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Authors: Anna Belfrage
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family, or was running from an abusive husband. Or maybe she was from somewhere far away, and had set out for new lands. She was not from here, of that he was certain, letting his eyes travel down those blue-clad legs. She noticed, and gave him a tight smile.
“Jeans; everyone wears them where I come from.”
“Djeens,” he repeated, “well, you must be from very far away.”
“You could say that again,” she mumbled, hunching together.
*
With a little sigh, their fire collapsed into a heap of smouldering embers, and for some moments Matthew busied himself with adding some more fuel to it.
“So,” he said once the fire had recovered from its near death experience. “Your turn.”
Alex chewed at her lower lip, wondering how to explain. “I was born in Seville, Spain.” She looked at him and decided to tell him in one fell swoop. “In August, 1976.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You heard me, 1976.” Okay, maybe she shouldn’t have told him quite so abruptly because if his mouth fell anymore open, she’d not only fit an apple but a whole melon into it. She could totally sympathise with his reaction. She cleared her throat, fiddled with a loose button on her shirt. He shifted on his seat, and when she peeked at him he was staring at her. She gave him a tentative smile, and to her relief he smiled back – albeit a rather weak smile.
“What day in August?” he said, surprising her. She counted days in her head. Today was the eleventh of August, and in thirteen days she’d be twenty-six. Probably more or less ancient in these times, she shuddered.
“The twenty-fourth, but that’s okay, I don’t expect a cake and gifts.”
He laughed, a soft sound, and moved to sit a bit closer, his eyes intent on her face.
“How?”
Well, at least he was still sitting beside her, not running away from her in panic – that had to be a good sign, right?
“I have no idea.” She told him of the car and the thunderstorm, of the hole that opened below her. He gawked at her.
“But…” he began, closed his mouth and exhaled before trying again. “But, no, you can’t do that! It’s impossible!” He swallowed. “Unless…” he broke off.
“Unless what? You think I’m some sort of witch?”
“Are you?” He averted his eyes, and she could swear he was praying under his breath.
“Of course not! And this is just as unbelievable to me as it is to you, okay?” She hugged her legs hard, looked at him from under a curtain of hair. “I keep on hoping it’s some sort of dream, so will you please pinch me hard enough to make me wake up?” He did, and she yelped, glaring at him. “Ow! I already knew I was awake – unfortunately.”
Matthew took a deep breath, took two, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I’m telling you the truth, okay? Who would make something like that up? God’s idea of a joke, right?” She laughed shakily, and to her relief he joined in, before leaning towards her, eyes alight with curiosity.
“Tell me then, what’s it like, there in the future?”
So Alex did, spending the coming half-hour describing a life that made him at times gape and just as often laugh, insisting she had to be pulling his leg.
“No plague?” he asked, impressed.
“No,” she said, “and people don’t die of the measles.”
Matthew threw her a sharp look. “And him? The man by the spring? Is he from your time as well?”
“Obviously,” she muttered. “What will they do to him?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t speak Scots, did he, and his clothes…” He looked at her jeans.
“I should have helped him.” Not that she’d really wanted to, not after his comments regarding Italy.
“How? One lass against a troop of soldiers? And he didn’t seem to care much for you, had I not been there, I think he would have hurt you – badly.”
“Probably.” Alex suppressed a tremor or two.
“Why?”
“I have no idea.” Which was, after all, the truth.
“But he said, about Italy
“Jeans; everyone wears them where I come from.”
“Djeens,” he repeated, “well, you must be from very far away.”
“You could say that again,” she mumbled, hunching together.
*
With a little sigh, their fire collapsed into a heap of smouldering embers, and for some moments Matthew busied himself with adding some more fuel to it.
“So,” he said once the fire had recovered from its near death experience. “Your turn.”
Alex chewed at her lower lip, wondering how to explain. “I was born in Seville, Spain.” She looked at him and decided to tell him in one fell swoop. “In August, 1976.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You heard me, 1976.” Okay, maybe she shouldn’t have told him quite so abruptly because if his mouth fell anymore open, she’d not only fit an apple but a whole melon into it. She could totally sympathise with his reaction. She cleared her throat, fiddled with a loose button on her shirt. He shifted on his seat, and when she peeked at him he was staring at her. She gave him a tentative smile, and to her relief he smiled back – albeit a rather weak smile.
“What day in August?” he said, surprising her. She counted days in her head. Today was the eleventh of August, and in thirteen days she’d be twenty-six. Probably more or less ancient in these times, she shuddered.
“The twenty-fourth, but that’s okay, I don’t expect a cake and gifts.”
He laughed, a soft sound, and moved to sit a bit closer, his eyes intent on her face.
“How?”
Well, at least he was still sitting beside her, not running away from her in panic – that had to be a good sign, right?
“I have no idea.” She told him of the car and the thunderstorm, of the hole that opened below her. He gawked at her.
“But…” he began, closed his mouth and exhaled before trying again. “But, no, you can’t do that! It’s impossible!” He swallowed. “Unless…” he broke off.
“Unless what? You think I’m some sort of witch?”
“Are you?” He averted his eyes, and she could swear he was praying under his breath.
“Of course not! And this is just as unbelievable to me as it is to you, okay?” She hugged her legs hard, looked at him from under a curtain of hair. “I keep on hoping it’s some sort of dream, so will you please pinch me hard enough to make me wake up?” He did, and she yelped, glaring at him. “Ow! I already knew I was awake – unfortunately.”
Matthew took a deep breath, took two, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I’m telling you the truth, okay? Who would make something like that up? God’s idea of a joke, right?” She laughed shakily, and to her relief he joined in, before leaning towards her, eyes alight with curiosity.
“Tell me then, what’s it like, there in the future?”
So Alex did, spending the coming half-hour describing a life that made him at times gape and just as often laugh, insisting she had to be pulling his leg.
“No plague?” he asked, impressed.
“No,” she said, “and people don’t die of the measles.”
Matthew threw her a sharp look. “And him? The man by the spring? Is he from your time as well?”
“Obviously,” she muttered. “What will they do to him?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t speak Scots, did he, and his clothes…” He looked at her jeans.
“I should have helped him.” Not that she’d really wanted to, not after his comments regarding Italy.
“How? One lass against a troop of soldiers? And he didn’t seem to care much for you, had I not been there, I think he would have hurt you – badly.”
“Probably.” Alex suppressed a tremor or two.
“Why?”
“I have no idea.” Which was, after all, the truth.
“But he said, about Italy
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