Page 32 of Halloween Knight (A Knights Through Time Romance #17)

Present Day—Boston

Callan Graham woke to a pounding in his head and a foul stench assaulting his senses. He blinked several times, clearing his blurry eyesight as he pushed himself to sit up, confused by his surroundings.

“Where the bloody hell am I?” He reached for the St. Christopher medal, only to find it gone. Had someone robbed him?

The last thing he remembered was standing on the battlements with Lucy and William in the midst of a terrible storm after the lass had stabbed Agnes and pushed her over the parapet to her death.

Never get between a mother and child.

He touched his arm but there was no pain, and when he looked at the wound, much to his amazement, he found it healed. Nothing but a faded white line remained .

When lightning hit so close Callan could taste it, he saw William and Lucy turn to each other, panic and fear in their eyes.

Then lightning flashed all around them, thunder booming across the night, as William reached for his wife as if he could shield her from the storm.

When Callan tried to ask them what was wrong, the hair on his head floated in the air, the smell of something burning filled his nose, then a burning pain started at his head and traveled to his toes, lifting him off his feet as he felt as if he were being pulled apart.

Then there was silence, so many colors, then darkness.

The stone walls of Blackford Castle were no more.

In their place loomed enormous buildings stretching higher than any castle tower he’d ever seen.

Strange noises rang in his ears and multi-colored lights flickered all around as he shivered in his plaid.

Why was it dry? He should have been soaking wet, but nay, he was dry. Cold, but dry.

Was he in purgatory? Or had the faeries come and taken him away to live with them? For he had heard the stories of odd Lady Blackford, had listened to her strange speech, she sounded like no noblewoman he’d ever encountered.

Callan’s hand went instinctively to the hilt of his dagger, only to find the sheath empty. He was weaponless. The jeweled daggers, a gift from William, were also gone, the leather sheath scorched as if burned in a fire. Yet the two small bags of coins in his boots remained.

How had he come to be in this strange place?

Cautiously, Callan got to his feet, steadying himself against the wall. His head swam and stomach roiled as he slowly breathed in and out several times until his legs were steady enough to hold him up.

Callan ventured out of the alley he’d awoken in. It was too cold in this place to be hell and he thought purgatory would be full of those he had killed or his sins come back to torment him. Neither were before him.

The sight that met his eyes stole his breath away. A wide stone path bustling with people and... what sort of horseless metal carriages were those?

They moved on their own, spewing smoke, stinking, and making a terrible racket as the people inside them laughed and talked. So many colors and things to see. The strange way they spoke hurt his ears, yet there was something in the cadence of the words that reminded him of William’s wife.

Nothing about this place made any sense. He spun around, desperately seeking something familiar to cling to. But the strange sights and sounds bombarded Callan from all sides. He could smell the water but could not see it.

Then a moving sign in a building caught his eye. There was a person in the sign, talking. Callan shook his head, moving closer until his nose touched the glass.

What witchcraft was this?

The man’s face was almost orange. He spoke of the weather and what was to come. How could he know the weather?

But it was what he said next that made Callan brace a hand on the glass to keep from swooning like a lass.

The voice said ’twas the eighth of November … the year two thousand and twenty-three.

Callan rocked back on his heels. 2023? That would mean... over 700 years had passed since his last night at Blackford Castle. Callan swayed, going down on one knee.

The outlandish clothing these people wore, the odd metal carriages, the towering buildings.

How could it be? Were the fates punishing him for seeking his brother? What had he done to offend them so?

His mind reeled, trying to make sense of everything. Somehow, he had traveled through time.

Small details came back to him. When Lucy talked of the eighteenth century as if it were part of her past, five hundred years from then.

Two lasses passed by, making his mouth drop open.

They were scandalously clothed in dresses that went halfway up their legs and showed off their arms. How did they not freeze in the cold air with hardly any clothes?

And their shoes … were tiny spikes they pranced about on, somehow without falling over.

He would have stared at them until they were out of sight, but ’twas the word they used that made him blink.

Whatever . The same word Lucy used, and in the same tone of voice, as if annoyed.

Was she from this awful future time?

Numb and cold, Callan began walking. He stayed in the shadows, watching the people around him, in their strange garb, speaking a form of English he had trouble understanding.

They paid him little mind beyond an occasional puzzled glance at his plaid.

A man passing by pointed at him, calling out, “Hey buddy, Halloween is over. Must have been quite the rippah.” The other man with him held his nose.

“He must have bathed in beer at the party.” He cupped a hand over his mouth. “And take a bath, you reek.”

Halloween. He had heard Lucy call Samhain Halloween. If she had traveled back in time and had been there for several years, did that mean she could not go back to her own time, or had she decided to stay?

Callan tried to find his way back to the alley where he first woke, but the streets were confusing, the lights and noise overwhelming, and so he gave up.

When he leaned against a pole with bright light like a summer day inside, a man dressed in a gray form fitting jacket and pants handed him green paper, telling him, “things will get better, dude. No need to walk around wearing a blanket.”

He came upon merchants selling food and odd objects unrecognizable to him. The smells wafting from the metal food stalls on wheels made his stomach rumble, but they scowled at him so he did not approach them.

As darkness fell, Callan stopped and stared as something suddenly illuminated the towering buildings from within, glowing like they had captured the sun. The streets, too, were lit with odd lights.

Exhausted, hungry and overwhelmed, Callan took refuge for the night in a small clearing. He crawled beneath some bushes, the closest to nature he could find in this odd place, wrapped up in his plaid and tried to sleep.

Mayhap in the morn he would wake to find ’twas all a strange dream brought on by Samhain and the spirits roaming the earth.

When morning came, Callan roused himself. His body ached, but his mind was clearer. If he could not go back to his own time and to the brother he had only just found, then he must find a way to make his way in this strange place.

How to go back, he had no idea, so first he would eat and find a place to stay.

Then mayhap someone here might know how to send him back to his own time. Surely in this strange place there were powerful witches who could aid him?

Callan wanted to go back and get to know William. To stay at Blackford and make a life. In time he had hoped to find a wife and have babes of his own that might play with Lucy’s children. The clan had forsaken him, so Callan had thought to make a new start at Blackford.

He wandered aimlessly, attempting to fit in, but no one wore a plaid, though some wore an odd version of a tunic and hose. And not a single person went about armed. ’Twas a strange land. Did they not have war here?

As the morning wore on, hunger drove Callan to a busy market. The scent of freshly baked bread made his stomach growl loudly. Approaching a bread stall, Callan reached into his boot, pulling out a few coins he had tucked away.

He offered them to the vendor in exchange for a loaf of bread. The man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What kind of funny money is that?” he asked gruffly.

Confused, he pulled out the green paper. The man took it, rolled his eyes and gave Callan back more green paper than he had given him. Ah, ’twas money. What kind of money was made of paper?

The hot bread was delicious with a meat he had never tasted. As he stuffed half of the roll into his mouth, the flavor making him groan in pleasure, melted butter ran down his chin. He went back and bought another.

“What is this strange meat?”

The food vendor arched a brow. “Think you’re funny? It’s a lobstah roll, you idiot.”

Callan liked this lobster.

Weaving through the crowded market, Callan accidentally bumped into a man hurrying past. The man yelled and shoved Callan, who instinctively reached for where his dagger would normally be sheathed. Finding nothing, Callan quickly dropped his hand and backed away.

His actions caught the eye of a nearby man dressed in a uniform. The man approached Callan, eyeing his strange clothing. “What’s your deal buddy? You lost?” he asked in a distrustful tone.

Not wanting a fight, Callan turned and ran as the man shouted for him to stop. He chased Callan, but he was slow and quickly fell behind as Callan ran like the devil himself was after him.

Eventually, he made it back to the green area. The sign called it a park. There was no sign of the man, so Callan tried again to look like he belonged.

There were many people out, walking and talking, laughing and looking at strange boxes as they walked.

He made his way to a tree and sagged down in relief, resting his head against the rough bark. Though his St. Christopher medal was gone, he sent up a prayer to the saint that he might find aid in this strange place and someone would know how to send him back to his own time.

As if in answer, a dog ran over to him, tail wagging, a blue band around its neck.

“Hey, sorry about that. Frankie loves everyone.”

A woman stood before him, wearing odd blue hose and some type of wool shirt. She had verra fetching legs, long brown hair, and kind eyes.

“I’m Daisy.” She smiled at him, taking in his plaid, then smiling.

“Callan Graham.”

“Oh, I love a Scottish accent.” She sat down beside him, petting the dog.

“Were you part of the Renaissance Faire? I love your costume!” She added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I pretend I live in medieval times, too.”

Callan shook his head, trying to make sense of her words. Costume? Renaissance Faire? She thought he was simply dressed up. Mayhap she could aid him?

“Aye, lady,” he said, dragging out his words. “But the fair ended and I find myself lost.”

The woman named Daisy drank water from a bright blue cup, the likes of which he’d never seen before.

“I am not familiar with this place. Might you aid me in returning home?”

She held out one of the small boxes he’d seen people staring at. “Want to use my phone?”

Phone? Lucy said that odd word. Callan placed a hand on the ground to keep from falling over. He knew without a doubt Lucy was from the future.

When he didn’t answer right away, she smiled. “Let’s call you a car. Where to?”

“Where is North Carolina?”

“Wow, that is really far from Boston. But you don’t sound southern.” Her brows went up. “That’s way too far for a car. How about the train?”

Callan hesitated. He had no idea what a car or train was or where to go. But he needed time to think, and this kind woman seemed willing to aid him. He had only said North Carolina because Lucy said ’twas where she hailed from.

“I have little of the green paper,” Callan admitted.

Daisy nodded. “I know what you mean. Try holding down three jobs while you try to make a living as a potter.”

She told him she walked dogs for money.

People paid for such a thing?

And she house sat. Why would a rich noble pay this woman to sit in his home? Did his servants not watch over the estate when he was away?

Then she said, “I run the social media for a small company so my hours are really flexible, which is great so I can work on my mugs.”

Callan did not have a clue what this woman was talking about, but she seemed kind.

He pulled out the wad of green money and handed it to her. “Is this enough for you to aid me?”

“Put that away. Do you want someone to rob you? Sheesh. Enough with the hot medieval highlander act.”

“I am not hot, ’tis rather chilly.”

At first she simply blinked at him, then she laughed, like a child laughs from their bellies.

“You’re funny.”

Daisy nodded to herself. “I believe fate puts people in our paths for a reason.” She eyed him up and down. “You’re not going to murder me in my bed or post weird pictures of me to sell online, are you?”

“Nay. I am no murderer. I know not of pictures.” He had killed but only when necessary.

Daisy stood brushing off her hose as the dog jumped up, tail wagging.

“Frankie can be very ferocious when provoked.” When she turned to go, his shoulders slumped until she looked over her shoulder.

“Are you coming or not?”

Callan leapt to his feet. “Aye, I am coming. Where are we going?”

They walked side by side as he watched the dog sniffing everything around him.

“My place. It isn’t much, but it’s home. I’m all for helping a fellow ren fair lover.”

His brows rose, but remembering how Lucy did not think it strange to share a room with him, he kept his mouth shut, knowing he must fit in, here in this odd land she called Boston.

“I thank ye, mistress Daisy.”

Mayhap this woman might know a witch? Hope bloomed in his soul. He would find his way through the centuries back to Blackford and his newfound family, though it was too bad he would not be able to spend more time with the fetching lass.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed Halloween Knight.