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She landed hard, rocks digging into her hands and knees.

It took Felicity a moment to realize what had happened. Was she still traveling? She stared at her hands. Her hair spilled over them, fingers clawing at dirt and moss-covered stone, her nails dirty half-moons.

She was breathing now, and it was a relief. She swallowed, shook her head. Where was she?

Felicity looked up and cried out a short, sharp shriek. Gone was the green and shadowed serenity of the Highland woods. Walls of dark, spiky leaves rose high all around. Purple flowers reached for her, drooping from their vines. Berries dangled there too, their ripeness an obscene, dull black.

She fell to her bottom and scrambled backwards. Her back struck a dense wall of foliage and she screamed again.

The maze , she told herself, trying to calm her pounding heart. This would be the maze.

Felicity looked up. The stone tablet was there.

Will.

“No!” Bounding to her feet, she slammed her hands on the stone. “Where are you?” she cried.

The star chart was fully etched in the granite now. The stone was dull, aged. It had been there for hundreds of years. Ewen had finished his maze, and he’d be long dead.

She was pierced by anguish. Her Will. Dead now, for hundreds of years.

Staccato sobs shrieked from her. She rubbed and traced the fine lines and points, over and over, until her fingertips were raw. “Where are you?” she cried again.

She wanted Will. She wanted to go back. She didn’t care if it killed her. Jamie and those men had come for them, and she belonged near him. She’d die by his side.

She slapped and drew along the stone tablet, but it was dead under her hands. Dead and cold and lifeless, and Felicity stumbled back, falling to the ground in tears.

She hadn’t said good-bye. She’d never see him again. Would never touch him, or hear him, or see Will again.

A breeze rustled along the top of the hedge. She shivered. The labyrinth was like a live thing that she needed to flee. It felt ancient. Moss grew thick underfoot, untouched for how many years?

She was back in modern time now. Her Viking, centuries away.

At least she hoped she was in modern time. Panic dumped adrenaline through her veins. What if she’d traveled to the wrong time? What if she couldn’t find Livvie?

She needed to find her aunt. She needed to get out of the maze. She needed to call Livvie. All Felicity wanted to do was hear her voice.

She stood, got her bearings. She was in a small cul-de sac, at the head of which was a single opening. Trying not to touch any of those hideous leaves or berries, she peeked through. Though Felicity knew what she’d see, knew she’d find herself in a labyrinth, the sight still startled her.

Dark green walls pressed in, curving and opening onto shadows. Her heart gave a sharp kick in her chest. She needed to get the hell out of there.

Livvie. She was so numb, that lone thought was like a lifeline. She’d get out of there and find a phone to call Livvie.

Pure animal panic emptied her mind, and Felicity let her feet take her where they would.

Blindly, she turned corner after corner, trying not to think about those purple flowers reaching for her, brushing against her skin like a touch from beyond.

She hunched through each doorway, relying on some instinctual part of her to lead her to the light.

The leaves grew a brighter green as she went, the maze gradually opening to allow the sun’s fingers to wend their way in. Fresh air was sweet in her lungs, and Felicity realized the maze was at her back.

She stumbled forward, looking for landmarks to place herself. Fresh tears stung. Will. They’d stood together just here. How many minutes ago, how many centuries?

Had he died here? Her throat closed, her grief a constant ache lodged just there.

Phone. I need a phone , she thought, as she began to jog. Hiking her long skirts high, she jogged away from the maze, welcoming the stitch in her side and the burn in her chest.

She galloped down a hill she remembered climbing with Will, and it pushed her harder. Her leather slippers were soaked through, and they made a dull slapping as she raced across a damp, green glen, desperate now to hear Livia’s voice.

Felicity didn’t know how far or how long she’d been going when signs of life began to pierce her consciousness. A distant lowing. The bleat of a sheep.

A car horn.

She broke into a run.

A narrow street wound at the base of a valley, and she ran to it, hypnotized by the sight of small, boxy cars winding in the distance. A dingy, squared-off truck. Some white, compact Eurocar.

She slowed, mesmerized. The sight of modern amenities wasn’t the relief she’d thought it might be, and the notion rocked her.

She just wanted Will.

She scrubbed her arm along her face, wiping the damp from her cheeks and eyes, and made her way onto the road. Felicity stood in the middle, ready to flag down a car. Someone might hit her and, at that moment, she didn’t really care.

It was a blue minivan that stopped. A startling number of people stared at her from inside. Car exhaust filled her lungs, and it was a smell both familiar and yet so jarringly foreign and wrong.

Idling, the driver rolled down his window. “Are you okay?”

A rear window rolled down. “Do you need help?”

“There’s room,” came from somewhere in the car. “She can fit.”

“Did you have an accident?” the driver asked.

“She looks sick or something,” a woman’s voice said.

“Yeah, like from one of those zombie movies.” Laughter. “You’re not going to eat us, are you?”

She was pummeled by questions, all of them surreal and meaningless after what she’d just been through. It took a moment to register that they spoke with American accents. The sound was so recognizable on such a deep-seated level, Felicity didn’t immediately recognize the anomaly.

They grew quiet, watching her. A window rolled back up. They must think I’m crazy. She didn’t want them to drive away, and so she ventured a weak smile.

The driver was quick to smile in return, and tried one more time to connect. “Did you just come from some sort of Renaissance Faire or something?”

She struggled to make meaning without context. A woman in the backseat was eyeing Felicity’s dress, and it finally clicked. The period clothing.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “I did. But . . . but my car broke down and I need a phone.”

“There’s a phone down the road a ways,” the driver said.

A door opened to the backseat. “Hop in,” a woman told her.

And Felicity got in the car, every moment, every mile taking her further from her Viking.