Looking for Trouble
RAVENHURST * PRESENT DAY
RAVEN walked over to the table and leaned forward to smell the rose, it was perfect, the petals soft to the touch. She lifted the lid off the chocolates and for once didn’t really feel like eating them. Instead, she poured a glass of wine, the deep red liquid swirling into the bottom of the glass. She took a sip as she walked over to the bed, set the glass down on the console, and turned to open up her jewelry repair kit. She rifled through the small plastic compartments looking for a jump and a spare clasp. She had many such items in her tool kit that she kept for repairing the vintage jewelry she bought off eBay or Etsy. She was able to get some really great pieces for a fraction of the cost, because they were broken or damaged in some way. It took very little effort to fix such items but luckily for her most people didn’t bother.
Once she had even found a glorious Miriam Haskell multi strand necklace with faux baroque pearls and chalcedony beads that were missing part of the clasp. She used black satin ribbons, decorative clamps with jumps and fixed the necklace. It was now one of her favorites and quite a showpiece. She always got compliments on it.
She pulled out her pliers and the jumps and set to work on the necklace she had found. She wanted to wear it, even though she knew she probably shouldn’t, but her inner voice disagreed and finders-keepers slid through her mind. Yes, she had found it and the fantasy she had while wearing it was so hot, she really wanted to test it further. She was done feeling sorry for herself. She reached over and took another sip of her wine. It was making her feel fuzzy and warm, not rejected and stupid like Reed had made her feel. Reed was a quitter, she decided. Once things really warmed up he took a flying leap out of the room. Fine. That wasn’t completely true. She probably spoiled the moment by sliding off the table. But what did that say about him? One moment she was sweet and the next…well who knew.
She squeezed the pliers together to close the jump. The necklace sparkled beautifully. She remembered her short-lived fantasy, the one in the ugly green room. Why would she imagine herself being called a different name…she wanted to ask someone about the girls name. Maybe she should ask Reed, right, she snorted. “Hey Reed—quitter,” she would say to him…she grabbed her drink and took another sip, then an even bigger one before she set it back down. She began her imaginary conversation once again. “Oh and Reed, I mean quitter, I had a hot fantasy with a guy that looked a lot like you, he really floated my boat… but …” she trailed off, “then he said this other girls name, which wasn’t mine. “ Hmmm, if it was my fantasy shouldn’t my name have been the one he called out?”
She frowned and squeezed the other jump closed. Why did he say another girl’s name? Strange.
She looked back down at the necklace. Now all she needed to do was attach the clasp. She peered into the repair kit debating whether she should use the lobster clasp or the circular one. The lobster clasp worked better for heavier pieces but the circular one was more in keeping with the timeframe of the piece. Did it really matter? Yes it did. So she opted for the period specific one. It was gold as well, fourteen karat. Which was surprisingly affordable since it really had no weight.
Once she finished she inspected her handiwork. It looked good. She packed up all of her tools, closed the plastic lid of the case, and walked over to her suitcase. She still hadn’t unpacked because she kept forgetting to ask the maids if it would be okay to use one of the dressers or the wardrobe. She puffed out her cheeks and blew out a slow breath, little wispy pieces of her hair floated away from her face. “What to do? What to do?” she asked herself, even though she already knew the answer. She wanted to put back on the necklace and finish out her hot fantasy. See what Mr. Lookalike Reed had in store for her this time. She giggled and took another long pull on her wine, finishing off the glass. She glanced over at the food on the table…she really should eat but she didn’t want to at the moment. So instead, she poured another glass of wine, walked back over, and sat down in the center of the bed, crossing her legs.
The necklace sparkled beautifully, beckoning her to it. The tips of her fingers tingled. She wanted to touch it—bad. She had no idea why she hesitated, she didn’t even think about it before, merely held it up to her neck and then Shazam! She found herself wrapped in the arms of an irresistible handsome stranger, who was not a quitter. Nope, he wasn’t like stupid Reed. She sighed heavily, wishing he were here.
“Oh well, it looks like it’s you and me baby,” she said as she lifted up the necklace and fastened it around her neck. As soon as the clasp closed, a jolt shot through her, accompanied by a high-pitched ringing sound. It hurt her ears and she felt a piercing pain shoot behind her eyes… stealing her sight. She squeezed her eyes shut, rolled over on her side, held her head with both hands as another world slammed into her mind. This one filled with Knights…
Misgivings
RAVENHURST * THE AGE OF CHIVALRY
THE entire keep was in an uproar. One bad thing after another had occurred. First was Marguerite’s mysterious sickness, then Milford’s fainting spells; the near trampling of Gaitland and the list was growing. Even the bloody horses were acting strange. Now to top it all off the sky had turned black for no apparent reason and one of his knights thought taking a leap from the battlements was preferable to living. He should have cared but he didn’t. If he hadn’t taken his own life Darias would have done it for him. If truth were told, he didn’t like that Knight overmuch anyway. And of course, he was glad he didn’t have to dirty up his freshly sharpened blade with the man’s blood.
Darias kept a watchful eye on the men as they bickered amongst themselves awaiting the evening meal. He could hear snippets of their conversations as they whispered about the source of the unnaturalness that had descended upon the keep. Unfortunately, the ones who were bold enough to speak openly were the same ones that avoided direct eye contact with him. They were troublemakers; always had been, as far as Darias could remember. He lifted his elbows and placed them on the table in front of him, pressing the tips of his fingers to his temples, rubbing the pain away that crept behind his eyes. When had his men turned into such hens? Even now he could hear his seasoned warriors caterwauling about the rain. It did rain. What was so unnatural about that? He would be more than happy to give each and every one of them something to complain about. Like the stalls he was about to make them clean, or the dirty rushes that needed replacing, or the blades of steel that were in dire need of sharpening. No, they weren’t complaining about any of those things, the ones they could change. Instead, they pointed fingers on where to lay the blame, and all fingers pointed to Marguerite.
He looked over at her now, fidgeting in her seat. She leaned over and looked under her chair, for what he knew not. “Is something amiss?” he asked quietly, trying not to bring any more attention to her, but she was making it rather hard since she kept sticking her head under the table.
Marguerite sat up fast, too fast. She bumped her head on the underside of the table. She straightened and rubbed the back of her head. “No, I am fine,” she said with a forced smile.
Nothing was fine.
She wanted out of this room, away from the accusing stares. Something kept hitting her leg, like a kick, or a poke from under the table. She knew not what it was. Every time she leaned over to look, nothing was there. She straightened and kept an eye on the man directly across from her. He was sitting beside Jayce and Gaitland. She could find no fault with Gaitland—he was kind to her and rather good-looking and he was also the one knight that seemed to be on her side, well, maybe not her side but at least he did not look at her like she was a beast, unlike the man across from her now. He was an ugly one that kept shifting in his seat and darting snide looks at her. Marguerite felt another jab in her leg and looked back under the table. The ugly ones knees were bouncing up and down, like he needed to relieve himself. Children did the same. As if on cue, she smelt a rather nasty odor emanating from under the table. It surrounded her head, the rancid odor trapped in
her nasal passages. She pulled her head back out and glared at the knight. He stared down the table with a smirk on his face, biting back a laugh. Oh yes, he did it on purpose. She was about to tell him what she thought, but caught Darias staring at her with a peculiar look on his handsome face. Oh, take it. She shook her head in denial, wrinkling her nose as she waved her hand in front of her face.
Darias leaned in again. “Are you sure you are feeling well?” he stressed the word.
Marguerite felt fine, other than starving, but for the most part, she felt pretty good. A thought dawned on her…Oh good lord, did he think she was the culprit. She shook her head. “Tis not me,” she whispered in denial, her face flaming red.
Darias smiled at her in that way of his that made her insides flip over and quiver at the same time. Then he reached out and squeezed her arm reassuringly. “I need to have a word. I will be back in a moment.”
Marguerite smiled back at him as he gave her one of his heart stopping smiles. Her stomach fluttered in response.
Morrigan glided into the great hall, her arms loaded down with a trencher of steaming food in one hand and a pitcher of ale in the other. She pulled up short when she saw Darias stand up. She looked him over appreciatively, her heart picking up pace. Finally. He was back where he should be. She was beginning to feel better already. She took a step forward, but stopped short when she saw the girl seated where Milford usually sat. She narrowed her eyes at the girl, gritting her teeth. The pitchers shook in her hand, the liquid began to boil, and bubbled up from inside, spilling over the rims.
A knight at the side of the table was the recipient of the hot liquid. He cursed loudly, patting his shoulder. “Hells teeth, woman,” he bellowed, turning fully in his seat. However, once he saw who it was, he held his tongue.
Marguerite leaned in her chair trying to hear what Darias was speaking of when she caught a glimpse of the unsavory knight out of her peripheral. He was leering at her, biting back a laugh, exposing his blackened teeth. Dirty bastard. She wanted to call him out for what he was, but noticed a few too many men staring in her direction and none with pleasant expressions on their faces, either. She wanted to scream. Why was everyone looking at her?
She turned in her seat and looked over her shoulder. Well she had her answer. She certainly knew why they were staring at her now. The crazy redhead across the hall was glaring at her, even from this distance she could see, no - feel the hate in her eyes.
Morrigan stepped forward and dropped her platter in the middle of the table, bits of food bouncing off. Not one knight dared to say a word, though. She glared up at the girl a moment longer and then slammed the pitcher of ale to the table, as well. The contents again splashed out over the rim. The knight closest to her gulped reflexively, his back rigid. “Not to worry, I can get that cleaned up for you,” he mumbled, while using the sleeve of his own tunic to mop up the mess. “See, no harm.”
She ignored him and turned away from the table, storming past Milford as she made a hasty exit out of the hall.
“What has gotten into her?” a young lad remarked from across the table.
The knight who used his tunic as a mop shrugged his shoulders and shook his head not daring to answer in case she could hear him.
Marguerite lowered her hand from the side of her face as the girl ran from the room. She had inched it up there to use as a shield against the girls evil glares. If there ever was a picture of hate, she would be it. A chill nipped at her, making her shiver. It was not from cold, but rather from dread. A battle was coming, of this, she was certain.
Darias missed the entire exchange; he dismissed his steward and turned back around. The hall was quiet as a tomb. Well at least the bickering had stopped. Blessed silence, he could find no fault with that. He pulled his chair back out and settled himself back at the table. A trencher of food was placed in front of him as he turned towards Marguerite.
“Is the food not to your liking?” Darias asked, leaning towards her, placing a gentle hand on her arm.
Marguerite jumped in surprise but recovered quickly. “Oh no, tis delicious,” she lied, smiling up at him.
“Good,” he said, looking back to his men. He couldn’t understand any of it. The girl at his side was toothsome; one would think his men would embrace her with open arms. But that was not the case. He even noticed his men had begun to give him a wide berth and Marguerite an even larger one. He did try to alleviate some of the uncertainty by heeding his brother’s warnings although doing so left a sour taste in his mouth. He had even pulled Jayce aside earlier and apologized for what had happened between them in the hall the day before. It was a boon for him, for Darias normally would have never done the like, which was probably the strangest thing of all. He was not used to answering to anyone but he still went against his own better judgment for the greater good of all. It was a united front he needed to show with his brother else he may find himself usurped at any given moment. His men had always been loyal to a fault, but something had changed since he had kept himself closeted away for so long with Marguerite. They did not understand his recent absence on the training field or around the keep. But in his own defense, he had never felt the like before, his feelings towards this mere girl. She had bewitched him with her fathomless violet eyes, her soft lilting laughter, and her body, bringing him to ecstasy over and over again. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her, his hunger to have her was so great he could not stand to be away from her more than a few hours at a time. He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration and watched another one of his men give Marguerite a wary look from across the table. He wanted to do something, say something that would alleviate the obvious distress his men were under, but what, he knew not. He watched her now twitching uncomfortably on the seat at his side. His men were staring openly at her, like she was…well he didn’t know, but it was surely strange.
Darias knew something was going to happen, and soon. Jayce too eyed her warily from across the table. His good humor had faded from his eyes; he had never seen him look so serious or at odds with him. It was not a pleasant feeling. He only wished he knew the cause. Of course, to hear Jayce tell of it, Marguerite was at fault for all the unnaturalness that had descended upon the keep like a heavy blanket. Darias wanted to pound some sense into his brother, but knew no good could come of it, so instead he ate his meal, barely able to tolerate his men or his brother. Morrigan was getting bolder as well. She was always a little wild, but lately she would try to closet herself with him whenever he was away from Marguerite. He tried to be nice, he tried to be understanding but again his patience was wearing thin, and there would not be much more he could take at this rate.
***
A storm brewed, the clouds roiling, hanging low above the keep. The hem of her cloak darkened from evening dew on the wet blades of grass.
Lightning skittered across the sky streaking bright spears of light across the horizon. The winds howled, grabbing on to her hair and whipping it above her head. She released her cloak. The heavy material slid down to the ground. She stood in the clearing, her body naked to the elements as she conjured in the open air.
***
Marguerite stewed in her seat, while she stabbed a wayward piece of meat with the knife she held. She gripped the knife so tightly her fingers were turning white. Actually, she was starving but for some reason she was reluctant to eat the food placed in front of her. So instead, she kept her gaze fixed on a dark spot on the table hoping this bloody meal would be finished so she could retreat to the creature comforts of Darias’ bedchamber.
Milford walked into the great hall, carrying a basket of bread to place on the table. He was in mid step when he glanced up; spotting her then, sitting beside Darias, where he, Milford, usually sat. She was replacing him; he knew it would only be a matter of days before she would make Darias send him away just like Morrigan had said when she was bending his ear earlier. He felt sick; his stomach churned. A cold sweat broke out across his face; his tunic clung uncomforta
bly to his body.
The girl glared at him, and he shivered even though he was becoming uncomfortably warm. His vision waffled, she looked like a …he gulped, shaking his head. He closed his eyes tightly shut, when he reopened them, she, the girl, was no longer a mere girl but a beast, with razor sharp teeth jutting out from her mouth. Milford’s eyes widened in horror…he lifted a shaky hand in the air…pointing… “Mon…Mon…ster.” He looked around, no one was paying him any heed, and his master seemed oblivious to the demon that was right at his side, holding a knife, waiting to do him in.
Milford dropped the basket, the biscuits tumbling out onto the filthy floor. He leapt forward, and snatched a knife up from the table as he ran forward to plunge the blade into the beast’s dark heart to save his master.
Everything happened at once.
Marguerite turned; she blinked. At first, she didn’t understand what she was seeing, but then it registered; her brain clicked into gear, sending out fight or flight signals to her limbs. She chose flight and tried to move, to get away, but her gown caught under the table. She tugged and pulled frantically, but then her eyes met another pair of eyes, the ones of the ugly knight. His loathsome visage sneered at her and she knew then her gown was not caught at all but instead being held. She lifted her knife; she would have to choose fight. She could use it against either the boy or the knight who held her gown in place. Truthfully, she preferred the latter.
For the first time in Darias’ life, he was slow to react. Stopping Milford should have been a simple thing, just as removing Marguerite from harm’s way should have been. Neither was simple. When he finally did move, he tried to shove Marguerite out of the way but she was stuck. “Nooo MILFORD!”
Marguerites eyes widened. “Milford?” she repeated. “It can’t be.” Her mouth fell open as all expression faded from her face, she could not use the blade against him, if something happened to Milford…oh good lord. “NO!” she screamed, lifting her hands to shield her body.
DREAMS OF TOMORROW: A NEW ADULT TIME TRAVELING ROMANCE (Ravenhurst Series) Page 12
