Page 5 of A Touch for All Time (For All Time #3)

A ria finished plucking the feathers from a dead chicken, set it on the chopping block and rushed to the bucket of water in the Gable’s kitchen to scrub her hands clean. God help her she had to pluck a dead chicken! She never appreciated a grocery store so much in her life. Everything here had to be either grown or killed. Umm, no thank you.

If not for the memory of Lord Grayson Barrington, Marquess of Dartmouth dancing on his castle rooftop while she had watched him from the woods yesterday, she would have been sick all over these nice people’s dinner. Twice. The images of him didn’t leave her when she sneezed for the tenth time. They just went fuzzy for a moment but then returned, as they had all night and all morning.

She wiped her nose and went to her coat hanging on a peg inside the front door. Mrs. Gable had asked her if after plucking the chicken she could shovel the yard a bit since it snowed again last night.

Would he dance in the snow?

She had gone to Dartmouth Castle yesterday to rebuke him, but she had ended up spotting him. She had watched him with breath held and her heart flipping somersaults until she ran off without telling him off. But he’d come looking for her on the road…

She opened the door now and was blinded for a moment by the late snow glistening beneath the bright sun. She opened her eyes more as they grew used to the color and beheld a world without skyscrapers, billboards, smog, smoke, concrete. For a minute she just breathed in the fresh air and soaked in the view of snow-capped trees and the white hills beyond them. It was like a winter wonderland, but even though it was radiant and glorious, it was also dangerous.

Like a magnificent panther.

She thought of the way the marquess’ hair had fallen over his marred brow, adding shadows to his eyes, or how it flung each way as his body jerked and bounced when he began his dance. He used inhalations and exhalations to perfection, bringing emotion, hurt, betrayal, sadness to the watcher—in that case, her, while his body was pulled this way or that. She’d watched his fingers gracefully slide across his vision and then he’d snapped his wrists back, melding them together over his head.

He was Romeo, Othello, anyone she could think of. How could such virility become so graceful, and then with a few hard moves or pops masculine again?

Where did all that beautiful emotion that she’d longed to see on a dancer’s face, come from? The few times she met him, he barely cracked a smile, a frown, or even appeared surprised.

He did have a weird habit of staring intensely and not looking away when caught.

As a dancer, she was acquainted with people who had two completely different personalities, one on stage and one off. One usually protected the other. She guessed the marquess had some life issues that shaped him—as everyone did. But a huge part of who he was, was buried somewhere beneath anger, sorrow, betrayal, joy, loss. And only in dance could he express them.

She had breathed, not realizing she’d stopped. Watching him made her long to dance again—to leap again.

She replayed yesterday in her mind a thousand times already. She’d taken Castle Road like Beatrice from the village had advised. The road brought her to a hill overlooking the castle, which was built above the coves Will had told her about. She could see the rooftop within the parapets. She could see him there, alone and seemingly in terrible pain.

He had danced without the need of music. Or…was there music? The more she’d listened, the more she heard: the howl of the wind above the water, the swoosh of waves, and then the sound they made when they crashed into the rocks, birds, treetops…there was music in everything.

She used to hear it all, like a symphony in her ears. She’d even, on a few occasions, heard music in the blaring honks of cars. She had stopped hearing the music of the earth and of life when she had to stop dancing.

But she heard it again when she saw the Marquess of Dartmouth dancing on the roof of a castle overlooking the sea. She was sure that if she lived a hundred more lifetimes, she would never forget his beautiful lines and the way he stretched his lean body over backwards until one hand touched the floor and the other reached toward Heaven. He straightened with spasmodic movements. His expressions were as erratic as the rest of him. One instant he was grinning and the next, he sneered with vengeful purpose. Yanking at his hair, he’d compelled her to get closer, to help him. He expressed his open, raw emotions, emotions most men had a very difficult time putting out there. He was profoundly moving as he uncovered bits of himself in his tempo, choreography, and gestures.

She had intended to tell him what she thought of a man in power using it to imprison her in gates made of brawny flesh and bone. Flesh and bone that could be taken down with a spinning back kick to the jaw, or a knee or front kick to the groin, solar plexus, kidneys, whatever the case was.

She wanted him to know she wasn’t like Elspeth…or even Sarah—or any eighteenth century woman. She ended up running away instead before he finished his dance.

But the memory of him had begun to haunt her even while she ran back up the hill. She’d been sure his dance would haunt her for a long time to come. He was a true dancer, moving with his heart, muscles, bones, traces of joy for dancing—despite it all—either in a glint in his eyes, the tilt of his smile, or his lighter tempo. It made her not want them to be enemies.

Still, she didn’t want to have to fight every time she wanted to check the forest for doors—and she’d have to check even more now that she’d been uninvited to the ball in the castle with seventy-two doors. She kicked the snow under her foot. What exactly had he meant when he said she might not feel welcome at the castle, so it was best if she didn’t attend? How rude could a guy get?

She had found the road by tracing her steps backwards. She was excellent with directions. One had to be if one lived in a busy city with several different forms of transportation. She’d continued onward with the dancer leaping into her thoughts. His clean lines and stunning features shot across her mind like stars in a moonlit sky.

She shoveled and swore quietly under her breath while she remembered that he’d been following her. She had had to keep her head on straight, but when he pulled out his sword with a bit of a macabre grin, she instinctively swept him. And then, oddly enough he tossed his blade away and sparred with her. She wondered if he would have struck her if she hadn’t evaded or blocked his blows. He seemed to enjoy it.

What did she care anyway? He was a jerk. A jerk who could dance better in a minute than any man could in her future.

She spotted Will on his brown and white horse approaching in the snow from the opposite direction. He was too far away to see her. She knew where he’d been thanks to Sarah. He’d been chopping wood for his uncle Edward, his father’s brother. Will’s job was mostly physical labor and to fix everything for his mother and the rest of his family. Sarah helped. Harry did not.

Aria heard a sound to her left. But when she turned toward it there was nothing there but fog. Soon though, like an apparition coming to life, the marquess appeared on his gray horse. He was watching her like some wild predator with shining blue-green eyes eclipsed by raven strands of hair. He wore his red coat with the fur-lined hood over his head. He reached her before Will did.

“My lord.”

He blinked and seemed to come awake. He looked uncomfortable in his own skin. “I was just making certain there was no trouble here.”

“Thank you. There isn’t.”

He tipped his head toward the sun as he passed her in his saddle. His hood slipped back and fell to his shoulders.

Aria caught her breath at the shape of his face. Why was the angle of his jaw so perfectly crafted, the square tip of his chin so able to support all the emotions and reactions a dancer should be able to support?

Refusing to ponder him the way he had clearly been pondering her when she’d seen him, she pushed the shovel into the snowy path and heaved the snow out of the way.

She heard boots hit the snow and then move toward her. She picked up her head to see the marquess standing over her. He pulled the shovel out of her hand. “Let me.”

“No, that’s fine.” She tried to get the shovel back. “You’re a marquess. I’m sure you’ve never shoveled a day in your life.”

He paused to pout. “I feel as if you’re insulting me.”

“I can see why,” Aria agreed, hating how quickly he’d gone from looking like a wolf that had just found breakfast to boyishly adorable. “I’m basically calling you lazy.”

He squared his gaze on hers and tore away every barrier she’d ever built, as if they were made of wisps of smoke. “Fine,” he said, without giving away what he saw. “You want to know what kind of man I am.”

“Ha! Why would I care what kind of man you are?”

“I’ll shovel this entire yard. For you.”

She couldn’t break away from his gaze for a second. “Why would you talk like that? Are you trying to get me to like you? If so, you can forget it right now.”

“Why?” he asked with the slightest hint of a smile. “Am I so bad that you can’t like me?”

She saw right through his practiced smile to that poignant dancer and lowered her eyes.

“My lord!” Will’s voice broke through every haunting thought. “Why are you—here, give me that!” He bounced from his saddle when he reached them and reached for the shovel.

The marquess wouldn’t give it up and finally, in a stern voice, ordered Will to let go.

“I’ll stay while he shovels,” Aria said, still staring at the snowy ground.

“What? Why?” Will asked her.

“Because he’s doing it for me.”

The marquess nodded and shoveled some more.

“What do you mean, he’s doing it for you?” Will asked. “Come inside with me.”

She sighed quietly. She found it difficult to ask Will not to push her around. He had done so much for her. He’d become her well-needed friend. But she didn’t like how indebted she felt to him.

“Will,” she said. She felt the marquess’ eyes on her and turned to find him blatantly staring at her, waiting for the rest of her response.

He didn’t say a word and gave away nothing about what he wanted—for her to stay with him or go.

“I’ll…I’ll be in shortly.”

The marquess smiled, then shoved his silver tongue into his cheek.

She narrowed her eyes on him, then shook her head. “It was a small victory,” she said softly, leaning in toward him as Will returned to the house, stomping his feet every few steps.

“A victory nonetheless,” the marquess expressed and kept shoveling.

“Is it just about being the victor?”

He glanced at her, then tossed a shovelful of snow away. “What else is there for it to be about?”

“Well, it would depend on what you’re fighting for.” A moment of sanity drifted over her and she wondered how crazy she was to stand outside, freezing her fingers off to talk to a guy she claimed not to like because he’d pushed his weight around with Will. “If you’re fighting because of your pride, then I think the victory shouldn’t be celebrated.

“You think pride was driving me?” he asked and pushed the shovel into the snow.

“Yes,” she told him honestly. “Whether I stayed with you or left you was my decision.”

“That’s why I remained quiet,” he pointed out.

She gave him the slightest smile. “You did something right.”

“I’ll astonish you,” he teased.

She wanted to tell him he already had. What he had was rare. She had a thousand questions for him, but she didn’t want him to know that she’d watched him dance while he was alone. It was weird to spy and do exactly what she accused him of doing.

He was about to push the shovel into the snow when he stopped. He said nothing but inclined his ear and knelt. The next instant he used his hands to shovel the snow away. He suddenly stopped. Aria thought she heard him groan. He scooped something up in his hands and stared at it.

Looking over his shoulder, Aria saw a sparrow in his hand.

“Is it…”

“It’s gone.”

Aria liked sparrows but she didn’t know she liked them enough to cry when she saw a little dead one. Her eyes burned and her tears were icy cold slipping down her cheeks. Looking up, she saw the marquess watching her tears as they fell from her face.

Then, he straightened, still holding the sparrow. “Will you hold it while I dig?”

She nodded without hesitation, and they exchanged the sparrow in their hands. Aria held its icy body while the marquess dug a proper little place for the bird to rest.

Who was this man? A crazy person who found the death of his enemy amusing, a magnificent dancer who could convey an emotional range from madness and despair to rapture.

“How did you know its body was under the snow?” she asked him when he stepped back.

He didn’t answer and then shook his head and looked away. “I don’t know. I just did.”

“Can you really talk to animals?”

He returned his harder gaze to her. “You shouldn’t listen to ridiculous rumors spread by people who don’t know anything.”

“So, it’s not true then?” she pressed.

His gaze intensified for a moment. He didn’t answer her, then continued shoveling.

Well, he really didn’t deny it. He didn’t admit it either. Why was she even entertaining this nonsense? No one could communicate with animals.

Right, and no one could travel through time either.

She watched the marquess of Dartmouth shovel the Gable’s front yard. For her. She blurted out a short laugh. She certainly wasn’t going to fall for his silver tongue.

“Hmm?” the marquess urged, hearing her laughter.

“I was thinking of your silver tongue.”

He lifted his brows slightly.

“When you said you were shoveling for me,” she clarified. His expression didn’t change at all.

“What?” she insisted.

“What?” He stopped shoveling.

“You’re not saying anything.”

“What would you have me say?”

Goodness, his gaze was so intense. She hated herself for being overcome by something so shallow, but his eyes spoke for him, and they were telling her that he found her amusing. “What did you mean when you said you were shoveling for me?

“I think it’s quite clear, Miss Darling.” He said her name with the slightest trace of a smile, then seemed to catch himself and grew serious again. In fact, he appeared a little impatient. “If someone tells you they are doing something for you, what more do you need to know?”

How was it that the honey tone of his voice could seep so deeply to cover her bones?

“I need to know why. Why would you do any hard work for me? You don’t even know me. Do I have you all wrong and you do this for all your tenants? Or is this your way of trying to seduce me?”

He chuckled but dipped his head and blew a breath out of his nostrils, reminding Aria of some kind of animal getting ready to attack.

“I already answered your question,” he said, heaving snow aside. “I’m doing this to show you what kind of man I am.”

“Why do you care what I think of you?” she pressed.

“Because I saw you, Miss Darling. I saw you appear in an instant, standing in a place you weren’t standing a moment before. Your clothes were like garments I’ve never seen. They were scant and thin and not appropriate for the last week of April. It was if you were somewhere warm and then dropped here.”

Yes. She wanted to tell him. He seemed as if he would somehow understand and maybe help her. Would he believe her because he saw her appear?

“All of this makes me curious about you,” he continued. “I just want to know where you came from and if you know someone I used to know. I assure you I am in no way trying to seduce you.”

He looked a little sick to his stomach. Aria took offense. Was the thought of seducing her sickening to him? What a jerk! What was so revolting about her? Alright then, since he wanted to know so bad, she would tell him, and then she’d never bother thinking about him again.

“Fine! You saw me coming from another century in time. To be more exact, summer, New York City 2024 where I lived my life with my parents and my disabled brother, who I miss enough to scream. I missed his birthday!”

He looked like he was going to say something. She wasn’t finished. “I miss where I worked with Mrs. B. I miss my students.” She stopped to sniff. “I don’t even know how Jake did at the audition!”

Was she really crying in front of this jerk? She swiped her tears away and set her jaw. “Thanks for shoveling. Bye.”

She turned around and took a step. His fingers closing around her wrist stopped her.

“Don’t go,” he beckoned softly, like a melancholy wish—which was why she didn’t kick him. “What power brought you here?”

What? That’s what he chose to say? No compassion for her. Not a mention of her missing anyone and crying.

Jerk!

She yanked her arm free. “There’s nothing else I’m telling you.”

He didn’t stop her again as she headed to the house. And it was a good thing. She would have fought him.

Before she reached the house, a large raven flew across the pale gray sky and screeched above the marquess. He didn’t look up but turned to his horse.

Above him, the raven followed him, swooping low behind him, flying from side to side, but not too close.

Aria’s blood ran cold. Didn’t the Gables tell her a raven killed their father? What possible reason could there be for a raven to want the marquess’ attention—which it didn’t get?

How had the marquess known where the dead sparrow was under the snow? Could he truly communicate with animals? She now knew that anything was possible.