Fortunately for Diana, this morning she had. Esha was able to create the portal without coming to Cadan’s house. Diana and Cadan had stepped through it in Cadan’s kitchen and out into Verulamium a second later. They had eight hours in which to get back through. This world got weirder with every day she spent in it.
“Be quick, Diana. It’s no’ safe for you here,” he said from behind her as they wove their way around collapsed stone walls and piles of rock.
“I’ll be fine. Quit being so overprotective and keep an eye out for anything unusual.” She glanced around at the ruins that looked like an old fortress with broken-down walls.
She shivered when the chill morning air cut through her thin jacket. Or perhaps it was the creepy feeling of the ruins that had her shivering. A fine English drizzle turned the sky into a gray, dreary backdrop for their adventure. With the soft grass beneath their feet, even footsteps couldn’t be heard in the silence.
Cadan followed close behind her, so near that she could almost feel the heat of him. She’d felt his eyes on her since they’d stepped out of the portal. Even when he scanned their surroundings, he was always sure to have her in his line of sight.
“Nothing to be found here, lassie. It’s been four hours.”
No, damn it. She would find something here. Except that she was starting to fear that the secrets of this place weren’t on the surface. Perhaps they were underground, but she was a historian, not an archaeologist.
“Just a few more minutes, because I don’t get it. I really recognized this place in the photo. I could feel it.”
But now that she was actually here, the view was entirely unfamiliar. Perhaps she’d once looked upon this place rather than actually been inside it? The photo had been a long-range shot from the nearby hill. Maybe that was it.
“Let’s climb up that hill.” She pointed toward the only rise.
He scowled, scanning their surroundings for danger. His broad shoulders were tense, the muscles of his arms in sharp relief. Cadan clearly liked things to go his way, and this wasn’t what he’d have chosen.
“Really, lassie? Isn’t it bad enough we’re out here with only these bloody tiny walls for cover? You want to climb up that hill there, in the open for all to see?”
“Which all? We’re alone here. Come on.” She headed off toward the hill. He’d catch up.
He did. Too soon. She hadn’t made it a few feet before he swept her up in his arms and swung her around to press her against one of the stone walls. His big body was hot against hers while the cold stone pressed into her back.
“Have a care, lassie. I’m this close to swinging you over my shoulder and carrying you back to my home. Doona be charging off like that again. You’ll stay near me.”
Though his tone was harsh, his grip on her arms gradually loosened. As he stared down at her, his dark brows drew together and something fierce flashed in his eyes.
“Either kiss me or let go.” She couldn’t believe she’d said that, but she meant it. He had to make up his damned mind.
He scowled at her, but she almost—almost—thought she saw longing. Then he released her and looked away as if the moment that had passed between them had flown away on the wind, or never existed at all.
Her heart didn’t sink. Not even a little.
“To the hill, lassie.”
She turned from him and headed toward the hill. If she could get to the top and look down—
A small sign caught her attention and made her breath catch in her throat. There, nestled against the western edge of the fort with a bit of bright green grass tufted at the base, was a sign that read Watling Street. In a daze, she walked up to it, the big hill in the distance forgotten. She could vaguely make out the sound of Cadan calling her name, but the buzzing in her ears drowned it out.
Watling Street. How had she not noticed this before from the books?
“The hill, lassie?”
“No, Cadan.” She reached out with a trembling hand to touch the sign. It wasn’t old, just a tourist marker, and one she’d never seen before, but it marked the remnants of a road that was two thousand years old. “You’ve got to see this.”
She looked over to see him striding through the ruins toward her, his big body moving gracefully among the tumbled stones. She caught sight of his eyes when his gaze landed on the sign. Surprise and also something like dread? But it was gone in a flash.
“You recognize Watling Street, don’t you?” She certainly did. Any scholar in her field worth their tweed coat would recognize Watling Street.
“It’s a historic road.”
“Not just any historic road. A Roman road. Scholars think that the last big battle between the Celts and Romans took place near Watling Street.”
There—it flashed across his face again. She was definitely on to something. And he’d definitely been lying.