Daughter of Time (Prequel to The After Cilmeri Series)

Daughter of Time (Chapter Five)

Meg

This was so not acceptable. It might be all right for Mr. Llywelyn Fantasy to live his life in the thirteenth century—and it was clear now that he must be part of some sort of intentional community in which a whole lot of people were living that dream with him—but I had to get going. Mom and Elisa would be worried sick by now. Had they called the police? If so, what would they find?

The thought nagged at me. I didn't know what had happened to my car or where I was. I remembered sliding into the embankment next to the tree on which Trev died, but nothing after that other than a gaping blackness. I concentrated, trying to recall the impact. Wasn't there a blue-gray sky? No snow, but a sea instead? How was that possible?

I lay in bed, listening hard. Sounds I'd interpreted as a fan, or the sloshing of a washing machine, or heavy breathing in and out, could easily be waves on a shore. We'd spent a summer at CapeHatteras after my dad retired and I'd loved falling asleep to the waves rolling in and out. How far from Radnor had Llywelyn taken me? Could I be on the Jersey shore somewhere?

It was hard to believe that I'd survived the crash unscathed, except for an ache in my neck and a throbbing in my head. Anna slept on, apparently completely fine and Llywelyn himself had so far proved to be harmless, seemingly even forgiving me for trying to kill him. I rolled onto my stomach and stuck my face into the pillow, moaning at the thought. It was stupid, stupid, stupid of me to have tried to grab the knife as if I was some sort of karate expert.

I'd taken a self-defense class at sixteen where I'd learn to kick a guy in the balls, but had no real belief that I could do it under stress, and most of the class had consisted of role-playing games anyway, which Elisa and I had hated. Hard to imagine a role-playing game that could have effectively taught me how to respond to a man who claimed to be a thirteenth century Prince of Wales. Then again, contrary to all expectations, I hadn't needed even the tiny bit of knowledge that class had taught. Llywelyn had lain beside me in bed all night and not touched me.

It wasn't as if I thought I was irresistibly gorgeous, but I had enough experience with men to know that few individuals of the male persuasion wouldn't have at least tried. I'd turned guys away a time or two before Trev had tried and succeeded. Yet, Llywelyn hadn't and was offended at the very thought. At the same time, the possessiveness in his voice when he talked to his brother was unmistakable. "She's mine," he'd said. What exactly did that mean?

I rolled off the bed and stood, ready to get moving and face whatever reality Llywelyn had constructed. I walked to where Anna lay and crouched beside her bed, just to check on her. As always, my heart swelled when I looked at her, so glad that I had her. As Mom had said, she was the one good thing we'd gotten out of this mess.

Anna opened her eyes.

"Hey, sweetheart," I said.

"Hi, Mommy. Are you okay now? You slept a long time!" She lifted a hand and touched the wooden side of the trundle bed. She looked at it for a second before sitting up quickly, twisting her body around in a jerky motion to survey the room.

"It's okay, Anna," I said. I picked her up. She still swiveled her head to take in her surroundings.

"Is Gramma here?"

"I would like to think that she's on her way," I said. "We had an accident in the car. Do you remember?"

Anna gazed at me, her eyes solemn. "There was a man. He unbuckled my car seat."

"I imagine he did," I said. "Did he carry you here?"

She nodded.

"Was he nice?"