by Diane Darcy
Neither guy moved.
Gillian sighed and let up. She moved down a step so she could glare up at them. “Look. The jig is up. I surrender.” She lifted both hands. “You got me. Ha. Ha. Ha. You can show me your tiny little cameras, and we can all laugh together. Okay?”
Both men looked at each other then back at her again. She made another dive, and this time the taller man blocked her way grabbing at her arms as she tried to go around him.
Off balance, upset, and on the verge of tears, Gillian shrank back. “What are you trying to do? Push me down the stairs? If you touch me, if anyone dares to touch me again, you are both going to be in so much trouble!”
The guards looked anxious and uncomfortable, but both held their positions. The worrier looked around as if seeking more help. “Miss. Please. You must not come up here. The height will only upset your sensibilities.”
“Turn back.” Big Nose’s arrogance reared its ugly head again.
Gillian looked down, shook her head, and sighed. Fine. They wanted her to play damsel in distress? She’d play it their way. She tried to look scared as she peeked up at them. “The view is truly frightening?” Gillian tried for fear, but wondered if she’d overplayed when her voice wavered. “I guess you’re right. I’d better go now.”
Brown Eyes looked relieved. “Thank you, miss. That is for the best.”
Big Nose smiled in a superior way. “There’s a good lass. And don’t be coming back up here.” Under his breath he muttered, “Meddlesome female.”
Gillian twisted her body to look down the spiral staircase. “I should just go back this way? I’m not sure how to get down. It’s so steep.”
Gillian’s dress hid her firmly planted feet as she pretended to lose her footing. “Oh . . . oh, dear . . . oh, no!” She started to windmill her arms and let out a real scream as her pack pulled her backward. “Help me! I’m falling!”
The shorter guy grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up the few steps.
Gillian clung to him as she looked down the staircase. “I . . . I can’t. Oh, thank you . . . I almost . . . I’m so scared. I could . . . I could have died!”
The man’s grip tightened protectively. “Fret not. I have you.”
Both men pulled her the rest of the way up the stairs and she collapsed on the stone floor, her heart pounding. She started to laugh as she scooted away, then stood and brushed off her skirt. “Thanks, guys. Now that I’m here, I might as well look around.”
Big Nose’s mouth fell open then his face tightened into an angry mask. “Now, see here.” He reached for her.
Gillian backed away. “I wouldn’t if I were you. I’ll scream the castle down if you so much as lay one finger on me.”
Brown Eyes made frantic motions toward the staircase.
“Mistress, please.”
Gillian skipped a few feet backward out of their reach. “Back off. I’m just going to take a look around, and then I’ll be on my way. Okay?”
Gillian turned, walked to the edge and clung to a stone parapet in case they tried to use force. She looked over the village and the surrounding countryside.
Within moments, her shoulders sagged in disappointment. No car, no sign of a paved road, no sign of civilization at all. She’d expected to see something to convince her she wasn’t in the thirteenth century. If not a car, at least a satellite dish on the side of a hut or a telephone wire. Something.
“Now, miss,” said the worrier. “I told you ye’d feel faint. And now look, you’ve gone pale as parchment. Shall I carry you down, then?”
Gillian waved a hand at them. “No. I’m fine.”
The man nodded reluctantly and the two walked a few feet away to confer. Big Nose’s voice rose as he talked about trickery, women, and guile all in the same sentence.
And then Gillian spotted the cemetery. Could it be the same graveyard she’d run through before? How could she possibly know? She looked beyond it and saw something that made her spine stiffen. In the distance sat a cluster of rocks, one bigger than the rest, in the middle of a field.
Gillian’s heart started to pound. Could it be the same rock she’d been sitting on a couple of hours ago as she’d sketched the ruin? As she’d drawn the castle with the exact same arch as this one had?
At a guess, the rock was located in exactly the position it should be in relation to the castle.
Was she being ridiculous? Was it simply coincidence?
She looked to the left of it, to where the road should be. There was no road in that direction and no car. But there wouldn’t be if she were in the thirteenth century, would there?
She brushed the thought away. She refused to buy into that madness. The rock simply had to be a fluke. Of course, it would be easy enough to put her mind at ease. Her rock had been unique.
Turning away from the men, Gillian dug into her pack, pulled out her camera, turned it on and scrolled through the pictures she’d taken of the ruin until she came to the rock.
She checked it against the one on the outskirts. It did look like the same rock. But from that distance and angle, she couldn’t be sure.
Gillian scoffed at herself. Surely rocks like that were scattered throughout England? But they wouldn’t be exactly the same, would they? It had been unusual with its dips and curves. And up close she could check it against the picture to be sure.
She sprang into action, shoved her camera in her pack, and shrugged it onto her shoulders. She headed for the stairs and pulled the strings tight on her backpack.
“Do you need help going down the stairs, mistress?” asked Brown Eyes.
“Hardly!”
Big Nose sniffed. “A good riddance to ye, then. And don’t come back.”
Gillian’s mouth twisted. “Don’t worry. If I have anything to say about it, I won’t.” Scrambling down the staircase, she hurried to the bottom and then around the corner. She was relieved when no one stopped her from leaving through the huge front gate. She’d go and get a look at that rock and settle her doubts once and for all. And when she was done, she’d just keep on walking.
Chapter 8
Wearing a dress, and moving across the harsh terrain, it took Gillian about thirty minutes to go through the village, past the cemetery, up the rise, and over the field to the rock formations.
Breathing hard as she neared them, fear constricted her chest. Because the closer she got, the more convinced she became that they were the same group of rocks.
The gray stone, interspersed with green and black markings, the different shapes of the boulders, the way they were positioned, all looked remarkably familiar.
Chills climbed the middle of her back, spread across her body, and had the hair on her arms standing on end. The rock she’d climbed before had vaguely resembled a mushroom, and there it was. Even from the ground she could see the dip in the front that looked suspiciously like the depression she’d been sitting in.
Could a rock remain unchanged over a period of seven hundred years? Was that even possible?
Gillian took off her backpack, retrieved the camera, and scrolled through the pictures until she found the rock. She skirted the boulder until she found the exact location from which she’d snapped the shot.
Shivers raced up her spine as she compared the past and the present. Unless they had lookalike rocks strewn across England, then yes, this had to be the same rock. The shallow depression was there, even the ledge on which she’d set her pencils was right where it was supposed to be. She could even see the other rock formations in the background, both in the photo and in the present.
Could this really be happening?
Encumbered by her dress, she bunched the material in one fist, climbed the backside of the rock, and lowered herself into the hollow.
Sitting in the exact indentation she’d occupied earlier, she looked toward the castle, took a few deep breaths to stave off dizziness, and scrolled through the pictures on her camera.
Looking between the castle ruin on her camera, and the
now pristine version of the castle with the village set out in front of it, Gillian’s breath caught. The same arch, towers, arrow slits, everything. Even the graveyard was in the correct location. There could be no doubt.
Gillian felt the blood drain from her face and a whirling sensation had her dropping the camera in her lap and clutching at the rock as she took a few deep breaths, trying to get enough air into her lungs.
This was unbelievable. How could this have happened? Why would this have happened? Somehow, she’d actually traveled through time? Had she stumbled through a wormhole without noticing? Or been snatched up by the hand of God and moved to prevent her murder by those boys?
Did things like that happen?
Gillian rubbed her fingers against the scratchy surface of the rock, making sure it was really there. That she was really there.
She wasn’t unconscious or dreaming and this wasn’t some sort of elaborate set-up to trick her.
Unsurprised, she watched as Lord Kellen Marshall crossed the field on horseback, a few of his men following. She stuffed her camera into her pack, closed it, and waited.
He was without helmet or shield, and his black hair gleamed with shots of mahogany and gold in the sunlight, his tanned face hard and unyielding. He still wore chain, armor, and sword, and his loose tunic sported a coat of arms in red and green, depicting a black bird of prey, claws extended.
As she was feeling slightly hunted at the moment, his crest seemed appropriate.
His men stopped; but Kellen, eyes intelligent, perceptive, and without an ounce of guile, maneuvered his horse around the rock, never taking his gaze from hers.
Her own gaze dropped when he moved behind her, until finally he finished rounding the rock and stopped in front of her. He instructed one of his men to search the other rocks.
“What do you do here?”
Slowly she raised her head and met his dark gaze again. She shivered. A real, live, medieval warrior, and he was looking at her as if he owned her, as if she were his possession. His amber eyes took in every part of her, making the blood rush back into her face. A medieval warrior who believed she belonged to him and who believed he had the right to establish and then claim her virginity.
Gillian swallowed, then pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them. Breathless, and still even a bit dizzy, she thought it was a good thing she was sitting. She tried a smile. “Sightseeing?”
He didn’t smile in return. “Sightseeing?”
Gillian nodded. “Yes. I enjoy sightseeing. I saw these rocks from the top of the castle and wanted a closer look.”
Kellen glanced around. “You were not meeting with anyone in this place?”
Her brows rose. Was that why he’d rounded the rock? Why his man was, even now, searching around the others? Was he looking for someone? “No. How could I? I don’t know anyone here.”
Kellen nodded again, then maneuvered his horse closer and held out a hand. “Might I assist you back to the keep?”
Looking at the large, calloused hand, Gillian thought about going with him, thought about sitting on his lap again with his warmth and solid muscle at her back. She remembered the way his arms had held her tight and how she’d melted into him, trying to absorb his strength.
A part of her wanted to fall into those arms again for comfort; but now that she knew he was real, she was pretty sure it wasn’t such a good idea. He either wanted to marry her or kill her. Since he wasn’t joking about either option, she could really use a bit of time to adjust.
Especially since, if and when he found out she wasn’t Edith Corbett, he might take option number two and hang her as a spy.
She smiled weakly at him. “How about a walk?”
Gillian watched with relief as Kellen gave a brief nod and dismounted. He threw the reins of his horse to a grinning knight, crossed the distance quickly, and held out his arms.
Gillian hesitated. She realized she’d either have to accept his help or turn around and scoot down with her butt in the air. She looked into Kellen’s upturned face, to the four knights at his back, all grinning now, and realized that was not going to happen.
She moved to the edge, took a breath, and fell into Kellen’s outstretched arms. Her hands landed on his shoulders and he caught her under her arms and lifted. She could feel the hardness of chain mail and bunching muscles as he easily hoisted her up and around, then slowly lowered her to the ground. She couldn’t help the way her heart thumped at this effortless show of strength.
The romantic dress she wore, her hands slipping to his chest, the predatory way he looked at her, all combined to make her knees weak. The attraction she felt was stronger than ever and left her breathless.
Realizing her feet were on the ground, that she still gripped him and stared into his eyes like an enraptured groupie, she dropped her hands and turned away. She needed to think, and it was better if she didn’t touch him while she did so.
She cleared her throat. “Shall we go?” Her voice was breathless and, embarrassed, she didn’t wait for an answer.
Keeping her distance, she skirted the men and their horses, then started toward the small village. Kellen fell into step, his long stride enabling him to take one step for every two of hers, his chain mail making a soft clinking sound as they walked. His men fell back, leaving them a bit of privacy; and out of the corner of her eye, Gillian could see Kellen studying her. When she glanced up, the possessive look in his eyes startled her and she quickly dropped her gaze.
And why wouldn’t he look at her that way? He thought he owned her, body and soul. He believed them to be engaged. Betrothed. Whatever. She shivered. She was going to be in deep trouble when the truth came out.
She remembered the hard look in his eyes earlier when he’d threatened to hang her. Would he actually kill her if he knew she wasn’t really his fiancé? She swallowed. Maybe not. Probably not. Did they even hang women? She didn’t know for sure, but this was a harsh time and he was a harsh man.
The bottom line was, if she didn’t want to die, or end up cleaning medieval bathrooms or something, she was going to be Edith Corbett until she figured out what was going on and found a way back to her own time. And she would find a way. If she could get here, surely she could get back again.
Gillian thought about the physical exam she’d been subjected to and her cheeks heated. What if she hadn’t been a virgin? What if she’d given in to Ryan’s overtures as she’d considered? Would they have thrown her out and pulled up the drawbridge? Poor Edith. What a time to live.
Gillian considered the fact that Edith’s last name was the same as her own. A relative? One of the ancestors she’d come to England to find? She had no way of knowing, but found it funny and stifled a laugh. She’d meant to find their headstones, not meet them in person.
“What amuses you?”
Gillian lifted a shoulder. “Life is just funny sometimes, you know?”
“How so?”
She decided to be as honest as possible. She had no way of knowing anything about Edith, anyway, so couldn’t answer as she would. “One minute I’m alone, and the next,” she shrugged, “on the verge of being married.”
Which reminded her. Earlier, he’d said her arrival was sooner than expected. That meant the wedding party hadn’t arrived and she wondered how long she had. “Let’s talk about the wedding,” she said brightly. “When is it to be, exactly?”
“You were supposed to arrive five weeks hence.” Kellen’s face was unreadable as he glanced her way. “Why are you early?”
“Why do you think I’m early?” she hedged.
“Your father fears my anger. That you wear his ring bespeaks a message from him. If your father has sent such, state it now.”
Gillian sighed. “All right. I’ll bite. Why would my father be afraid of you?”
“Your sister tried to poison me before dying herself, marking her death suspicious. He fears my anger.” He sounded as if he’d hated his wife and she’d obviously despised him.
&nb
sp; “You didn’t kill her, did you?” Remembering the way he’d threatened to hang her, Gillian was only half-joking.
“Nay!” Kellen turned her toward him, his expression affronted. “Have you heard such?”
Gillian swallowed. “No.” Kellen’s hands were warm on her shoulders. “I . . . just the way you worded it. It made me wonder. So, she killed herself?”
He nodded once. “In trying to poison me, she mischanced to poison herself, though rumors spread that suicide was her goal.”
Good grief. And this psycho was supposed to be Edith’s sister? And he wanted to marry her? How very awkward. Gillian lifted her face to the sunlight. “It certainly is a nice day, isn’t it?”
Kellen grunted, and she supposed that was all the response her change of subject deserved. Gillian turned away and they started walking again. So, perhaps she had as long as five weeks before the bride and her parents showed. “Why do you want to marry me, anyway?”
“You bring more land and—”
“What!” Instant anger fired Gillian’s temper. She stopped and turned toward him again, glaring into his face. “Oh, that’s nice. Really nice.” Gillian threw up her arms. “First my loser boyfriend turns out to be a user and now you only want what you can get from me. Don’t men think women have feelings?”
Kellen looked surprised. “It is the way of things.”
Looking into his confused face, she sighed, the anger draining away as suddenly as it flashed to life. They weren’t really engaged, anyway, so what did it matter? She turned to walk again.
“Well, at least you aren’t making any bones about it. At least you aren’t sly. But why is it men only want me for what I can give them? Why can’t someone just want me because they like me? Why can’t someone just be attracted to me in the normal boy meets girl, likes girl, and wants to marry girl sort of way?”
Kellen laughed. “I must disabuse you of the notion that money and lands are the only reason I wish to marry you.”
Gillian stopped, her face turning upward.
