him used baggage—spoiled.”
“That is barbaric!”
“Yes, and it was abolished long ago, but that matters not to me. Not after what he took of mine—my wife and children slaughtered by his sword. Why such a look? I am no savage. I am a lord, well-qualified. Who is to oppose me? I am clan chieftain in these parts. Cian Cosgrove may have taken my castle and my land, but he cannot take that from me. Tara has decreed it. It is only a matter of time before I have back what is rightfully mine. So! Either way I win. I’m half hoping that he does refuse my offer. Revenge is always sweeter taken of the flesh than by merely stripping a man of his possessions. The pain of human loss lasts longer.”
Thea swallowed, and her breath caught in her throat. “ Cian Cosgrove?” she asked, having heard little past that.
“None other. What? Are you so simple that you do not know the name of your betrothed?”
“W-what year is this . . . ?” she murmured, scarcely able to hear over the the blood pounding in her ears.
He gave a start. “What year?” he asked, incredulous. “You are simpleminded, then, as well as insolent and foolish. It is the Year of Our Lord, 1695.”
Chapter Five
The miracle had clearly worked, but in reverse. The winter solstice sunrise had not brought the Gypsy warlord Ros Drumcondra forward in time through the passage tomb; somehow it had catapulted Thea back to his time, the end of the seventeenth century. How could that be? But it was, and she was in grave danger. He would never believe her if she told him the truth, that it was Nigel Cosgrove, Cian’s descendant nearly a century and a quarter into the future that she was to marry. Thea scarcely believed it herself.
Strangely, the one thing that threatened to make her a watering pot was worry over how frantic James must be over her disappearance, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to put her brother’s mind at ease. If only he had gone into the passage tomb with her, she would have his company for comfort now. But he had not, and she had to keep her wits about her and somehow find a way to go back the way she’d come to her own time. James and theCosgroves would doubtless think that she had been carried off by Gypsies.
She almost laughed. Wasn’t that exactly what had happened?
Making matters worse, time was passing—too much time. Thea tried to keep track of the days, but one seemed to melt into the next with nothing of consequence to mark their passing. Drumcondra came from time to time, scrutinizing her from a safe but visible distance. He said little. It was impossible to read the thoughts lurking behind those eyes boring into her, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to, taking the physical attraction she had to this man into account, and the impossibility of any such situation. Things had been a lot simpler when she only had his ghost to fantasize about. His virile physical presence was entirely too much.
All in all, she was treated well, albeit roughly. Though her wrists were still bound, they were loosely tethered in front of her. She was fed, given warm water to wash, and privacy by way of a screenlike affair behind which she could execute a satisfactory toilette. At night, she had fur rugs to sleep in, and the old woman who’d first served her the stew watched over her so that there’d be no unseemly event such as what had occurred upon her arrival.
Though she continually begged Drumcondra to release her, her pleas fell upon deaf ears. Again and again she begged, but he was unmoved, the thoughts behind those copper-lit eyes remaining his own. She could not read them; she was almost afraid to, they seemed so dark and daunting. Still, he haunted her with his silent visits, and she thrilled each time he came into view. And so it went until what seemed at least a fortnight had passed and she’d all but given up hope of ever seeing the light of day again.
Drumcondra hadn’t come today at all, and she’d begunto fear
“That is barbaric!”
“Yes, and it was abolished long ago, but that matters not to me. Not after what he took of mine—my wife and children slaughtered by his sword. Why such a look? I am no savage. I am a lord, well-qualified. Who is to oppose me? I am clan chieftain in these parts. Cian Cosgrove may have taken my castle and my land, but he cannot take that from me. Tara has decreed it. It is only a matter of time before I have back what is rightfully mine. So! Either way I win. I’m half hoping that he does refuse my offer. Revenge is always sweeter taken of the flesh than by merely stripping a man of his possessions. The pain of human loss lasts longer.”
Thea swallowed, and her breath caught in her throat. “ Cian Cosgrove?” she asked, having heard little past that.
“None other. What? Are you so simple that you do not know the name of your betrothed?”
“W-what year is this . . . ?” she murmured, scarcely able to hear over the the blood pounding in her ears.
He gave a start. “What year?” he asked, incredulous. “You are simpleminded, then, as well as insolent and foolish. It is the Year of Our Lord, 1695.”
Chapter Five
The miracle had clearly worked, but in reverse. The winter solstice sunrise had not brought the Gypsy warlord Ros Drumcondra forward in time through the passage tomb; somehow it had catapulted Thea back to his time, the end of the seventeenth century. How could that be? But it was, and she was in grave danger. He would never believe her if she told him the truth, that it was Nigel Cosgrove, Cian’s descendant nearly a century and a quarter into the future that she was to marry. Thea scarcely believed it herself.
Strangely, the one thing that threatened to make her a watering pot was worry over how frantic James must be over her disappearance, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to put her brother’s mind at ease. If only he had gone into the passage tomb with her, she would have his company for comfort now. But he had not, and she had to keep her wits about her and somehow find a way to go back the way she’d come to her own time. James and theCosgroves would doubtless think that she had been carried off by Gypsies.
She almost laughed. Wasn’t that exactly what had happened?
Making matters worse, time was passing—too much time. Thea tried to keep track of the days, but one seemed to melt into the next with nothing of consequence to mark their passing. Drumcondra came from time to time, scrutinizing her from a safe but visible distance. He said little. It was impossible to read the thoughts lurking behind those eyes boring into her, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to, taking the physical attraction she had to this man into account, and the impossibility of any such situation. Things had been a lot simpler when she only had his ghost to fantasize about. His virile physical presence was entirely too much.
All in all, she was treated well, albeit roughly. Though her wrists were still bound, they were loosely tethered in front of her. She was fed, given warm water to wash, and privacy by way of a screenlike affair behind which she could execute a satisfactory toilette. At night, she had fur rugs to sleep in, and the old woman who’d first served her the stew watched over her so that there’d be no unseemly event such as what had occurred upon her arrival.
Though she continually begged Drumcondra to release her, her pleas fell upon deaf ears. Again and again she begged, but he was unmoved, the thoughts behind those copper-lit eyes remaining his own. She could not read them; she was almost afraid to, they seemed so dark and daunting. Still, he haunted her with his silent visits, and she thrilled each time he came into view. And so it went until what seemed at least a fortnight had passed and she’d all but given up hope of ever seeing the light of day again.
Drumcondra hadn’t come today at all, and she’d begunto fear
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