Abbie Zanders [Zanders - Maiden in Manhattan: A Time Travel Romance (A Timeless Love Book 1)

Maiden in Manhattan

A Timeless Love Series, Book 1

(originally published as Lost in Time I)

P lease note that due to strong language and some steamy romantic interludes, this book is intended for mature (18+) readers. If this is not you, then

1. Shame on you.
2. Give this book to your mother (or other mature adult) and let them enjoy it.

I sobeille Aislinn McKenna was a survivor, but in a quiet, unassuming way. She had not a cruel bone in her body, and was more likely to kindly move a bug out of harms way than to crush it beneath her tiny feet. She was gentle of soul, mild of manner, delicate of form, and had the serene and calming beauty of an angel.

If her prayers had gone unanswered, she would have found a way to endure in that peaceful, quiet way of hers.

She would have made the best of her situation.

She would have married the knight with nary another complaint.

She would have striven to be a kind and dutiful wife, to serve her husband in all the ways the Lord intended.

She would have allowed all of her fanciful dreams of adventure and freedom and true love to fall, unrealized and unrecognized, by the wayside as she went on.

But as it turned out, she didnt have to.

I sobeille barely had time to bring her hands up to cover her eyes. The beast was massive, bigger than any dragon, with scales so smooth it was impossible to tell where one left off and another began.

And its eyes! Great glowing orbs as bright as the midday sun flashed before her, instantly blinding her while letting out a deafening roar. The sound was quite unlike anything she had ever heard before; it reverberated through her entire body and made her teeth tremble right along with the rest of her.

The scream didnt even have a chance to wrench its way from her throat before she felt a bone-jarring force lifting her from her feet. After only a moment or two of weightlessness, her body landed hard on an unforgiving surface and a crushing weight expelled all of the breath from her lungs.

Jesus Christ, lady! You got a death wish or something?

It took a moment for the words to penetrate the haze of terror, but when they did, Isobeille realized the heaviness across her torso was warm and moving. While substantial, it was much smaller than the silvery beast that had tried to take her in its great and powerful maws. This made sense, now that her wits were beginning to return to her; the attack had come from the side, not from the front as expected.

She tried desperately to draw breath, even as her mind began to sort through the happenings of the last several moments. When it did, an odd scent entered with it. Decidedly male, though so very different from any of the scents she had come to associate with men. It was spicy and fresh, musky but not unwashed.

Her heavy lids lifted slowly to reveal the visage of a man only inches from her face. Tousled brown hair fell haphazardly over hypnotically beautiful eyes. They were warm, a shade of clear, dark brown with exceptionally long lashes. Isobeille could not help but think that they were the eyes of a kind man, despite the fact that they now held a hint of indignant fury.

Well? the man said impatiently, his breath both warm and yet cool over her skin.

The substantial form continued to press upon her breast, rendering her incapable of uttering anything more than a soft, decidedly feminine murmur. As quiet as it was, it was sufficient to convey her discomfort. With a deep grunt of his own, the stranger pushed away and rolled to the side. Isobeille took the opportunity to expand her lungs, wincing at the sharp stab of resulting pain.

With some effort, she leveraged herself into a sitting position. When her hand stung in protest, she noticed that it was scraped and bleeding, but nothing worrisome. Much more interesting was the strange, semi-smooth, gray pathway beneath it. Intrigued, she scraped at it with her fingernail. Twas unlike anything she had seen before.

Hey. She okay? Another voice spoke in close proximity. As the ringing between her ears began to subside, Isobeille realized she was surrounded by a small crowd of people. It consisted of both males and females by the looks of it, though it was hard to tell which was which in some cases because of the strange garments they wore.

Even more bizarre than the motley gathering, the skies above them were dark. That suggested a time far beyond the gloaming, yet she could see each of their faces clearly and not one carried a torch.

Maybe shes in shock, said another voice, drawing Isobeilles eyes downward again. This one was high-pitched and carried a slight nasal twang, like a womans, but the one who spoke didnt look like any female Isobeille had ever seen. She wore tight leggings like a man, and skinny stilts beneath her feet. Her hair was shorn close, and of a vivid color that reminded Isobeille of a robins egg. Eyes heavily outlined in dark coal suddenly filled Isobeilles field of vision as her nostrils were assaulted with a pungent perfume.

Hey, honey. Do you know where you are?

Cold fear swiftly gripped Isobeilles heart as she looked around at these strange people in their strange dress. At the lights glowing above her. Colored lights with no visible flame . At the stream of gleaming metallic demons in all colors of the rainbow rushing only a short distance from where she sat, moving without the draw of horses . Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head. This was like no place she had ever seen.

Suddenly that mans face was before her again the one with the warm brown eyes. Some of his rage seemed to have faded, but he still looked far from pleased.

How many fingers am I holding up? he asked, his voice slightly rough and lightly scented with peppermint. He spoke with an accent she could not place. English, she thought, though different than the kind she was used to. Without thinking, she answered him in her native language, the words rolling naturally off her tongue.

The man muttered something just beneath his breath. She had displeased him again; she didnt have to understand all the words to know that.

Maybe she doesnt speak English, someone suggested, confirming her initial suspicions. What language is that, anyway?

Was she in England, then? She had been there once, when she was but a girlchild, but it did not look anything like this. And even in England surely they would have recognized her native Gaelic. Hated her for it, perhaps, but recognized it all the same.

Attempting to gain purchase over her fear, she focused on his hands, fascinated by them. They were nice hands, large and strong, with long fingers and the calluses of one who earned an honest living. Her arm rose up, pressing her much smaller hand against his. His eyes widened slightly at the odd pulse where they touched.

Hey man, I think she likes you, somebody chuckled.

She should. He saved her life. Did you see that crazy bitch, standing in front of the cross-town bus like that?

Yeah, youre a fucking hero, man.

Isobeille blinked. Several of the words were unfamiliar. She had no idea what a cross-town bus was. But she did understand that this man had somehow saved her from the silvery beast.

Tapadh liebh , she said, bowing her head. Thank you, she repeated in heavily accented English. His eyes softened for just a moment before hardening again.