The Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance

Michelle Willingham A Wish to Build a Dream On

Garrett was completely wrong, Mary Samson told herself, straightening in her seat. You are not a prude who’s incapable of being impulsive.

Wasn’t this impulsive enough? Taking two weeks’ vacation from her engineering position to travel to Ireland? She hadn’t taken a vacation in three years because. well, she’d always been too busy. There were simulations to run, project meetings to attend, and countless emails to answer. She’d prided herself on being dependable; a responsible adult with a good job and a bright future.

It hadn’t been enough for Garrett. They’d dated for almost a year before he’d dumped her last Thursday.

“It’s just not working, Mary. I need someone more impulsive. Someone who likes to live on the edge.”

“I can be more exciting,” she’d promised him. “Spontaneous, even.”

“Mary, the only spontaneous thing you’ve ever done was buy whole milk instead of two per cent.”

And even that had been an accident. Mary’s stomach twisted at the memory of their break-up. Her only consolation was that it had been easy. There wasn’t another woman; he’d simply been bored. They’d never moved in together, so there was no furniture to move, no locks to change. Not even a single dirty sock left behind. Here one minute, gone the next. Why then, did she feel so awful, as though he’d been her last chance for a real relationship?

“Are you all right?” her seatmate Harriet asked. Besides herself, Harriet was the next youngest member of the tour group. She was seventy-five, widowed and wore her white hair styled in a large pouf. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

The older woman handed her a pack of tissues. “You look as though you’re considering throwing yourself off the bus. Or in front of it.”

Mary glanced at their tour guide Neil, who was trying to lead the passengers in a chorus of “Kum Bah Yah”. Reaching for a bottle of Motrin, she nodded. “Always a possibility.”

Harriet beamed and opened her tote bag, revealing several bottles of alcohol from the last hotel’s minibar. “Here. Choose your poison.” For herself, the older woman selected a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

Mary doubted if they were supposed to drink while on the tour, but Neil’s perky singing was enough to drive anyone to overindulge. She reached for a bottle of Disaronno Amaretto. “Sláinte.”

The two tiny bottles clinked together, and Harriet offered a toast. “May the wind at your back always be your own.”

Mary choked, coughing at Harriet’s remark. The alcohol burned her throat, and she took another swig. It was beginning to mellow her out. “Sorry.”

“Did you make a wish then?” Harriet asked.

“No. Should I?” Wishes were for birthday candles and shooting stars. Not for contraband bottles of minibar alcohol.

“Of course. Ireland is a land of magic. You never know when your fondest dream will come true.”

Mary was about to add a sarcastic remark when she suddenly glanced at Harriet’s face. The stubborn glint in the older woman’s eye suggested that she wasn’t going to let this one go. “Don’t scoff. You can’t say you don’t believe in something, just because you’ve never seen it. Even scientists know there are some things which can’t be explained.”

True enough. “It doesn’t mean I expect to see leprechauns hiding in the break room.”

“The bastards are more likely to be raiding the Coke machines,” Harriet retorted. She took another sip of her whiskey. “I’m speaking of the fairies. You’ve heard of the Irish superstitions, haven’t you?”

“A little.” She’d heard tales of babies snatched at birth, changeling tales. Myths of selkies and other fey creatures. “I know you’re not supposed to offend them.”

The old woman’s expression turned darker. “No. You’re not.” She stared out of the window at the road, which had grown narrower. Hedges lined the left side of the road and, below it, the sea roiled with grey waves and white foam. Harriet rested her chin on her palm, eyeing the wild landscape. Gorse and heather bloomed on the sides of the cliffs while sheep grazed in the grass.

When they reached a series of stone huts on the side of the mountain, the tour bus rolled to a stop. Mary wasn’t exactly in the mood to view prehistoric beehive huts, but perhaps the sea air would clear her head.

Harriet stopped her before they got off the bus. “I’ll tell you this, Mary Samson. Make a wish, when the time is right. It might come true.”

Not wanting to offend her seatmate, Mary nodded. “All right.” She didn’t know what Harriet was talking about, but if it made the woman feel good to give advice, there wasn’t any harm in smiling and going along with it.

The grey skies rolled a fog off the sea, cloaking the Dingle Peninsula in a low mist. It was cooler outside, and Mary buttoned up the pullover sweater she’d bought at the last tour stop. As she trudged up the path, following the guide, Harriet’s words came back. Make a wish, when the time is right.

Some people would wish for a winning lottery ticket. Maybe a house in Bermuda or a job promotion.

I want a family, she thought. Her parents had been dead for ten years, and there was no one left. No aunts, no uncles. Not even a grandmother. It was loneliness that had made her register for an online dating service. And though her gut had warned her that Garrett wasn’t Mr Right, she’d hoped he could be Mr Almost-Right. She had been willing to settle, to mould herself into the woman he wanted. And how pitiful was that?

Stepping into the grass, she sat on a large limestone boulder, watching the sea from her vantage point. The tour group continued on without her, and she rested her hands on the rock, letting her thoughts drift. At her feet, the grass swayed with the gusts of wind. She realized her tennis shoes were squarely in the middle of a circle of mushrooms. A fairy circle, so the legend went.

Funny. Perhaps that was what Harriet had meant. All right, she was game for anything. Superstitions didn’t mean a thing, but why not make that wish?

I wish a man would love the woman I am, not the woman he wants me to be. And I want to have a family.

She looked up and saw the old woman rushing towards her. “No!” Harriet cried out. “What have you done?”

Mary frowned, not understanding. It was just a circle of mushrooms. A common gardening problem, nothing more. But her heart began to quicken with an unnamed fear. “What is it?”

The old woman reached her side. “Get out. Get out, before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s just—”

A blinding migraine seemed to strike out of nowhere. A pulsing, swollen pressure that pressed against her brain.

“Those who step into an empty fairy ring die at a young age,” Harriet breathed. “It’s forbidden, didn’t you know that?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mary tried to stand up, but a wave of dizziness seemed to pull her down. “It’s just a bunch of mushrooms.” Probably the amaretto, coming back to haunt her.

Harriet grabbed her hand and pressed something soft into it. “Take this. And whatever you do, don’t let go.”

It was a piece of brown bread, left over from breakfast. What on earth?

“It’s an offering. It might pacify the fey.”

A strange music seemed to emanate from the ground, the faint sounds of harp strings. “Do you hear that?” Mary leaned forwards, trying to make sense of it.

Harriet was mumbling under her breath, her hands working upon a strand of rosary beads. Prayers. Mary wanted to smile and tell her not to be silly. It was going to be OK.

But before she could speak, her knees buckled beneath her. She stumbled on to her hands and knees inside the circle. Grass tickled her face, and pressure rose up inside her skull to an unbearable pitch. She gripped her head, but the agony kept building and rising.

A small pop, and she was ripped free of her body, her spirit hovering above the fairy circle.

Some wish, Mary grumbled. She wasn’t supposed to die, for God’s sake. That was her last thought before her spirit was torn through the fairy circle and across to the other side.

Mary opened her eyes and saw a tiny man, about the length of her forearm, staring at her with an appreciative smirk. He wore clothes that blended into the surrounding grasses, and he propped his elbow against one of the stones. A leprechaun? No, she had to be dreaming.

“You’re a fetching one, aren’t you?” he remarked. “He’s going to like you.”

Mary wasn’t sure what the little man was talking about, but when she glanced down, she saw that she was completely naked. “Oh, my God.” She rolled on to her chest and looked around frantically for her clothes.

“They’re not there. You can’t exactly bring clothes with you, once you’re dead. Or, partly dead, in your case.”

“Partly dead?” She scrambled around for some vegetation but only came up with a daffodil or two. And she could just imagine what it would look like to have flowers plastered across her bum.

“Indeed.” The man nodded towards the ring of mushrooms, which was nearby. “You made a wish, before you were taken. That’s what saved you.”

“Somehow, I’m pretty sure that I’m asleep on the tour bus, and I’m going to wake up.” Mary glared at the man. “You’re probably going to tell me you’re a leprechaun and you’re looking for your Lucky Charms.”

He shrugged. “Not a leprechaun. My name is Kevan, and I am one of the Daoine Sídhe.”

The Deena She? Who? Play along, Mary. You’re dreaming anyway. What’s the harm?

“You wished for someone to love you and for a family.” Kevan rubbed his beard, staring at her. “A powerful wish, love is. And it holds the power to save you. You have three days to fall in love and make him love you in return.”

“What do you mean him?”

“The man you wished for. He’ll be arriving shortly. And when the sun rises on the third day, you’ll either get your wish. ”

“Or?”

“Or you’ll die, Mary Samson. And this time, it’s for ever.”

Ireland, 1173

Cian MacCorban was a man who trusted his instincts. Though some would accuse him of being ruled by his dreams, he knew differently. They weren’t dreams; they were realities yet to occur. Too often, the visions came upon him without warning. And every last one had come true.

Even the deaths.

That was the cursed part of the Sight. He saw friends, family members, knowing how they would die. But not when. Never that. He hadn’t known that a death was about to happen until it was too late.

His people feared him, and most had abandoned him. His ring fort was falling apart, and he no longer cared. What did it matter, when he was nearly the only one left?

Cian mounted his horse, preparing to ride out. He let the horse lead, opening his mind to the vision he’d seen again last night. A woman’s face, her honey-blonde hair cut short to her shoulders. Intelligent grey eyes and an uncertain smile. For so many years, he’d hoped this vision would come true: the woman who was meant for him.

He’d seen the morning sun rising through the circle of standing stones. One day, she would be there. For ten years, he’d ridden out to the circle, hoping to find her. But when he glanced behind him, he sensed that even she would not want a man like him. A man cursed with visions of death.

It was easier to be naked in public if you had a tiny waist and a perfectly toned body. Mary had neither of these, and it was her own fault for avoiding the gym. Kevan, the man of the Daoine Sídhe, had vanished some time ago, and she was left trying to decide what to do. She couldn’t exactly make clothes out of the grass, and there weren’t any palm leaves lying around either.

Before long, she heard hoof beats approaching. Mary dived behind one of the standing stones, trying to hide what she could of her body. A man was on horseback, likely a historical re-enactor, given his simple clothing and the blue cloak fastened with a brooch. His blond hair was unkempt, hanging across his shoulders. His dark blue eyes were tired, like a man who hadn’t slept in years. Though he was tall and handsome, it was the bleakness that held her attention.

When he started to walk towards her, she held out her hand. “Wait! Don’t come any closer. I don’t have any. that is, I’m not wearing — Oh, damn it, just stay where you are.”

He startled, as though he were trying to puzzle out her words. “You’re real. Not a dream.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. Instead, she pleaded, “I’m in a bit of trouble here. Could you please throw me your cloak?”

Without questioning her, he unfastened his cloak and threw it. It fell slightly short, but Mary eased it towards herself with one foot. Only when she’d covered herself from neck to ankle, did she step out from behind the standing stone.

“Thank you,” she said. “I wish I had an explanation for why I’m not wearing any clothes, but the truth is, I’m not sure how I got here. Am I still in Ireland?”

He nodded. “May I come closer to speak with you?”

“I. um. yes, sure. Oh, and I promise I’ll give you back this cloak as soon as I can. I suppose you’ll need it for the re-enactment.”

His blue eyes narrowed. “The what?”

She stared at him. Utter confusion appeared on his face, as if he didn’t know what a re-enactment was. Don’t panic, don’t panic. He’s just staying in character.

“I’ll give it back to you later,” Mary said. “In the meantime, maybe you could help me find my tour group?”

He shook his head slowly. “There is no one here. But if you’re needing food and shelter, I can give you that. Perhaps there might be a gown you could borrow.”

A gown? She gripped the edges of the cloak together. One minute at a time was all she could handle before going crazy. Was this the man she was supposed to encounter? The one who had to love her before the third day, or she would die?

“I appreciate your help.” She walked alongside him towards his horse. “What is your name?”

“I am Cian MacCorban, chief of the MacCorban clan. Or what’s left of them.”

Mary introduced herself, and Cian reached out to assist her on to his horse. When he swung up behind her, she was startled at his body warmth. Though it was early summer, the weather wasn’t as warm as the Florida heat she was used to.

His arms came around her waist to grip the reins, and Mary felt self-conscious at his inadvertent touch. Wasn’t this a dream? She’d had vivid dreams before. Surely this was one of them. But the sensation of riding a horse and feeling a man’s arms around her was all too real.

It felt safe, being with Cian. Though she knew it wasn’t wise to go off with strangers, she didn’t have a choice. If she was dreaming, then there was no harm in it. And if she wasn’t dreaming, then she was already half-dead to begin with, and it didn’t matter.

“Are you the man I was supposed to meet?” she blurted out. “The one waiting for me?” Great, Mary. That made a lot of sense. He won’t think you’re crazy now.

Instead, his grip tightened around her waist. “I’ve seen you in my visions for over twenty years, Mary Samson. I’ve dreamed about you every night, wondering when you would finally be here.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t think of what else to say. It should have felt creepy, like he was a stalker. Instead, there was a strange sense of relief. She’d made her wish, and here he was — the man fate had paired her up with. If he’d been waiting for her for over twenty years, then it shouldn’t be so hard to make him fall in love with her, should it?

But she was supposed to love him back. And if she’d learned anything from her relationship with Garrett, it was that love couldn’t be forced. It either happened, or it didn’t.

She rode in front of Cian for nearly an hour before she saw a ruined fortress ahead. Built upon a small crannog, the ring fort probably housed ten to fifteen people. But as they rode across the bridge and through the gate, her suspicions sharpened. The place was falling apart, with hardly anyone to take care of it. Rotting hides and animal manure gave the place an indescribable odour, one that wasn’t at all welcoming. She saw only four other men, and they were all staring at her.

After Cian helped her down, she took in her surroundings. “Is this where you work? Is this a re-enactment village?”

“This is my home.” Distaste lined his face, as though he didn’t care for it either.

Though her brain warned her not to ask, she couldn’t stop herself. “Cian, is this real?”

“What do you mean?”

She swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her chest. “What year is this?”

“It is the Year of Our Lord 1173.”

No. No, it wasn’t possible. But it was as if she’d stepped back in time, into a medieval world where the men wore swords and the women sewed their own clothing. No modern medicine, no cars. No toothbrushes or personal hygiene.

Her brain was screaming. Maybe it was better to just let herself die. After all, surely they had toilets in heaven. She didn’t like primitive conditions, and the stone roundhouse certainly qualified as that. She’d never even been camping, for heaven’s sake.

Cian adjusted the fire, dropping more peat bricks on top of it. He gestured towards a pile of furs. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Make yourself comfortable.”

And though she promised herself she wouldn’t do anything stupid like pass out or scream, her knees buckled of their own accord, and she found herself crouching on the ground. Breathe. Just breathe.

Cian was at her side instantly. “Are you all right, a chara?” He sat down, pulling her on to his lap.

She almost laughed. All right? She’d been sent back in time nearly a thousand years and he wanted to know if she was all right? If she recalled her history properly, they burned crazy women at the stake.

You’re already dead, her conscience argued. Well, almost.

It doesn’t mean I want to become a human barbecue.

“I. need a moment,” she whispered.

His hands moved to the sides of her face, his fingers threading through her hair. “It’s softer than I thought it would be,” he murmured. “And you’re prettier than the woman I saw in my dreams.”

She couldn’t answer because, at the moment, he was holding her like a cherished possession. As if he couldn’t believe she was real. His blue eyes were shadowed, his face haggard. But there was a fierce hope within his expression.

Her pulse quickened as she reached out to his face. What sort of man was he? His face was clean-shaven, unlike his kinsmen. The bristles on his face were starting to grow smooth. A small scar ridged the edge of his chin up to his lip.

This was a man who had waged battle upon his enemies, a warrior who lived by a different set of rules. And he was staring at her as though she meant everything to him.

“Cian.” She said his name, testing it out.

Before she could speak another word, his mouth lowered to hers. Softly, like they were reunited, he kissed her. Beneath the cloak, she shivered, her flesh rising up with unexpected arousal. He wasn’t the barbarian she’d expected. No, his kiss was seductive, alluring. She could kiss a man like him all night long.

You might have to do more than that, her conscience warned. Three days was a heartbeat in time, barely enough for anyone to become friends, much less fall in love. But a kiss was a start.

He deepened the kiss, cradling her head as his mouth coaxed and tasted. “I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?” He broke free of her, staring at her swollen lips.

Mary clutched the edges of her cloak, not knowing what to say. “It’s not such a bad dream.” Even if he was a stranger, she felt an unusual connection to him.

A half-cocky smile tipped at his mouth. He released her swiftly. “I’ll hunt for our noon meal. In the meantime, you can look about for a gown or some clothes. Ask Brían, if you’ve a need for anything.”

He started to leave, but his gaze suddenly grew distant. For several minutes, he didn’t say a word, but stared at the whitewashed interior walls of the roundhouse. It was as though he’d fallen into a hypnotic trance, one where he lost track of the world around him.

Without warning, his hand curled into a fist, and he cursed in Irish. Cian slammed the door open, and Mary followed him outside. “What’s the matter?”

He stopped short. Casting a glance behind him, he said, “It’s nothing.”

Typical man. “You saw something, didn’t you?” His earlier admission — that he’d dreamed of her — made her wonder what sort of visions he had.

“I did. And we’ll not speak of it again.”

Cian kept walking, his stride quickening. Almost as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

The vision might well have been a razor blade, from the way it sliced through him, cutting to his heart. Cian had seen flashes of Mary, her eyes warm with an unnamed emotion, her arms welcoming. He’d seen her in his bed, her body flushed from lovemaking.

And he’d seen the moment the light had faded from her eyes.

She’d died in his arms, and the pain of losing her was unlike anything he’d known. Damn it all, he’d just found her. He’d sensed that she was the person he’d been searching for, the other half that would fill up the emptiness he’d lived with for so long.

He was so tired of losing loved ones, of foreseeing their deaths. Not again. It was better to live alone, where he didn’t have to endure the visions.

His cousin Logan walked alongside him, his bow ready. “She’s the one you told us about, isn’t she? Your bride.”

“I thought so at first. But I was wrong. She can stay for a few days, until her kin can find her.” After that, he’d not see her again.

“But you said —”

“I know what I said,” Cian snapped. Since they’d likely scared off any of the game, he didn’t bother keeping his voice low. “But I’m not about to let my curse affect her. If she stays, she’s going to die.”

“It might not be until she’s older. Years from now,” Logan argued.

“I’ve already seen it.” He closed his eyes, trying to will away the vision. “Perhaps if she leaves, it won’t happen quite so soon.” In the vision, she’d been cradled in his arms. The sooner he sent her away, the better chance that she would live.

“You’ve no control over another person’s fate, Cian. Only God can decide when a person is ready to die.”

“I’m tired of being God’s messenger.” He shook his head. “Leave me here, Logan. I’ve a need to be alone.”

Cian MacCorban might be living in a medieval pigsty, but Mary didn’t plan on enduring it. After exploring the ring fort, she’d found that most of the huts were abandoned. Only Brían remained behind. She’d attempted to speak to him, but he spoke little English. It didn’t appear to bother him when she entered each of the dwellings, searching for clothing. With hand signals, she got his permission to take a primitive pair of trousers and a long tunic. She hadn’t found gowns of any sort, and was rather happy about it, to be honest. She’d only get the dress dirty.

So, she’d tied the trousers with a belt made of rope and found a pair of gloves. Holding her breath, she began the arduous process of cleaning the ring fort. She ordered Brían to haul off the loads of waste and rotten carcasses. He didn’t argue, and she suspected that he secretly agreed with her about the need to make the place more presentable.

What she wouldn’t give for some disinfectant right now. She worked hard, scrubbing at a pile of soiled wooden dishes. After that, she swept the small roundhouse and straightened up all of Cian’s belongings. She believed in order and cleanliness. Once it was done, she felt calm, a stronger sense of control.

When the afternoon waned into evening, she waited for Cian to return. Her stomach rumbled and she was thirsty, but she wasn’t about to drink the pond water. Not without boiling it first, anyway.

Brían spent the remainder of the time sharpening his sword and knives. He was a quiet man, tall and observant. Even so, he didn’t think to offer her anything to eat. She wondered if there was any food at all. From the deserted huts, it didn’t look like it.

By the time Cian returned, Mary was having visions of her own. Hot fudge sundaes and steaming cups of coffee. Large sandwiches stuffed with meat, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes. Chocolate chip cookies.

She was not, however, envisioning a dead deer slung across the backs of the two men. Wincing, she turned away as they prepared to dress the meat. She’d had venison before and she wasn’t a vegetarian, but it didn’t mean that she particularly liked to see where her meat came from. Plastic-wrapped packages in the butcher’s aisle at the supermarket were just fine by her.

Within another hour, the men had a large piece of meat roasting over an open fire. Cian had avoided her for most of the time, and she wasn’t sure why. Only three other men joined them, and she noticed that there were no women and children.

The deserted ring fort had a ghostly aura to it, as though the remaining inhabitants had died. Mary rubbed her arms for warmth, trying not to wonder why everyone was gone.

Cian saw the direction of her gaze, and it was then that he noticed her cleaning efforts. He spoke quietly to Brían, who nodded and pointed back to her. Mary tried to smile, but her mouth wouldn’t quite work. Cian’s expression didn’t exactly look pleased, and suddenly she was reminded of Garrett’s complaints.

Why do you always feel the need to clean up after other people? If I put my beer down, you don’t have to recycle the bottle right away.

She’d thought she was keeping her apartment clean, making it a pleasant space for both of them. It was easier to clean up along the way, rather than spend hours trying to shovel out a week’s worth of living. Efficient and tidy — that was the way she liked it.

But now, she had an Irish warrior staring at her as though she’d riffled through his undergarments. He crossed over to her and handed her a generous portion of venison on one of the wooden plates she’d scoured. The gesture was completely at odds with the grim look on his face.

Mary murmured her thanks and Cian stood in front of her as if trying to choose the right words. She avoided his gaze, afraid she’d overstepped her boundaries. When the seconds shifted into minutes, she broke the silence. “Aren’t you going to eat something?”

“In a moment.”

She dug into the venison, pretending as though the meat was the most fascinating object on the planet.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why what?”

“Why did you spend hours cleaning this. place? It means nothing to you.” He glanced around as though he expected it to crumble into the ground. And perhaps he wanted it to. The mess she’d tidied had represented months of neglect, like a man who didn’t care any more.

But he’d given her shelter and food, and this was a way to repay him. She’d wanted to make herself useful, bringing a little bit of his home back.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said. “I just thought it might help you.” Before he could say a word, she added, “But if you’d rather I put things back, I can. Well, probably not the trash or the animal hides. We burned those, but I could probably—”

He put his hand over her mouth, cutting off her senseless babble. “It was kind of you.”

There was a flicker behind his shielded emotions of a grateful man. And just as quickly, it disappeared. He picked at the venison on his own plate, not even attempting conversation. It was as if the man she’d met this morning had gone. Whatever he’d seen in his vision had completely transformed him. He was acting as if she had a dreaded disease and he didn’t want to be near her any more. It disconcerted her, reminding her of Garrett’s rejection.

Mary needed to lighten the mood, to somehow make him see that she wasn’t any threat. “What do you do at night, to entertain each other?”

Cian shrugged. “We’re not much for singing or storytelling. Sometimes a game of dice, if we’re feeling up to it.”

“What about sports?” At his blank look, she amended, “Games with a ball?”

Brían had overheard their conversation and spoke rapidly to Cian. A few moments later, he returned with a round leather ball. It wasn’t quite what she’d envisioned, but it might work.

She hefted the ball in one hand. It was slightly larger than a softball, and the weight was manageable. “Want to play?”

His blue eyes turned dark with another meaning, one she hadn’t intended. He looked at her as though he wanted to kiss her again and, Lord help her, she wouldn’t mind so much. Cian MacCorban was incredibly handsome, and she’d always had a weakness for a sexy knight with a sword. Or, in this case, an Irish chief.

Cian ordered the men to gather round and they each took turns lobbing the ball at a crooked fence post. Each time they missed, they took a swig of mead from a drinking horn. When her own ball fell short, Cian handed over the horn. “Drink.”

“No, really, I’m not thirsty.”

“It’s your penalty, a stór. For missing the target.” He shot her a wicked smile, and her good sense melted like butter in a hot skillet. His hands curved over hers as he lifted the horn to her mouth. The mead tasted sweeter than she’d expected, but the fermented drink was strong.

“I’d better not miss too often,” she said. “Or else I’ll be so drunk you’ll have to carry me to bed.”

His smile deepened, and Mary’s face turned bright red at the unintended innuendo. “It would be my honour, a stór.”

That was when the cheating began. At first, it seemed unintentional. A light brush against her shoulder when she threw the ball. Then Cian sneezed loudly at the moment she aimed at the target.

Mary wasn’t about to let cheaters prosper. No, she stretched her arms up, letting the edge of the man’s tunic she wore bare the skin of her shoulder. She stood beside Cian, whispering an innocent question in his ear when he tried to throw the ball.

In the end, her head was buzzing, and she felt like she was standing outside of herself. She’d never been this uninhibited before. It was like being among a group of brothers, who had no qualms about wrestling in front of her or daring her to drink another swallow of mead.

Later that night, Cian dragged her away, sweeping her into his arms. Both of them were laughing, and she found herself feeling better than she had in years. He brought her inside his roundhouse, and she held tightly to his neck.

Perhaps it was her impending death that made her so bold. Lord knew, she wasn’t the kind of woman who drank more than a glass of wine or two. And she certainly had never kissed a man within an hour of meeting him.

Cian was holding her body as though she weighed nothing. Slowly, he lowered her to stand in front of him, but she didn’t let go of him.

“Why is this place abandoned?” she whispered. “Why are there no women or children?”

The pain returned to his face, the edge of a man who shouldered endless guilt. “They left of their own accord. Because of me.”

“What could you possibly have done?” She traced her hand down his jawline, noting the scar upon his chin. This was a man who must have seen the face of death, over and over.

“It isn’t what I did. It’s what I saw. My curse.” He released her and went to the door. “But you needn’t trouble yourself over it. I’ll send Brían to find your family, and they’ll take you home.”

“I have no home or family. Not any more.” The cold shivers ran through her once again, and she clutched at her elbows. “I don’t even know how I got here.”

“Or what happened to your clothes?” he said grimly.

“No.” It was the only truth she could give him and, right now, she sensed he was going to leave her. “Will you stay with me?” She moved towards him, her knees swaying slightly from all the mead she’d drunk. “I’d rather not be alone tonight.”

His expression grew haggard. “I’m going to get you some stones from the fire outside. They will keep this space warm.”

You could keep me warm, she almost said. But then that was the mead responding, not her brain.

When he’d left, Mary sank down on the rough pallet, staring up at the thatched ceiling. She hadn’t allowed herself to be afraid before. But now, the fear coursed through her veins, filling her up inside. She had never really believed in the supernatural, but now, it seemed her life depended on it. There was no real proof that she would die on the morning of the third day. Then again, she’d watched her body fall lifeless into the fairy circle. She’d been sent back in time nearly a thousand years and had spoken to a man the size of her arm.

You’re either going crazy, or this is real.

Cian returned, using the butt of a spear to roll several heated stones into the space. And she knew that if she didn’t do something, he was going to leave her. He arranged the stones and stood back.

“Sleep now. In the morning, we’ll decide what to do.”

When he tried to leave, she blocked the doorway. “Cian, did I do something wrong?”

He rested his hand upon the wall. “No, there’s nothing.”

There was a look of indecision on his face, as though he wanted a reason to stay, but honour prevented it.

“I had fun tonight,” she whispered, touching her hand to his face. “Even if I can’t play ball to save my life.”

His face furrowed at her phrasing, and she reminded herself to watch the way she spoke.

“It’s been a long time since I had a reason to laugh,” he admitted. Cian covered her hand with his own. For a long moment, he looked upon her, his gaze searching.

I can be more spontaneous, she thought to herself. Maybe it’s time to be impulsive.

Although the engineer inside protested at what she was about to do, playing her life safe had never gotten her anywhere. She had less than two days left, so why not?

Mary stood on her tiptoes, her face nearing Cian’s. She moved slowly, giving him every chance to pull away. Instead, his mouth came down upon hers, kissing her like a desperate man. She clung to him, unable to catch her breath. His arms slipped around her waist, lifting beneath the tunic to her bare back. He worshipped her skin with his hands, pulling her tightly against his body.

Too fast. She couldn’t stop the rush of feelings, nor rein in her own response. But common sense evaporated in the intensity of his kiss. He threaded his hands through her hair, altering the embrace until he laid her down upon the pallet. She tasted the mead upon his tongue, the intensity of his desire for her. And when at last he broke away, she pleaded, “Stay with me tonight. Don’t go.”

He cursed, dragging his mouth against her lips for another kiss. “I’ll sleep in this hut, to keep you safe. But I swear, I won’t dishonour you.”

“Please stay. That’s all I ask.”

He slept on the opposite side of the hut, atop a folded cloak. In the middle of the night, she heard him awaken. The nightmare caught him and he started speaking Irish, his words tangled up with fear. Mary felt her way towards him and knelt down.

“Cian, wake up. It’s only a dream.”

He reached out and pulled her to him. His body was trembling, and she soothed him, running her hands over his tight muscles. “It’s OK. I’m here.”

His breathing was unsteady, and at last he seemed to realize where he was. “I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep.”

“Isn’t that what most people do at night?”

“Not me.” He sat up, but Mary supported his weight, her arms still around him. “I try not to sleep. Then, when I must, I sleep so hard the dreams don’t come.”

That explained why his eyes were always so tired. “It’s not healthy.”

“Neither are my dreams.”

“What did you dream of?” He remained silent, and she had a sudden suspicion. “Did you dream of me?”

She rose up on her knees, turning to face him. In the darkness, she couldn’t see his face, but she touched his shoulders. “Tell me what you saw.”

“Don’t you understand?” he whispered. “My dreams come true. All of them have happened, just as I saw them.”

“You dreamed of me. You said you’d been waiting twenty years.”

He emitted a harsh laugh. “Aye. Twenty years for the worst nightmare of all my days.”

He took both of her wrists in his hands. “I saw you dying, just now. I saw you in my arms, the moment the last breath of life left you. Just as I saw the deaths of each of my family and friends. It’s why they left. Why they all leave.”

“Everyone dies,” she said softly. “And whether you see it or not, doesn’t make you responsible.”

“I can’t stop their deaths. Not even yours.”

“I know it.” She moved closer to him, cupping his face. “I have a curse of my own, Cian. From the Daoine Sídhe. I’m going to die before the sun rises tomorrow morning, so the man said. The difference is, I’m not going to waste my last day wishing I had more time.”

She pressed a kiss against his mouth. “I’m going to enjoy every last moment of it.” And she had no intention of telling him the rest of the story. There was nothing that would drive a man away faster than for him to feel cornered in a relationship. Fall in love with me, or I’m going to die. If that wasn’t pressuring a man, she didn’t know what was.

Cian didn’t question her certainty, but instead lowered his forehead to hers. “Then I won’t waste the last hours I have with you, either.” He lifted her in his arms and took her back to bed. With his arms around her, she fell asleep once again.

Cian eased off the pallet, letting Mary sleep a little longer. He left her a plate of bread and some venison to break her fast. Though she claimed she knew of her impending death, he wondered if there was a way to prevent it. Tomorrow, before the sun rises, she’d said. He struggled to recall every detail of his vision, but all he could remember was her lying in his arms before she stopped breathing.

She wandered outside, her eyes sleepy. A slight smile tilted her mouth and she held out the plate. “Thank you for the breakfast. Did you want some?”

He was beginning to grow accustomed to her strange speech. Though he suspected there was a great deal about her that he didn’t know, he asked no questions. Right now, he didn’t want the answers.

“I’m fine.”

Mary set the half-eaten plate of food aside. “Well, if you change your mind, it’s there.” She glanced up at the sky, which was full of clouds. “Doesn’t look like I’ll have good weather for my last day alive.”

He stood up and took her hand. “Don’t talk that way.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to be morbid, but I do have a request.”

“Name it.”

“Will you take me out horseback riding? I’d like to see more of the countryside.”

“If that’s your wish.” He released her hand, intending to see about the horses. Regardless of her prediction, he’d decided to pretend like it was any other day. As though she were a sister or a friend, not the woman he felt so drawn to. He wouldn’t let himself fall into the trap of caring for her, not if she was going to die. Best to shield himself from it.

Mary ventured a smile. “I’ve never been on horseback before. It looks like a beautiful way to see the land.”

“It is.” He saw her take a step forwards, as though she were about to embrace him. Instead, he moved away, taking the long path towards the stable. He didn’t miss the disappointment in her eyes, but it was for the best. It would hurt far less, if he kept himself distant from her.

After he saddled her horse and led her out of the ring fort and across the bridge of the crannog, he stayed at her side. “My family has lived here for a hundred years. The crannog is an artificial island, but it protects us from raiders and wild animals.”

He thought she mumbled something about “killer squirrels” but couldn’t be sure. When they reached the open fields, Mary turned to him. “Show me how to gallop.”

“You said you’ve never been on a horse before. It’s not safe.”

“Oh, come on. I want to go faster. How hard can it be?”

“Your backside won’t forgive you.” But he reached over and lifted her on to the horse in front of him. “It’s better if I take you with me.” Driving his heels into his stallion’s back, he took her across the meadow as fast as he dared. Her hair streamed away from her face, and she gripped the horse’s mane tightly. He brought her towards the sea, letting her glimpse the deep blue waters against the harsh cliffs. Then he slowed the horse.

Mary turned to him, and the blinding smile on her face stole his breath. She rested her palm on his cheek and drew him in for a light kiss.

He knew he shouldn’t touch her, but he wanted to hold her. She eased her leg until she sat side-saddle, and put her arms around his waist. “That was amazing. Thank you.”

She sat against his lap, and he let her remain there, with her head resting against his chest. “I’ve only known you for a single day, but it feels like longer.”

His grip tightened around her, for she was right.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cian,” she murmured.

His answer was another kiss on her temple. Right now he wanted to take her back home, to keep her at his side for always. But just then, the wind whipped against them, rippling the grasses on the hillside. His gaze was drawn to one of the mounds, and upon it, he saw one of the Daoine Sídhe. The small man stared at them, his gaze threatening.

“That’s the man I saw,” Mary whispered. “Kevan. He’s the one who said I’m going to die before dawn tomorrow.”

Cian turned his mount towards the man, but as soon as they reached the foot of the hill, Kevan vanished. “How did you offend him?”

“I stepped into a fairy circle,” she admitted. “I thought it was just a ring of mushrooms.”

She shivered in his arms. “Take me back, Cian. I need something to take my mind off tomorrow morning.”

Cian had gone out searching for blackberries along the edge of the forest when the back of his neck began to prickle.

“Fulfilling her last request, are you?” Kevan interrupted. The tiny man of the Daoine Sídhe had a smug expression on his face.

Cian didn’t bother to hide his anger. “She’s innocent and never meant to offend. She didn’t even know what the circle was.”

Kevan laughed. “She didn’t tell you how to break the curse, did she?”

Cian stilled, not knowing what the man was speaking of. “No.”

“Well now.” Kevan rubbed at his beard. “She didn’t tell you that love has the power to save her life? I find that interesting.”

“I don’t want her to die,” Cian said, forcing himself to kneel on the ground. If he had to humble himself before a member of the Daoine Sídhe, so be it. Mary’s life was worth it. “I will love her, if that’s what I’m meant to do.”

Kevan laughed. “You can love her all you wish, but it won’t save her. Only if she loves you in return, will she live. And it doesn’t seem that she feels the same way now, does it?”

The words pricked him like the blackberry thorns. “There’s time enough to convince her.”

“Her soul will belong to us, Cian MacCorban. In a matter of hours. And there’s naught you can do about it.”

The remaining hours slid away and the skies opened up a rainstorm that quickly turned the ring fort into mud. Mary struggled to cook the fish Cian had caught earlier, but was afraid she’d made a watery mess of them in the sputtering outdoor fire.

In the end, he brought some of the heated rocks inside the hut and finished cooking the fillets on the hot stones. While they waited for the food to finish, he offered a handful of blackberries he’d found.

“It’s early for them, but you said they were your favourite.”

She smiled and ate the blackberries, but when Cian joined her, he spat one out. “These are the worst things I’ve ever tasted.”

“Oh, they’re not that bad.” They were, but it was the thought that counted.

He pushed the bowl away. “I saw Kevan near the forest, when I was picking the berries. He told me more about your curse.”

Her face reddened, and she found an excuse to stare at her hands. Couldn’t a woman keep any secrets to herself? “What did he tell you?”

“That if we fell in love, you would live.”

She drew her knees up to her chest, not meeting his gaze. “We met yesterday, Cian. People don’t fall in love that fast. It was never worth trying.”

“Not even to save your life?”

She bit her lip to keep back the tears. Did he think she could simply turn feelings on or off with an imaginary switch? She’d done everything she could to make Garrett love her, and nothing had worked. In fact, the harder she’d tried, the more he’d disliked her. And she didn’t want Cian to feel that way.

“I don’t believe in love at first sight,” she said quietly.

He reached out to her hands and pulled her to stand before him. His posture was stiff, and she sensed she was crushing his pride. “Is it. that you could never love a man like me?”

“Cian, you don’t understand. We come from two different worlds. You’re handsome and kind, but we have nothing in common. I didn’t tell you the entire truth about me.” She took a deep breath, knowing he needed to understand everything. “The reality is, I’m not like you. I’m from the twenty-first century.”

The confession hung between them like weighted stones. “When I entered that fairy circle, I died in my own century,” Mary continued. “The Daoine Sídhe sent me back in time here, for three days.” The bottled-up feelings seemed to overflow and she stared down at the ground. “The reason I know I’m going to die is because I’m already dead. And love can’t stop that, no matter what Kevan told you.”

He was staring at her, not speaking. No doubt he thought she was insane. And, here we go with burning a witch at the stake. Nice job, Mary.

“I don’t know what to believe any more,” he said. “You’re doing everything you can to keep me away.”

“I don’t want you to be hurt when I’m gone.”

He stroked the side of her face, which was now wet with tears. She didn’t even realize she’d started crying. “Time cannot change what’s here.” He laid her hand upon his heart. “But if you won’t even try to love me in return. ” His voice drifted off.

She couldn’t answer. The fear of her own death loomed closer. Only hours were left and she couldn’t believe that something as simple as love would have power to conquer eternity in the grave.

“I have feelings for you, Cian,” she admitted. “But I don’t believe that anyone could fall in love in this short a time. I believe that you may care for me, but you don’t love me.”

“Let me try, a stór. Let me show you what I feel.”

He laid her down upon the pallet of furs, then kissed her deeply. The touch of his mouth was gentle, trying to soothe away her raw nerves. Mary tried to relax, but his unfamiliar touch kindled up a heat that she couldn’t control. He loosened the ties of the tunic, waiting for permission to slide it away.

There was every opportunity to say no. But in his eyes, she saw a hunger, a need to show her what he felt. And though she didn’t believe he could possibly love her, she didn’t stop him from removing the layers of clothing between them. For tonight, she would reach out for something she wanted.

Cian’s body was honed, tightly muscled from years of fighting. She smiled as she traced his warm skin, over his back and down to his tight hips. He trapped her wrists, leaning down upon her, and kissed her. His mouth was demanding, fighting for her response. And when she met his tongue with her own, he filled his palms with her breasts.

He touched her and murmured, “I would die in your place if I could, Mary.” Then he lowered his mouth to her breast, teasing her. She grabbed his hair, arching her back as he kissed her stomach and thighs.

“You’re the woman I’ve dreamed of my entire life, Mary Samson.” She guided him inside her. “Whether or not you love me in return, I am yours. Now and always.” Tenderly, he made love to her, his mouth teasing at her breasts while he joined their bodies together.

“Cian,” she whispered, urging him faster. He raised her hips up, her legs locking around his waist. And once he quickened the pace, his body rocking against hers, she felt herself uncoiling, her body straining for release.

Again and again, he drove himself inside her, his body growing harder with each stroke. The dizzying climax swept over her, and she gripped him hard.

When he lay sated upon her, he kissed her lips again. “I don’t think I’m going to let you sleep at all this night, Mary Samson.”

She could hardly think straight, her body was molten with satisfaction. “I thought men needed time to recover.”

“Oh, I will, no doubt of it. But as for you. ” He ran his tongue down the curve of her breast. “I want you to remember this night.”

The sky was grey, and Cian dreaded the coming dawn. True to his word, he’d spent all night with Mary in his bed. She was more passionate than he’d ever imagined, even playful in the positions she’d asked him to try. But shadowing even their most ardent moments was the fear of losing her. He’d opened the door to their hut and wandered outside for a drink of water. Wearing only a pair of trews, he didn’t bother with more clothing. No one was here to care.

He studied the ring fort, wishing for a glimpse of the Daoine Sídhe, but there was nothing. He’d even left a piece of bread upon the hearth, an offering for Mary’s life.

But no one appeared.

As time went on and she still didn’t awaken, he went to her side. When he pulled her into his arms, she gave a sleepy smile then burrowed into his chest. “It’s not time to get up yet,” she mumbled. “Sleep with me, Cian.”

But he couldn’t. In his mind he replayed every image from the vision of her death. And he knew, in his heart, that the moment would come soon. She claimed that she had already died, centuries in the future. Though he’d never heard of anyone who had travelled through time, he was a man who believed in magic, for it ruled him.

And when the faintest hints of the morning sun gleamed on the horizon, he went and chose his sharpest knife. He’d fallen in love with Mary Samson and if she couldn’t love him back, then he might as well join her in death, giving over his own soul to be with her in the afterlife.

The sunlight cast a reflection off the blade and she opened her eyes at last. “I have never been so tired in all my life. It was worth every minute.” She reached up and kissed him, holding him close.

He kissed her back, praying that his vision was wrong. That it wouldn’t happen this way. But only seconds later, he felt her skin growing cooler, her hands falling away. Fear entered her eyes, and she looked at him. “It’s happening, isn’t it? I can feel it.”

“Don’t,” he murmured. “Stay with me. Let me love you.”

Then her eyes grew empty, falling shut.

“What’s happening?” Mary asked Kevan who was standing before her. “What have you done?”

“I’ve merely kept my promise,” Kevan replied. “Your time is finished now.”

“But I do love Cian,” she whispered. “I just never believed he would possibly love me back.”

The small man’s eyes gleamed. “You never told him what you held in your heart, Mary. And now it’s too late.”

“It’s never too late for love,” came a female voice. Mary turned and saw Harriet standing before them. Her white hair looked like a snowball, puffed around her face. She wore an olive polyester pants suit and in her hand she held a can of Coke.

“Harriet, what are you doing here?” Mary asked. “Tell me you’re not dead, too.” She stared at her surroundings, but there was only endless white, blinding her to all else.

“No, but I can’t say as I’m alive either. I’m only half-human and I move about when it suits me. You might consider me a fairy godmother of sorts.” Harriet’s smile widened as if she liked that idea. “And right now, I’m doing what I do best. Forcing the Daoine Sídhe to keep their promises.” She tossed the can of Coke at the small man. “Kevan, send her back. All she had to do was win his love and love him in return.” Harriet pinned her with a stare. “You do love him, don’t you, Mary?”

“Yes.”

“And he obviously loves her,” Harriet pronounced. “That’s all settled then. Kevan, you’ll keep your word, and, Mary, you’ll have no memories of the twenty-first century any more. We can’t have you inventing toilet paper before it’s supposed to happen. A slight case of amnesia will do the trick nicely.” She waved a hand and the veil between worlds parted.

From behind the veil, Mary saw Cian holding her lifeless body in his arms, his eyes filled with anguish. Then she saw the knife clenched in his hand. The blade gleamed, and Kevan smiled. He’d known Cian’s intent.

“Send me back now,” she ordered. Let it not be too late.

A hand shoved his wrist away before he could plunge the blade into his chest. Cian jerked back when he saw Mary’s eyes open, her hands touching his. “Don’t!” she begged.

The knife clattered from his fingers, and he gripped her tightly. “My God. I thought you were dead. You weren’t breathing. I couldn’t hear your heart beating.”

Tears poured down Mary’s cheeks and she was shaking. “Kevan almost didn’t keep his word. But I convinced him of the truth.” Drawing back to look into his eyes, she said, “I thought a man like you would never love someone like me. I didn’t dare to hope for it. But I love you, Cian. I don’t care what your dreams tell you, or how many members of your clan left. I’m staying right here.”

He kissed her, thanking God he hadn’t taken his own life. To have her back, to hold her in his arms once more, was the greatest gift he’d been given. With every touch, he murmured words of love, promises he would keep.

But then, the world folded into a familiar blur. He stared off into the distance, afraid of the future he would see. Though he tried to keep it at bay, there was no denying the vision before him.

Mary caught his hand, whispering. “What is it? What did you see this time?”

He sent her a shaky smile. “Not death. A blessing.” Reaching out to her stomach, he rested it there, imagining his babe already growing inside her. “I dreamed of life.”

Her answering smile and understanding filled him up with a happiness he’d never expected. “Our family.”

As he led her back inside their home, Mary whispered, “Harriet was right. Wishes can come true.”