The man fled the bailey. Edward couldn’t breathe until he held Jennifer in his arms, patting her to assure himself she was unscathed. “Are you unharmed?”
“Truly. I’m fine.”
He snorted, relief filling him. “Dolts.” She had been outside so much that her skin was turning golden. He wanted to be alone with her, away from meddling women. “Shall we ride? You can gather more blackberries.”
“I’d love to.” This beautiful woman was his. The blue dress she wore darkened her eyes. He looked closer and grinned. There was yellow paint on her wrist and neck. And was that a spot of green under her chin?
“What?” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re staring at me like I have a frog on my head. What?”
“I like when you bellow at me.”
She was annoyed. “I do not bellow.”
“Aye, you do. ’Tis most pleasing.”
His lady glared at him. “You’re so weird.”
Anna, John’s wife, had taught him the word. He knew it meant odd, but in a teasing manner, so he chuckled.
“Alistair and Thomas will accompany us.”
He swept her up in front of him on the horse. Once they crossed the drawbridge, he urged the horse to a gallop, knowing she liked to go fast. He was pleased that she was learning to ride. Thomas had been teaching her, but she had not found her faith in the horse yet. In time she would learn.
A quarter of an hour later, Edward cast his gaze to the sky. “We should go back. Have you enough berries?”
His lady emerged from the brush, eating a handful of blackberries, her palms stained purple. Leaning in to kiss her, he tasted the fruit on her lips before she pushed him away.
“You’ll crush them after all the hard work to pick them.”
“You wound me. Choosing fruit over your lord?”
She tapped her lip with a purple finger. “Hmm, let me think.” She poured the rest of the berries into the basket at her feet. “Never. You are far sweeter.”
Before he could kiss her again, he heard shouts. They ran to the horses.
“We ride.”
“You’re not fighting them?”
“Nay, my bloodthirsty wench, there are too many. If I die this day, how can I wed you?”
She went still against him. “You want to wed me?”
“Aye. You are a bothersome wench, stomping and bellowing about, but I find I do not care for sweet words and biddable lasses. I am ruined for all others.”
“Funny. Very funny, Edward.” He heard the joy in her voice. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
’Twas enough for him. She would be Lady Somerforth, and next year, his brothers would come to see the fine son she would give him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Hamish. Where are ye?”
Maude waited behind the icehouse. It was set into the farthest wall of the castle. The steps went down into the earth, where it was cold all the time. Some said it went all the way to the sea. What they did not know was there was a passageway between the wall encircling the castle and the icehouse. That was where her love was hiding.
Every winter, ice and snow were taken into the icehouse and packed with straw to stay frozen until the next winter. She had to make trips every few days during the summer to chip off ice or fetch the food stored within. Maude told Hamish about the passageway. He would hide there, and when ’twas time he would bring the men in, one at a time to hide them in the passageway until they fought and took the castle from Lord Somerforth. She crossed herself.
The wall opened and Hamish came out, taking her in his arms. “Today we almost had the great Lord Somerforth. In a sen’night he will be dead and the Armstrong will reward me. Then I will wed ye, Maude.”
She looked into his face, touching the scar he had earned fighting her lord a score of years ago. A man she had come to know was wicked and evil. Hamish had told her so.
“Two of the men are with me. Soon there will be a great battle and I will bring the rest inside the walls. Then when Somerforth’s men are weak from fighting, we will strike and take the castle.”
Edward had spent the last few days raiding across the Johnston and Armstrong lands. On the last raid he’d lost two men. A day later he received a message two of his men had been captured and were being held on Johnston lands. Two Scots for two of his men. He took three of the garrison guards with him.
“You should not go.” Brom had scowled. “Take me with you.”
“Watch over Jennifer and Somerforth. I must be there for the exchange.”
"’Tis a trap.”
“I will not leave my men to suffer. Tell Jennifer after I am gone. The vexing wench worries overmuch.”
Why had he not heeded his captain’s words? Edward cursed. Brom had been right, and now Edward found himself locked in a ruined tower awaiting hanging. All because of a long-ago grudge.
In all his years he had not feared death, not until now. Until her. If Jennifer could go back, she would be safe in her own time, but if she could not, she would be alone. Nay, Brom would see her safely to his brothers. They would make a good match for her. And he would haunt the man and wait. Somehow finding her in the future. God would not take him so easily.
When the whoreson Johnston hanged his men, Edward swore to repay the Scot tenfold. The soldiers’ women and children would be cared for; he would see to it.
It had taken four men to bring Edward down. He groaned as they dragged him down the stairs. His head ached and he saw three of everything. The three bastards on his right had black eyes and broken noses to show for clouting him over the head with tree branches.
Before they left the ruined tower for the scaffold, one of the men pulled a hood over Edward’s head and clouted him again.
Edward woke to jeering. Why was he under the scaffolding, not standing above with a noose around his neck?
“Bloody hell.”
“Hush, ye wee bastard.” Crouched in the darkness was Connor. The Scot showed him the back of his hand and raised his middle finger.
’Twas all Edward could do to keep from laughing at the rude sign.
“This is the last time I save your womanly hide. When next we meet on the field of battle, I will end you. I may be an outlaw, but I am still a Scot and you are the bloody English.”
“Till then.” Edward respected the man. “I will give you a clean death and say a prayer for you.”
Connor snorted. “I should let you hang and wed your woman.” He put a finger to his mouth. “’Tis a jest. She is not for me. Future women are troublesome wenches. I would sooner wed a pig.”
Edward ignored the insult. “Why is Gilbert not here to hang me himself?”
“The Armstrong had a fire and is trying to save his store of grain.” Connor grinned. “He is the reason there is a price on my head. I have evened the score.”
The Scotsman cocked his head, listening. “The man hanging you has been paid well. He will not remove the hood.”
The crowd threw rotten vegetables and jeered. Done boasting, the Johnston told his people they were safe. No more children would be taken away and eaten by Edward. He rolled his eyes. Then the trapdoor opened and a man fell through, jerking. ’Twas a while before he went still. Edward felt ill. He could have been the one at the end of a rope.
Edward crossed himself. “Who was he?”
“A thief sentenced to death. I offered him gold for his family.” Connor grinned. “Aye, you can repay me and then some. I want two of your finest horses as well as gold.”
“Done.”
The crowd lost interest and went back to their day. The man would be left as a warning. But on the morrow they would find no body, only a grave. Connor had paid the executioner to burn the man. ’Twas the gravest insult to burn a body. No one would know the truth until they heard Edward lived. His legend would grow.
When night fell, they crept through the village as thunder rumbled. By the time they were deep in the forest on the way back to Somerforth, the ra
in came down and thunder sounded across the sky. Edward wondered if ’twas the same at Somerforth. Would the storm take Jennifer? Nay, he would not think on it. She would be there, waiting for him.
An hour or so before dawn, they were attacked. One of the Scots had seen the thief’s face as he burned and knew ’twas not Edward. During the fight, Connor took an arrow through his hand and went down on one knee.
Lightning flashed, and Connor sliced at the two men in front of him with his dagger as the sky filled with voices. ’Twas the most dreadful sound Edward had ever heard. The Scots, full of fear, turned to run.
“Nay, not this morn.” Filled with black rage, he buried his sword to the hilt in the first man’s chest. The other threw a dagger, narrowly missing him. With one swing of his blade, Edward almost cleaved the man in two.
Connor screamed, the sound turning Edward cold. Helpless, he watched, full of dread as the Scot faded. ’Twas not possible, yet Edward could see through Connor to the trees behind him.
Connor reached out, his mouth moving, but Edward could not hear the Scot over the voices all around them. Lightning struck Connor, and before Edward’s eyes, he vanished.
Trembling, Edward vowed never to let Jennifer go. How had she and the others endured such a thing?
“You can’t go when you know it’s a trap. You are Lord Somerforth and responsible for everyone. Without you we will be lost.”
Jennifer had been so upset when she heard what happened to Edward and Connor that she had done something she wasn’t proud of. For the first time in her life, she’d raised her fist to another person. After she calmed down she knew it was an effect of the adrenaline wearing off, but still, she was embarrassed.
It hadn’t even fazed the man, and she knew she hadn’t hurt him, though he pretended she was very fierce.
“Do you swear the sky was not full of voices?” Edward looked pale. “’Twas a terrible sound, unlike any I have ever heard.”
“It must be a little bit different for everyone.” She bit her lip. He paced back and forth. They were in his solar, and despite the fire in the hearth, she shivered, wanting to ask but afraid. Edward obviously had the same thought.
“You would brave such madness to make the journey again?”
“I would.”
He drew his blade, offering it to her. “I vow to aid you.”
Confused, she accepted the sword. “But the emerald was cracked. This is a sapphire.”
Reaching into the pouch at his waist, he came out with the emerald. “I saved it for you.” He placed it in her palm. "’Tis yours.”
“Do you want me to go?”
At the same time, he said, “Do you wish to stay?”
Tears blurred her vision as Edward told her how intelligent, brave, and beautiful she was.
“There’s no storm, but we could try. It’s so dangerous here. I worry about you. Would you come with me to my time?”
Edward looked around the solar. “My brothers would see to Somerforth and its people. I would go to be with you.”
Relief flooded through her. It was time to go home. Reliable like a mountain. Standing for all time. Edward was the kind of man she could rely on. One who would never run; one who would be there. He’d never fall apart. No, he’d handle business and keep her safe. With his very body as a shield. Taking a deep breath, she nodded.
Down in the hidden chamber, Edward sliced his hand and then hers. He twined their fingers together over the emerald and gripped the sword with the other hand. And they waited. Jennifer thought it should have happened. She didn’t feel any different.
“Did we travel to your time?”
“It felt different so I don’t think so. Let’s go outside to be sure.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jennifer was sad and relieved at the same time. They were still in medieval England. It hadn’t worked. They both agreed the storm was necessary to make it work. Neither of them discussed trying again.
Every day felt like borrowed time together. Edward planned to retaliate, and yet Jennifer couldn’t shake the feeling something bad was coming.
Edward rocked back on his heels. “The walls of Somerforth have never been breached. You will be safe.”
Exasperated, she blew out a breath. “But you will be outside the bloody walls. I want you safe too.”
Psychologists said when people are born, they are only afraid of two things: loud noises and falling. Jennifer snorted. No wonder falling in love was exciting and terrifying at the same time. It was the equivalent of jumping out of a plane and not knowing if the parachute would open. Why did anyone ever step out of that plane in the first place?
Then again, not jumping was like not allowing yourself to love. A closing off of the innermost you. Giving up on happiness, staying in limbo, not truly living. She was ready to live. Edward had already jumped—she simply had to let go and join him.
A serving boy brought a pitcher of wine, and she poured each of them a goblet. No one had seen Maude since Edward returned from escaping the hangman’s noose. All in the castle were on the lookout for the traitor.
This morning cook had noticed food missing. The castle was searched, but no one found the redhead. Jennifer jumped with every noise and shadow, sure the girl was somewhere in the castle, hiding.
As she took a sip, it hit her. All this time her mother was braver than Jennifer had ever been. She jumped, knowing she would hit the ground and shatter into a thousand pieces. But she repacked her parachute and got on the next plane, ready to jump again. Hoping one day the man her mom had given her heart to would be there to catch her.
Deep in her bones, Jennifer knew Edward would catch her. She loved him and was pretty sure he loved her. So why hadn’t either of them said the words?
Edward and Brom were going on about strategy while she studied him. The door to the solar banged open and one of the guards said, “We are under attack. Scots. Bloody lot of them.”
“Alistair.”
The knight stood at attention.
“See Jennifer to her chamber.” He turned to her. “Bolt the door until I return. Alistair will stand guard.”
“Wait.” She went to him, and he swept her up in his arms. “Don’t go.”
“I must. ’Tis my duty.”
“Stay with me.”
Edward plundered her mouth, ignoring the sounds coming from his men. His gravelly voice vibrated against her ear, the words low so only she could hear. “Would you care if I died?”
“Very much.”
“Then I shall take care not to.”
“When we return, I will wed Jennifer. Tell her I love her.”
“You need her like a fish needs the sea.” Brom clapped him on the shoulder. “I will guard your back so you may return to your lady.” Then he grinned. “Shall we go kill these Scots bastards?”
Edward laughed. “We shall.”
The Scots came screaming out of the fog. Edward lost himself to battle lust, hearing nothing but metal on metal as the smell of death filled the air. He pushed everything else away as he fought on.
Fog made it hard to tell how much time had passed. Edward carried one of his men to a tree, where he would be out of the battle. A battle cry pierced the fog, and he turned, swinging, the sword an extension of his arm as he cut down man after man. The bodies grew higher and higher and still he fought on.
The blow came from above. Two Scots dropped from the tree and he went down to his knees under the rising tide of men. The Armstrong had grown canny, knowing the only way to have the advantage, to kill, was to take Edward’s armor and send all his men at once.
The rain fell, turning the ground red. Mud covered his face, the sword bit into his neck, and Edward fell.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jennifer stood on the battlements, shading her eyes from the sun as she frantically counted the men coming back from battle. Where was he? She turned to the knight beside her.
“I don’t see Edward. Where is he?”
Hyst
eria threatened to overflow. No matter how she tried to hold it in, she could not. It was like a bottle of champagne, the pressure on the cork as it eased, then the force made it pop.
The man peered intently at the men below. “I do not see him, my lady. But do not fear; he will return. My lord always returns.”
She’d had enough of a scare when word arrived that he had been hanged by the enemy. Instead of standing up here wringing her hands, she ran down the steps, to see what she could do to help and take her mind off him. He would be the last, waiting until all his men were accounted for. She just had to be patient.
The women were ready and waiting with bandages and hot water. Jennifer put on an apron, washed her hands, and met the men at the doors to the hall. Time passed in a blur as she ran back and forth, helping wherever she was needed. One of the men called out as she passed by. “Lady?”
Jennifer knelt beside the man. “Try and drink some ale.”
The man took a few sips and coughed.
"’Tis my arm. It pains me.”
She looked at his left arm, the gash deep and angry, and her stomach rolled over, twisting and turning in circles in protest. It was an ugly wound. Closing her eyes, she bit the inside of her cheek and took a deep breath. When she opened them, she smiled at the man.
“Better finish the ale. I’ll fetch a needle.”
Who would’ve guessed she’d be sitting on the floor of a great hall in medieval England stitching up wounds from a battle? Well, she’d yearned for adventure, and it looked like she’d gotten more than she’d bargained for. Jennifer passed the needle through the flame of a candle then poured whiskey over it.
"’Tis a terrible waste of such fine spirits,” the man said, looking longingly at the whiskey dripping on the floor.
She poured him a cup. His mournful expression was exactly what she needed, and Jennifer giggled. “It will keep your arm from becoming…putrid.” She thought that was the proper word for infected. She’d cleaned the wound as best she could. It wasn’t her first time stitching a wound, but it wasn’t any easier. The sound of the needle as it entered the flesh. The man grimaced but didn’t utter a sound. And she knew how much it must have hurt.
First Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 3) Page 11
