Stolen Away_A Time Travel Romance Page 2

  We shadowed her silently, the morning light filtering through the trees that lined the street. The leaves were starting to change colors, barely. If I’d been here any other time, I probably would’ve found it charming. Now, though, all I could think of was what trouble she could have had in trying to get our stuff to us.

  As soon as I walked into the secret society’s headquarters, I immediately understood why I had been warned not to get lost. Everywhere I looked, there were artifacts to stare at. Some of the items were modern, while others were clearly older. Glass boxes housed pieces that were positively ancient or very expensive. Art covered every inch of the walls, and halls and staircases led off in almost every direction. It was like I’d walked into the middle of a maze, with no clear path of travel.

  In front of us, what appeared to be a front desk sat, nestled between a large, Greek style statue and a bright jukebox. A man stood on the other side, his head bent over the book he was scrawling in, a pair of glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. The gaudily framed mirror behind him reflected his short, messy, brown hair and the blue stripes on his long sleeve, button up shirt. I thought he was dressed more like a barber than a clerk, for some reason, and I couldn’t stop staring, wondering how he had come to this place.

  At the sound of the door closing, he snapped his notebook shut and laid it on the counter, staring at us with a smile.

  “Miss O’Rourke,” he said nicely, a hint of a British accent coming through. “How nice to see you again.”

  Rebecca stopped at the counter, motioning to the two of us. “Hello, Andrew. You’ll remember Scott Williams, I’m sure.” She glanced at us, a small grin gracing her lips. “Andrew never forgets a face.” She directed her attention to the clerk again. “I’d also like to introduce Eric Ray. They’ll be staying with us for a while.”

  “So I’ve heard,” he responded cordially. “I’ve readied two rooms near the rear, as you requested. We have a wedding occurring this week and all of the space in the front has been rented by the guests.”

  “Hold on, you have events here?” I asked, caught off guard. “I thought you guys were a secret or something.”

  “Of course.” Andrew‘s brows drew together. “What is more suspicious to you, Mister Ray? A structure such as this that does nothing, or one that hosts gatherings, parties, and caters to the community?”

  For some reason, his answer made me flush and I nodded, mumbling something incoherent.

  His attention returned to Rebecca. “Will you be showing them to their quarters, or shall I? Miss Cavanaugh has requested you join her in the Round Room as soon as possible.”

  She nodded, sighing heavily, and rubbed her forehead. “You’d better do it, then. I don’t want to make her any more upset.”

  “Very well.” Andrew reached for something underneath the counter, retrieving a phone with a curly cord. He held it to his ear for a moment and then spoke, his tone polite and even. “She is on her way.”

  Returning the set to its place, he smiled at Rebecca once more. “I look forward to our next meeting, Miss O’Rourke. Mister Williams, Mister Ray, if you would follow me, please.”

  My eyes met hers for a moment, and I caught a flicker of hesitation there, as well as what I considered could be fear. Her lips curved into a grin, though, and she nodded, motioning for me to go ahead. Then she headed off in a different direction, disappearing into the maze.

  “This way,” Andrew called, heading up the steps to our left.

  We followed him in silence, listening to what felt like a museum tour as he guided us through the house. It was hard not to stop and stare at all the artifacts. They seemed to be never ending, continually lining the path, as if waiting to be sought out and examined by eager history seekers. There must’ve been at least fifty corners we traveled around and two more flights of stairs, each heading in a different direction. When we finally stopped in front of the first apartment, I felt more like I was in a fun house than a mansion.

  “Your lodgings, Mister Williams,” Andrew said sweetly, offering the key to Scott. “You’ll find a change of clothes and breakfast inside. Please feel free to wander, once you are ready. However, I must ask that you do not leave the premises without an escort.”

  “Thank you, Andrew.” Scott sounded tired, taking the key and unlocking his door in one fluid motion. “Where will Eric be staying?”

  “At the end of the hall.”

  “Thank you.” Scott stared at me, encouragement in his gaze. “I will come by later, so we can talk.”

  I didn’t answer. There were too many questions swirling in my mind, too much information trying to overwhelm me. Before I even knew what was happening, I was trailing Andrew, not really listening to him say something about a painting in my room.

  “Why is Rebecca in trouble?” I suddenly butted in, startling him.

  “Why would you think that?” He chuckled, as if it were a silly question, waving his hand. “It’s nothing. If there were a problem, she would’ve told you herself, wouldn’t she?”

  “I’ve just met her,” I replied, feeling somewhat taken aback by his reply. “Would she?”

  “Perhaps you can ask her, later.”

  We stopped in front of a set of double doors at the very end of the hall. Andrew extended the key toward me, beaming, and waited for me to take it. He then repeated the same instructions he’d given Scott, and then left, humming quietly.

  I let myself into the space, wondering what I was supposed to do. Was I a captive? He said I could leave, but only if someone came with me. What else was I supposed to do? Stay here like a prisoner in a dungeon? I had so many questions—on top of all the inquiries I still had for Scott about Sam and Mark.

  Exhaling slowly, I peered around, feeling somewhat in awe of the large space. Andrew had been right about the painting hanging on the wall. It was displayed prominently compared to the others, with spotlights shining on it. I recognized enough of the technique to know it was done by someone famous, but I didn’t know whom. Art had never really been my forte. History, on the other hand, was my bread and butter, and it was splattered everywhere I looked.

  Depictions of important occasions were the focus of the pictures, while a bookcase housed several objects that appeared to be from the Revolutionary War era. A glass barrier kept me from examining the items closer, but I couldn’t help my excitement as I stared. The furniture matched the age as well, with a four-poster bed and claw foot desk. A poufy chair sat in one corner, a welcoming throw and pillow placed on it. A long dresser stretched across the wall opposite the bed, with a flat screen television mounted above it. A change of clothes and tray of food rested on the top of it, as well. To the left, was another closed door.

  The bathroom was hiding behind the white washed entrance, a large bathtub and separate shower as welcoming as the bed. Glancing in the mirror above the sink, I realized I was still wearing my work uniform, the green shirt and black jeans bearing spots of flour from the late-night pizzas I’d baked. My light brown hair acted like it had been caught in a gale, it was sticking up so badly from all the times I’d ran my fingers through it. Mostly, I noticed how pale I was, in comparison to my normal tan. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since my life changed, and I already looked paper white from shock. No wonder Rebecca had thought I was scared.

  Closing the door, I sighed, flopping on the bed. As I stared at the ceiling, I briefly considered I could be dreaming, but finally decided on the same conclusion I’d been coming to since this started.

  I was not creative enough to dream this into being.

  Eventually, I examined the items that had been left for me. The food was my favorite breakfast—French toast with strawberries and eggs. Even more surprising, the clothing they had left was the same brand as I always bought, in the correct size. Had these people been watching me? If so, for how long? Suddenly, it didn’t seem like such a coincidence that I was put in a room full of eighteenth century belongings. It was like everything I was
interested in had been given to me. There was no way it had happened by accident.

  The growling of my stomach finally convinced me to eat. After that, I figured I might as well shower and change. It appeared I was going to be here for a while, no matter what I thought about it. There was no use in denying the hospitality offered.

  At some point, I drifted off, dreaming of battles and an era I’d never seen. The visions were almost nightmares, but held an air of magic I hadn’t ever experienced. Instead of being afraid, I found myself yearning for more, wishing I could discover what it was that was eluding me. Whenever I would get close to the mystery, though, some monster would reveal itself and stop me, its voice roaring through my mind ferociously.

  I started, sitting up in alarm. To my surprise, the sun had set outside and the lights of the city were all that were visible through the window. For some reason, my heart was pounding, sweat covering me, and I gasped, trying to catch my breath.

  Suddenly, the bookcase housing all the relics swung forward with a great groan, causing me to shout and jump from the bed as fast as lighting. A dark passageway stretched behind it, leading off into nothingness. At the entrance stood Rebecca, wearing an apologetic expression.

  “May I come in?” she asked, politely.

  She sat in the overstuffed chair, holding the pillow on her lap and playing with the corners, like she didn’t know what to say. Words streamed from her, though, as is she were sharing a confession she’d been holding in for years. The melody of her voice moved up and down, some of the emotions she displayed a mystery, but I couldn’t tear myself away from what she was saying. She hooked me from the very start, leaving me sitting on the edge of the mattress, listening in astonishment, horror, and understanding.

  “I was ordered not to come get you.” She laughed slightly, her gaze trained on the object in her lap. “Master Cavanaugh insisted there wasn’t enough evidence to prove Scott and you were in immediate danger. Someone was leaking information to the Black Knights. If anything happened to you, we could trace it to the traitor, but, I knew it wasn’t right to use you like that.”

  Rebecca glanced at me with a pleading expression. “I didn’t agree with using Scott as bait before. It was stupid and dangerous. I insisted we couldn’t go that route again. Unfortunately, no one listens to me. I’m just the secretary. I don’t go on missions. It doesn’t matter I’m trained as much as the rest of them. I have the best education money can buy. Military school was my entire teenage existence. My heritage is literally to lead this organization, but my family’s past with The Order is of no consequence to anyone in a position of power now.”

  Sighing, she set the cushion aside, going to stand by the window. “It’s not honorable. None of it is,” she stated, quieter.

  Silence stretched between us, her back to me.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I finally asked, my voice strained. If anything, her confession made me feel even more a prisoner, like a pawn in a game I could never hope to understand.

  She appeared as unnerved as I did, though. It wouldn’t be a far stretch to suppose she considered herself a captive, too. Rebecca O’Rourke seemed . . . lost. The tone of her speech, and the look on her face, convinced me that, at this very moment, she didn’t know if what she was doing was right or wrong, either.

  Facing me, she chewed on her lip. “I want you to understand, whatever happens, I was only trying to do what was best. Scott and you are innocents. You shouldn’t be mixed up in our battle. The least I could do is make sure you weren’t murdered because of it—for now, at least.”

  “How comforting,” I replied, dryly.

  Snorting, her face lightened some. “I know you must think poorly of me. I promise, I had your best interests in mind. You could currently be dead, if I hadn’t arrived when I did.”

  The idea made me nauseous. “Maybe,” I agreed, weakly.

  She fell silent, watching the street with her arms folded. After a few seconds, she tilted her head and began drumming her fingers against her bicep, releasing a slow breath.

  Caught off guard, I laughed, staring at her in amazement.

  “What?” Confused, she peered at me as if I were crazy.

  “That thing you just did.” Motioning to her hand, I grinned. “Tapping them like that. Samantha used to do that when she was concerned about something. I remember seeing her stand on the crib around the Treasure Pit, tapping her fingers on her arms. She’d purse her lips while she watched Michael work.”

  She froze, her wide eyes locked on me. Whatever reactions she felt were hidden from me, despite our matched stares.

  My brows drew together in curiosity, and I took a beat to thoroughly study her face for the first time. I was so distracted by everything else, I’d shoved aside the fact this woman had come into existence due to my friend, Sam. It was weird, watching her and realizing that, so I simply refused to acknowledge it. However, as I viewed her now, I couldn’t help but draw comparisons.

  “You have her chin,” I told her. “And her hands. I’m aware you’re several generations apart, but you really do look a lot like her. Not in an obvious sort of way, but anyone who knew her would be able to see the resemblance.”

  Tears filled her eyes for half a second, and then she blinked them away so fast I wondered if I’d imagined them.

  Hesitating, her nose twitched, her face contorting into a mask of uncertainty. Then, she whispered quietly and slowly, as if she were afraid to ask me anything, stepping closer as she did so. “Will you . . . tell me about her? I wasn’t allowed to ever meet her. The Order insisted that she remain in the dark about everything, so the timeline wouldn’t be compromised.”

  Watching as she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, I nodded, suddenly considering how beautiful she was in this light. She seemed so fierce and daring before. Here, however, her form so close to me, I had the distinct impression she was only a person trying to find her place in the world.

  Coughing slightly, I flushed, realizing I was gawking. “I knew Michael—Sam’s dad—a lot better, and for longer. Sam was with us for a couple months.”

  Her eyes sparkled as she listened, and she beamed at me. “What was she like? Personally? I’ve read essays on her, but they were so impersonal. They believed she was a witch. One even speculated she was using her powers to control her husband, Tristan. Apparently, he hardly did anything without consulting, or bringing, her along.”

  Laughing, I shrugged. “She wouldn’t be pleased about being painted in such a light, I can tell you that much.” The image of Sam’s fierce features filled my mind, bringing recollections of mirth and difficult work. Unfortunately, it also uncovered the sorrow and distress we suffered at Michael’s passing.

  “She was full of love,” I stated quietly. Getting lost in my memories, the sound of her screams when she realized her father was gone echoed in my ears. “Along with compassion, dedication, and a healthy dose of skepticism. Everything she did was from a desire to either learn more, or to be with Michael.”

  Overcome with emotion, I cleared my throat. When I studied Rebecca again, I could see more pieces of her many-times over great grandmother in her. The sight made my heart twist, both from sorrow and astonishment for what happened to Sam. There was a light in Rebecca’s eyes I’d never noticed that kept me talking. It was clear she’d longed to ask about Sam since she entered the room. It was important to her for some reason, and, in that moment, I intended to give her the knowledge she sought.

  “Her mom recently passed away when we met,” I continued. “Michael and she hadn’t seen each other for several years. I don’t know why, but, she decided to stay and help with the Treasure Pit when he asked. Sometimes I wonder, if they’d known what was going to happen, if they would’ve touched it.”

  Going mute, I glanced at the cityscape, trying to swallow the lump forming in my esophagus. Michael was my friend too, despite our age difference. Losing him was hard. To be honest, the only thing that had gotten me through his deat
h was Samantha’s drive to continue his project.

  And then I’d lost her, too.

  “You liked her.” It wasn’t really a question, the tone of her voice sure and steady.

  I peered at Rebecca, nodding. “I did. Not like that—we were only friends. But good pals, despite the short amount of time we had together. It was difficult, dealing with her death. Except, I guess she didn’t really die, did she? She traveled back in time and married your great-grandfather.” Pausing, I frowned, a thought coming to mind. “Those papers you read about her . . . did they say if she was happy? That man—Tristan O’Rourke—treated her well?”

  Her reply was quick and without doubt, easing my worries in an instant. “People may have speculated on Samantha’s origins for decades, but there was one thing they were all very clear about. Tristan adored her more than life itself. He put her before everything and everyone else. There was no question on what—or who—was most important to him.”

  “Good. Samantha deserved nothing less.” A breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding released from me in a huge gust, causing me to chuckle in surprise.

  Rebecca, on the other hand, still seemed preoccupied with her own considerations. “They were both so important in The Order,” she stated, sitting in her seat. “Samantha was never a member, of course. They didn’t allow women to join the ranks until the twentieth century. She was fundamental in working toward that breakthrough, though. She might as well have been a member, for all the missions she went on and the crucial elements she brought to the cause.”

  “Like what?” I pressed, curious.

  Rebecca grinned, giving me a rueful stare. “She designed your Treasure Pit, for starters.”

  “What?” Shocked, my mouth popped open. “No, she didn’t!”