Beyond the Highland Myst(20)

Adrienne had learned to examine facts and deal with reality, regardless of how irrational the immediate reality appeared to be. New Orleans born and raised, she understood that human logic couldn't explain everything. Sometimes there was a larger logic at work—something tantalizingly beyond her comprehension. Lately, Adrienne felt more surprised when things made sense than when they didn't—at least when things were odd she was on familiar territory. Despite its being highly illogical and utterly improbable, all five of her senses insisted that she wasn't exactly in Kansas anymore.

A dim memory teased the periphery of her mind… What had she been doing just before she'd found herself on the Comyn's lap? The hours before were hazy, uncertain. She could recall the uneasy feeling of being watched… and what else? An odd scent, rich and spicy, that she smelled just before she'd… what? Adrienne pushed hard against a blanket of confusion and succeeded only in making her head throb.

She struggled with it a moment, then yielded to the pain. Adrienne muttered a fervent prayer that the larger logic behind this irrational reality treat her with more benevolence than whatever had thrown Eberhard her way.

Too bad she hadn't lost some of those really, really bad memories. But no, just a few strange hours; a short gap of time. Perhaps the shock of what had occurred was muting her memory for now. But surely as she adjusted to this new environment she would figure out just how she'd managed to travel through time. And figure out how to get back.

But then she wondered, did she really want to get back to what she'd left behind?

* * * * *

In the morning, Adrienne splashed icy water on her face and assessed herself in the blurry polished silver disc hanging above the basin. Ah, the little luxuries. Hot water. Toothpaste. What did she pine for the most?

Coffee. Surely somewhere in the world someone was growing coffee in 1513. If her luscious husband was so anxious to please, perhaps he would find it for her—and quickly. She'd need a full carafe every morning if she continued to lose sleep like this.

By the time the Hawk had left her room last night she'd been shaking from head to toe. The lure of the smithy was but a dim echo of the pull the man called Hawk had on all her senses. Just being in his presence made her feel quivery inside and weak at the knees—far worse than Adam had. She snorted as she recalled the Hawk's rules. Four of them had been to stay away from the smithy. Well, that was one sure way to irritate him if she felt like it. After she got her coffee.

Adrienne rummaged through Janet's "trousseau" seeking something reasonably simple to wear. Donning a lemon-yellow gown (how did they make these brilliant fabrics in this age?), she accented it with a gold girdle at the waist and several gold arm cuffs she found. Soft leather slippers for her feet and a shake of her silvery mane and coffee assumed the priority of breathing.

* * * * *

"Coffee," she croaked when she'd finally managed to wind her way through the sprawling castle and find several people enjoying a leisurely breakfast. There were a dozen or so seated at the table, but the only ones Adrienne recognized were Grimm and Him, so she issued the word in their general direction hopefully.

Everyone at the table stared at her.

Adrienne stared back unblinkingly. She could be rude too.

"I think she said coffee," Grimm suggested after a long pause, "although I've heard more intelligible sounds from some of our falcons."

Adrienne rolled her eyes. Morning always lent a husky quality to her brandy-rich voice. "I need coffee," she explained patiently. "And my voice is always like this in the morning."

"A voice to cherish, smooth and complex as the finest malt Scotch," the Hawk purred. His eyes lingered on her face, then slid gently down to her toes. How in God's name could a mere look make her feel as if he'd peeled her gown from her body slowly and deliciously?

"Didn't that fellow from Ceylon leave a store of odd things in the buttery? And I'm Lydia Douglas, by the bye, this rapscallion's—"

"Mother—"

"Hush. You botched the wedding and you're making a fine mess of things now, so just hush."

Adrienne forgave him for almost everything at that moment, because he looked like a small boy as he blinked in silence. "My lady," she said, attempting a curtsy and hoping she'd addressed Hawk's mother correctly because she liked the woman instinctively, even if she had given birth to that overbearing womanizer.

"Lydia is fine, and if I may—Adrienne? Hawk told me it's your address of preference."

"Adrienne is wonderful. Coffee?"

Lydia laughed, obviously unabashed by this single-minded obsession. "I take it you're used to having the strong brew of a morn. My healer tells me it has rejuvenating properties and is a natural energizer."