THE EARLY BIRD

Peck. Peck. Peck.

Carrigan cracked open one bleary eye and glared at the shadow outside her window.

There he was. Again. Clucklesworth, standing exactly where he always stood at dawn.Not crowing. Just pecking.Always with the goddamn pecking. Deliberate. Methodical.

Peck. Peck. Peck. Peck.

A few steps to the right.

Peck. Peck. Peck. Peck. Peck.

A slight pause.

Peck. Peck. Peck. Peck. Peck.

Carrigan’s eye twitched.

With wild, sleep-deprived fury, she grabbed her slipper, threw open the window, and hurled it at her feathered tormentor.

"Why are you doing this to me, you cheap turkey knock-off?! Every time, you do the same thing! Peck, peck, stroll—and I have had enough!" She clenched her fists. “I swear on everything holy, if you don’t stop, I will—”

Peck. Peck. Peck. Peck. Peck.

Carrigan knew it was an overtired optical illusion, but for a split second, Clucklesworth seemed to stare right at her. And wink.Then he strutted around in a circle, scratching at the dirt.

"That’s it! I hope you enjoy life as a Sunday roast, you feathered menace!"

Peck. Peck. Peck. Peck.

Carrigan let out a strangled scream and flopped back onto her mattress, determined to get her revenge.

Unluckily for that walking feather duster, today just happened to be the town’s annual Tug-of-War Celebration. 

Carrigan cared very little about this ridiculous event - either this 18th century Lord had leapt to his death while out horse riding or he hadn't. There was no need for the town to be divided into two sections that could only agree on one thing - winning so it could be their turn to be right 

The tug-of-war battle on Central Bridge had reached fever pitch—grown men swearing, rope snapping, women hurling their usual battle cries at each other while their children played happily together.

Carrigan wasn’t watching. She was tracking the creature most fowl as it strutted around like the poultry version of John Travolta. Suddenly it was now or never.

Clucklesworth—unbothered, arrogant—was firmly wedged under her arm. His wings flailed, his claws scrabbled, and his indignant squawks had already drawn the attention of at least half the town.

A hush spread.A dangerous hush.

“Carrigan Larke!”

Carrigan froze. Slowly, she turned.

The Town Elder stood at the center of the gathered crowd, arms crossed, his expression like he was reconsidering her right to exist.Behind him, the townsfolk whispered amongst themselves.

She adjusted her grip on Clucklesworth. Time to crank up the innocence.

"Oh, hello! Beautiful morning, isn’t it?"

The Elder exhaled sharply through his nose. "Put the bird carefully on the ground and walk toward me. Slowly."

His tone was wrong. Too sharp. Too urgent.Like she was holding something far more dangerous than a chicken.

Carrigan blinked. "This is my dearly beloved, highly trained performing chicken." She clutched Clucklesworth to her chest. “Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen.” She nodded quickly. “This chicken is a master of deception, comedy, and—most importantly—impeccable timing.”

Someone in the crowd snorted.The Elder  did not look amused. “I said—drop the chicken. Now.”

Carrigan’s brain scrambled. Slowly, deliberately, she maneuvered Clucklesworth under her arm like a ventriloquist dummy. Cleared her throat. And—

“Oh, hello, good people of Blackmore Springs!” She squawked in the worst fake chicken voice imaginable. “Don’t mind me, just out for a lovely evening stroll! Did you hear why the chicken crossed the road? To get laid on the other side!”

Silence.Absolute, unbearable silence.Then—

PECK.

“OW, YOU LITTLE SH—”

“Enough.” The Elder snapped his fingers. “Take her to Harl the Mad Hermit.”

Carrigan gasped, clutching her chest. "Oh no. Not the Mad Hermit. Anything but that!"

She knew the name. Everyone in Blackmore Springs did.The half-mad recluse at the edge of town. The man people whispered about but rarely saw.

This town had some serious issues.

Carrigan laughed nervously, adjusting her grip on Clucklesworth. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s not be hasty. I’m thinking of a fine. A light scolding. Maybe I could wash your cars or serve you coffee? Look! I’m placing the chicken onto the ground.”

Peck. Peck. Peck. Peck.

The Elder shook his head as the guards grabbed her, dragging her away.

“YOU COULD HAVE HELPED ME, YOU USELESS BIRD!” Carrigan hissed at Clucklesworth.

Peck. Peck. Peck. Scratch. Scratch.

The guards shoved her inside a dimly lit cottage.

The Town Elder stood by the fireplace, angrily prodding the flames with a poker.

Carrigan felt the bittersweet warmth from the fire smoldering in the hearth, casting golden light over the rough wooden walls. The air smelled of pine, smoke, and something deeper—something warm and distinctly male.

Lurking in the darkest corner of the room, a pair of blue eyes glared at her like a predator who had already decided she wouldn’t last the night.

Harlin Mackenzie.Aka Harl the Mad Hermit moved like he owned the space around him. He had no reason to yield to anyone.His dark, unruly hair curled at his temples, framing sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and the kind of smirk that ruined lives.

The flickering firelight caught golden skin, tracing over lean muscle, powerful shoulders, and hands that looked like they knew how to break things—and put them back together.His deep blue eyes were sharp. Hypnotic.

Carrigan had been expecting a grizzled hermit, some wild-eyed, half-mad shadow of a man with missing teeth and questionable hygiene.This, however, was a lot worse because this man was hot as hell.He flicked his gaze lazily over her, then up to the Elder. “What have you brought to my door?” His voice was angry and unwelcoming. 

“We’ve talked about this, Bradley Jones. Your weight as a town elder means nothing here.”

“Excuse me, but I’m standing right here,” Carrigan cut in, hands on her hips. “Obviously, there has been a misunderstanding. I wasn’t stealing the chicken. I was simply borrowing it so it could have a holiday.”

She gestured vaguely. “You know, spread its wings, maybe even pick up some chicks? Honestly, has no one here got a sense of humor?”

The Elder remained unimpressed. “As you can see, she is your problem now.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out, the two guards trailing behind him.The door slammed shut.

And just like that—she was alone -with him.

Carrigan sighed dramatically and flopped into a chair. “Well, that was just rude. I’m not anyone’s problem, you know. I’m Carrigan, by the way, and you are obviously not going to say much.”

Harlin’s gaze lingered. Assessing. Unimpressed.

“You talk too much,” He muttered finally.

Carrigan smirked. "Well… you glare too much."

That got a reaction. A flicker of amusement—barely there, but she caught it.Then, without a word, he reached for the collar of his shirt.

Button by button, he teased his shirt open—slowly, deliberately—before letting it drop to the floor.

Carrigan’s breath hitched. Her brain short-circuited.Still, she refused to be outdone.Maintaining eye contact, she slowly teased off her own shirt, letting the fabric slip inch by inch off her shoulders before throwing it into the fire.

Silence.Harlin froze.For the first time, his composure cracked. His breathing slowed. His jaw tightened.

Carrigan smirked. "Problem, Mad Hermit?"

 "You’re playing a dangerous game young lady."

She stepped closer. "Bring it on."

So.This was her punishment.How long had it been since she became Harlin’s reluctant roommate? Days? Weeks?At first, they barely acknowledged each other.Then things… shifted.

It started small. Fingertips brushing over a coffee mug. A lingering glance across the fireplace.Then it progressed. Brushing past each other—accidentally, at first. Then came the fights. They always ended in a fight but this time was different.This time—Carrigan had figured out his secret.

“You could have ended this!” he yelled, pacing across the cabin, fists clenched at her sides.

Harlin sat at the table, arms crossed, watching her unravel.He looked calm but she knew better.His knuckles were white where he gripped his own forearm.

“You think I don’t know that?!” His voice was as, sharp as a blade.

Carrigan spun, eyes blazing. "Then why didn’t you do something? Why did you let them exile you?!"

His jaw clenched. “They didn’t want a hero, Carri. They wanted a myth. A phantom. They wanted grown men to pull on goddamn rope every year for the honor of the town.”

Her pulse pounded. That wasn’t the answer she wanted.Carrigan stepped even closer. "You know what? I'm done. I don’t care anymore. I could leave anytime I wanted to."

A shift -  both dangerous and  electric.

Harlin stood up. His voice dropped scraping down her spine, curling around her ribcage."Then why don’t you?"

Carrigan swallowed hard.“I might just do that.”She didn’t want to leave because leaving meant losing this. Losing him.

By all the gods and saints, she was so tired of pretending.Her chest rose and fell too fast. She swallowed, hating him for making her say anything at all.

"All I wanted was a good night’s sleep. But that damn chicken and its peck, peck, peck. Every night with the peck, peck, peck. I wasn’t going to hurt the bird, just hide it for a night. That bloody Elder… then there’s you! You’re supposed to be this huge, scary, wild man. Why aren’t you like that?! Why can’t you be all mean and terrifying? If you were, I wouldn’t want you so damn much.Oh. I just said that out loud—”

“You crazy woman!”Harlin’s mouth crashed into hers.

More. More. More.

It was rough. Deep.All teeth and tongue.Pure, raw need.

Carrigan pushed him back, back—until his spine hit the wall. Until she was pressed against him. Until there was no space left between them.

More. More. More.

Harlin’s fingers gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him. She felt everything.The heat of his skin.The way his body fit against hers like he was made for this.

More. More. More.

His hands dragged up her sides, tracing her curves, learning how to pull shivers from her. Carrigan gasped against his lips.

Harlin groaned—low, hungry—and suddenly—He lifted her.She grabbed at his belt, tearing at the fabric.He caught her wrists, growling softly against her mouth.She gasped, gripping his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist.

More. More. More. More

Harlin walked them backwards—slamming her against the wooden door.His lips left her mouth, trailing down her throat. .Carrigan tilted her head back, gasping.His name slipped from her lips, breathless and totally wrecked.

That was it. Harlin lost whatever grip on control he had left.He bit down on her pulse point—just enough to make her shudder—before soothing the spot with his tongue.

Carrigan’s fingers curled into his hair, gripping tight, pulling him closer.

More. More. More. More....

Carrigan woke to golden light spilling through the cabin window.Harlin’s arm was draped over her waist.His skin was hot against hers. His breathing was slow. Steady. Too steady.She bit back a smile.

"Still glaring in your sleep, huh?" She murmured playfully.

A slow exhale, warm against her bare shoulder. Then—his voice, low, sleep-rough

"Still talking too much, huh?"

Carrigan rolled over to face him.Harlin’s deep blue eyes were still heavy with sleep, but something new lurked there.Something dangerous.Something that wasn’t leaving - And that was the problem.So she did what she did best. She deflected.

Carrigan forced a smirk, stretching lazily. "Well. That was productive."

Harlin frowned. "Productive?"

Carrigan shrugged, shifting the sheets. "You know. Stress relief. Nothing more."

A long, heavy pause.

"Right."His voice was unreadable."Nothing more."

That should have been the end of it.It wasn’t.Because it happened again and again and again.

Each time, there was an excuse."It’s just trust." "It’s just tension." "It’s just survival."

Until, finally—one night—there were no excuses left.Carrigan stood in the middle of the cabin, arms crossed. Furious.Harlin sat at the table, silent.

"Why won’t you talk to me?" She bellowed.Harlin didn’t look up.

"Things were… what they were until you arrived."He swallowed hard.Carrigan’s heart pounded. "What exactly does that mean?"A long pause.Then—his voice, quiet but certain:

"It means I’m in love with you. Can’t you see that, you ridiculous woman?"

Carrigan inhaled sharply. "Look who’s talking."Her pulse pounded erratically."You didn’t notice I’ve fallen in love with you, so…" She exhaled. "Oh, sod it."

She grabbed him and kissed him like it was the first time.Like it would never be the last. There was just one more thing they needed to confess

“ Let me get this straight. You believe you ended up here due to some sort of time slip while riding a horse to avoid a chicken on the road. This must have caused a ripple effect back to my time and I ended up here because of a damn chicken. You can remember your past but my memories…nada. One thing at a time." Carrigan muttered, pacing the cabin. "So, in theory, if we follow the lore of the legend—" Harlin placed his hand on her waist, stilling her. “Unless you want to stay here.”

Carrigan hesitated.That was the problem, wasn’t it? Because she wasn’t sure anymore.She forced a grin, pressing a hand against his chest. "You could do with a change of scenery, Mad Hermit."

Harlin smirked. "Oh, absolutely."

 Standing hand-in-hand at Central Bridge, they let the void call them.The world blurred. Tilted.Then—

They landed in Bodiam Castle.

Carrigan groaned. "Did we just time travel?"

Harlin lay beside her, breathing hard. "Looks like we did."

A pause.

Peck. Peck. Peck.

Carrigan lunged. "OH NO. YOU ARE NOT STARTING THAT AGAIN!”

Peck..Clucklesworth tapped her gently on the cheek