She Owns the Knight (A Knight's Tale Book 1)

by Diane Darcy

  “My lady.” The woman stared at the ground then bobbed another curtsy.

  Impatient, Gillian said, “Could you at least point me in the right direction for some help?”

  The woman pointed toward the keep and Gillian turned to see That Man in the doorway, watching her. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She swallowed, turned away, and walked in the opposite direction feeling very much on display as everyone stared as she passed. She was positive she could feel the knight watching her.

  She went around to the back wall looking for the parking lot. If someone had left keys or a cell phone in a car, she might not even ask for permission to borrow one or both items.

  She came to a stop. There was no parking lot inside the inner walls, which made sense. Spotting a spiral staircase situated at the bottom of a corner tower, she quickly climbed the rough stone stairs getting her second or third workout of the day. Panting, her skirt pulled up to her knees, she finally reached the top and looked over the edge.

  There was a huge outer courtyard enclosed within a high stone wall. More stables, a stream, an orchard, and a garden. Some men were fighting with swords in the far corner. Beyond the outer wall, she could see nothing but more fields and trees. Not a car, or anything else for that matter, in sight.

  From her high position on the wall, she turned and looked over the castle and its inner courtyard. She had to admit it was beautiful with its imposing exterior and fairy tale flavor.

  She noticed three little boys watching her from below. They pretended indifference when she looked their way, and it made her smile. And that, in turn, made them run away.

  There were no movie cameras, no overt drama. It looked as if people were simply going about their daily business. No one was wearing modern clothing, and there was nothing to indicate this was the twenty-first century.

  She didn’t see any phone wires, electric lines, or anything like that, and she was getting more than a little freaked out. It was almost as if she’d tumbled into the past.

  That thought jarred her memory.

  Gillian’s college roommate, Sophia, had honeymooned on a western cattle drive with her husband. It had been touted as a ‘heading back in time’ experience and had sounded to Gillian like a very odd way to start a marriage.

  Gillian wondered if she’d inadvertently stumbled on a similar vacation package. To the extreme. It would explain why everyone stayed in character. It wouldn’t really explain what had been done to her, but . . . maybe they truly were die-hard fanatics? What would they have done if she hadn’t been a virgin? Burned her at the stake? Gillian couldn’t help a shiver. She had to get out of there.

  She climbed back down and a girl hurried toward her. Breathless, she stopped and gave Gillian a slight curtsy. “I am Beatrice. I am to be my lady’s maid, assigned by his lordship.” The girl actually looked excited at the prospect.

  “Oh. Okay. A maid, huh? You’d think that if your parents are paying for this vacation you’d get a better part, but you probably weren’t given a choice.” Gillian waited for the girl to comment, but she simply stared, uncomprehending.

  Impatient, Gillian decided to try the straightforward approach. “Look, honey, can we step out of character for just a moment? I need a phone. Do you have a cell?”

  The girl looked confused. “I sleep with the other girls and have no chamber of my own.”

  “Ah . . . okay . . . look, I just need to know if you have a phone I could use to make a local call. I need to call a cab or something. Also, where exactly are we? I’m lost and don’t know where to direct the driver.”

  The girl smiled. “I will take you to his lordship, and he will answer your questions.”

  Gillian’s mouth twisted. “You’re what, fourteen, fifteen?”

  “I am all of fourteen summers.”

  “You’re fourteen and you’re telling me you don’t have a cell phone glued to your hip? Come on, just let me borrow it. I promise to make the call really quick. No one has to know.”

  Beatrice looked around as if seeking help.

  “Cross my heart,” Gillian made a crossing motion over her chest and smiled reassuringly. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  The girl looked scared. “Perhaps if her ladyship would like to lie abed for a time? Her ladyship’s bedchamber is most comfortable.”

  “Yeah, I laid on that bed earlier; and let me tell you, it was not a restful experience.”

  The girl looked at the ground and clasped her hands in front of her.

  In frustration, Gillian turned. “Fine, if you’re not going to help me, I’m out of here.”

  A couple of hours later, with the girl still on her heels, Gillian sighed. She’d studied every inch of the place from the buttery to the barracks, to the blacksmith’s and the brew house, to the dovecote and the garderobes—which Gillian had unwillingly made use of. No one was giving up a phone, and most ignored her.

  Even more worrisome, she couldn’t find anything that indicated she was in the twenty-first century. Not so much as a light switch or a pair of athletic shoes. And as far as she could tell, not one single woman wore makeup. Not even mascara. Surely that went beyond fanatic?

  Unless she really was in the past?

  Again, she went over what had happened before she’d arrived at the castle. She’d been running. She’d almost fallen a few times, but she didn’t remember actually hitting her head or anything. And she wasn’t in any pain.

  She’d only sipped from her water bottle and didn’t remember being stuck with any needles. So how had she been drugged and brought to this place?

  She tried to think, to remember every single detail. Right after she’d shoved her father’s ring on her finger, the hooligans had disappeared and the medieval guys had shown up. Suddenly, it was as if she were in a different place.

  A frisson of fear chased up her spine. Was she in a different place? In a different time? Had she somehow managed to travel through time?

  She studied the ring and thought about the engravings on the inside. She knew her father had hired someone to translate the markings, but she couldn’t remember what they meant. She let out a breath. If it had caused the problem, then she could remedy the situation quickly enough. She grasped the ring and pulled.

  The ring stuck to her finger.

  She spit on it, rubbed the moisture around, and tried to twist it off again. It didn’t budge. Panic bubbled in her chest. She didn’t remember the ring being so small when her father had worn it. Tugging at the ring was making her finger swell and she gave up.

  Later she’d find some cold water to soak her hand in. What she was thinking couldn’t be the truth, anyway. “Beatrice. What is the date today?”

  Beatrice curtsied, and smiled. “The first day of June, my lady.”

  Gillian sucked in air as goosebumps ran up her arms. As far as she knew, it was April the eighteenth. With a shiver she asked, “What year?”

  The maid looked confused. “The year of our Lord, 1260.”

  Chills ran up Gillian’s back, and the hair on her nape stood straight. But disbelief had her scoffing. “The real date, if you please.”

  The girl’s face showed absolutely no understanding. Either she was an incredible actress, or she really was more than seven hundred years old. “Are you telling the truth?” asked Gillian, trying to sound stern.

  The girl looked scared. “Of course, my lady. I would never lie to you. If I did so, Father Elliot would serve up bread and water for a sennight!” The sincerity in the other girl’s face sent an icy chill through Gillian.

  “What is the name of this castle?”

  “Marshall Keep, my lady.”

  Suddenly dizzy, Gillian placed a hand to her forehead. When she’d been drawing Marshall Keep, it certainly hadn’t looked anything like this.

  She looked toward the keep. It looked like she needed to have another talk with That Man, after all.

  And this time she intended to get some answers.

  Kellen, seated at th
e head table and going over accounts with his steward, was very pleased when Edith finally sought him out. He had marked her whereabouts throughout the day and had waited patiently while Edith explored her new home. He had kept himself busy by performing his duties in the hall on the chance she might need him.

  He was proud of his home and wished her to be happy there. He hoped his keep, stalwart and affluent, would sway her into accepting their marriage more readily.

  Edith moved toward him and Kellen stood, struck anew at how beautiful he found her. Her gown didn’t hide her curves, and her slight form walked with purpose and allure. She looked to be refreshed and radiant from her afternoon outside. Obligation and duty aside, he found himself glad she belonged to him.

  Edith stopped in front of him. “What is the date today?”

  Kellen’s brows rose at her abrupt and demanding tone. As his betrothed, she must needs work on her address; but he would let it pass for the moment.

  He wondered if she were worried about attending mass. Her sister, Catherine, had been quite devout. It was unfortunate the priest had not the influence to check her murderous inclinations.

  But he would not think on that. This was a new girl and a new beginning. Kellen did his best to keep his expression pleasant as he answered with a slight bow. “It is Tuesday, my lady.”

  She gifted him a look he did not appreciate. Like he was the idiot she had named him earlier. “The full date, if you please, as in month, day, and year.”

  Kellen’s brows rose, and he tried to hide his disgruntlement. Did she now question his wits? “It is the first day of June, 1260.”

  Edith’s expression was disbelieving. “Are you sure it isn’t April eighteenth? Are you sure I haven’t simply been kidnapped by a weird medievalist cult or something? I saw the movie The Village. They had all those people holed up in an isolated location thinking they were living in the past.”

  Kellen knew not what she referred to, and fearing to look a dolt, he remained silent.

  Edith placed her hand on her hips, momentarily drawing his gaze there. “Or perhaps I really did travel through time?”

  Again, Kellen was not sure what she referred to but could clearly hear censure in her tone. This she must work on also. He narrowed his eyes in warning but again did not respond.

  Edith sighed, and the tension drained from her body. “What exactly is it you want from me?” The belligerence evaporated and she sounded weary and confused.

  Ah. This was good. His patience had finally yielded profits. Kellen relaxed a bit, pleased at her inclination to learn her role here. Her distress in coming to him in such a manner had likely frazzled her nerves and made her awkward. Now they could discuss their betrothal in a reasonable manner.

  Kellen reached to take her hand, to reassure her. She did not resist, only appeared bewildered as she gazed down at his larger hand engulfing her smaller one, and this pleased him also. She would soon learn to lean on his strength and to trust him in all matters. The softness of her skin made him smile, and the quiver of awareness prickling throughout his body had him looking forward to their wedding night.

  Perhaps after they had known one another better she would not make him wait the five weeks until they wed to consummate the marriage? If she carried his heir on their wedding day, he would be doubly pleased.

  “You may call me Kellen. May I call you Edith?”

  She jerked her hand from his. “Why would you?” Her words were sharp again.

  Kellen was taken aback, his pride stung, and he straightened. “That is your name, is it not? Lady Edith Corbett? We are betrothed, so formalities between us can surely be dropped?”

  Lady Edith sucked in a breath. “I might not know much about what is going on here, but I am positive we are not engaged and that I am not Edith.”

  Kellen struggled to hold his temper, but it was obvious she tried to escape the marriage. She did not like her new home? She did not like him? That was unfortunate, because she would find him unyielding on this subject. They would marry.

  Anger hardened his heart. “You are not Lady Edith Corbett?”

  Edith folded her arms. “No, I am not.”

  Kellen gave her one final chance. “You are not Lady Edith and are not my betrothed?”

  “I already said no on both counts, didn’t I?” Again, her tone held the sharpness he was beginning to detest.

  Kellen sucked in a breath and tried to control his temper. Obviously, his betrothed needed instruction on the way of things. “Then how came you to be here? Who are you? If you are not Lady Corbett, you must be a thief and a spy and therefore must be hanged immediately.”

  Shock and fear were plain in Edith’s face as she swallowed and stepped back. “I’m not a thief or a spy.”

  Kellen did not want her afraid. He wanted his wife to want him. To yield to him. This display of neediness on his part, the fragile hope for a companion in marriage, made him angrier still. When would he learn?

  He hit out harshly. “You wear the Corbett ring. If you are not his daughter then you must have stolen it.”

  Edith hid the ring under her hand. “No! This was my father’s ring!” Fear laced her expression and voice.

  “Then once more, I will ask for your name.”

  She studied him for a long moment, and he was well aware of the visage she beheld. Brutal, grim, harsh. Her unwanted future.

  She gulped. “I am Lady Edith Corbett, your betrothed.” She grabbed her bag, turned, and ran out the door again.

  Kellen let out a breath and tamped back the pain and anger. It was not as he had hoped. But there would be no games played between them. He would not allow it. She would learn her place and keep to it. The marriage would be one of duty, and any tender feelings he felt toward her he would keep to himself.

  Eventually those sentiments would expire.

  Just as they had in his first marriage.

  Chapter 7

  The guy was a . . . a . . . a big, scary jerk! Gillian ran outside, finally slowed, and came to a stop. Breathing hard, she looked around.

  So, the year was 1260, huh? These guys were good. Everything pointed to this being medieval England: the castle, the way everyone dressed, their speech, the way they occupied themselves, everything. There was not one little clue that this was the twenty-first century.

  But, of course, that was impossible. Time travel via a graveyard? The idea was ridiculous. She had to look at this logically. Take away the time travel idea and what was she left with?

  A fraud of some sort. A trick. And probably drugs and a kidnapping to boot. But for what purpose?

  Perhaps this was some sort of English Candid Camera type show that had gone way too far. A give a girl a gynecological exam, then threaten to kill her, type show. It was hard to believe anyone would arrange something this elaborate, but it made more sense than time travel.

  They were probably going to feature her on YouTube or something along with a bunch of other idiot tourists who fell for their ploy and were molested by them. British humor? Somehow watching Monty Python would never be the same.

  But shouldn’t they have jumped out by now and admitted it was all a joke? Surprise, surprise, we got you. Ha, ha, ha.

  Or did they realize they’d gone too far and now didn’t know what to do? Didn’t know how to get out of it? Were they afraid of being sued? Gillian’s mouth tightened. If not, they should be.

  She headed toward the front gate. She’d climb to the top of the wall and take a good look at the view from the front of the castle this time. See if she could spot a road or perhaps even her rental car if they’d brought it along.

  She still had her keys in her pack, so she could hike out to it and drive away without a backward glance. If she didn’t see the rental, well, at this point she was even willing to take her chances and hitchhike to the town of Marshall. As long as the driver wasn’t an obviously drooling psychopath or dressed in medieval garb, or both.

  Ignoring the way everyone continued to stare, she w
alked to the imposing front gate, located the circular staircase, and started to climb.

  When she’d almost reached the top, two men rushed forward blocking her way. Guards from the looks of them, one taller with a bigger nose, one shorter with worried brown eyes. Strong men, stocky with muscle. Both looked uncomfortable.

  Big Nose glanced at his friend then ordered. “My lady, you must turn back. ’Tis not allowable for you to be up here.”

  Gillian stopped a few steps down and glared as she tried to catch her breath. “Just get out of my way, okay? I’ve about had it with this place, and I don’t need any more men telling me how it’s going to be; so back off, buster.”

  Surprise registered on both faces and the brown-eyed worrier positioned himself more firmly in her path but glanced between his friend and Gillian as if unsure which side to take. His voice was gentle. “We cannot let you by, your ladyship. ’Tis high off the ground. Turn back lest you be frightened by the view.”

  Gillian smiled tightly. “I was just looking at the view from the back side of the keep a while ago. This isn’t that much higher and I promise it won’t scare me. Just get out of the way, will you?”

  Big Nose placed a fist on one hip. “’Tis not allowable.” Arrogance oozed down the steps.

  Sudden suspicion had Gillian’s eyes narrowing. “Why not? Is there something you don’t want me to see? A parking lot, perhaps? Or a nearby town? Policemen on patrol? A telephone?”

  The men exchanged a confused glance, or was that a guilty one? Big Nose’s brows rose. “Er . . . no, miss.”

  The worrier looked visibly distressed but didn’t move out of her way. “Please miss, this is no place for a lady such as yourself.”

  Gillian gave a fake smile. “What’s a girl like me doing in a place like this, huh? I’m asking myself that same question. Now, move it.”

  Gillian surged up the few steps and tried to squeeze around the shorter guy. She pushed but couldn’t get much of a foothold from her position on the stairs, and the guy didn’t budge at all. Gillian, hands and head pushing against the man’s stomach, said, “Nothing you can say is going to stop me. Get out of my way!”