Page 37 of So Close To Heaven (Far From Home #11)

He walked to the trees’ edge and stood a moment alone, watching the English struggle to knit their column back together far below.

Removed from the brief fight, Ivy’s face slid into his thoughts once again.

And then her voice, exasperated, her mock complaint that he’d waited until the moment of leaving to kiss her.

The memory tugged at his lips, curling the corners.

He let that small flash of her settle in his chest, a steadier kind of strength than iron or fire before he returned to his men.

***

The sea wind curled around them, sharp with salt from the Firth, snapping at their borrowed wool skirts and tugging loose strands of hair from the braid Ivy had taken to wearing. The sky was pale and restless, clouds sweeping low. Today, the gulls’ cries were muffled and carried off by the wind.

Claire had apparently decided she’d had enough of the silence and self-inflicted solitary confinement. She’d appeared at Ivy’s chamber door that morning, knocking impatiently just after the maid had delivered a breakfast tray.

“I can’t take it anymore,” she’d declared, her tone brisk and yet sulky. “I have to get out of here. I tried to go outside yesterday, but some kid told me I couldn’t leave.”

“That was my idea,” Ivy admitted quickly, hands lifted in apology.

“Not because I mean to hold you hostage or anything, but because it isn’t safe to wander beyond Caeravorn.

But...” she’d hesitated, then offered, “would you like to get some air? We can walk the cliffs again. And maybe... we can talk. I know you must still have questions.”

Claire’s nod had been swift.

They’d strode together through the bailey, Claire’s sharp eyes darting about, lighting on the stables with their empty stalls, the cold forge, the shuttered outbuildings, before the two women passed through the side gate and onto the cliff path beyond.

“Why is it so quiet?” Claire asked, her tone edged with criticism. “I mean, if this is supposed to be a real, living, breathing medieval castle?”

“Most of the men have ridden out,” Ivy explained.

“There’s a large English force moving north.

The laird here, Ciaran Kerr, and his friend—Alaric—took their men to scout and harry them.

Only the house guard stayed behind... and two younger men I trust.” She hesitated, then added gently, “You don’t have to hold onto all of that right now.

” A wry thought slipped out before she could stop herself.

“Honestly, it would probably be more convincing if the armies were still here. Hard to argue with hundreds of medieval soldiers in one place.”

“I still can’t believe it.” Claire shook her head slowly, gray eyes narrowing at the horizon as if the truth might be written there. “Actually, no—I refuse to believe it. I just haven’t figured out your motive yet, for making it up.”

“I understand,” Ivy murmured. A small, helpless laugh escaped her. “Claire, I still say that to myself sometimes—and it’s been nearly a month.” She studied the other woman a moment, then asked carefully, “Would it help if I told you what happened to me? How I came to be here?”

Claire’s dark expression said she doubted it, but she gave a shrug, her voice still sharp with anger. “I can’t stop you.”

Ivy pretended Claire did want to hear what had happened, and kept her tone level, calm.

“Well... I’m from Indiana. I originally came to Scotland to study abroad—I was training to be a vet.

Then I met this guy, David, and, well—” she grinned awkwardly and pointed both forefingers at her stomach—“this happened. So I stayed on after the semester. Then David decided he wasn’t interested in either me or the baby. My bad. I judged him wrong.”

She shrugged and shoved her hands at the skirts, forgetting they had no pockets.

Fisting them at her sides, she pressed on.

“Anyway, I planned to go home. My flight was booked. I thought I’d take one last easy hike—say goodbye to Scotland, you know?

I’ve gone over it a hundred times, but I still can’t pinpoint what happened, or if there were signs.

The only thing I remember is the air changing.

Like it got heavier. Denser. Then everything around me shifted—suddenly the trail, the trees, all of it. .. none of it was familiar anymore.”

Her throat tightened. She forced herself to keep going.

“That was the easy part. The hard part came after. I wandered for hours, trying to find anything recognizable. Instead, I stumbled straight into a battle. Scots against English. Arrows flying, men screaming, blood everywhere.” Her voice cracked, but she steadied it.

“I didn’t understand any of it. I thought maybe it was a reenactment, until I saw a people die.

That’s when it hit me that whatever had happened—this was real. ”

Her hazel eyes dropped to the ground, to her skirts brushing along the tall grass in the wind.

“And that’s when Alaric found me. Sword in hand, face bloody from fighting.

I didn’t know who he was, only that he terrified me.

I was so confused, I thought surely I was dreaming.

He looked at me like I’d dropped from the sky, which I guess, in a way, I had.

He demanded to know who I was, where I came from.

I couldn’t even answer him. I was too confused, too scared.

And from there...” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“From there, it only got stranger. At the same time, it became more real. I found myself traveling with them—the MacKinlays, that is, Alaric’s clan.

After a while, with things only becoming more confusing, I finally asked what year it was—like who asks that question?

Outside of movies, or fiction, who has to ask that question?

I passed out when they told me—it didn’t make sense, and yet, considering what I’d seen and heard, it was the only thing that did make sense. ”

“But it’s impossible,” Claire pressed. “You can’t just...slip through time like stepping through a doorway.”

“And yet here we are.”

Ivy angled her toward the wind, guiding them slowly along the cliff path but keeping them well back from the edge.

Gulls still circled and screeched overhead, and the sea below hissed against the rocks.

“I went through the same thought process you are. I told myself there had to be a logical explanation—that maybe I’d fallen, hit my head, and was in a coma.

That I was imagining it all. But no matter how many times I pinched myself, I stayed here.

Eventually... you stop fighting what your eyes keep showing you. ”

Claire shot her a sidelong glance, lips pressed thin. “You don’t seem unhinged by it. But I feel like I’m going to be. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Honestly?” Ivy exhaled a dry laugh. “I was marching with a medieval army in those first days. Confused, terrified—but survival came first. There wasn’t time to break down, not with men and swords and danger everywhere.

Sure, it tortured me in the quiet moments, but most of the time I was just trying to get through each day without drawing attention—especially from the laird.

Alaric. He scared me half to death in the beginning. ”

“And now?” Claire prompted, her tone edged with curiosity instead of anger.

Ivy blushed. She felt the heat crawling up her face. “Now... we’ll see. But let’s just say I haven’t prayed in years, and I pray every morning and every night that he comes back safely.”

Claire’s eyes widened, the sharpness in them easing for the first time all day. “So you walked—or fell—into a historical romance novel?”

Ivy laughed outright, her face still warm. She hadn’t thought of it that way, but the words hit their mark. “I guess I did. Or maybe a medieval time-travel fantasy.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment, until Claire spoke again.

“But... did you love him?” Claire asked suddenly.

Ivy’s head snapped toward her. “Alaric?”

Claire shook her head and clarified, “David, the father.”

Ivy hesitated, her throat tightening. “I thought I did,” she admitted at last, her voice low.

“At one time, maybe I really did. He made me feel like I wasn’t invisible, like I mattered.

He was my first real boyfriend.” She let out a breath, realizing the strangeness of it even as she said it.

“But since I’ve been here... I don’t think I’ve thought of him once.

Not until now.” She showed a wince to Claire, as if to say, How awful am I?

Claire gave a short laugh, not at all unkind. “So, you’re telling me time travel cured you of a bad boyfriend.”

Ivy snorted, the sound caught between a groan and a laugh. “God. When you put it like that...”

Ivy froze mid-step, her hand flying to her stomach. A sharp tightening gripped low in her belly, startling her enough to gasp. “Oh, no. No, no, no,” she muttered, her knees locking as though bracing herself against the wind.

Claire stopped short. “What? What is it?”

“I—I don’t know.” Ivy pressed her palms against the curve of her stomach, eyes wide.

“It just... everything clenched for a second.” Her voice rose an octave.

“Oh God, Claire, what if it’s labor? What if it’s happening right now?

I’m not ready—I haven’t read the expectant mother books in months—I thought I’d have time—I wanted Alaric here when the time came—”

Claire reached out and caught her arm firmly. “Relax. Breathe. Did it feel like tightening, or was there pain, like cramps?”

“It didn’t hurt,” Ivy said, a bit breathless with fright now.

“You’re fine. You’re not in labor,” Claire attempted to assure her.

“How can you say that?” Ivy demanded, her voice pitched high, half whine, half plea. “How do you know? You said you don’t even have kids!”

“I don’t,” Claire said evenly, “but I’m a nurse. A trauma nurse.”

Ivy blinked at her, stunned, then sagged with selfish relief. So strong was her reaction to this blessed news, tears misted in her eyes. “Oh, thank God. Oh my God, Claire, you have no idea how happy I am to hear that.”

Claire’s mouth quirked, then broke into a grin—the first real one Ivy had seen from her since she’d woken. It transformed her face, made her look softer, younger, almost radiant despite the wind whipping her hair across her cheek.

“Those are Braxton-Hicks contractions,” Claire said, her tone both confident and a little teasing. “Practice rounds, if you will. Annoying, but harmless. You’re not going into labor. Not yet.”

Ivy let out a shaky laugh, still clutching her stomach but loosening her grip. “Well, that’s just fabulous news.”

Claire chuckled, shaking her head and then sobered, as if a thought had come to her. “Maybe,” she began, now the breathless one, “if what you say is true, maybe I was—brought here? Sent here?—for a reason.”

Ivy stared at her, her mouth falling open, wondering if it might be true.