Page 21 of A Time Traveler’s Masquerade (A McQuivey’s Costume Shop Romance)

I sla clung to the reins for dear life. Her short canter on Stormy a few days before had been poor preparation for riding a much larger and unknown horse in the dark and on her own. But adrenaline was a powerful tool, particularly when it was combined with desperation.

Grateful that the moon had appeared from behind the clouds long enough for her to spot a few familiar landmarks, Isla released a sigh of relief when the entrance to the New Palace Yard materialized before her. She had no idea how long it had taken her to get here. Dispensing with her farthingale and donning her cloak had been fast and easy. Grantham had assisted her into the saddle after he’d arrived from the nearest stable, drawing a large, black horse behind him on the run. Mounting without Simon’s strong arms around her had been challenging, but it had been nothing when compared to the terrifying sensation of tearing down the Strand toward Charing Cross, not knowing if she had the strength or skill necessary to remain in the saddle. And now, with her final destination ahead, she faced the daunting task of dismounting without breaking a bone.

Offering the most recent of many silent and fervent prayers, Isla reined in her racing mount. The horse shook its head disapprovingly, but with a compliant snort, it gradually slowed its gait, and by the time they entered the Old Palace Yard, the horse was walking sedately, and Isla was attempting to control her ragged breathing.

“Quietly, boy,” she whispered. The horse snorted, and from somewhere nearby, there was an answering nicker. Isla tensed. Where had the sound come from? And was there a person waiting in the darkness with the other horse? Martha’s stricken face as she’d watched her leave flooded Isla’s mind. “This may be the worst idea I’ve ever had,” she muttered, “but I’m here now, and I’m not leaving until I know that Simon is all right.”

Up ahead, the specter-like outline of a tree took shape. Isla made for it. Another nicker told her the invisible horse was close. Her mount’s ears twitched. Which was better: to remain on the horse in case she needed to flee or to get off while she still could? Shadowy outlines made it difficult to gauge her distance to the ground, but her memory of the courtyard was of a fairly even, hard-packed ground. In the dark, she would take that surface over cobblestones.

Reining her horse to a halt, she slipped one foot out of the stirrup and lifted her leg over the pommel. For a full five seconds, she sat completely still, willing herself to jump. Her horse stepped sideways, and Isla dropped. She hit the ground hard but miraculously remained upright. Swinging around, she bumped into her horse and fumbled for the leather straps.

“Come on,” she said softly. “You’re going to wait here.”

Leading the horse behind her, she approached the tree. Two eyes glistened in the darkness. Isla’s heart missed a beat. She froze. And then came the welcoming nicker.

“Blaze?” Scarcely daring to believe it was Simon’s horse, she inched forward. “Blaze, is that you?”

Tossing her own reins over a branch and hoping it would be enough to keep the loaned horse close by, Isla extended a tentative hand toward the second horse. Almost immediately, a friendly nose brushed against it.

“Oh, Blaze!” Isla murmured. “Where is Simon?”

There were no other horses nearby. Did that mean Simon had come here alone? Or did it mean that he was the only one who hadn’t left? Tamping down her mounting fear, Isla ran toward the building Simon had told her was the House of Lords. The main entrance was visible in the moonlight, but that was not what she wanted. Hurrying past it, she followed the front of the building, searching for another door. She had almost reached the corner when she spotted a few steps that led to a door set in the wall just below ground level. Lifting her skirts a couple of inches, she ran down the few stairs and stood at the door in a tortured state of indecision. What now? She had no way of knowing who—if anyone—was inside or how dangerous they might be. Leaning forward, she pressed her ear to the narrow crack between the door and the doorframe. Nothing. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sounds of the slight breeze, the distant river, and a nightingale. And then she heard it. A faint, muffled moan. Without another thought, she opened the door.

A lantern sat on the floor not far from the door, casting a flickering light over a few pieces of furniture, barrels, and chopped wood. For two seconds, Isla stood staring into a rustic room seemingly devoid of people, and then she heard the moan again. She pivoted, her breath catching as she glimpsed a man lying on the floor a few feet to her right. Grabbing the lantern, she lifted it high.

“Simon!” Crossing the distance between them in three rapid strides, Isla fell to her knees beside him. A large red stain covered the left side of his jacket, and more blood marked the floor around him. His face was pale, but at her cry, his eyelids fluttered open.

“Isla?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You are come.”

“Yes.” Vaguely aware that tears were rolling down her cheeks, she set the lantern down and took his hand. “Yes, I’m here.”

“For ... forgive me,” he said. “It was Fawkes’s knife. There was no time to defend myself.”

A sob escaped her. “This is all my fault. I didn’t think through the events well enough.”

His smile was weak, but he raised his hand to touch her face. “You are not accountable for the actions of others, my beloved one. Only your own.”

“But that’s just it. I should have known ... I should have prevented you from coming here ...”

“I had to come. Fawkes needed to be stopped.” He coughed and then grimaced with pain. “It is done, Isla. Knyvett and Doubleday will see him delivered to the king. My life may be over, but together we have saved innumerable others.”

“No!” She turned her head to press her lips to his fingers. “We will get you away from here. Sir Cecil’s men will come, and they can transport you to the Maidstones’ house. Martha will know what to do.”

Regret crossed his ashen face. “I fear that no matter my desires or yours, there is no recovering from an injury such as this.”

“Yes, there is! There is!”

A flicker of understanding filled his pain-filled eyes. “But not here. Not now.” He lowered his trembling hand from its position cupped around her face. “I love you, Isla.”

There was no stemming her tears now. “I love you too.”

He closed his eyes. She lowered her head, unaware that the door had opened wide until a gust of cold air swirled around her ankles.

“Ah, there you are, Isla!” A white-haired woman wearing a purple dress and purple shoes walked in carrying something made of pale-blue fabric over her arm. “I have found the Wendy dress at last.”

Isla blinked and then blinked again. “Mrs. McQuivey?”

“Yes, dear. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“It took you until now to find a dress?” Isla looked at her incredulously. “I’ve been here for weeks!” Indignation heated her chest. “You left me here all alone! You never answered when I called for help. The changing room door was gone. And ... and now Simon is seriously injured, and I don’t know how to help him!”

“Oh my! I apologize if you’ve been waiting for me, but I’m here now, and I have what you need.”

“I don’t want the Wendy dress.” Isla’s voice broke. How could the woman talk about finding a costume with Simon lying beside her in a pool of blood? “Don’t you see?” she cried, gesturing at Simon. “He’s dying.”

“Good heavens!” Mrs. McQuivey stepped closer and gazed down at Simon through her wire-rimmed glasses. “What ever happened to this poor young man?”

“He was stabbed with a dagger.”

“Well, we must get him some medical attention right away.”

“I ... I told him that too,” Isla said. “But he says there’s nothing that can be done for him.”

“Nonsense. The doctors at the Royal London Hospital will know exactly what to do.”

Isla stilled. “Are you talking about the big hospital on Whitechapel Road?”

“Of course I am.”

Was that even possible? Mrs. McQuivey was referring to a twenty-first-century hospital with twenty-first-century doctors and modern medicine. “Can ... can we take him there?”

“We must! I wouldn’t want to attempt transporting him myself, you understand, not when he’s lost so much blood. But we can call an ambulance. It shouldn’t take them long to get to the shop.”

Isla was not sure how she could go from utter despair to overjoyed in a matter of seconds, but it had happened. “Simon. Simon, can you hear me?”

His eyes fluttered open. “Forgive me, Isla ...” He licked his lips. “It is difficult to ...” His voice trailed off, and he stared at Mrs. McQuivey. “Who ... I beg your pardon, but who are you?”

“This is Mrs. McQuivey,” Isla answered for her. “From the costume shop.”

Simon’s eyes widened slightly. “The ... the costume shop you visited?”

“Yes.” Isla met his gaze, willing him to understand even in his weakened state. “She says you can come back with me.”

“We’ll call an ambulance right away, dear. The medics will help you.”

“What is an ambulance?” Simon’s voice was fading again.

“It’s a big car with flashing lights that takes people with serious injuries to doctors who can heal them.”

His answering smile was faint, but it was there. Isla’s heart felt like it might burst. She leaned over and softly kissed his forehead. “Come with me,” she whispered. “And when you are well again, I will teach you to drive a car.”

“I would like that more than I can say,” he murmured.

“You have only to walk through the door,” she said.

He turned his head until he could see the exit. “That door?”

“Yes. Mrs. McQuivey and I will help you.”

“To enter the future, never to return?”

She nodded. It was a prospect they’d never considered. And it was a lot to ask.

He managed a crooked smile. “Martha would miss me terribly.”

An ache filled Isla’s chest. Martha was probably going to lose him no matter what he decided. “She would.”

“Almost ...” He winced and pressed his hand to his wound. “Almost as much as I would miss her.”

Isla battled a new rush of fear. “Simon?”

He moaned, but when he looked up, fresh determination filled his eyes. “Martha ... she belongs with Maidstone and the boys, Isla. And no matter what century it may be, I belong with you.” He reached for her. “I wish to go.”

With tears blurring her vision, Isla took his hand. “Hurry, Mrs. McQuivey!”

The older lady set the Wendy dress on the table beside a small bundle of food, and then returned to Simon’s side. Sliding one arm beneath his back, she took ahold of his left arm with her other hand. Isla mirrored her position on Simon’s right.

“On the count of three,” Isla said.

Mrs. McQuivey did her part with extraordinary ability. And though Simon groaned in agony and beads of sweat appeared along his forehead, he staggered to his feet.

“One moment,” he gasped, struggling for balance.

Isla waited, her heart pounding. “Only a few more steps. Can you manage it?”

“Yes.” He lowered his head, his breathing labored.

“Take your time, young man,” Mrs. McQuivey said, her hazel eyes twinkling in the lantern light. “We all have as much of that as you need.”

“I thank you.” Simon exhaled, raising his head again.

Isla looked at him. Was he truly prepared for what lay ahead?

As if he could read her mind, he leaned forward and brushed her cheek with his lips. “I shall be with you, Isla. I will be okay.”

“My kind of okay does not involve horses,” she warned.

“So you have told me,” he said, his pained expression filled with hope and love. “But I am ready to experience it.”