no immediate danger.
I was most definitely aware of my unclothed skin and already aching body, and now that the threat, whatever it was, had diminished it was time to get angry.
Roman beat me to it.
‘You certainly know how to choose your moment,’ he snarled.
‘Huh! You know full well I don’t get a choice in when or where,’ I retorted, scrambling to my feet.
‘Sometimes I wonder,’ he muttered, sotto voce.
‘Sorry if I spoilt your fun,’ I spat back, sarcasm dripping from every word.
‘It wasn’t fun. I was about to feed.’
‘So that’s what you call it, feeding ? It looked like you intended to do a whole lot more!’
‘What if I did?’ he demanded. ‘It’s been twenty-five years. That’s a long time with just my hand for company.’
I gasped at his crudeness. It was so un-Roman.
We stared at each other, me resentful and Roman defiant, until he once more took charge of the situation.
‘We must cut across the fields and come to my house from the back,’ he said. ‘Once you are safely inside , I will return the lady to her own home. Here, take my jacket.’ He was all solicitous and courteous. I narrowed my eyes at him, wanting to tell him where he could stick his jacket, but common sense and goose-bumps overrode temper and I snatched it out of his hands, stabbing my arms through the sleeves. It reached to my knees and I was glad it covered me: it wasn’t easy having an argument when you were the only one butt naked.
‘Do you want me to carry you?’
‘I can walk.’
He looked pointedly at my unshod feet , but didn’t say anything further, just picked up the other woman and cradled her in his arms.
I knew I was wearing my sulkiest expression , but there was nothing I could do about it. I tried for neutral but my lips narrowed into a thin, straight line of their own accord, and my eyebrows insisted on a frown.
I turned away from him and stomped along the river bank.
‘Wrong way,’ he called, and, mustering whatever dignity I could find, I whirled around and strode past him, ignoring the sharp little stones under my feet and the squelch as I trod in something I didn’t want to think about. He followed behind, wisely not saying a word until it was time to leave the river and strike out across the fields.
I stalked in front of him occasionally looking back and shooting him glowering glances until the house where I had killed Wilfred came into sight.
I stopped, not wanting to go any further. I was a murderer returning to the scene of the crime and I wished I was anywhere but here.
‘Here’s a key. Go inside and lock the door behind you. Don’t open it to anyone.’
‘Not even you?’ I couldn’t refrain from sarcasm, even now.
‘I won’t need to use the door.’
Of course he wouldn’t. Silly me.
‘Go,’ he commanded. ‘I need to return the lady before she is missed.’
He disappeared into the night, leaving me standing alone, staring at the house in the distance.
I hated him . I couldn’t believe he would bring me back to the very spot where I had taken another man’s life, to the very same house.
I walked slowly to the wall which enclosed the garden, replaying every second of my flight from the bedroom to the kitchen, remembering the feel of the blade in my hand as it parted Wilfred’s flesh. I recalled the blood: its scent and colour and the sheer quantity of it. And Wil’s eyes as he died.
I couldn’t go in, not by myself, and maybe not ever. I would wait for Roman to return, ask him to find me some clothes, and then – I had no idea what I would do next.
I hitched my backside onto the wall and waited, considering my options. I could remain on my little piece of wall until I went back to my own time, but that could be many hours, or d ays. I could leave, but I had nowhere I could go. Then I ran out of options. So I waited, and waited, and eventually Roman returned, in a much better humour than when he had left, and I could guess why: men are always
I was most definitely aware of my unclothed skin and already aching body, and now that the threat, whatever it was, had diminished it was time to get angry.
Roman beat me to it.
‘You certainly know how to choose your moment,’ he snarled.
‘Huh! You know full well I don’t get a choice in when or where,’ I retorted, scrambling to my feet.
‘Sometimes I wonder,’ he muttered, sotto voce.
‘Sorry if I spoilt your fun,’ I spat back, sarcasm dripping from every word.
‘It wasn’t fun. I was about to feed.’
‘So that’s what you call it, feeding ? It looked like you intended to do a whole lot more!’
‘What if I did?’ he demanded. ‘It’s been twenty-five years. That’s a long time with just my hand for company.’
I gasped at his crudeness. It was so un-Roman.
We stared at each other, me resentful and Roman defiant, until he once more took charge of the situation.
‘We must cut across the fields and come to my house from the back,’ he said. ‘Once you are safely inside , I will return the lady to her own home. Here, take my jacket.’ He was all solicitous and courteous. I narrowed my eyes at him, wanting to tell him where he could stick his jacket, but common sense and goose-bumps overrode temper and I snatched it out of his hands, stabbing my arms through the sleeves. It reached to my knees and I was glad it covered me: it wasn’t easy having an argument when you were the only one butt naked.
‘Do you want me to carry you?’
‘I can walk.’
He looked pointedly at my unshod feet , but didn’t say anything further, just picked up the other woman and cradled her in his arms.
I knew I was wearing my sulkiest expression , but there was nothing I could do about it. I tried for neutral but my lips narrowed into a thin, straight line of their own accord, and my eyebrows insisted on a frown.
I turned away from him and stomped along the river bank.
‘Wrong way,’ he called, and, mustering whatever dignity I could find, I whirled around and strode past him, ignoring the sharp little stones under my feet and the squelch as I trod in something I didn’t want to think about. He followed behind, wisely not saying a word until it was time to leave the river and strike out across the fields.
I stalked in front of him occasionally looking back and shooting him glowering glances until the house where I had killed Wilfred came into sight.
I stopped, not wanting to go any further. I was a murderer returning to the scene of the crime and I wished I was anywhere but here.
‘Here’s a key. Go inside and lock the door behind you. Don’t open it to anyone.’
‘Not even you?’ I couldn’t refrain from sarcasm, even now.
‘I won’t need to use the door.’
Of course he wouldn’t. Silly me.
‘Go,’ he commanded. ‘I need to return the lady before she is missed.’
He disappeared into the night, leaving me standing alone, staring at the house in the distance.
I hated him . I couldn’t believe he would bring me back to the very spot where I had taken another man’s life, to the very same house.
I walked slowly to the wall which enclosed the garden, replaying every second of my flight from the bedroom to the kitchen, remembering the feel of the blade in my hand as it parted Wilfred’s flesh. I recalled the blood: its scent and colour and the sheer quantity of it. And Wil’s eyes as he died.
I couldn’t go in, not by myself, and maybe not ever. I would wait for Roman to return, ask him to find me some clothes, and then – I had no idea what I would do next.
I hitched my backside onto the wall and waited, considering my options. I could remain on my little piece of wall until I went back to my own time, but that could be many hours, or d ays. I could leave, but I had nowhere I could go. Then I ran out of options. So I waited, and waited, and eventually Roman returned, in a much better humour than when he had left, and I could guess why: men are always
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