Maiden in Manhattan Read online

  Maiden in Manhattan

  A Timeless Love, Volume 1

  Abbie Zanders

  Published by Abbie Zanders, 2016.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  MAIDEN IN MANHATTAN

  First edition. January 10, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Abbie Zanders.

  Written by Abbie Zanders.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Maiden in Manhattan (A Timeless Love, #1)

  Before You Begin

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Thanks for reading Isobeille’s story ...

  Special Thanks...

  Excerpt from Raising Hell in the Highlands:

  Also by Abbie Zanders

  About the Author

  Maiden in Manhattan

  A Timeless Love Series, Book 1

  (originally published as Lost in Time I)

  Before You Begin

  Please 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

  Shame on you.

  Give this book to your mother (or other mature adult) and let them enjoy it.

  Prologue

  Isobeille 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 harm’s 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 didn’t have to.

  Chapter 1

  Isobeille 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 didn’t 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 she’s in shock,” said another voice, drawing Isobeille’s eyes downward again. This one was high-pitched and carried a slight nasal twang, like a woman’s, but the one who spoke didn’t 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 robin’s egg. Eyes heavily outlined in dark coal suddenly filled Isobeille’s field of vision as her nostrils were assaulted with a pungent perfume.

  “Hey, honey. Do you know where you are?”

  Cold fear swiftly gripped Isobeille’s 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 man’s 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 didn’t have to understand all the words to know that.

  “Maybe she doesn’t 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 r
ecognized 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, you’re 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.

  * * *

  This was the last thing he needed, Nick thought, looking down into a pair of the biggest green eyes he had ever seen. It was a color he’d never seen in a pair of human eyes before, the exact shade of a tropical sea. Or at least what he thought was the color of a tropical sea. Since the only references he had were from movies and television, he could be wrong.

  There was no denying the clarity, nor the way they seemed to flash and sparkle like finely cut gems. Surely it was a trick of the light. Or something. Adrenaline was still coursing through his veins at incredible speed; it was a natural, instinctive reaction brought on by the sight of a woman about to be flattened by a bus and the sudden need to prevent said flattening from occurring.

  Of course, his body also seemed to be experiencing another natural, instinctive reaction, although this one had nothing to do with imminent physical peril and everything to do with the soft, feminine body that had cushioned his fall.

  Nick took a deep breath, hoping to stem both. He was already running late; that last call out to the accident just outside the tunnel had taken him well past the end of his shift, but there were things more important than punching a clock. Gloria was going to be really pissed if he messed up again. If he had one ounce of common sense, he would have just kept his head down like everyone else and kept walking. Except he couldn’t. Try as he might, there was still something deep down inside of him that made him the world’s biggest sucker at every available opportunity.

  Now that he had done his good deed for the day, it was time to move on.

  “You’re welcome,” he said gruffly.

  Nick pushed himself to his feet and held his hand out to her. She looked at it for a moment, then at him, before tentatively putting her hand in his. He felt the same rush he’d felt earlier, when she’d pressed her palm to his, but he ignored it. Had to be adrenaline or endorphins, or some shit like that. Didn’t matter. She didn’t seem to be hurt badly, just a little scraped and stunned. And he needed to be hauling ass.

  “Where are you going? Can I call you a cab?” he asked impatiently as he tugged, lifting her to her feet with little effort. The small crowd around them dispersed, the momentary drama already just a brief sound bite in their memories. He extracted a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket – a Christmas gift from his mother – and pressed it to her bleeding hand before wiping his own hastily on his jeans.

  A pretty pink blush painted her cheeks as she smoothed down her dress with her other hand. He hardened himself against that, too, taking notice of her unusual outfit for the first time: a long skirt that brushed the pavement, tight-fitted bodice that teased him with the hint of lush breasts, and full sleeves that gathered tightly around the wrist. The covering she’d worn over her hair now lay in the middle of the busy street, freeing her long, dark red tresses to spill well past her hips in voluminous waves. She looked like some sort of medieval peasant girl. As costumes went, he had to admit, it was a good one.

  His impatience grew as she worried her bottom lip, her gaze looking around as if she had no clue where she was.

  “What is this place?” she asked, her voice small, her words heavily accented.

  “You’re kidding, right?” he said in disbelief. Those eyes, those big, green eyes, looked at him. Who had eyes like that?

  “Nay.”

  Nay? What kind of answer was that? If he didn’t know for a fact that he’d cushioned her head with his now-throbbing arm he would have thought she’d whacked it good.

  “What is your name?” Nick shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he reached down into his front pocket for a couple of bills. He didn’t have time for this, but his innate chivalry wouldn’t allow him to just tackle and run.

  Pretty, rose-colored lips curved slightly in a tentative smile. “Isobeille.”

  The effect was startling; it hit him somewhere in the dead center of his chest and shot right down to his balls, which were still protesting the absence of all that lush softness against the length of him. He quite forcefully (and thankfully silently) told them to shut the fuck up.

  “Isobeille,” he repeated, but it didn’t sound the same as when she said it. With her accent, the name had rolled off her tongue like music.

  Nick shook himself. What the hell was he thinking? Gloria was expecting dinner, wine, and roses. Things hadn’t been going especially well with her lately, not since he screwed up and asked her to travel back with him to his family’s house for Thanksgiving. This might be his last chance. He needed to wrap this up and get home, shower, and shave. His cock twitched, reminding him that maybe he should pick up a couple of extra condoms on the way...

  But first he had to get this woman somewhere safe so his conscience would be clear. Maybe she had family nearby. “Isobeille what?”

  Instead of answering, she pressed her lips together and shook her head slightly. Nick frowned. He looked down at his watch, his scowl deepening when he saw the time. “Fine. You don’t want to tell me, no skin off my nose. Here’s forty bucks. That should cover a cab anywhere in the city. Any farther than that and you’re out of luck, sweetheart.”

  She looked at the two bills he held out to her as if she had never seen anything like them. When she made no move to take them, he shoved them into her hand and closed her fingers around them.

  “Damn it, I’m really late. You’re going to be alright, yeah?”

  Against his will, his eyes were drawn to her lips again where she was nibbling the lower one. It was just slightly plumper than the one above it, made shiny and slightly darker by her worrying.

  “Aye,” she finally nodded, drawing herself up to her full height so that her gaze was leveled somewhere around his chest.

  Nick forced himself to take a step back so he could look into her face rather than at the top of her head. He’d known she was small - she’d felt like nothing when he’d tackled her out of the path of the bus – but he had chalked most of that impression up to the adrenaline rush and the subsequent feel of feminine softness beneath him. Now he realized that she really was slight. He was no giant by any means. A respectable six-two, two-twenty or thereabouts. Which put her around... five-two? Maybe.

  “Right. Take care, then.”

  He remained fixed in place, knowing he should move, yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. After several moments, she raised her chin – a show of courage if he ever saw one – and nodded again. Fisting her small hands in her skirts, she lifted them up and turned away from him.

  Nick watched her make her way slowly against the rush of people coming the other way, her gait jerky and unsure, until she disappeared around the corner. It was only after she was no longer in his sights that his brain registered what his eyes had seen: she’d been barefoot.

  Sooooo not his problem.

  He forced himself to turn away and head back towards his place, rubbing his palm absently against his jeans, his skin still tingling from where he’d touched her like some kind of residual static shock, his cock suddenly aching like a bitch – when had that happened? – and the haunting green eyes
of a young woman way out of her element flashing in his mind no matter how many neon signs he looked at trying to get rid of them.

  He made it all of two blocks before turning around.

  “Fuck,” he cursed to himself, jogging after her.

  Chapter 2

  Isobeille was at a loss, unsure what to do. It was hard to know where you were going when you had no idea where you were. When she had closed her eyes and made that fervent prayer, she really had not expected it to be granted quite so suddenly. Perhaps she should have thought it out a bit more carefully before just blurting it out like that, but it was her innermost heart that had done the talking, not her head.

  It would have been nice to have landed somewhere a wee less populated, mayhap a place not quite so unfamiliar or seemingly wrought with danger, but it was a little late to think of those things now. For one brief moment she panicked, tempted to withdraw her impulsive but heartfelt wish; for never in her wildest imagination could she have foreseen a place like this.

  So many people, all moving as though they had an urgent purpose, wearing the most outlandish clothing. Tall structures, seemingly built of stone but not, extending up into the sky all around her. So much noise, so many colors, so much everything. Her senses were being assaulted on all levels at once, addling her mind and her ability to think clearly. Where were the trees? The grass? Was there nothing familiar in this strange new place?

  Her steps slowed until she stopped altogether. Isobeille turned around in a circle, looking for a way out of the pulsing throng currently swarming around her and casting curious looks her way. Surely there must be some place where she could take a few moments to catch her breath and think; a glen or a copse, perhaps. But where?

  It was unfortunate that her bonnie rescuer had fled. For a few hopeful moments, she was certain he had felt the same instant connection she had flare to life when his much larger hand encompassed her smaller one. A strange tingling had worked its way up her arm from the point of contact, causing her breath to hitch and an odd fluttering sensation to appear in her chest.