable, to think this man had once lived, fought for a young country not his own, and then just vanished to another time. His family, loved ones, all dead for centuries now. She ached for him.

I’ve waited sae long for you. I always hoped one day you’d have the gift tae see me.

“I remember playing in the dock house. I always felt as though someone stood beside me, calling my name.”

Aye, I tried for many years. Then, you left.

She had left, and sorely regretted it. She’d missed a lot of things in her life by leaving home, and had encountered nothing else but pain. Now, nothing remained of her old life except the old river house. And, her memories. Rinsing out her tea cup, she turned. “Can you see me, Rory?”

A soft chuckle. Aye.

“So, you can see, hear and speak, just not touch and smell?”

Nor taste. At least, no’ until the gloaming. And for that I have no explanation.

She shivered as the suggestion sounded in her ear. Mercy, what a sexy man, even for one so inaccessible, invisible. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t broken out in a cold sweat, or run away. He seemed just tangible enough to be real. yet not real enough to be a threat.

Flipping off the kitchen light, she headed for the bedroom. At the door, she paused. “You’ll be here in the morning, won’t you?”

You have only tae call for me, mo ghraidh.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “What’s that mean — mo ghraidh?”

Och — just an old Scottish endearment, lass.

She steadied herself with a deep breath as the words washed over her. Probably just her silly own wishful reaction. There was a reason she neared thirty and still lived alone. She slipped into her bedroom. “Goodnight, Rory.”

An’ tae you, Kylie.

Saints! What are all those?

Kylie set the crate on the dining room table with a grunt. “Reference volumes from the university library. I’m hoping to find what you’re looking for in one of them. But I’ll warn you, it may take a while. These are quite old, and I had to sneak them past—”

Thank you.

That sexy brogue wrapped around her, enveloped her, and she grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself. Just the way he spoke to her set her insides afire.

You feel it, too. Dunna you, Kylie?

A breeze drifted in through the screen door, like warm breath against her skin. She closed her eyes and inhaled, exhaled. She didn’t want to feel it. But she did.

She opened her eyes and started unpacking the volumes. “I’d better get started on these, Rory. It’s a lot of material to read through.”

Several hours later, she’d managed to get through the first book. With a heavy sigh, Kylie pushed her glasses on to her head and closed the volume. “This is insane. It could take a year to go through all this information, and I’m not even sure what I’m looking for.” The bones in her knees popped as she stood and stretched. The blades of the ceiling fan sent a feathery breeze across her skin, and the scent of jasmine drifted in through the porch screen.

Come outside with me. The gloaming draws near, and I want every second o’ it wi’ you.

Kylie sucked in a breath. “I thought you wanted my help.”

It’s you I want.

She gulped. It was one thing to be with a ghost you couldn’t see. Quite a different story, though, when said ghost solidified, regaining all mortal senses.

Lifting the heavy volume, she moved to the cool shade of the verandah. The sturdy rocking chair creaked as she sat down. Stretching her legs out, she propped them on the railing and crossed them at the ankles. The soft, gauzy sundress slipped above her knees as she rocked, but she barely noticed. Memories of her childhood flooded back, and she welcomed the deluge.

What are you thinking aboot, girl?

He sat beside her, close. She sighed. “God, I spent hours shelling peas with Grandma and Grandpa on this very porch. It seems so. long ago. Another lifetime even.” Every scent, every sound encompassed a cherished memory. When had she allowed them to fade? When had she forgotten the scent of lilac her granny used to wear? Or how her grandpa’s hands were gnarled and calloused from a hard-working life at the railroad, and prior to that, having survived Omaha Beach? Now, flashes of her as a child sitting on her grandpa’s lap, holding one of his large hands in two of hers, battered her. God, how she missed them.

Cicadas tweaked and chirped, and songbirds settled in for the night. The ever-present bubbling of the outgoing tide filled the air. And a barrage of high-pitched croaks emerged from the canopy of Georgia pines and magnolias.

Just as she moved to open the volume in her lap, a heavy hand rested on her bare shoulder. Her skin heated under it.

“Walk wi’ me.”

She lifted her gaze and met his light grey stare. He looked so real, from the sun lines at the corners of his eyes to the muscle ticking at his jaw, to the dark auburn hair pulled into a queue. Butterflies beat madly within her, setting her nerves on edge. To think a Scotsman from the Revolutionary War, who had centuries before slipped through a crack in time, made her react in such a silly way. Oh, how Granny would roar with laughter.

She stood and he took her hand, placing it in the crook of his arm. They walked and talked, he of his life and she of hers.

It was a comfortable walk with Rory; a familiar ease that Kylie admired in wonderment. To think he’d been at Granny’s on the Vernon River all these years, and she’d been. elsewhere. So much had happened in those years she’d been gone. God, how she regretted them all.

Rory’s gloved hand reached out, and a long finger traced the scar down her left arm. Reflexively, Kylie flinched.

“What happened?” Rory asked, his voice so quiet Kylie barely heard the question above the song of the cicadas.

Kylie’s stomach tightened at the jarring, unwanted memory, and without her permission, her breathing became rapid. She swallowed several times. “I. don’t like to talk about it,” she said quietly. “It’s something I’ve put behind me.”

Rory stopped, pulling her to a halt. Gently, he turned her to face him. Kylie refused to look at him.

“I dunna think you’ve put it behind you, lass.” He lifted her chin with his knuckle, traced the scar on her face. “Look at me.”

Kylie forced herself to meet his pewter gaze. Her insides shook.

“You can trust me.”

Kylie fought back tears, not wanting to relive the events that nearly ended her life. But when she looked into the kind, trusting eyes of Rory MacMillan, her fears began to fade. Then, a feeling of certainty washed over her, and suddenly it felt right to trust him.

She’d never trusted anyone else before now.

With a deep sigh, she again met Rory’s intense gaze and began. “I’ve tried so hard to forget,” she said, and shook her head. “I’d been in Atlanta, in my first real apartment, for almost two years. I knew my neighbours. It was in Roswell, a safe suburb of Atlanta, and. I guess I became complacent.” She focused on some point across the marsh. “I’d gone out jogging — something I’d done daily for more than a year.” Tears filled her eyes, and her voice dropped to a whisper on its own. “We run for fun these days, and to keep our bodies fit. I loved it. And I didn’t even hear his footsteps behind me.”

Rory’s body visibly tensed, and his voice, when he spoke, sounded barely controlled. “A man did this to you?” His accent was thicker, his tone deep and lethally steady.

“Yes,” she said. “He’d apparently watched me daily, watched the path I took, and then, he attacked.” She again shook her head. “No rape, no robbery — just brutality. He taunted me with a knife—” she closed her eyes, opened them again “—then cut me. I fought back, and that seemed to anger him further.” She lifted her gaze to Rory’s once more. “He would have killed me — he was so much stronger than me. But a passer-by happened upon us. A fellow jogger.” She concentrated on simply breathing. “They fought, and he tried to hold my attacker, but the guy got away. The police never found him. I lived in so much fear — fear that he’d come after me again. Finally, I decided to come home.”

“Christ, lass,” Rory finally said, and anger tinged his voice. Then, he simply pulled her close. His lips brushed her temple. “I would have found him. And I would have killed him.”

Kylie leaned into Rory. He smelled of leather and the salt marsh and strangely enough, gunpowder. His words made her shudder, for she had no doubt in her mind that Rory would have done just that. “I don’t know why your embrace comforts me so much,” she said quietly. “You’re a stranger.”

Rory’s hand smoothed her hair, her neck, and pressed gently against the small of her back. “Mayhap ’tis because I’m really no stranger at all, lass.”

Kylie turned her face from Rory’s shoulder and studied his eyes. Such an odd shade of silver, she wondered if they had always shined such a colour. “I suppose you’re not, are you? You’ve been here all along. I’m the one who’s been missing.”

In the waning light of day, Rory’s teeth gleamed white as he smiled gently down at her. “But you’re home now, aye? And no one will ever harm you again. I vow it.”

Kylie had not felt such relief, such release, since the attack happened. She’d stayed in the hospital, recovering, for nearly two weeks. The gashes in her arms had been deep, the attacker’s knife dirty, and she’d fought infection for a long time. Luck was with her though, and not only had her wounds healed without a terrible infection invading, but she’d needed no skin grafts. But it had left her with scars — the sort of scars that people in general just couldn’t ignore. She was stared at by children and adults alike, wherever she went.

Rory must have guessed what she was thinking, because he lifted a gloved hand, pulled at the fingers with his teeth, and then took it off. With his hand bare, he used the tip of his finger to trace the long scar on the side of her face, gently, back and forth. “Christ, Kylie, you’re powerfully soft,” he said. “’Tis a battle scar, a part of you — a part of your life’s experiences. ’Tis what has made you such a strong lass.” He smiled down at her, but his eyes were steady, intense, and they dropped a fraction, to her mouth, before returning to her eyes. “A warrior.” He traced the scar again. “A beautiful warrior.”

Kylie felt the heat of a blush creep up her neck and settle into her cheeks, and was grateful for the fading light to cover it up. She studied Rory’s profile in the hazy evening, and she had to wonder why it was that modern men had lost that certain something. Was it chivalry? Rory had it by the bucket load, and the fact was. he seriously meant what he said. “My grandmother is the only person who ever said I was beautiful.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

Rory stared, the muscles in his jaws flinched, and his eyes searched her face. The air around them became thick, heavy as the sultry summer night embracing them and, for a moment, Kylie thought he’d kiss her. Electricity all but snapped at the intensity.

She was completely amazed when she discovered how badly she wanted that kiss.

But instead of kissing her, Rory smiled, replaced his glove, and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “’Tis high tide now, and the moon is nearly full. Let’s walk to the river.”

Together, they did. Always a breeze, it rustled through the sawgrass and cat tails, the sound dry and crackly, and so familiar, and with it was carried the pungent scent of the sea. The brackish water below the dock slapped against the pilings, and it reminded Kylie of how much she loved the Vernon, her granny’s house, and the life she’d left behind. And beside her walked a man who had been born in Scotland more than 250 years before and then suddenly thrust into another century, another time. Her time. It completely and wholly amazed her.

And he’d been here the whole time. Waiting.

For her.

Never in his live days had Rory been as fulfilled as he was with the modern girl who trustingly walked beside him now. Even with his invisible self, she completed him. He’d waited so long for her to return, with hopes of her finally being able to see him. She had, and now, he never wanted to let her go.

He’d always suspected that would happen.

How difficult it had been to restrain himself — just as it was now, as they walked the dock to the river. It had been centuries since he’d had physical contact with another human being, and even in his previous life, his last two years had been naught but warring. But with Kylie, and her soft skin, pleasing voice, and arousing scent? He’d wanted to kiss her powerfully bad, and almost had. Where his restraint had come from, he didna know. God must have flung it down upon him.

She’d wanted him to kiss her. Even he, a flimsy apparition out of his own time for more than two centuries, could feel it. Their attraction was like another living thing, palpable on the air around them.

He wanted her even now.

The thought of someone touching her, cutting her, as that fool in Atlanta had done, made his insides boil with fury. Had he been alive, he would have hunted the man down and killed him. Slowly.

“You’re very quiet,” Kylie said as they reached the dock house.

Rory glanced down, and covered her hand with his. “I’ve just ne’er disliked the night as much as I do right now,” he said. And Christ, he meant it. He didna want to leave her side. Her physical side.

“That makes two of us,” Kylie said.

Then before Rory knew it, she lifted a hand to his cheek, scrubbed his jaw with the verra soft pads of her fingertips.

“It’s just so hard for me to believe that you’re so very real,” she said, almost a whisper.

Rory stood dead still as he allowed Kylie to explore his features. She lightly grazed his ears, the bridge of his nose, his brows. When she hesitantly slid a finger across his bottom lip, he nearly came undone. He gathered all his strength though and remained steady. It proved to be the most difficult task in all his life — or time-warp life.

“What was it like,” she asked, pulling him down to the dock to sit, “the war?” Idly, she lightly fingered the brass buttons on his jacket, the cuffs of his sleeves, the leather of his boots. The hilt of his sword.

He swallowed.

“’Twas sheer hell,” Rory said. “Men much younger than myself — mere boys — took to arms and fought for this country.” He shook his head. “So many years have passed, and I believe most have forgotten. Those who fought have all died, and their closest relatives have died, as well. The stories have become lost.”

Kylie leaned against his shoulder, and Rory thought he’d fall straight into the Vernon. “Not everyone has forgotten,” she said softly.

Without warning, she slid her hand to his, pulled off his glove, and inspected his hand. Her slight fingers traced his larger, calloused ones, the thick veins that ran atop it, and the scraped knuckles.

And in the very next instant, the gloaming was over.

Rory’s physical body faded with the twilight.

And Kylie simply sat there in the near-darkness, quiet except for her harsh breathing. She swore.

Rory laughed, and watched her. “Dunna fret, lass,” he said, although ’twas exactly what he was doing, truth be told. “Tomorrow will bring another gloaming hour. And we shall spend it together.”

Rory fascinated her beyond belief, and before she even realized it, he’d put her at ease — made her forget Atlanta and the attack, made her forget the ugly scars it’d left her with. Only the present mattered.

Every day, Kylie spent her time on the verandah, or in the dock house, pouring over the Georgia volumes in search of Rory’s fate. Name after name, event after event flashed before her, yet nothing turned up regarding the Berkshire or its captives. Although she couldn’t see him, he remained by her side and helped her, talked with her. Yet when the gloaming approached, the volumes were set aside and he appeared — as in the flesh as any mortal man — and they’d spend that precious window of time devouring each other’s company. Somehow, he’d taught her to feel again.

Sweet Christ, ’twas painful awaiting the gloaming. For over 200 years, he’d searched for someone who would simply listen, and no’ run screaming in terror at the sight of an out-of-century man appearing before them, and invisible the next. Now that he’d found such a person, he didna want tae give her up. Her verra presence soothed him, and he craved time by her side. Surprisingly, he’d behaved hi’self. ’Til now.

Without words, he pulled her to a halt. Their eyes locked, his own grey ones to her blue. Her hand flew to the scar on her face, but he gently grasped her fingers, placing them over his heart. Pulling her close, he lowered his head and brushed her lips. The feel of her against him, the softness of her frock and scent of her skin urged him even more. His heart pounded like a wild thing, and when he grazed her tongue with his it took every ounce o’ strength he possessed tae remain upright. He threaded his fingers through her silken honey hair, inhaled her very essence, and when her hands crept around his neck and held his mouth tae hers, he devoured her, tasting every inch of her. Breathless, he hovered over her lips. “I never want tae let you go. ”

Kylie’s heart seized at Rory’s words. With her eyes open, she swept his bottom lip with her tongue, kissing him slowly, lingering against his skin. She held him tight, as though doing so would prevent him from fading away. He crowded her with his body, wrapped his arms around her and encircled her, consumed her in ways she’d never thought possible. His grey eyes stared down at her, their lips still touching. Strong hands rested against the small of her back, then before either knew it, his presence began to slip, blurring into a faded mist until Kylie stood by the marsh alone. She wrapped her arms around herself and fought the sting in her eyes.

Oh Christ, girl. Please dunna weep. I willna be able tae bear it.

Kylie exhaled. “I never expected to find you. Is this even happening? Is it real?”

His voice brushed the skin of her neck, and she closed her eyes. Aye, love. ’Tis real enough.

After a restless night, Kylie awakened, made coffee, and then plunged into the volumes. She asked Rory question after question with little result. Then, almost as if it leaped from the crinkled worn pages, she saw it. Her throat constricted.

What?

“The revolt aboard the Berkshire.”

Read it tae me?

Drawing a deep breath, Kylie began. “October, 1775. A revolt led by a captured officer of the Revolution ended in a bloodbath. Major Rory MacMillan, followed by a dozen starved and diseased prisoners aboard the prison ship Berkshire, overtook several guards in an attempt to man the ship and free its captives. The attempt proved futile. Major MacMillan, accused of being a deserter of the King’s army, was shot and thrown into the ship’s solitary prison pit, separating him from his men, thus ending the revolt. Somehow, his. ”

His what, Kylie?

Rory’s strained words squeezed her heart. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “His body simply disappeared from the locked prison. Major Rory MacMillan was never found, seen, or heard of ever again.”

The familiar haze began to shimmer before her, and Kylie’s eyes grew wide as Rory materialized before her. She jumped up. “What’s happening? It’s not even four o’clock.”

Without words, Rory grabbed her and held her close. His mouth sought hers, then whispered against her lips. “I remember, mo ghraidh. A man, another Scottish prisoner, whispered something in Gaelic. A verse. ’Twas just before I was shoved into the pit.” He shook his head and studied her. “It somehow sent me forwards in time.” His eyes misted. “I didna desert, and I wasna killed.”

She stared into his grey eyes. God, she could drown in them. “I believe you.”

He kissed her, and it singed her soul. “Christ, mo ghraidh,” he whispered against her mouth. “The help which I sought so desperately all those years has finally come.” He smiled. “Now, I wish I’d never sought it.”

They held each other until he began to blur. Tears filled her eyes. “No, Rory. You can’t go.” She choked back a sob. “Please don’t.”

“I love you, Kylie Jane Robinson. I believe I always have. Do no’ forget that.”

The haze faded away, slipping into the late afternoon sun. Tears fell down her cheeks. “Rory?” She looked around, waiting for his answer. “Rory, please.” Nothing. Only a wind slipping through the marsh whispered a reply. She tried to swallow, but her throat tightened, burned, refusing to allow it. The air jammed in her lungs. She slid to the cool grass and cried. “God, please give him back. ”

A few weeks and several cans of paint later, the verandah sparkled white once again. Green, bushy ferns hung down every few feet, and the whirring ceiling fan stirred just enough breezes to keep cool, to keep the fern fronds rustling in the wind.

God, she ached for him.

Closing her eyes, she gave the porch swing a push. She could still see him, smell him, could still hear his voice.

Are you awake yet?

Kylie sighed. He sounded so real.

“I said —” two strong hands cupped her face “— are you awake yet?”

She nearly flipped out of the swing. When her vision cleared, she stared into a pair of light grey eyes. She reached out, expecting her hands to pass through, but they didn’t. Instead, his hard chest heated beneath her palms. He pulled her close, and she inhaled his clean scent. “Rory.” Her words choked from her throat. “How—”

“I don’ dare ask questions, mo ghraidh.” He kissed her hair.

Kylie’s eyes drifted shut. “What does that really mean?”

Rory’s mouth edged close to hers. “My love.”

“You are a miracle,” she said on an exhale.

He tilted her face up and claimed her lips. “Love always is, lass.” Marsh and magnolia swept across the verandah as they held each other into the gloaming hour. and beyond.