Beyond Time: A Knights Through Time Travel Romance (Knights Through Time Travel #1)(4)

Used to working quickly, Mellie cleaned up the small work area she’d created out of the tiny guest bedroom. Before shutting the door and locking it, she took a final look around, making sure nothing was out of place.

The door stayed locked at all times—not only did she want to keep Greg and her friends out, she didn’t want the maintenance guys laughing at her series of women living their day-to-day lives. Sure, the manager always gave notice if there was work to be done, but still, Mellie worried that someone would see her work and sneer at how childish it was.

Soon. By fall or winter, she’d be good enough to approach the gallery and see if they’d be interested in showing her houses.

Out of the shower in record time, she checked her phone again. Still no word from Greg. Not even a text. He was never this late. What was going on? Worried, she settled into the back of the dark sedan, cranked the air up, and enjoyed the ride, knowing if something bad had happened, his assistant would have let her know.

The ping made her jump, almost spilling her lemonade.

Sorry, hon, work’s been crazy, pulled an all-nighter. Call later.

That was it. No other explanation or apology, which meant Greg had to be super busy. Whenever he was wrapped up in a case, his impeccable manners sometimes slipped. She sent back a text.

No worries, ended up having to work today. Still on for antiques tomorrow?

He didn’t respond, but she was confident he’d received the message and they’d spend the whole day together Sunday. The antique market would be the perfect place for him to propose. After all, it was where they first met six months ago.





The attack came an hour or so before dawn. One of the villagers had caught sight of the thief’s face as the man burned and knew ’twas not the wicked Thornton. The rain turned the ground to mud as Connor fought, and when he turned to take a man out at the knees, he missed the archer to his right. The arrow went through his hand, dropping him to one knee. Sensing victory, two men came at him, blades raised as lightning flashed across the sky and the ground trembled. Connor buried his dagger deep in the man to his left and, with blood streaming down his arm, cleaved the man’s head from his shoulders.

A terrible rumbling filled the air, as if an army of horses thundered toward them, but there were no advancing armies; ’twas the ground beneath their feet. Several men crossed themselves and ran, fear giving them speed.

His hand came away crimson as Connor wiped the blood from his face. The very air crackled and the hair on the back of his neck twitched and itched, his entire body shivering as if wee beasties feasted on his skin. Had death come for him? Or perhaps an ancient spirit was among them on this day of death and destruction.

The earth rumbled again, and he shifted, finding his balance, the blood in his eyes almost costing him his life. The fatal blow came toward him, achingly slow, the smell of unwashed bodies and fear filling the air. He’d only seen one blade, but a score of blades stabbed his body, and a screaming filled the air. He saw flashes of colored light and heard noises unlike anything he’d experienced in his life.

Edward rushed across the field, reaching out as Connor watched. The Thornton faded into the trees; the trees vanished, as did the men around him, until there was only Connor standing in the middle of an empty, muddy field, the rain pouring down, and yet not a drop touched him. Was he dead? Then there was silence and nothing but a gray mist in front of him.

Before he took two steps, the sky screamed, and the ground opened up and swallowed him whole, the mud filling his mouth and nose. But before it covered his eyes, he caught sight of something in the water on the ground—people dressed strangely, towering buildings—then Connor winced and felt warmth rushing across his hand before the earth embraced him.





THREE





With all the people coming and going through the museum and gift shop, the twelve-hour shift was passing quickly. Summer hours in effect, the museum would stay open until ten. She’d tidy up the counter and be home by eleven. Her boss, Jacob, had made arrangements for her to use the sedan again, and for that she was grateful. It made her nervous walking alone late at night.

Silvercreek was a small, sleepy harbor town until summer. Then the population exploded and, like many places, there were bad streets next to nice areas. Only a few weeks ago, a body was found floating in the harbor, and ever since then, she’d been extra vigilant as she walked the fifteen blocks to and from work, jumping at the smallest sound or crossing the street when a man looked at her in a certain way.

On her way to the break room, Mellie detoured for a much-needed fix. Her favorite painting was by Childe Hassam, a prolific impressionist painter from America, and depicted a woman relaxing on the porch, kicked back on a sofa, reading. Most people were here for the temporary Rodin exhibit, so she had the entire gallery to herself to sit and soak up the scene before her.

Feeling refreshed, she crossed the hallway, where lately another piece had captured her interest: part of a temporary exhibit by Frederick Carl Frieseke, the painting was quickly becoming her new favorite. It was on loan from the North Carolina Museum of Art, and entitled The Garden Parasol. The title alone made her want to sink into the work and swim through the colors.

Every day she passed the piece, never failing to stop and notice some new detail. The artist had spent many summers as a neighbor to Monet, in Giverny, France. By now, Mellie practically knew his bio by heart. The artist had used his wife for this painting, depicting the woman out in the garden reading when she was interrupted by someone, and the look as the woman glanced up from her book always stopped her, made Mellie want to dive inside the painting and take the woman’s place. The reader, of course—no way would she want to be the person who interrupted a reader. She knew all too well what it felt like to be lost in another world only to have someone call her name and rip her out of the story, blinking, taking several minutes to come back to her everyday existence.