Chapter Two

March 29, 1818

Pain and terror consumed her. Every nerve ending sprang to life in a torrent of agony as her body was set afire. She remembered the feeling like it was yesterday. The memory may have faded with time, but it all came rushing back in a flash. Fortunately, it was over quickly, just like the last time.

She crashed to the floor, curled into a ball. Trembling and retching, she worked her way into a sitting position. She waved her hand in front of her face. Nothing. The portal trembled beside her. She inched as far away as possible. Huddled against the wall, she breathed shallowly through her nose. Dust and mildew made her nose itch with the urge to sneeze. The jagged, uneven floor reinforced the knowledge she was no longer in the same cave she had just left so unwillingly.

A draft brushed her left side. Fresh air. Out. She needed to get out. Her brain skittered to a halt. She needed air.

Pressure on her arm reminded her of the satchel Sawyer had forced on her. She tugged until the bag lay securely in her lap. Groping the ground around her, she touched metal a few inches from her leg. The gun. She stuffed it into her bag.

She got onto her hands and knees and made the slow, careful climb to the surface. She scraped her shoulders repeatedly as she crawled up the steep path. Boulders jutted out from all sides. Left, right, top, right again. She couldn’t keep a straight line to the top. Her tender arms were likely covered in bruises already. She had tumbled down this tunnel as a child, right through the portal at the bottom. Memories fought to overwhelm her as with every inch the walls closed in, tighter and tighter.

Her breath gushed out in harsh gasps. I’ll be out soon. Out soon. Out. Out.

Just as she thought she could take no more, the way opened up, and she emerged into the cavern where she and her sister had once been held captive. Still black as pitch, but the icy air flowed more freely around her. Sounds echoed in the stillness. She inched along the wall until it disappeared, and she stumbled into the tunnel that would take her to the surface.

After a few minutes, a faint glimmer of light ahead gave her hope. She rushed forward, heedless of the tiny pebbles bruising her legs. She would feel them later. Now she was consumed with getting outside.

She rose to her feet and ran the last few steps, gulping great big breaths of air—clean, cold, glorious air.

Bushes partially concealed the exit, but she was able to make her way out into a clearing without any struggle. Snow covered the ground, an inch or so thick where it drifted against the bushes but receding to a light dusting along a road through a fairly thick stand of trees in one direction and across rolling hills in the other.

When her breathing returned to normal and her pulse stopped its mad dash, she turned her attention to figuring out her next steps. She settled for taking inventory. Thank God they hadn’t managed to take away all her things. Her purse was gone, which was a shame, but she did escape with a pocketknife and the watch her parents had given her when she passed her A levels. The few pound notes she had tucked in her pocket were useless now, but she shoved them back into her jeans. The small bottle of hand sanitizer hooked to her belt could be useful.

The satchel contained the dress and undergarments she had seen, but it also contained a surprise at the bottom. Unshed tears burned behind her lids as she picked up a beautiful gold, heart-shaped necklace with a brilliant teardrop emerald dangling from the base and her name etched on the front. She flipped it over and read the tiny letters of the inscription, We Love You, M and F.

She had no idea why she kept the stupid thing. She had no wish to remember her birth family. Except Alex. Their mother had given them the matching necklaces shortly before they were taken. She had nothing else to remember her twin sister by, so she’d kept it out of a desperate wish to keep her alive in some manner.

Her hands trembled with cold as she secured the necklace around her neck. Easiest place to carry it where it wouldn’t get lost. If nothing else, the gem would fetch a pretty penny. Now that she knew Alex was alive, she didn’t need the jewelry quite so much.

The dress was poor quality, with rough fabric in an awful flowered pattern. No help for it though, she had to put it on. Nothing she wore was suitable for this time. Her jeans would cause all sorts of commotion if someone caught her walking around in them. And she appeared to be stuck here for a while.

Going back right away was out of the question. Even if the cave hadn’t collapsed entirely on the other side, Sawyer would be sure to keep people on the lookout for just such an attempt. Who knew what he’d do to her if she barged back through now.

Of course, staying here wasn’t necessarily safer if Sawyer’s story about a murder was true. But what choice did she have?

If only he’d shown her the article he talked about. Maybe she could avoid that fate somehow. After scaring the crap out of her, the least he could have done was give her details. How the bloody hell was she supposed to avoid being murdered if she had no idea when, how, or who did it?

The best she could do was get away from the portal. And that meant putting on the beastly clothes Sawyer packed for her.

She traced the lines of the stiff corset. Maybe she could make do without that nightmare contraption. Her own bra would be much more comfortable.

Shivering with cold, she struggled into the dress. The fit was entirely wrong without the stays. She sighed. Oh well, it had been worth a try. She undressed again and put on all the authentic undergarments she had tried to do without. It wasn’t as difficult as she anticipated. Servants required complete freedom of movement and didn’t have help to tie-up intricate laces. If Sawyer had given her the lady’s gown her birth family’s station demanded, she wouldn’t have been able to manage. Thank God for small mercies. She drew a woolen cloak over her shoulders, wishing for her down jacket abandoned somewhere at Griffin International headquarters. She rubbed her hands together for warmth.

Finally dressed, she took a good look around. She was only ten years old the last time she’d been here. She didn’t remember much, having been in an enclosed carriage and blinded by fear at the time. But the woods didn’t ring any bells, so she had the vague feeling she hadn’t traveled through them.

She slipped on her shoes and struck out through the trees in the opposite direction she thought she had come from all those years ago. She did not want to go into London, where her family had been back then.

Hopefully there was a town nearby. Whether the road was public or private, she didn’t know, but surely it would eventually meet up with an inn or stable. People had to switch horses for long journeys, and inns were like the petrol stations of the day. The moon and stars would light her way, but she didn’t relish the idea of sleeping out here in the cold and dark. If she couldn’t find shelter, who knew if she would survive ’til dawn.

****

It took her a few hours to walk to the nearest town. Midnight had come and gone by the time she saw signs of people. Chilled through and shivering with frozen feet and sopping wet shoes obviously not meant for tramping through the snow, she almost danced with delight at sight of habitation.

It wasn’t so much of a town as an inn, probably a stopping point for mail coaches and other travelers. The building was large and appeared to be on the popular side. As late as it was, people ran in and out. A coach had just arrived, and a man disembarked. He jumped the final step and rushed into the inn. Charlotte wondered briefly why they would be traveling so late but was too tired to think much about it.

Realizing how dreadful she must look, she made her way around to the back door. She had no money, but maybe she could sell her necklace. It should more than pay for shelter for the evening.

The inn’s staff rushed around like mad, worried frowns on each and every face. Odd for so late in the evening. She stopped a young maid. “Is something wrong? Why is everyone so upset?”

“Oh, it’s horrible. A young miss is in a terrible way. The doctor just arrived and is seeing to her now.” The girl gasped. “What happened to your face? Were you in an accident or set upon by thieves?”

Charlotte raised a hand to her cheek. She had almost forgotten the blow she had taken to the face. She must look worse than she thought to elicit such a response. “I had a little accident. I look worse than I feel.” Wanting to take the focus off herself, she asked, “What’s wrong with the girl?”

“Can’t breathe. It’s awful, the poor child.”

“A child?” Charlotte asked in concern. She was almost at the end of her second foundation year at London Central Hospital. Maybe she could help—Lord knows what a doctor from this century would do for someone having an asthma attack.

“Yes, Viscount Tyndale’s daughter, such a sweet little girl. You’ll have to excuse me, miss.” She rushed off.

Charlotte considered the general air of anxiety of everyone who passed by and decided to see if there was anything she could do. She had considered going into pediatric emergency. She loved children and couldn’t wait to have one of her own. In the end, she couldn’t stomach the idea of seeing children in pain day after day and was continuing her education to become a general practitioner.

She managed to find her way to the main entrance. A maid carrying a tray of tea and coffee walked carefully up the stairs. Charlotte followed. Maybe the tray was on its way to the child’s family.

The maid stopped at a room crowded with people rushing in and out. Charlotte peeked through the open door. No little girl anywhere. The man who had rushed out of the carriage when she first arrived attempted to calm a large, blonde Adonis pacing the length of the room.

“I do not want to hear there is nothing you can do for her,” the man said, his quiet voice commanding the attention of everyone in the room. The naked anguish in his tone tore at her heart. Nothing she could do for him. Best find the girl.

The next door down was slightly ajar. A little girl with blonde hair and large brown eyes, surrounded by extra thick lashes spiked with recent tears, tossed about in a large featherbed, grunting and wheezing. She clutched a ragged stuffed bunny to her chest. The idiot doctor hadn’t even left someone with her. Poor thing must be scared to death. Charlotte swiftly approached the bed. “Hi there, sweetie. Not feeling well, huh?”

The girl glanced up, startled. “Who?” She barely got the question out.

Charlotte leaned close and put her ear to the child’s chest. She couldn’t hear all that well without a stethoscope, but the child was clearly having an asthma attack. Her pulse raced. Fairly bad, but not too far gone yet. Even so, without modern medicine what could she do?

She thought of the coffee in the room next door. Coffee, there’s an idea. She slipped into the next room and, unnoticed by anyone, poured a large cup of coffee from a tray near the door. She took a sip, whew, strong, but not too hot. Good. She hurried back to the child.

“Here, sweetheart. Take a sip of this.” The girl looked wary but was in no position to protest. She made a face at the first taste of the bitter brew. Charlotte forced her to drink the entire cup.

Just as the girl finished, the doctor showed up. “What in bloody hell do you think you are doing?”

“I was just giving her a little something to drink.” She widened her eyes and affected as innocent an expression as possible while she backed away.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” The agitated father strode into the room. He beelined straight to the bed and perched on the edge by his daughter’s hip. He barely spared a glance for Charlotte, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

He was about six foot, with thick, gorgeous blond hair. Maybe mid-twenties. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but she would lay bets they were as intense as he appeared. Maybe brown like his daughter’s. A shiver coursed through her. She wasn’t sure if it was from fear or anticipation. The man struck her as someone she wouldn’t want to cross, but she wasn’t entirely sure whether that was the cause of her nerves or an awareness so intense she had never felt anything to match it.

The doctor glared, face red, lips tight. Shit. The father had asked her a question, and she’d been sitting here contemplating the color of his eyes.

“My name’s Charlotte Evans. I was just trying to help.” She kept her eyes cast down, her attention on the little girl.

Good, her coloring had improved. She inched closer and flashed her best you can trust me smile. “How are you feeling, sweetie? Is it a little easier to breathe now?”

The girl smiled shyly and nodded.

The father spared a quick glance for Charlotte. She had been wrong about the eye color. They weren’t brown. They were a clear cobalt blue that sent sparks straight to her core. Charlotte shook her head and forced her gaze away from the father to concentrate on the daughter.

She skirted around to the opposite side of the bed and sat. She took hold of the girl’s wrist and started counting. A little fast, but the girl probably wasn’t used to the amount of caffeine she had just swallowed, so it wasn’t too troubling.

“Just what do you think you are doing?” the doctor asked in outraged tones.

Fear clouded the girl’s eyes, and her little hand clenched shut. Charlotte stroked her arm reassuringly.

“Be still,” the father barked at the doctor, making a cutting motion with his hand. “You are upsetting my daughter.”

“Yes, my lord,” the doctor responded with a little bow, but if looks could kill…

“Will she recover?” the father asked.

“Oh, she should be fine. Can I ask you a few questions?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes, you may.”

She got as complete a history as she could with the doctor hemming and hawing behind her the whole time. The little girl, Prudence was her name, had woken up about two hours ago, crying and breathing fast and shallow. Lord Tyndale had sent for the doctor immediately, and Charlotte had seen his arrival. The doctor had barely glanced at Prudence before pronouncing there was little he could do and the girl would surely die.

Lord Tyndale’s gaze softened, and he smiled whenever he gazed at his daughter, but his face was a mask whenever he turned away. The agony he had experienced that evening was plain to see in his tired eyes and slumped shoulders. Her heart melted.

She placed a hand over his and squeezed. A bolt of electricity shot up her arm at the contact. Her voice was a trifle unsteady as she tried to reassure him. “She’ll be fine. Honest. In the future, whenever you see any signs that she’s having difficulty—coughing, wheezing, that kind of thing—give her a cup of coffee, the stronger the better. The caffeine will help open up the passages in her lungs.”

“Will she always suffer so?”

“It’s a little early to tell. She may grow out of it. Some kids do. But she also may develop a full-blown case of asthma. If that’s the case, she’ll have to deal with this her whole life.” If she were at home, she would tell him it was controllable, but she just didn’t know what they could do with the medicines available in this century.

“How do you know all this?”

“I’m a doc… I, uh, my brother has the same difficulty. I’m used to it. My lord,” she added awkwardly as an afterthought.

“My lord, why are you listening to this—this girl? She will surely do great harm to your child,” the doctor exclaimed. A hint of panic tinged his voice.

You should be worried about your job, you jerk. His emphasis on girl, as if that were all the reason anyone needed to ignore her, raised her hackles.

“You told me my daughter was likely to die tonight, yet five minutes in the company of this girl and she appears better.” The fire blazing in his eyes this time made Charlotte glad she was currently on his good side. “You may leave, Doctor.”

The doctor turned red and, spluttering beneath his breath, slammed out of the room.

“Quack,” Charlotte muttered.

“He is the finest doctor in the county. However, I must admit I was not pleased with his attentions this evening. Thank you for helping my daughter.” He nodded in her direction then smiled at Prudence. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

“Better, Father. Thank you.” She smiled shyly, her eyes drooping as she struggled to stay awake.

“She’s doing much better now,” Charlotte whispered. “It would be best if she got some rest.”

“Yes, of course,” Lord Tyndale said. He squeezed Prudence’s hand. “I shall be in the room next door if you need me.” He motioned for Charlotte to precede him out of the room and followed her into the corridor. “This way, if you please.” He indicated his room next door.

“Someone should stay with her a while,” she pointed out.

He motioned with his hand, and a woman slipped into the child’s room.

Nervously, Charlotte walked into his room, wishing she had been able to think up a decent cover story for how and why she was there in the first place. She’d have to wing it. She faced him and jumped back in surprise at how close he stood.

He inspected her from bottom to top, his gaze lingering on her worn out shoes, drifting up her servant’s clothing and then stopping on her bruised and battered face. He lifted a hand, and she flinched as he swept a lock of hair away from the cuts on her cheek. “Who did this to you?” he asked, his voice quietly menacing, anger clear on his face.

She shrugged. “It was my own fault really. I can be a bit clumsy at times.” She kept her gaze down and shuffled her feet. For some reason, she didn’t like lying to him.

“I see. You don’t need to tell me, but perhaps I may be of some assistance?” Lord Tyndale asked, his face back to the careful mask he had shown before in his daughter’s room.

Maybe she had been mistaken about him being angry. Hard to judge when his emotions flitted across his face so swiftly.

“Are you employed at this inn? I don’t believe I have seen you here before.”

“No. I just got here. I was hoping to find work, actually. If you really want to help me, a kind word to the owners would be wonderful.” She needed to find a job soon which was going to be difficult without any recommendations or history. A few words from a titled gentleman would go really far.

“I am pleased to meet you.” He nodded. “I will gladly speak to the proprietors if that is your wish. We can discuss it tomorrow. You must wish to clean up. I will secure a room for you and request a hot meal and bath delivered.”

“Please don’t go to so much trouble.” It sounded heavenly, but she wasn’t sure whether it would be a good idea to accept. She didn’t want to become indebted to the man.

“Nonsense, I insist. I am in your debt.” He strode to the door and motioned to one of the many servants littering the corridor, waiting to see if the lord needed anything else before retiring for the evening. After a few quiet words he returned to her side. “Please, follow Amelia. She will lead you to your room. I will see you in the morning.”

He obviously wasn’t going to take no for an answer so she gave in gracefully. “Thank you,” she said and smiled. “I’ll just peek in on Prudence first. If you don’t mind, I’ll check on her a few times during the night to make sure she’s okay. She should probably have a bit more coffee in another hour or so.”

****

Miserable from stomach cramps and a pounding head—after-effects of the drug Sawyer had given her, probably midazolam since her memories were a bit fuzzy—Charlotte sank onto the feather mattress in her room. Add on the unaccustomed hike to get this far and she was knackered. She lay back, her arm draped across her eyes.

She’d had plenty of time to think while she walked but still had no idea what to do. She was in a world of trouble.

The portal wasn’t an option. At least not right away. Even if Sawyer and his goons weren’t guarding the other side, her screw-up with the gun caused enough damage it would take weeks to make the portal passable. She could only hope Griffin International lost interest in the portals after a while and lowered their security. If she stayed within a reasonable distance to the portal, she could try again in a month or so. Give them enough time to think she no longer posed a threat.

She snorted. Some threat. She’d screwed things up for them to be sure but landed exactly where they wanted her to be.

Now she was stuck in a time she’d never thought to see again. Never wanted to see again. Not after what her father did.

She had to focus on her current predicament. There was no use going over old hurts. She was in trouble now. What should she do?

Striking blue eyes drifted through her thoughts. Lord Tyndale in a rage was quite a sight to see. Scary, except for the fact he’d been in a rage over the welfare of his child. Seeing what parents suffered through when their kid was hurt always tore at her heart.

He was obviously a devoted father. An admirable trait.

She examined the room—nice, clean, decent size. Tyndale hadn’t skimped when seeing to her comfort. He meant what he said about feeling in her debt.

Maybe she shouldn’t be shy about using that? Not to take any unfair advantage of him, of course. But she could help him and his little girl. She couldn’t call up the pharmacy and order a round of steroids, but she knew enough about homeopathic remedies that she could make a difference in Prudence’s welfare. Surely a devoted father wouldn’t care about references when he saw for himself the improvement Charlotte could make in Prudence’s health? He obviously wasn’t impressed by mere credentials if the way he spoke of the doctor were any indication.

She struggled to a sitting position and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. The fact of the matter was, she had no place to go. She had no references and no family to turn to. At least, no family she could rely on to provide help.

She was so screwed.

Would it be wrong to take advantage of Lord Tyndale’s gratitude? Surely not if she was able to provide a valuable service. She was much better qualified to take care of Prudence than anyone in this century could possibly realize. In fact, wasn’t she obligated by her oath as a doctor to see the child was given the best possible medical care? And wasn’t she the best qualified?

Just because she found herself in a rather desperate situation didn’t make Prudence’s need and her own qualifications any less real.

She shoved off the bed. Prudence’s room was only a few steps away. She needed to check on her patient before she slept.

Her door squeaked as she inched it open. She grabbed the knob and kept it from making any more noise. It was the middle of the night, and she had no wish to wake everyone in the inn. The night had been tough enough for everyone already.

She tiptoed down the hall, wincing each time a floorboard groaned. Candle sconces along the wall lit the way. Thankfully, she didn’t have far to go. She eased Prudence’s door open and stepped inside.

A maid slumped over in the chair next to Prudence’s bed. Charlotte lay her finger upon the pulse beating steadily in the little girl’s neck. Without a watch she couldn’t get an accurate count, but experience told her it was only slightly faster than desired. Not unexpected after the amount of coffee the girl drank. If necessary, she’d sneak her watch out for a more accurate reading. But she wasn’t going to risk showing off any of her modern items if she could avoid it.

A rumbling snore issued from the poor maid. Charlotte shook her shoulder gently and put a finger to her lips as the maid startled awake. She indicated that she would take over, and the maid smiled gratefully. Poor thing had dark bags under her eyes, and Charlotte was aware the unfortunate girl would hardly be allowed to sleep late in the morning. Servants weren’t afforded such luxury.

She made herself comfortable in the chair the maid vacated and ran through her plans once more. In the morning, she’d present herself to Lord Tyndale and ask for a job as his daughter’s maid or governess. Hopefully, they didn’t live too far away. If they did, well, she could always stay with them for a few months and then find a way to return so she could make an attempt at the portal. She had a good life in the future. She wasn’t willing to give it up without a fight.