The nearest ship rocked in the surf while another boat rowed for shore, packed with more armed men. Somewhere inland, a dog barked, and somewhere closer, a rooster crowed, as if all of this were perfectly ordinary and not the beginning of my complete nervous collapse. I crawled backward until the beach disappeared from view.
Inland, the land rolled away in fields and woods and muddy tracks. Smoke rose from the little houses clustered near the chapel. A woman in a rough wool gown hurried across a yard with a basket on her hip, chickens scattering ahead of her skirts. A boy drove a pair of pigs away from a fence with a stick.
I didn’t see any pavement or power lines. Not a single car tucked behind a cottage for the convenience of the actors between takes.
A laugh broke out of me, wild and breathless. It was laugh or cry, and crying felt dangerously close to sitting down, and sitting down felt like the first step toward being found by men with spears.
“All right, Darcy,” I whispered, wiping sand from my mouth with the back of my hand. “Panic later.”
It had always worked at a fire scene. Panic later. Fall apart later. Survive now.
A shout drifted up from the beach. I got to my feet and headed for the trees, still telling myself there was an explanation because there had to be one. There was always an explanation. Even if my palm still burned where an ancient brooch had been. Even if the old woman’s final words followed me into the trees.
Find him.
I wasn’t lost in the past. That was impossible. Something out of a movie. I was wet, bruised, frightened, and very possibly concussed, but I was absolutely not in the past.
And if I had to keep saying it until I believed it, well, I’d always been good at difficult jobs.
Three
DARCY
September, 1066 — Hastings, England
By the timeI reached the tree line, my lungs were burning and my boots squelched with every step. My sopping wet jeans clung to my legs, my jacket felt as though I’d stuffed the pockets with bricks, and I had sand in places no woman should ever have to discuss with another living soul.
I stopped behind an oak wide enough to hide me from the beach and bent over, hands braced on my knees while I dragged air into my lungs.
Behind me, somewhere beyond the rise, horns sounded over the crash of the sea. Not a film set, then. Maybe very committed re-enactors.
I put one hand against the rough bark and closed my eyes.
“Right,” I whispered. “Panic later.”
It had always worked at a fire scene. Panic later. Fall apart later. Survive now.
My body worked. I didn’t have any broken bones, there was one scratch on my cheek from the thorn bush, and an angry red circle in the center of my palm from the brooch.
My phone, purse, and wallet were gone. So was the brooch.
I’d searched the beach twice. Checked every pocket three times. All I had left from the antique fair was the burn in my palm and the old woman’s final words.
Find him.
Very helpful.
England contained a multitude of men. I pushed away from the oak and moved inland. The path beneath the trees was narrow but well used, packed hard under wet leaves and twisted roots. It smelled of damp earth, old bark, mushrooms, and woodsmoke carried on the wind.
Not petrol, melting plastic or electrical wiring. There was no chemical bite at the back of my throat. No antique fair pavilion in any direction that I could see. No Hastings I recognized. No cars, power lines, distant sirens, or aircraft.
The smells of a forest, thatch, and open fires filled my nose. Normal smells. Except nothing about this was normal.
The trees thinned without warning, and below sat a village, though village was a generous word.
A scattering of thatched buildings huddled along a muddy lane, their walls made of timber and woven branches plastered with something that looked suspiciously like mud. Smoke curled from openings in the low roofs. A small stone chapel stood at the far end, gray against the gray sky, without a tidy sign announcing opening hours or railings to stop tourists climbing on history.
Chickens scratched near a dung heap. A pig tried determinedly to break free from a fence Somewhere, a dog barked.
