Merlin Lovelace - Somewhere In Time (rtf).rtf

LONG AND FAR AWAY

Air force pilot Aurora Durant was lucky to be alive. It hadn't been easy to bring her jet down in the bizarre windstorm, but the savvy captain had managed. Now she had to figure out where she'd landed—and when.

Lucius Atitonius, senior centurion of the Roman Empire, couldn't believe his incredible fortune. A beautiful woman had literally dropped out of the sky. But before Lucius could claim the willful, impertinent creature, he had to tame her.

Soon Aurora discovered the true test of her spirit wasn't learning to live in a time two thousand years in the past, but resisting the powerful allure of an ancient warrior. Her agenda could only be returning to her own time, and falling for Lucius could make that mission impossible to accomplish.

"WHAT TIME IS IT YOU HAVE COME FROM?"

Aurora drew a deep breath. "Two thousand years from now."

Lucius stared at her for a long, silent moment. "Are you blessed by the gods, then? Have they given you immortality?"

For a moment Aurora was tempted to claim divine power. But a sober recollection of what had happened to the so-called witches in Salem made her hesitate.

At his frown, she shrugged. "Trust me, I'm human." Her chin rose. "And as such,. I insist that you release me. I offer no harm to you or to Rome. You have no reason to hold me."

"Oh, I have good reason."

"What, for Pete's sake? Why do you keep me?"

"For my pleasure."

Editing Errors: 

Because of time constraints and my laziness, there may still be a few errors.

if you see the word "hi" in a sentence and it doesn't make sense, replace it with the word "in"  -- for example, "airplane hi the sky" should read "airplane in the sky"

Also, if you have words with "di" in them and they don't make sense, try "th".  for example, "it was in front of die table" should read "it was in front of the table"

Chapter 1

Captain Aurora Durant understood that flying was a dan­gerous occupation. Every time she taxied her sleek air force jet down the runway and launched it into the sky, she accepted the fact that someday she might not be able to bring it back down safely. What she couldn't accept was that this was the day.

"Looks like the weather front stretches clear up to the Saudi border!" her copilot shouted over the rattle of thun­der and crackle of static electricity in their headsets.

"We can't get above it!" Aurora yelled back. She strug­gled with the wheel as winds buffeted her C-21. The small six-passenger jet that the air force used to haul cargo, as well as people, bucked under her hands. "We'll have to try to go around!"

"Check. Just don't take us too far off course. I wouldn't want to stray into Iraq's airspace. Those folks are a might touchy since the Gulf War."

Aurora flashed the lieutenant a quick grin. ' 'No kidding. I heard one of our F- 15s got a radar lock last week, and—''

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Her grin faded as another violent wind shear flung the craft sideways. Sucking in a quick breath, she fought to level the plane.

There'd been no indication of a storm in their flight path when they took off a half hour ago. After dropping off the congressmen who'd come out to see and be seen with the UN peacekeeping forces in Saudi, Aurora had anticipated a quick run back to Ramstein, their home base in Germany, Their only cargo was a half-dozen crates of communica­tions equipment being sent back for emergency repair. But fifteen minutes out of Saudi, one of those freak desert storms she'd heard so much about and hoped never to experience had suddenly enveloped them.

Aurora flinched as lightning flashed out of the dark clouds to their left and arced earthward. She eased the plane farther and farther east, keeping its nose to the wind. Charlie adjusted his earphones and tried once more to raise ground control, but turbulence in the airwaves defeated him.

Just when the winds had calmed and Aurora thought the worst might be over, lightning split the sky in front of them. A blinding white light filled the cockpit. Keeping one hand on the yoke, she threw up her other arm to shield her eyes. Charlie yelled as static reverberated through his headphones in a high-pitched screech that could be heard even over the sound of the skies splitting.

The force of the lightning knocked the plane sideways. It tumbled like a wounded bird through the skies. Aurora's head, protected only by her flight cap and her thick, curly hair, cracked against the side window. Desperately she blinked back tears of pain as unconsciousness dragged at the edges of her senses. For a timeless moment, darkness closed over her, and her mind floated free.

Slowly, painfully, the storm's violence brought her back to full awareness. As if from a distance, she saw her white

hands gripping the wheel. Fighting the pounding ache in her head, Aurora pulled at the controls.

"Charlie," she shouted hoarsely. "Help me stabilize the plane. The instruments are going berserk. I can't tell what's been hit."

She struggled with the controls as the small Learjet plunged through the heaving maelstrom. Tearing her eyes from the writhing darkness, she looked over to see Charlie slumped back against his seat. Blood was running from his ear.

Sheer panic sliced through Aurora. She would have to fight the malevolent forces of nature herself. Using every ounce of strength she possessed, she battled the pull of gravity. With the plane's electronic systems knocked out, she had only training, instinct and sheer guts to rely on. Planting both feet against the floor pedals, Aurora sawed back on the wheel. Still the plane spiraled downward.

Panting, squinting against the pain stabbing through her head, Aurora fought on. Her legs ached with strain. The muscles in her arms quivered with stress. Controlling the panic that drummed in her veins, she ran through every emergency procedure she'd ever learned. Still the plane dived.

Dizzy now, sure that the earth would reach up to crush them into oblivion at any moment, Aurora worked the ped­als and controls. Her conscious mind told her it was no use, that she couldn't pull this speeding cylinder of steel out of its suicidal dive. She set her jaw. The flier in her wouldn't give up. With the last of her reserves, she hauled back on the wheel.

Imperceptibly at first, then more noticeably, the uncon­trolled spin began to slow. With a sobbing cry, Aurora forced the wheel back farther. The small plane responded. Its nose lifted a couple of degrees. She held on with grim determination. The nose came up a few more degrees. In

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the enveloping blackness, with no instruments to guide her,
Aurora had no idea where she was flying her plane, but
she was flying it. She glanced out of the cockpit, desper­
ately searching for some light, some sign of the horizon,
to let her get her bearings.

Far to the right, she thought she saw a thinning in the! smothering blackness. Holding her breath, she tried a banking movement. The plane quivered, but responded. Air rasped in her throat as she gulped in relief. For what: seemed like hours but she knew was only minutes, she raced toward the patch of dimness ahead. Suddenly, like ; an arrow shot from a crossbow, her small craft burst • through the wall of gray into blinding sunlight.

Aurora gasped in sheer terror. The desert sand was less than two hundred feet below her hurtling craft. Another couple of seconds in that dive, and they would've augered in. Swallowing the acrid bile that threatened to choke her, she leveled off and skimmed the shuddering plane along the earth's surface. Heart pounding, she scanned the barren landscape for some sign of civilization, some airport where she could attempt a landing. Only low, shifting sand dunes, and a narrow road stretching into the far distance, filled her vision.

Aurora wasn't certain how much damage her plane had sustained, but she knew she had to land it, fast, before it fell apart in the air. The long, lonely road would have to serve as an emergency landing strip. With acting arms and feet, she worked the throttle back and applied the air brakes. A shudder racked the plane when she pulled the manual release for the landing gears. Slowing her airspeed, she dropped lower and  lower,  until the  wheels just skimmed the road. Surprised at its narrowness, she looked for a spot where the dunes were back far enough from the pavement for the Lear's forty-foot wingspan. Praying that

a truck or a tourist-laden bus wouldn't suddenly appear over a hill, she put the plane down on the narrow road.

The tires bounced along its uneven surface. Aurora fought the stick, trying to keep the craft on a straight line. Her disbelieving eyes saw what looked like cobbles flash by under the craft's nose. Cobbles! Of all the places in the world to put down a crippled bird, she had to pick a damned cobblestone road, probably left over from the last millennium. At least that explained the lack of traffic, she thought grimly as she struggled for control.

One wheel bounced into a jagged hole. The sleek bird skittered sideways, and Aurora felt fear close her throat as the right wing dipped dangerously. The plane bounced for­ward a few more yards, then skidded off the cobbles. Sand flung up by the engines beat against the windshield, ob­scuring Aurora's view. Blood drummed furiously in her ears. Her hands ached as she fought the wheel. After an endless, heart-stopping moment, the plane slid to a shud­dering stop with its wheels buried in soft sand. Stressed metal creaked and groaned as it settled with the wing tanks just touching the desert surface.

Resting her head against hands still wrapped around the wheel in white-knuckled desperation, Aurora wanted to sob with relief.

Instead, she took deep, gasping breaths and waited for the blood to stop roaring in her ears. The sound of her plane creaking and snapping and settling in the sand pen­etrated her consciousness, and brought with it the knowl­edge that she had to get the hell out of there. And take the unconscious Charlie out with her. Leaking fuel or shorted electronics could spark an explosion at any moment.

Years of training kicked in. Aurora unlatched her seat belt and pushed her way out of the tilted seat. Noting that the blood had stopped flowing from Charlie's ear and his pulse seemed steady, Aurora grabbed her copilot under his

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arms and dragged him backward. Once she had Charlie clear and she was sure there'd be no explosion, she'd come back to check the damage and put together a survival pack. It could be hours, or even days, before rescue arrived. She kicked a path through the scattered crates of communica­tions equipment and backed toward the rear hatch, panting from the effort. For someone who looked like the long, tall Texan he always bragged he was, Charlie packed a solid weight.

Pushing open the heavy door, Aurora jumped down and planted her feet firmly in the sand. She reached up with both hands to drag her copilot's limp body over her shoul­der in the fireman's carry she'd learned in survival school. The hold was supposed to allow smaller people to carry weights much larger than themselves, but Aurora found herself staggering through the low dunes. If—when—they got back to Ramstein, she would definitely have to talk to Lieutenant Charles Everett about a diet.

Aurora tried to ease her burden off her shoulder gently. The soft, sucking sand, and his deadweight, proved too much for her. Her rubbery legs gave way, and she tumbled down in an awkward heap. Charlie landed square atop her. One of his knees slammed into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her with a whoosh.

Aurora lay pinned under him, dizzy from exertion and residual fear. Her arms trembled, too weak from the strain of fighting the plane and hauling Charlie out to push him off. Hot, burning sand slid down the neck of her flight suit as she tried to wiggle out from under his crushing form.

Her movement only burrowed her deeper in the envel­oping sand. With an exasperated grunt, she forced herself to relax her trembling muscles. For a moment, Aurora was tempted to just lie there while the rest of her fear and pumping adrenaline drained away. But then Charlie's body

twitched, as if he were awakening to pain, and Aurora gathered her strength for another try.

Over his shoulder, she saw that the sun now burned low on the horizon, all evidence of the storm gone. Closing her eyes against the glare, she braced both arms to heave Char­lie up. Red spots danced behind her lids as she took a deep breath. Suddenly Aurora felt a cooling shadow block the painful light. Her eyes flew open in stunned surprise to see a black silhouette outlined against the flaming red sun a

few yards away.

Her first reaction was relief, blessed relief. "Hey, over here!" she yelled. "I need help!" When the figure towering over her didn't move, didn't speak, Aurora's relief turned to caution. Eyes narrowed against the sun's glare, she tried to make out his features. All she could see was the outline of a lean, sun-bronzed face. The long swirl of material hanging from his shoulders made her think he must be a desert tribesman, wearing a loose, cooling burnoose.

The thought didn't reassure her. In the months she'd been flying in and out of Saudi, she'd heard tales of the fierce Bedouin tribes that roamed the Arabian peninsula. They weren't exactly known for their hospitality to strang­ers, especially since the Gulf War had ravaged their tribal grazing areas. Remembering the pistol still buried in debris inside the cabin, Aurora stifled a groan. Still, this guy was the only help available at this moment.

"Please," she called out, her throat dry and raspy. "My friend's been injured. Help me lift him."

She pushed at Charlie's shoulders, miming her need. The figure above her didn't move. Aurora swallowed her nervousness and tried again, "Please. Help me." Wriggling her hips, she tried to slide out from under the crushing weight.

Finally, the tribesman stirred. Striding forward, he lifted

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Charlie with a smooth, easy movement and laid him on, his back.

Aurora dragged in the first lungful of air she'd had since the lightning hit her plane. Still shaken, she lay sprawled in the sand. But when the stranger took a step toward her, she scrambled backward and pushed herself up onto un­steady legs.

"Thanks, but I'm okay."

He folded his arms across his chest and subjected hen to a piercing scrutiny.

She pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes with a shaky, hand and returned his assessing stare. He had an impres-1 sive face, she admitted to herself. All planes and angles,' with a square, determined chin, and a nose that looked like ; it had taken a punch or two in its day. From the neck up, \ he looked exactly like what Aurora feared he was—a fierce ; desert warrior. From the neck down, however, he looked \ like no one she'd ever seen before—at least not outside of ; a museum.

What she'd assumed was a burnoose was in fact a red swirling cape that draped across his chest. Red? she won­dered wildly. Here, in the desert? Under the cape, he wore some kind of upper-body armor. Its burnished surface gleamed and glinted in the sun's setting rays. Below that... Aurora blinked. Below that was a short white tunic that stopped about midthigh. After four years at the air force academy and five years of military service, Aurora had seen her share of male thighs. But none quite, as long or as tanned or as roped with sinewy muscles as these. The thought flashed through her mind that in other circum­stances she might have appreciated the sight, but she was too shaky to do so now.

Dredging her memory for the country briefings she'd received when she first started flying in the Middle East, Aurora tried to remember the section on desert tribes. With

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so many different peoples in this part of the world, it was hard to recall individual characteristics. Still, try as she might, she couldn't remember any mention of tall, golden-skinned people with dark, curling hair who wore short skirts and red capes and—her eyes narrowed incredu­lously—swords! Was that really a sword she saw strapped to the man's waist? She took another step back in sheer surprise.

"Qui es? A qua venis?"

Aurora tore her eyes from that long, lethal-looking im­plement. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. Uh, no compre­hended

He glanced from her to the plane, then back again. Dark brows drew together over a long, aquiline nose. "Ubi equi sunt?"

Aurora started to shake her head, then stopped. The word equi triggered a memory from her high-school-Latin days. Equi, equine. Something to do with horses, she thought. Her wariness lessened. Maybe the man was speaking a form of Italian. Aurora knew the European powers had carved the Middle East into their own spheres of influence during the previous century. Maybe this tribe roamed land that had once been part of the Italian colonial empire. The guy could be offering to get horses, to take them to the nearest town or village.

"Yes, equi. Bring equi."

At the man's frown, Aurora guessed her answer was less than satisfactory. The fierce look on his lean, sun-bronzed face made her distinctly nervous. With his powerful build, he wasn't exactly the type she wanted to get crosswise with. He was solid muscle, and a good four inches taller than her own five-foot-five. Now that she was over the shock of the crash and her wobbly legs were starting to regain their strength, she could handle him..Probably. If she had to. But she'd just as soon not have to.

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Smiling, she tried again. "Uh, equi. Horses."

His frown deepened.

What was this guy's problem? She waved one hand in
the air. "We go. You know, arrivederci?"             
Wishing she'd taken some language courses along with
her double engineering major, Aurora made a walking mo­
tion with her fingers. "To town. Villa. Urbana."
His eyes narrowed to dark, glittering slits.
Exasperated, Aurora placed both hands on her hips and
made a sashaying motion.

His frown faded, and, incredibly, he smiled. One corner of his mouth drew up in a slow, crooked grin, softening the sharp planes and angles of his face.

...