The Messenger: Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #1 by Pamela DuMond Page B

back to my real life? My head was spinning, my brain raced.
    I needed to unwind. I needed to think. The only thing that did that for me back in Chicago was yoga. I looked around the stable. Yes, it was a little stinky, and the space was cramped, but why couldn’t I do yoga here?
    I realized I could. I could do things for myself in this foreign world. I would still be Madeline Blackford, who just happened to be transported back in time three hundred plus years—hopefully just for a short while.
    I spotted some blankets piled in the corner of the barn, grabbed one, and tossed it on the earth in front of Nathan’s stall. I put my hands flat on it and stretched my body with my butt up in the air, my face inches from the blanket.
    My nose twitched and I sneezed. Phew, this thing smelled horsey. (Note to self: pretty much everything smells horsey in the year 1675.)
    Technically, this yoga pose was Downward Facing Dog. Right now it was Downward Facing Colonial Girl. I stretched my spine, grunted, and felt a couple of lifetimes of stress roll off my shoulders.
    “This feels amazing,” I said to Nathan. “I wish you could try this.”
    He flicked his tail and blew through his lips loudly.
    “Hah! Horse Breath! You’re good.” I blew through my lips, too. Horse breath was a great way to reduce stress.
    I segued into more yoga moves: planks, pushups, back bends, and sun salutations. Those were my favorites. You’d lift your arms as far as you could over your head and thank God, the stars, the heavens, or whomever you cared about that you were doing this practice.
    I tried to sweep out negative emotions, and pull in positive energy as I lengthened my spine and expanded my ribs. I breathed deeply. Inhaled. Exhaled. I knew each breath could help wash away my anxiety.
    I broke into a sweat, my endorphins kicked in, and I felt great except for the fact that the ugliest dress in the world was squeezing me half to death. I looked around. No one was here; only a few animals. Elizabeth had said we could do things a little differently, if no people were watching. I made the decision.
    I finagled my way out off my long, ugly dress, and tossed it across the barn.
    I was in my pilgrim underwear. These were definitely not Victoria’s Secrets—more like Victoria’s Rejects. They were hideous, fluffy pajamas with a big girdle around the middle. The girdle, called a corset, was most likely damaging my organs, and I was done with it.
    I reached behind my waist and yanked on the cords that kept this thing cinched around me. Loosened them enough that I pulled myself out of this torture device, swung it around my head and pitched it through the air. “See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya.” The corset landed in a corner of the barn with a thunk .
    I felt my ribs expand. Freedom. I closed my eyes, and took my first Warrior pose since I was back in Chicago. “Warrior One,” I said. My front knee was bent at a ninety-degree angle with my back leg extended, and my arms straight overhead. I breathed, held the pose then shifted my pelvis and stretched my arms out long in both directions over both my shoulders.
    I felt fierce and fiery. I breathed deep and guttural. For the first time in weeks I felt in control. “Warrior Two, Nathan. What do you think?”
    Someone started clapping. “Those are the scariest, warrior moves I have seen in years,” a young man said.
    I shrieked, and whip turned. Samuel leaned against the far wall of the barn, his arms crossed in front of him, a grin on his face. He wore colonial pants, and a white shirt that was unbuttoned below his collarbones. His black hair was pushed behind his ears but a few thick curls fell above his shoulders.
    “How long have you been here? Are you following me?” I glanced around the stables to find my clothes that I had thrown, apparently, everywhere. Great. “That is just wrong!”
    “I was here before Elizabeth and you entered. I did not want to interrupt you. But since you are