The Messenger: Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #1 by Pamela DuMond Read Free Book Online

with my bloodstained, muddied, long sleeve. Then I realized—I had a voice. It was bare bones basic, but it was a voice.
    In the distance I heard a worried, adult female shout, “Abigail?”
    I didn’t know who Abigail was, but I’d love to see a friendly person right about now. “Yes!” I said, but couldn’t quite get the word out of my mouth. Like, I still didn’t know how to work this mouth, this voice.
    “Abigail, we are coming for thee!” the woman said. Whoever she was couldn’t get here soon enough.
    That’s when I first saw him.
    He looked about my age, with strong cheekbones and black, shiny hair that swept onto his shoulders. He wore a long, tanned, animal hide shirt and loose pants. He was tall, muscular, stunning. He also looked very much alive. I really liked the alive part.
    He and another big, built, young man skirted the remains of the torched cabin and headed toward the forest. The other guy also had black hair, but his skin was caramel, and he wore old-fashioned pilgrim breeches and a plain shirt. They carried bows and arrows. The one clutched a knife. They both looked hard and tough like rebels or even the punks on the el platform.
    The young man with the strong cheekbones scanned the scene. His gaze was intense, especially when it landed on me. His hazel eyes regarded me with coldness, disdain. I had no idea why. He looked dangerous, but not like a killer. There was something different about him that I couldn’t explain. He nodded at me once, turned, and followed the other guy into the forest.
    And left me with all the dead people.
    Except for the woman who kept calling for Abigail. I spotted her. She was pretty, young, and accompanied by two men, one older and one younger. They were dressed in strange, colonial attire, and crouched low to the ground as they crept up the hill toward the cabin and me.
    The woman paused next to a body of a girl lying on her stomach. The woman bit her lip so hard I thought she’d draw blood. “Abigail?” she asked.
    The older man kneeled in the dirt, and turned the girl’s body over. “She’s dead, Mistress. They’re all dead,” he said.
    The woman grimaced, leaned over, and smoothed back the blood-caked hair that covered the dead girl’s face. She looked relieved, then embarrassed. “’Tis not Abigail.” She gently shut the dead girl’s eyes with her hand. “Go to God.”
    “Mistress Elizabeth.” The older man pushed himself back to standing. “I pray that your cousin is alive. But you are in grave danger here. Daniel will escort you back to the garrison. I will look for Abigail.”
    Elizabeth jutted her chin out, determined. “Most of our men are days’ journey away fighting this war. I am not a foolish woman, and do not for one second believe we are that much safer at the garrison, either.” She stood up incredibly tall and stared down the man who challenged her.
    “But we are in the middle of a war, as these bodies and burnt buildings attest to.” He gestured broadly. “I swore an oath to King Charles II, whom I have never met, to fight this war and protect this land. I promised your husband, General Jebediah Ballard, whom I have fought next to in battle, dined with and respect deeply, that I would keep you, his wife, safe from harm.”
    “Abigail is my cousin,” Elizabeth said. “Dead or alive, I will find her. Only then will I return to the garrison.” She scrutinized the area. “Abigail?” she hollered.
    Elizabeth looked so nice, so sweet, and I really needed a friend. Even if this was only a dream, I wanted a friend. So I made a decision.
    “Yes,” I said and the word came out of my mouth garbled. I lifted my arm off the dirt, high up in the air to get Elizabeth’s attention. But she was already turning in my direction.
    Her hand clasped her chest and she froze for a second. And melted just as quickly. “Abigail!” Elizabeth raced toward me, maneuvering around dead bodies, singed grass, smoldering bales of hay, a small,