Page 34 of So Close To Heaven (Far From Home #11)

The keep and all of Caeravorn was certainly quieter with the armies gone.

From the open shutters came the steady wash of wind off the water and, faintly, the distant clink of metal from somewhere outside.

Ivy sat in the chair she’d hardly left, leaning back to allow her expanding belly space.

Idly, while her gaze was held by the blue sky beyond the window, she considered again names for her daughter.

She couldn’t decide between Lily and Olivia.

A wisp of movement caught in her periphery and Ivy turned her gaze to the bed.

The woman’s eyes were open, soft gray, clear now, and once more trained on Ivy.

“You’re awake.” Ivy leaned in, keeping her voice calm. She’d worried that she might have overwhelmed the woman with her excitement hours ago. “Hi. I’m Ivy.”

The woman’s lips parted. No sound came out at first. Ivy stood, reached for the waiting cup of water on the bedside table and slid a hand beneath the woman’s shoulders, helping to prop her up a bit.

“Just a sip,” she said. “You’ve had a fever for a day and a half.”

The woman drank, coughed once, and sank back. Her ash-blonde hair fanned across the pillow.

“How...long?” she whispered.

“Since yesterday afternoon. You’ve slept most of it.” Ivy laid the back of her fingers to the woman’s forehead, then her cheek. Cool. Thank God. “No fever now.”

The woman’s gaze traveled the room, and Ivy grimaced, suspecting plenty of questions would follow.

Her gaze returned to Ivy with a flicker of alarm. “Where am I?”

“Caeravorn Keep,” Ivy said. “On the west coast of Scotland. You were found up in the mountain, apparently, and brought here.”

“Found,” the woman repeated, as if testing the word. “By whom?”

“A traveling tinker.” At the nonplussed expression, Ivy explained, “Think...repairman with a cart, with the personality of a used car salesman.” The corner of Ivy’s mouth tugged.

“He did the right thing, though, bringing you here. Do you...remember anything? About what happened—how you ended up in the mountain?”

The woman blinked, her brow pinching. “I... I don’t know. It’s foggy.” She pressed her lips together as if chasing a memory, then shook her head faintly against the pillow.

“That’s okay,” Ivy said quickly, smoothing the blanket near her shoulder. “Don’t push yourself. You’ve been through a lot.”

The woman’s eyes drifted, scanning the room once more, the stone walls, the wooden beams above, the glassless window letting in a long, narrow rectangle of pale daylight. Her gaze darted back, uncertain. “My phone?”

“I didn’t see a phone with you,” Ivy said carefully. “You came with nothing but the clothes on your back. And, um... phones wouldn’t work here anyway.”

The woman frowned faintly. “No service?”

“Right.” Ivy gave a small, gentle nod, choosing her words with care. This wasn’t the moment to dump the impossible on someone still pale and weak from fever. Best to wait, see what the woman herself remembered.

“Is there a land line here?” the woman asked.

Ivy winced. “There’s not. I’m sorry.” After a moment, sensing the woman’s increasing anxiety, Ivy thought to distract her. “Obviously, you’re from the States. Were you—are you—just vacationing in Scotland? How long have you been here?”

The woman’s brow furrowed, as if wading through fog.

“Vacation,” she said meagerly. “With my husband.” A pause, while her brows furrowed.

“We were separated—I’d been searching for him for days, but nothing.

..nothing seemed right. Nothing made sense.

” Her fingers curled slightly into the blanket.

“I can’t piece it together.” She exhaled sharply, frustration flickering across her face.

Ivy’s chest gave a sympathetic squeeze. Oh, God!

A husband. Someone waiting, searching, someone she loved.

That was a wound Ivy couldn’t begin to patch, not with any amount of cool cloths or calming words.

And it set their circumstances in such stark relief—this woman, ripped from someone who might even now be desperate to find her; Ivy, who had slipped through time with scarcely a ripple in the world she’d left behind.

She’d had no grand delusions about her flaky mother or absent father scouring all of Scotland for her, no frantic family plastering missing posters across cities and towns.

“Don’t force it,” Ivy said gently, reaching to smooth the blanket at the woman’s side.

“Memories will come back when you’re stronger.

Right now, all that matters is you’re safe.

” But curiosity edged through her restraint.

“Do you remember where you were last? What you were doing before you were separated from your husband?”

“I can’t,” said the woman, noticeably frustrated by this.

“Maybe you were hiking near the mountain?” Ivy suggested. “Where you were found?”

She shook her head, having no answer, it seemed.

“Did you notice anything...odd before you were separated?” Ivy persisted. “Like, something felt off, or odd?”

The woman’s gray eyes cut to hers, sharp despite their weariness, the question appearing to have unnerved her.

Ivy smiled and waved a dismissive hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like I’m interrogating you.

I just... thought it might help you, to talk it through.

” She reached for the cup again and offered it with both hands, softening her voice.

“Here. Another sip. You can rest, and when you feel stronger, we’ll talk more. ”

The suspicion in the woman’s gaze lingered, but after a moment she drank, then let her head sink back into the pillow. Her eyes closed, lashes trembling with exhaustion.

Ivy settled quietly in the chair again, chiding herself. Too much, too soon.

When next the woman woke, the room was subtly changed.

A fresh rush of cool air drifted in from the open shutters, the sky outside painted with the colors of dusk.

A faint fire burned in the hearth, not for warmth so much as to keep the damp at bay.

The woman was no longer lying in a fever-sweat but propped carefully against pillows, a long linen chemise softening the starkness of her thin frame.

Ivy had been in and out all day, and returned to find her thus, upright, looking almost expectant.

She was relieved now to see a bit of color in her cheeks.

She carried with her a tray containing a round of bread, a few slivers of soft and hard cheeses, and a cup of watered ale, having entered the kitchens for the first time to request just this, something gentle for a stomach so long empty.

She smiled at the woman and approached the bed, saying, “Sorry, there’s no legs on these trays,” as she set the light supper down on the woman’s lap.

One of the younger maids popped inside, nodding politely toward the bed though her eyes didn’t stray there.

She stooped at the hearth, laying in more peat and a few sticks of kindling until the fire caught, then smoothed her apron and slipped out again.

Ivy studied the woman in the bed, gauging her reaction.

To her mind, Claire seemed... unaffected.

Her gaze had followed the maid, but without surprise, no widening eyes or startled flinch at the sight of a girl dressed straight out of a tapestry.

Maybe her brain was still sluggish from fever, or maybe she hadn’t yet had the strength to grasp what she was seeing.

No sooner had the door closed behind the maid than the healer entered. Her brows rose when she saw Claire upright, but she said nothing, moving instead with purpose across the chamber. She laid the back of her hand against Claire’s brow, then gave a satisfied little click of her tongue.

“Aye, the fire’s gone from her.” A curt nod, then a glance at Ivy. “Keep her drinking, even if she grumbles. She’ll be weak as a newborn lamb for a time yet. Nae meat, nae heavy stew. Just this, bread and soft cheese,”

she lectured, pointing to the tray of food. “?Twill serve her better till her strength returns.” She paused, glancing between Ivy and Claire for a moment, her sharp gaze seeming to assess them. Finally, she said to Ivy, “Ye’ve done well, mistress. Few watch as constant as ye have.”

Ivy blinked. Mistress?

When the healer left, Claire’s eyes darted toward Ivy. “Why—who was that?”

“The healer,” Ivy said, before adding vaguely, “Kind of the local doctor since we’re...pretty far out in the middle or nowhere.”

Ivy believed it was helpful for Claire to have seen them, the maid and the healer. Nothing dreamlike about either one of them—the woman would need those little pieces to hold on to later, when Ivy had to explain more.

“Are you a nurse?” the woman asked once the healer had gone.

“Me?” Ivy gave a short laugh and thumped her chest. “Oh, God, no. I’m just a—” The words faltered.

What am I? A farm girl from Indiana. A failed vet student.

A pregnant woman stranded in the wrong century.

Nothing she could say would make sense. Finally she managed a wry smile. “I’m just me. Ivy Mitchell.”

“I’m Claire, by the way.”

Ivy was thrilled with the introduction, and then sorry she’d not thought to even ask the woman’s name yet. “Hi, Claire. Nice to meet you.” Sorry for the earthshattering news I’ll have to eventually deliver to you.

The woman studied her, gray eyes curious even in fatigue. “How far along are you?” She asked, gesturing toward Ivy’s belly, with half a chunk of bread in her hand.

“Oh, um, almost eight months now,” she answered, smiling.

“Your first?”

Ivy nodded and then her heart leapt with alarm. “Do you have children?” Please say no. Please say no . She couldn’t stomach the idea of the woman being separated by more than seven hundred years from her children.

“No. Not...yet.”

“I’m so glad to see you sitting up and eating,” Ivy remarked, simply making conversation.

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I took my first bite.”