Dimensions

By Patricia Otto

Is love closer than we imagine, perhaps even occupying our same space in another dimension? Maybe, that 'we're not alone feeling' is more than a feeling.

Gwyneth McGowan has no idea how she got there, but this blend of colonial America and medieval England is not home. When a handsome soldier calls her by name, Gwen holds out hope that he can give her some answers and help her get back to her own world. Falling in love is not part of the plan.

Captain Thane Garren wants to find the king's betrothed so he can bring her to him. Then he can return to peace of his manor. In a case of mistaken identity, he presents the wrong woman to the king. Now the king has commanded him and Gwen to do the job right. Gwen's actions are exotic and mystifying, but this intoxicating stranger makes him feel things he has never felt, things he doesn't want to feel, doesn't deserve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patricia S. Otto
• Release date: Mar 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781943860043

Patricia Otto

A few decades ago, I found out that most people don't make up stories about the people they watch while sipping ice tea at a cafe. They do not take a cast of characters from a book or movie and give them a whole new story. Who knew? I thought everyone did that. Then there were the out-of-the-blue-characters. The ones conjured up in my head, telling me their tales, pushing me to write their stories. Sharing them only seemed fair.

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Copyright

Dimensions Copyright © 2017 by Patricia Otto

Cover Art by Glass Slipper Web Design

EBooks are not transferable. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without the written permission of the author. Unauthorized reproduction or distribution of the copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the internet, any electronic or prints means without the publisher's permission.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the writer's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locations or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Prologue

Am I dying, Gwen?

Gwen McGowan looked down at her patient. She was at the head of the gurney so Mr. Leeds was upside down when she leaned over to talk to him. Not today.

What did the MRI say?

Gwen maneuvered the gurney onto the elevator then pushed the button for the third floor. I don’t know, Mr. L. I just make sure you get them, I don’t read them.

Then how do you know I’m not dying?

I have a sixth sense about these things.

Mr. Leeds crooked his bushy eyebrows. Did they teach you that in nursing school?

She winked. Absolutely.

A roll of thunder rumbled through the elevator, vibrating the car and making the ceiling lights blink. Mr. Leeds rubbed his forehead. Cripes, that is one heck of a storm going on outside.

Let’s get out of this elevator. The doors opened and Gwen pushed the stretcher out of the elevator and back into Mr. Leeds’ room.

She was getting Mr. Leeds situated in bed when her cell phone rang. Mr. Leeds chuckled. Is it for me?

She looked at the screen. Only if you want to talk to my sister.

Is she as pretty as you?

We’re twins.

He held out his hand. Enough said. Then with a chuckle he waved her out of the room. Take your call, I’m fine.

She hit the button on her cell. Hi, sis.

Hi Gwen, where are you?

Work.

Can you talk a minute?

Sure.

What’s that sound?

There’s a huge storm going on outside. I’m telling you, Grace, I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s shaking the hospital off its foundation. Gwen tilted her head toward her shoulder, capturing her phone.

Static joined her sister’s voice on the other end. It’s only raining here.

Gwen reached into the pocket of her scrub dress for her pen. Oh damn.

What?

I lost my pen.

That carved ivory one the folks gave you when you graduated from nursing school?

Yup, I just brought a patient back from an MRI. I must have dropped it in the room.

Thunder detonated again, shaking the building. Fat raindrops splattered against the windows with sharpening frenzy.

Gwen, why don’t we talk later? I can hear the storm through the phone. You’re not supposed to be on the phone during a lightning storm.

Gwen headed for the stairwell. I think that rule is just for landline phones not cell phones. Man, are you a worrywart.

I’m supposed to worry. I’m your older sister.

Yeah, by seven whole minutes.

They both laughed. Grace had habitually played the I’m the older twin card while they were growing up.

Another bright flash and another fracturing sound bathed Gwen in twilight. The hospital just lost power. A moment later, the backup generators powered up the lights. And now it’s back on.

Grace’s voice crackled in Gwen’s ear. I spoke to Mom and Dad yesterday. They are all ready for us to come down at Thanksgiving.

Aww, Grace, you didn’t tell them we would come, did you?

How could I say no?

Last year was a disaster. I thought we decided not to go down this year.

But they’re our parents.

Gwen pulled open the stairwell door and walked into the x-ray department. Have you forgotten the twelve hours we spent waiting around in the airport last year?

They’re looking forward to it.

Gwen waved at the x-ray tech sitting at the main desk. And there was no room in their little townhouse.

But they miss us.

Grace! I knew you’d chicken out. I thought we agreed.

Another lightning flash and an immediate crack made her sister’s voice disappear for a moment. …know how much they look forward to the holidays.

Well, we definitely have to talk about this, Gracie Poo. Look, I have to go. The phone won’t work in the MRI room. They said goodbye and Gwen slipped the phone into her pocket.

The x-ray technician looked over his shoulder. Hey Gwen, did you forget something?

Yeah Derrick, I can’t find my pen.

No one has given me a pen.

I must have lost it in the MRI room.

Derrick stood. Need some help?

Sure.

He fell into step beside her. Another crack of thunder rattled the windows. What the hell is going on out there? You sure you want to go into that room? There’s a hell of a lot of metal in there.

Derrick, Gwen said with a dismissive wave, we’re on the first floor.

What? Lightning doesn’t strike the ground?

Good point. Everything will be fine. Gwen walked into the control room and snapped on the light. She looked through the observation window and spotted her pen right inside the door of the procedure room. There it is. She was halfway through the door when she heard Derrick yell, No wait! The magnet!

A brilliant flash accompanied a jarring explosion. Gwen remembered an explosion so loud it sent her to the floor then silence, blackness, heat and the sensation of falling.

Chapter One

Thane Thorn Garren, the Earl of Thornblade, just wanted to find her so he could get the hell out of there.

He moved down the dark uneven hallway, staying close to one of the stone walls. Putting his ear to the next oak door and hearing nothing, Thorn gingerly opened it. Empty. He cursed under his breath.

The damn castle was so big it could take all night to search every room. Leave it to the baron to disobey the king and turn the manor house into a castle.

Where was she? She was supposed to be waiting in the guest chamber off the great hall. The hall was jammed full of revelers enjoying the Harvest Feast, none of them matching the king’s description of his betrothed.

Thorn listened at the next door. Silence. He opened it. Empty. After closing that door, he crept to the next.

Granted, he hadn’t seen Gwen since she was a girl. When she, the crown prince, and Thorn would play hide and seek together. Still, the chestnut hair and huge brown eyes he remembered could not be easily missed even if the girl was now a woman.

Thorn pressed his ear up to the next door and held his breath. The door flew open and someone crashed into him. Instinctively, he grabbed at the figure to keep them both standing. Looking down, Thorn saw that he was holding a woman. A very attractive, strangely clad woman.

She was staring up at him, panting and wide-eyed, her mouth formed into an ‘o’ of surprise. In the dim light of the flames from the wall sconces, Thorn could make out brown hair that came barely to her chin and dark almond-shaped eyes.

Gwen? he whispered.

The woman was pale enough to faint. She blinked several times. Y-yes.

We’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come on, we have to go. He stepped back, bringing her into the hallway.

D-do I know you?

It’s me, Thorn. We knew each other as children.

The woman slowly shook her head. I don’t—

A gigantic shadow fell across them. The woman cowered and spun away from him. Thorn looked up and spoke to the man responsible for the eclipse. Magnus, just in time. I found her. Do you have it?

Magnus handed Thorn a brown robe. Right here. And it looks to me like she needs it.

Magnus, Thorn growled before turning his attention to Gwen. Good heavens woman, what are you doing coming out of your room half dressed.

H-half dressed?

That dress exposes your legs and your arms and what are those things on your feet?

She looked down at the white shoes. They’re clogs, she whispered.

Whatever they are, they won’t do. When she didn’t move, he urged her back into the room. Go find something more suitable.

She hesitated then disappeared into the room. Thorn shook open the garment Magnus handed him then gathered it from the hem. You cut your hair, he said when she returned. That’s good, it will add to the effect of the costume.

C-costume? she whispered. Oh, is this a Halloween costume?

I beg your pardon? He saw the silk slippers on her feet. Now what are you wearing?

These were all I could find.

They will have to do. Thorn held open the garment. In you go. He drew it over her head. Put your arms into the sleeves. He felt her sway. Are you all right?

Not really. She put her arms into the sleeves. I’m lost. Several inches of the coarse robe puddled at her feet and her hands disappeared into the sleeves. It’s a little big.

Monks aren’t usually so slight. Thorn drew up the cowl and her head disappeared into the brown folds. Magnus, is the way clear to the cellar?

"Yes, sir. There are stairs at the end of the hallway.

Good. Thorn caught the woman’s sleeve. Come on, let’s go. When he felt her hesitate, he gave a tug. We don’t have much time, Gwen.

Where are we going?

We need to get out. Thorn caught her elbow and pulled.

He felt her stiffen then acquiesce. Thorn led the trio to the turret and down the spiral staircase into the gloom. When they reached the bottom step, Thorn spied their watchman. The man pointed to his right and Thorn followed his direction.

Thorn led the slow procession along the craggy stone floors of the dank cellar. Twice, he felt the delicate monk stumble and bump against his back. Reaching around, he caught her waist and drew her up against his hip. Careful, it’s a bit rugged down here.

I can’t see anything in this hood, she murmured from inside the cowl.

There’s not much to see, Magnus said. It’s a vault.

Thorn felt Gwen plant her feet then push against his back. Where are you taking me?

We’re going to Ravelin, Baroness, Magnus said.

She wrenched from his grasp and spun around. What did you call me?

Magnus waited a moment before answering. Baroness.

I’m not—

Thorn pulled Gwen back to him and whispered, We have to keep moving. It’s dangerous to stay. He tugged her arm.

They reached the next man standing guard near the top of a ladder. The rest of it disappeared into a hole in the floor. Down here, sir, the guard whispered to them. At the end of the passageway you will be in the woods north of the castle.

Thank you, Roundtree, Thorn said.

Good luck, Captain, Baroness.

Thorn heard Gwen huff and felt her body tense. Did he say castle?

Ignoring her question, Thorn took the torch from Roundtree and turned to Magnus. I’ll go first then you send the baroness down.

Yes sir, Magnus said.

Thorn descended the ladder and held up the torch to have a look around. He was in a passage carved out of the earth that most likely had been a way to smuggle goods into the castle. The passage wasn’t high enough for him to stand up. He hoped it was broad enough to accommodate Magnus.

He jabbed the end of the torch into the side of the tunnel and looked up just in time to break her fall.

Dammit, Gwen said, I’m going to break my fool neck in this robe.

Gwen, such a tongue, he said, helping her to stand. She yanked the cowl from her head and tamed her wild hair with an ill-fitting sleeve. The delicate figure in his grasp and the soft features turned up at him sent a tremor down Thorn’s spine. His gangly boyhood friend was now a very attractive woman. And his king’s bride-to-be. Thorn shook his head. You always were feisty.

Gwen stepped from his grasp. Can I ditch this robe?

Thorn frowned. That was the second time she had used a phrase he didn’t understand. I beg your pardon?

Can I take this thing off? She reached behind her head.

No, he whispered, staying her hands. You are not properly dressed.

Thorn heard the ladder groaning under Magnus’ weight and moved Gwen out of the way.

Ya think they could’ve made da thing a little bigger, Magnus said. I’m liable to cause a cave-in if I’m not careful.

Thorn chuckled. It is a little tight, but I assure you I will dig you out should you start a cave-in and bury yourself.

That’s a comfort, Captain. Thorn reached up and clapped his friend’s burly shoulder. And, I shall give the finest eulogy should I not dig you out in time.

Ah, I thank ya.

Thorn laughed. It was a long-standing jest between the two men ever since Magnus had become Thorn’s second-in-command that one would provide a glorious tribute at the other’s funeral.

Thorn looked toward the narrowing darkness. I’ll go first. Gwen, you are behind me. Pick up those robes this time. Magnus, you carry the torch.

Yes, sir.

Thorn looked at her. Watch your step. I don’t want you turning an ankle in this soft earth.

Gwen watched Thorn take a few cautious steps then lifted her robe to follow.

She was amazed that she even had the wherewithal to breathe much less walk. Gwen’s mind was reeling. Her stomach was doing the same. If she weren’t so terrified, she’d be in a corner losing her lunch or crying her eyes out. Maybe both. At the same time.

One minute she was…what was she doing? That’s right, there was a storm. She was reaching for her pen in the MRI room. The next minute—well that was the question, wasn’t it?

Gwen had opened her eyes to a pain stabbing her head just behind her eyes and every frame of reference altered.

She was lying on her back on a thick itchy rug staring up at high stone ceilings. It was dark and quiet. Where was the equipment? Where was the storm? Where was she?

Her body was stiff and achy, making her wonder how long she had been lying there. Gwen sat up. She was in her scrub dress with her pen in her hand. She reached into the pocket for her phone. Dead. Whatever had happened, her phone was a casualty. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could make out long skinny windows, a huge four-poster bed and a cold gaping fireplace.

Nothing—not one damn thing—made sense.

She got to her feet and she reached out to touch the deep purple velvet drapes on the canopied bed. Her gaze moved to the colorful tapestries hiding the dark uneven walls.

The headache was making her dizzy. Her heart clobbered her ribs, and her lungs sucked in short quick bursts of air. Eerie foreboding crept along her skin, fear churned her stomach.

Where was she?

What had happened to her?

Then she had heard the noise in the hallway, had rushed to yank open the door and bounced off the biggest, hardest chest she had ever come into contact with. And then things had really gotten bizarre.

Gwen hiked up the sodden, mud-caked hem of her monk’s robe so she could keep pace with the man who called himself Thorn. She could see his tall shadowy figure bent forward to keep from hitting his head on the topside of the dank tunnel.

He knew her.

At least he had called her by name. He told her they had played together as children. Gwen did not recall a boy named Thorn. A name like that she would have remembered. Still, he said he knew her.

Gwen had desperately grabbed at this feeble connection and the possibility that he could explain all of this.

The trio emerged from the tunnel into a forest bathed in cool blue moonlight. Gwen looked over her shoulder and stopped dead. The pain in her head amplified when she craned her neck to see a massive stone wall above their exit. The top of the wall was saw-toothed and rising higher in the moonlight were spires. "Oh, it is a castle."

Magnus came out of the tunnel. Yes, Baroness, it is. He extinguished the torch.

Your brother defied the king when he built the walls around your manor house, Thorn whispered. Andrew will not be pleased when he hears of it.

Gwen stared at Thorn, her breath and her lunch, in her throat.

Brother? She had no brother, just a twin sister. King? The president of the United States was no king, a court jester as far as some were concerned, but not a king. Maybe this man didn’t know her.

Thorn took hold of Gwen’s elbow. Come, we have to keep moving.

Horror-struck, Gwen couldn’t move. No.

We don’t have time for this. You walk or I carry you.

She could see Thorn’s determined gaze and for a moment considered screaming but didn’t think anyone other than these two would hear her. She allowed Thorn to lead her into the woods. Magnus trailed behind.

The thin slippers Gwen had found in the room were poor protection from the twigs and rocks beneath her feet. Walking through the tunnel had gotten her shoes soaked and caked with mud. The robe continued to tangle about her ankles and the sleeves hindered her hands as she struggled to raise her skirt. The third time she fell to her knees, Gwen felt Magnus’ huge paws hauling her upward.

Thorn, he called out in a low voice, the baroness is having a time with this robe.

Everything is fine, Gwen said.

Thorn walked the few steps back to them. Baroness?

My shoes are slippery and this dress is too big.

Thorn looked down at her feet and sighed. It is not a dress, it is a monk’s robe and those were not the best choice for footwear. Why didn’t you get your riding boots?

Air squeezed from her lungs when Thorn pulled a small knife from his belt.

The robe we can fix, he said, getting down on one knee.

Gwen stumbled backward into Magnus. What are you doing?

Thorn poked the knife through the coarse fabric and slashed the cloth. Making this shorter.

B-be careful.

Magnus snorted. You’re talking to one of the best swordsman in the Realm, Baroness.

Thank you for the compliment, Magnus but I am sure the baroness is aware of that. Thorn tossed the muddy fabric remnants off to the side then straightened. There, that should make things easier.

Gwen looked up at him. Where are we going?

Thorn returned his dagger to its sheath. The rest of the men and the horses will be over that ridge.

Men…horses.

He frowned. Yes. She must have looked frightened because his scowl softened, his lips curling slightly into a grin. Now we must be on our way, he said in a gentle voice. The full moon is a blessing and a curse.

They continued through the thick growth, Thorn breaking trail and Magnus bringing up the rear. Gwen folded back the sleeves of the garment as best she could. The robe barely grazed her ankles now and the newfound liberty made it possible for her to quicken her pace.

Just before the ridge, Thorn whistled a low shrill note. When a similar note was returned, he led them over the hill.

A small man approached, handing Thorn a sword and scabbard. Captain, you were successful.

Thorn nodded, taking the belt and securing it around his waist. He walked away giving orders in a low decisive tone.

Gwen watched the dozen or so men scramble around, getting horses ready and gathering packs. They were all dressed in a uniform the same as Thorn and Magnus. Knee-high, black leather boots with close-fitting black pants tucked into the tops. High-collared white shirts under navy blue tunics that came to about mid-thigh.

Thorn approached her swirling an ankle-length black cape over his wide shoulders. Baroness, I’m afraid we lost the horse we brought for you. She broke her leg and had to be put down. You’ll have to ride with me. He mounted a very large horse and reached out his hand to her.

Gwen froze. Mounting a horse was not within her scope of experience. She watched Thorn’s dark eyebrows bridge together and his lips become a thin line.

If you ride in front, you can ride sidesaddle and use my cape to keep warm.

Thorn saw Gwen blink a few times. She would have crumpled to the ground had Magnus not been right behind her.

Magnus snaked his arm around her. I think she fainted.

Thorn was off his horse in an instant. He bent down to see if she was breathing. To his relief, her breaths warmed his hand. She has. Hand her up to me when I tell you.

Yes, sir.

Thorn mounted and Magnus handed her up as if she were no more than a grain sack. Thorn’s arms came about her waist as one hand gripped the reins and he arranged the cape over her legs with the other. With a click of his tongue, Thorn stirred the horse into a run.

Gwen tensed then moaned.

Easy, Baroness. It’s not as if you haven’t ridden sidesaddle before. Her head lolled to his chest and he used his free hand to draw her back against him. That’s right, Gwen. Get some rest. We’ll be riding through the night. Thorn felt her breaths on his neck and the warmth of her bottom on his thighs.

She startled. Where am I?

Be still, Baroness, you’re riding with me.

She squirmed, as tense as a bowstring. I-I—

I have you. We used to ride like this all the time when we were young. He tightened his grip on the reins. Sleep, Gwen.

She became very quiet and still. Only the extreme tension in every muscle let him know that she was not sleeping. It seemed like a lifetime before Gwen’s head fell back against his shoulder and her breathing became rhythmic.

Thorn cursed.

Why in the hell had he decided she should ride with him…and in the front no less? He was definitely taking leave of his senses.

It was hard to believe that the runny-nosed, disheveled waif of his childhood was the same person he now held in his arms.

Thorn glimpsed at her face in the moonlight.

God, she was exquisite. Her brown hair fell against the smoothness of her cheeks and neck. Her dark eyebrows fanned over her closed lids in graceful arches. Her thin nose auspiciously suggested that one take note of the perfectly shaped mouth below it.

Gwen mumbled and turned her face toward his. A scent, spicy and arousing, wafted from the neck of her robe up to his nostrils, instantly stirring his blood. Thorn shook his head.

This was Gwendolyn Summerby, his king’s betrothed, his future queen, not some doxy he could picture beneath him.

Thorn exhaled a long breath and cursed again.

He must be losing his mind. Damn, he was weary. Bone weary. Core weary. Weary of fighting. Of enemies, be they corrupt armies or his own carnal urges. He’d had enough of travel, of the waste and the loneliness inherent in being in the king’s service, even a king as wise as Andrew. He just wanted to go home. The king had promised Thorn he could relinquish his command once he had delivered Gwen safely to Ravelin Castle. He would be free to go home, to Thornblade Manor. To live in the peace of the hills rolling down to the bay. Home was the prize Thorn used to bolster his determination. It gave him the strength he needed.

Gwen sighed and tucked her forehead under his chin. Her warm breaths skimmed his chest. He trembled at the sensation. Thorn gingerly turned her face from his. He decided that the first stop they made he would assign the intoxicating Gwen to ride with Magnus.

# # #

They rode through the night and most of the next day, stopping only to rest the horses and stretch their own legs.

Gwen was exhausted. She had slept a little, probably the result of whatever had happened to give her the headache. Then Thorn had ordered her to ride with the hulking Magnus and sleep was impossible after that. She struggled just to keep from falling off the back of the horse. With her arms around the giant and her cheek resting against his back, Gwen continued to try to decipher the last twenty-four hours.

The season appeared to be the same. The air held the promise of winter and the forest was full of autumn reds and golds.

Gwen was certain that she was not near home, though she had no idea where she was or how she had gotten here. She was struck by the quiet—no planes or cars. And then there was the disconcerting lack of a skyline. They were riding in a vast wilderness passing only small sparse villages consisting of wooden cottages. Her best guess was that she had somehow ended up in rural England, or maybe Ireland. The problem with that theory was that the people in the villages were dressed in the same odd costumes as Thorn. The women wore ankle-length full skirts and long-sleeved simple blouses. The men wore pants made of a coarse-looking material and long coats. People bowed their heads as Thorn rode by, the men tipping their hats or greeting him with a reverent milord.

Gwen rejected the idea that she had traveled back in time. That was way too Hollywood, not to mention impossible. This could be a bad drug trip…if this was the sixties and if she did drugs. This could all be a dream, but the pain in her butt was making that hard to explain. The only reasonably sane conclusion that she could make was that this was a very elaborate hoax and her sister was behind it. And even that conclusion had sane explanation hanging by a thread.

While clinging to Magnus’ back, Gwen continued to talk herself into believing that this was a Halloween prank. Somehow, she had been knocked unconscious in the MRI room then Grace had gotten her drunk and left