“Ah!” the man at their side exclaimed. “Our fair maiden has decided to join the land of the living.”
“We are currently trying to get our hides safely out of England,” the man holding her said evenly.
“England?” She scrunched her brow. “Is that part of the fantasy?”
“If only!” The red- haired man barked a laugh. “A fantasy. That’s rich . . .”
“No,” her guy said, “ ’tis England indeed.”
England? She stiffened, her heart kicking up a notch. He couldn’t be serious. How the hell could she have landed in England? Unless they’d kidnapped her. But how? Her apartment had actual bars on the windows.
“How’d I get here? Did Livvie set this up?”
“I think she’s still feeling her wine,” the red- haired man said.
“No,” she protested. She’d been mustering outrage, but confusion made her voice small. “I’m not drunk.” She inhaled deeply, and trying to gather herself, focused on the rhythmic sway of the horse’s gait.
Horse. What was up with the horses, anyway? Clearly these guys weren’t kidnappers. Two horses weren’t exactly the fastest getaway. A kid on a skateboard could pass them. If there’d been any roads. Which there weren’t. Here in England.
But of course there were roads in England. So why weren’t there any roads here? Even in those British movies where everyone hied to their country manors by carriage, there were roads.
But this? This looked like . . . like the land of Robin Hood.
Her heart slammed harder in her chest as she tried to make sense of it.
She’d made a wish. She’d made a wish and ended up here.
She just needed to figure out where here was. She craned her head. Bucolic fields stretched gently before them, like paradise. He’d said England, but there was nothing modern, as far as the eye could see. She’d traveled to some pretty remote spots in her life, and still, you could always see something. Distant cars, power lines, something.
But here there were just horses, and men in fancy velvet coats, and lush landscape all around. Just like Robin Hood. Or like a fairy tale. Some strange world offering a snapshot from the past.
Could it be the past? She gave a breathy laugh. No way.
She couldn’t have been transported from the real world, from her world. She was supposed to show up for the morning shift. She’d waited weeks for that cute coffee shop to have an opening. And who’d water all her plants?
Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. She could only manage shallow breaths now, as though her chest had shrunk. She did another scan of the countryside. Impossible.
No cars, no airplanes, no telephone wires. No modern world. Anywhere.
“Hang on,” she said suddenly. She was losing it. People didn’t just land in fairy tales. She’d call Livvie, get a reality check. “A phone. Do you have a phone?”
“Have we a what?” the red-haired man asked.
“Telephone?” she asked in disbelief. “No? You don’t . . . You don’t know a Maid Marian, do you?”
“Tele . . .” The man holding her glared. “Is that French?”
“You’ve never heard of a phone,” she muttered, her heart thundering now. “But you speak English, right? Here in . . . England? Where you don’t have phones?”
England. She studied the sword dangling from the red-haired man’s hip. Old England.
What had she done? That crazy candle. How would she ever get back? And what about Livvie? Livvie would be so worried.
Holy crap. Could it really be the past? Didn’t they have all kinds of wars in the past? And plagues? Oh God, plagues. Why hadn’t she paid more attention in history class?
Okay, be cool. Maybe it wasn’t what it seemed. She didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger. How to handle it?
She strained eyes and ears for some sign of life, but there was nothing. Hell, there weren’t really even any sounds, apart from the horses. And the breathing of the men.