Some Enchanted Waltz, A Time Trave Romance Page 2

  “The Gnome had a date with the Sci-Fi channel and Roger has a family at home.”

  “Leaving you and me with all the time in the world and no place to go but here.” Dan quipped. “Don’t worry. I’m on my way over. With any luck, the Gnome will get zapped into an episode of The Twilight Zone and find Nirvana at last.”

  “One can always hope.” Tara giggled, cheered by his optimism. The phone line clicked and crackled. She set the receiver down quickly, fearing she’d receive a zing.

  It was time to record the transmitter readings again. Tara grabbed the clipboard and headed for the transmitter room. The loud thrumming died just as she entered the stifling room. A deafening crash rumbled above the station. Tara froze in the darkness, clutching the clipboard to her chest. She reached into her cargo pants pocket to retrieve her cell phone. It wasn’t the first time she’d used it as a flashlight.

  It was hailing now. God, it sounded like a dinosaur was prancing on the roof.

  She gazed about the large, machine filled room illuminated by the pale blue glow of her cell phone. It was creepy being here in the dark, alone. She shivered, despite the heat, as the memory of another dark night resurfaced. Don’t go there! Tara thought, quickly squelching the ugly reminder of what almost happened.

  The power surged to life again with a primordial roar.

  The transmitter groaned at the same moment the lights blazed on, searing Tara’s eyeballs and nearly blinding her in their wake. She blinked, and focused on the dials before her. The readings were sluggish after the interruption. She adjusted the metering and buffering controls, punched in the code to dial the correct radio frequency, pushed the reboot button and leaned out of the room to hear if Rotten Rick was back on the air.

  Yes, she could hear his distinctive gravelly voice as he spewed the latest gossip about album releases and concert schedules. Tara breathed a sigh of relief. Disaster once more averted. She returned to the control room. As she took her seat at the control panel, the phone light lit up again. It was the Sheriff’s Department calling to report an unconfirmed funnel cloud sighted twenty five miles north, near Wausaukee.

  Tara brushed her bangs from her forehead with a sigh. She pushed the fade button to go live. “Tara O’Neill at WBAE with an emergency weather statement …”

  When she finished the broadcast Tara looked up to find Dan Wilson, the station’s engineer, standing in the doorway watching her with a satisfied smirk. To him, everything was all a great cosmic joke. His nickname at the station was Lurch as he towered above mere mortals at a staggering six feet and five inches. His right hand balanced the familiar cigarette. He irreverently flicked ashes on the floor as he rubbed the silver-blond stubble beneath his chin.

  “I thought you had some doings with the Rescue Squad tonight.” Tara gave the tall, middle aged blonde a grateful smile. “I’d hate to come between you and a free meal.”

  “Tomorrow.” He paused, inhaling and letting out a wreath of smoke. “The front door wasn’t locked, kid. What have I told you about locking up after The Gnome checks out for the night? With all the noise, any one could walk in here, and you wouldn’t know it until it’s too late. I might not be here next time.”

  Tara didn’t like the reminder of the chilling experience. Some perv from the FairyRing forum she made the mistake of giving her cell number to decided to follow her here one night and attempt to further the relationship—against her will.

  “Want a cookie?” She held up the goodie. “Macadamia Nut, from Subway.”

  Dan waved away her peace offering as he headed for the transmitter room.

  Tara cleaned the remains of her spilled sandwich from her notebook and began scanning the notes she had taken from the library volume on Irish History. She was writing her thesis for her master’s degree on the little known rebellion in Ireland that took place in 1798. Turning the page of her notebook to a blank sheet, she pulled Lecky’s History of Ireland out of her knapsack, preparing to delve into more research.

  The United Irishmen were the cloak and dagger patriots of the era, with members appearing to comply with the harsh British tactics by day while waging guerrilla warfare against their conquerors at night.

  Tara shivered. The air conditioning vent was directly above her in the ceiling, making her feel as if she were sitting in a meat locker. She shrugged on her denim jacket, and placed her hand in the pocket to warm it. Her iPod was still there. Her fingers hugged the smooth little miracle as she continued with her research. The United Irishman secretly trained militia among the peasants and amassed weapons for the planned overthrow of the British under the leadership of Theobald Wolfe-Tone and Lord Edward Fitzgerald. Wolfe-Tone garnered support from Napoleon, who promised to send a fleet of ships to aid the Irish patriots in freeing their land from British Rule. The arrangement wasn’t altruistic, as one might think. Napoleon hoped to achieve a back door invasion of England through Ireland and …

  “Tara!” Dan yelled from the transmitter room.

  At that same moment the lights went out.

  She reached for the flashlight this time, knocking over her soda, spilling the contents on the library book and her cargo pants. She swore under her breath.

  The lights flickered on then died out again. She hurried down the hall to the transformer room. “What is it?”

  “With the power zapping on and off every five minutes, I’m connecting the transmitter to the generator for the rest of the night. I need your help.” Dan shouted over the clamoring din of wind, rain and thunder surrounding the building. He was lying on his side in front of the transmitter, a cigarette in his mouth and both hands inside the access door as he struggled to repair the latest glitch in the recurring system failure.

  “As soon as I get this wire connected you push the power button and re-dial the frequency code so we get back on the air.”

  Tara held the light so he could see. With his cigarette clenched between his teeth, he tightened the cables to the secondary power source, eyeballed the generator’s voltage meter then turned the switch, transferring them to emergency power.

  “Now.” He ordered, his silver blonde head haloed in the dim light of the flashlight.

  Shoving the flashlight under her arm to free both hands, Tara dialed the proper frequency with her left while placing her right hand on the power button. She pressed it.

  “Wait!” Dan’s voice shrieked. “Don’t press that button—“

  A tingling sensation made her teeth seem alive with energy. A blue aura filled the room, sending a jolt of pain through her. All the nerves in her body shrieked agony as liquid fire course through her. Tara was unable to move or even scream as wave after wave of teeth-clenching, nerve shearing bursts of excruciating pain engulfed her body.

  The pain gradually gave way to numbness. She could no longer feel her arms or her legs. She was floating, drifting, and then rushing quickly down a waterslide of slick, sizzling, crackling electrical currents.

  Someone kept calling her name. The voice grew faint as the zinging waves propelled her farther away. She tried to answer, to call out for him to come and pull her out of the churning seas of energy, but her voice would not come. Only a low groaning filled her ears when she tried to speak. The blue aura surrounding her became pink and then transformed to fluorescent green, yellow and purple. Waves of vibrant color were crashing about her, assaulting her, making her teeth ache and her limbs tingle as if millions of tiny needles had been shoved into her skin. At last the waves subsided and an icy cold sensation replaced it. Tara was drowning as a shower of water sluiced over her as she lay in the slick mud.

  Coughing and sputtering, she instinctively tried to rise, to escape the torrent of water flowing over her face, into her eyes and her nose. Yet, she could not move.

  A flash of light brought a curious vision; men on horseback. They pointed to where she lay in the drenching rain, stunned by the powerful forces that assaulted her body.

  A white horse reared up in the flash of lightning. A voi
ce shouted above the din, “Here’s another one.” Male hands grabbed Tara roughly and hauled her to her feet. “Want him strung up with the other rebels, Capt’n?”

  Chapter Two

  Tara was stunned, unable to resist the rough male hands dragging her to her feet. She slumped in a boneless heap beneath their hands as they dragged her into an old rough hewn log building. A garbled gurgling, faint as a whisper, was all she could force through her aching teeth.

  Several lanterns illuminated what she recognized as a barn. A tripod constructed from crude logs was in the center of the dirt floor, and a man was tied to it with his arms over his head. His bare back was saturated with blood and gore. He was unconscious.

  At least, she hoped he was unconscious and not dead.

  Tara tried again to form speech. Her mind was numb.

  She closed her eyes. Who were these men? They were familiar and yet not familiar.

  They were dressed in military uniforms; English—from the eighteenth century.

  More important; what could these men want with her?

  She opened her eyes as they dragged her to the cruel instrument of torture, the triangle made of logs, realizing she was about to find out.

  Terror filled her mind as the men circled about her like a pack of vicious animals.

  “Get that scum down and put this one up. We’ll see what mettle he’s made of.”

  “Looks scrawny to me, Sir.” A man with an English accent commented.

  “Can’t be more ‘n a lad. Won’t stand up to the triangle.”

  “An’ look at his clothes, why, he’s half dressed in the middle of winter, idiot.”

  “Let’s have a closer look.”

  The men holding her jerked her upright. The fat soldier on her left yanked the ponytail in the back of her head until she looked up at him while the other one held the lantern up in her face. Her jacket was jerked open.

  “It’s a lass! And she’s wearing only a short shift and men’s breeches, sir.”

  “Damn Rebels, using even children against us and half grown lassies.”

  “Makes no difference.” Their leader snarled. “If she’s thrown her lot in with the rebels she can share their punishment. Hang her up.”

  “Aw, Cap’n. Why not let us have a little sport with her first?” The sour breathed soldier thrust his face close to hers. “Might loosen her tongue more than the lash.”

  “N-n-no.” Tara choked as the horror of facing gang rape replaced her fear of the triangle punishment she was about to endure.

  “So, the vixen does have a tongue in her head. Aye, darling, we’ll just see what kind of fruit ye got hidden in that camisole, can’t be too hasty now Cap’n and damage such rare goods afore they be sampled—“

  A thunder echoed from the roof above. It sounded like a gunshot.

  “Unhand the lady, boyos, or ye’ll be meetin’ the Coiste-Bodhar as one Regiment.” A deep growl volleyed forth from the dark loft above their heads.

  The men let go of her and looked upward as the crumpled form of their commander slumped to the floor, his white uniform vest stained crimson.

  Deprived of their support, Tara fell face down on the dirt floor. She wiggled, trying to push herself up and spit furiously as dirt covered her lips. She was still paralyzed.

  A figure dropped down from the loft above. He landed in front of her with a soft thud. She couldn’t make out more than tall black boots as she moved her eyes upward.

  With her face close to those muddy black boots, Tara cringed, stifling a whimper.

  The owner of those menacing boots knelt beside her, balancing on his heels. He was dressed in black, both pants and shirt. His face was hidden beneath a dark scarf. Silvery eyes kept a sharp watch on the men who dumped her on the dirt floor. He held an antique looking pistol in his hand.

  The frozen moment dissolved as the highwayman’s comrades swiftly followed his descent from above. Tara heard the steady thwap and thump as each man dropped from the loft to confront her captors. The other men were dressed in black like their leader, and they were rounding up the startled soldiers.

  Satisfied that all was secure, the man kneeling before her placed his pistol inside his belt and turned his attentions to Tara.

  “Your name, lass?” His tone was gruff, a deep guttural voice. The accent was foreign, the exact dialect obscured.

  Paralyzed in mind and body, Tara could only stare up at him with panic.

  “There now, miss, we’ll see you safely home.” The stranger promised. The dark man rolled her over onto her back. He brushed the dirt from her cheek and her lips with a gloved hand. She wanted to thank him for that small kindness, maybe later.

  He lifted her from the cold dirt floor and cradled her across his lap.

  Tara was drenched to the skin. Her denim jacket was wet and soggy, as were her cargo pants. She’d lost her flip-flops somewhere in this strange nightmare. She was shivering, from the cold and the horror caging her heart. She coughed and sputtered, feeling herself sink deeper into the stranger’s hard frame.

  The man brushed her wet bangs out of her eyes. “Tis well. My boys will leave you safe, I vow.”

  Tara gazed up at him with gratitude. A long black scarf was tied about his head, hiding his face above the strong jaw-line and generous mouth. Tiny holes had been cut in the scarf, giving deep shadows to the glittering orbs hiding within.

  “Attacking a harmless lassie,” A second man knelt beside him, dressed the same as his leader with black clothing and a scarf hiding his face. He was slender, elegant, the chin below the scarf was stubbled with white, but his voice was oddly musical and kindness itself. “Ach, tearing a wee lass out o’ her home in her undress, a noble calling for Redcoats, is it not? Come on, Lass, don’t dawdle, we’ll see you safely home again, we’ve not much time, up with ye, now.”

  “She’s injured.” The gruff voice came from the man holding her across his knees. “Take her, Mick, get her out of here before we light the powder.”

  Together, they stood up, lifting Tara from the floor between them, and then her masked rescuer surrendered her to his more slender comrade. The jostling of her body during the transfer brought sheer agony. Tara cried out. Every nerve in her body was screaming. Merciful darkness embraced her, numbing her tortured frame.

  The soldiers had been rounded up and bound together in a circle, back to back.

  Once Ned and the mysterious girl were carried to safety, Captain Midnight kicked the wooden powder keg to the floor and wrenched a torch from a stand to light it with. His men spilled the second keg of powder about the floor. He nodded as they spread a path of gun powder between the soldiers and the exit. At his command, the men cleared the building, save himself and his man holding the other torch.

  With a grin he saluted the huddled mass of King George’s men; men who would burn down cottagers in their homes along with their wives and children, if given the chance. Too many had died by the triangle or by house burnings. Families within his very district. The soldiers cruelty hardened him to his purpose; protecting his own.

  “To Erin’s Freedom, mates, and a salute to Captain Midnight.”

  The torch dropped into the white powder. He watched it snake across the floor as he backed towards the door. Rory made his exit and last of all, Captain Midnight followed his men. Once outside, they all ran to the safety of the trees where their mounts waited.

  As they mounted their horses the powder kegs exploded. The horses needed no incentive to flee the scene. A rush of smoke, flaming boards and fiery debris chased them through the trees, as the force of the explosion could be heard for miles away.

  The soldiers had stumbled upon their cache of arms while Ned and his son were guarding it. Young Sean had crept out of the barn unnoticed through the upper loft and had begged the Fianna to rescue his father. It took two hours to assemble enough men for a successful raid, during which time the soldiers had seen fit to interrogate Ned on a makeshift triangle. The man was badly maimed, barely alive from t
he torturous lash.

  One by one, the members of The Fianna climbed the nearby tree and entered the barn from the loft opening on the north side without detection. They waited until the opportune moment to drop down on their enemies before they had a chance to rally a defense. How the girl came to be in the hands of the English dogs was a mystery.

  At any rate, the impromptu rescue had been a success despite the loss of arms and powder. Their hidden munitions shed had become their enemy’s tomb.

  As they reached the edge of cliffs above the coastline, the men slowed their mounts.

  “What is it?” Rory’s voice bellowed out as the men kept their horses reined in a semi-circle facing the bay.

  “Thought I heard a commotion, out there.” Shamus gestured to the turbulent waters of Bantry Bay. “Screaming. Listen.”

  Their captain scanned the dark horizon. “I hear nothing but wind.”

  “You’re dreamin’, man.” Jamie agreed. “Let’s break it up, back to our own homes, to a pint of ale and a roaring fire.”

  “Aye.” Several voices rose in agreement.

  “Mayhap t’was the girl there, moaning?”

  “The lass is out cold, fainted when we carried her out.”

  Captain Midnight drew his steed up beside Mick, who held the mysterious girl across his lap. “A swoon lasts a few moments. She must be badly injured.”

  “Aye, who knows what liberties them swine took upon the lass afore bringing her to their captain.” Alan the Bold growled from the darkness. “I say we should have castrated the lot of them. A true man never raises his hand to them that’s weaker than he.”

  “And who says the English be men? They’re vermin, a horde of locusts blighting the countryside, ever taking. Destroying all that cross their path.”

  “Be done with your philosophies, boyos.” Captain Midnight took control of the situation. “We must clear the area before the explosion is reported to the garrison and a search is made for the missing soldiers.”

  “Aye, Sir.” The motley band acknowledged his caution.