More grumbly French followed.
Beth turned to look at Robert.
He scowled down at her, his face red.
“You’re blushing!” she exclaimed, reaching up to touch one hot, bristly cheek. “That is sooo cute!”
“Cute?” Robert questioned.
She sought a medieval equivalent. “Fetching. Delightful.”
Michael exploded with laughter, urging his mount forward before Robert could reach out and knock him from the saddle. The curses Robert uttered then were in English and quite impressive.
“Oh, stop that,” Beth chided. “Do you know how many people in your position would abuse their power? Michael was just bragging about what a good man you are. There is no reason to get upset over it. He’s obviously very proud of you.”
His blue eyes began to twinkle with a smile as his embarrassment faded. Turning his head, he nuzzled the hand she still held against his cheek, pressing his lips to her palm.
Her own face heating, she hastily withdrew her hand and faced forward.
Robert picked up their pace a bit as they approached the castle. The moat in front of it was a lot wider than she expected and beyond disgusting.
Eyes watering, she covered her mouth and nose and wondered how the others could cross the heavy drawbridge lowered over it without gagging and losing their breakfast.
Dark. Muddy. With green slime floating on the surface. Clogged with she-didn’t-want-to-know-what. The stench overpowered all else.
If the moat was meant to prevent intruders from approaching the castle walls, she declared it a grand success. She couldn’t imagine anyone being willing to dive into that muck. And it was so thick she doubted a boat could get across it. Blech!
The horses’ hooves thudded on the sturdy wooden drawbridge.
Beth stared up at a huge iron gate with pointed spikes on the end as they crossed beneath it.
Shadows engulfed them. Cold air embraced her, making her shiver as she studied their surroundings with wide eyes. The walls were huge! Ten, maybe twenty feet thick. A man called a greeting to Robert from a doorway on their right. More greetings rained down upon their heads from above as sunlight washed over them, restoring a modicum of warmth. Beth looked up and back over Robert’s shoulder.
She wasn’t very good when it came to estimating height and distance. But, were she to guess, she would say the walls were at least three stories high.
“Who are you looking at?” Robert asked curiously, following her gaze.
“Not who. What.”
He considered her thoughtfully. “The curtain wall?”
“That’s what you call it?”
“Aye. Do you not?”
She shook her head, unwilling to go into all of that just yet. “Do you think it’s big enough?” she joked weakly, still awed.
Robert seemed to take her question seriously. “Aye. ’Twas the first modification I made when I acquired Fosterly, to strengthen its defenses. The original wall was neither deep enough nor high enough to suit me. Mayhap you noticed as we approached the village that I have begun construction of a second, outer curtain wall.”
No, she hadn’t. All of her attention had been on the villagers. And his kiss. And his big, warm body behind her. “Why do you need a second one?”
“To protect the village and provide Fosterly with an outer bailey. Having been raised at Westcott, I find that one is not enough.”
“You mentioned Westcott last night.” And had been appalled that she had not been familiar with it.
“Aye. My dream is to eventually make Fosterly its match in both grandeur and indestructibility.”
“Well, you are definitely on the right path.” With some reluctance, Beth abandoned her study of the wall and faced forward.
More people bustled about in the bailey, soon to be the inner bailey if Robert had his way. A number of structures and buildings also occupied it, though she couldn’t guess their purpose. Except for the stables. The only reason she recognized that one was because a horse’s butt disappeared inside it just as she glanced over at it.
Berserker stopped at Robert’s invisible instruction. Beth had learned fairly quickly that he had a number of them.
Robert dismounted, then placed his hands on her waist and lifted her down.
Michael joined them.
“My lord!”
A teenager, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age, loped toward them, a wide smile splitting his handsome face. “You have returned!” He skidded to a halt before them. Even though he was taller than Beth, he, too, had to look up at Robert. And he did so with a fair amount of hero worship in his deep brown eyes.
Was this…? Did Robert have a son?
Robert didn’t seem old enough to have fathered a boy this age. Yet the boy had the same black hair (cut short), was obviously from the same class, and wore the same colors Robert wore.
Robert reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Aye. I trust you have been lazing the days away, toasting your feet before my fire, consuming every morsel Cook fails to keep under guard, and wooing every maid in the castle during my absence.”
“Of course,” he admitted cheekily, engaging in a brief, mock-wrestle with his lord.
His eyes fell upon Beth. Filled with inquisitiveness, they roamed her from head to toe with far more knowledge of women sparkling in them than she thought he should possess at his age. “And what have you been doing in your absence, my lord?” he asked, never removing his gaze from her. His meaning could not have been more clear.
Robert cuffed him on the side of his head. “Insolent pup. Hold your tongue. I have brought an honored guest home with me and expect you to trot out all of those courtly manners I have gone to such lengths to drum into you these past years. Lady Bethany, I present to you my faithful squire, Marcus, heir of Dunnenford.”
Straightening his shoulders, Marcus took her hand, offered her a gallant bow, and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. “’Tis both a pleasure and an honor to meet you, my lady,” he pronounced gravely. “I pray you will forgive my earlier impertinence. I meant no disrespect and would in no way wish to injure the tender feelings of one so comely as yourself.”
Beth looked up at Robert and fought back a smile. “I see you’ve imbued him with some of your charm as well.”
“Mayhap too much of it,” he commented dryly, removing her hand from Marcus’s. “See to Berserker, whelp. I’ve a mind to thrash you in the lists later ere I set you to polishing my armor.”
Marcus groaned, though his grin indicated that he had no true objections. Taking Berserker’s reins from Robert, he spoke softly into the mighty stallion’s ear as he guided him toward the stables.
Another boy raced up to liberate Michael’s horse.
When Beth looked around, she realized that Stephen and Adam had continued on and now stood conversing with another group of soldiers some distance away.
If seeing four men in mailed armor had been strange, being surrounded by a castle full of others similarly garbed was downright bizarre.
Someone called out to Robert.
Beth turned. Her mouth fell open when she saw the figure briskly approaching them, “What is he doing here?” she blurted.
Robert glanced at her in surprise. “He is my steward. Do you know him?”
She stared up at Robert in astonishment as the man halted before them. “Captain Kirk is your steward?”
That confirmed it. She really had lost her mind.
“I believe you have mistaken me for someone else, my lady,” the man offered with a puzzled smile. “Since my skill lies with numbers, not with swordplay, I am no soldier. Though I admit to being flattered you might believe otherwise.”
“His name is Edward, not Kirk,” Robert informed her. “And a better steward y
ou will not find. Edward, this is Lady Bethany. She was traveling with her brother when their party was set upon by ruffians.”
Edward’s brow furrowed with concern as he studied her, his gaze lingering on her face. “I do hope you were not badly injured, my lady.”
Beth had forgotten the marks on her face that had been left by low-hanging branches whipping her during her flight through the woods. “Nay, I’m fine.” She hated to lie to the man, but what could she do—admit that she was either mad or a modern marvel, accomplishing something twenty-first century scientists, physicists, and whoever else it was that studied time travel had yet to achieve?
She just could not get over the amazing resemblance this man bore to William Shatner.
“Almost all of her belongings were lost, Edward. Might Lady Alyssa have left some things behind that would suit her?”
“Aye, my lord. She has taken to keeping a trunkful in her chamber so that she might travel more lightly when she visits.”
“Good. See to it that the chamber is prepared for Lady Bethany. I want every comfort afforded her.”
“Aye, my lord.” He hesitated. “And her brother, my lord?”
“Taken.” He turned to the man standing silently beside him. “Michael, organize the search party. Two score men with hounds. Have them comb the forest until they find Sir Josh. You have his description.”
Edward’s eyes widened. “They were attacked on your land, my lord?”
“Aye.”
“Think you it was—?”
Robert shook his head quickly, cutting him off.
Beth frowned up at Robert. “What? Who does he think it was?”
“’Tis naught,” he said. “Naught to concern yourself with.”
Folding her arms over her chest, she raised her eyebrows. If Robert knew something that might help, he’d better tell her.
He sighed. “Very well. We shall discuss it later. I have been away from Fosterly longer than I proposed and have business I must attend to. Edward will escort you to your chamber and see that you are made comfortable until I return.”
What?
When Robert started to leave, Beth latched onto his hand. “Wait! Where are you going? You aren’t leaving me, are you?” On the slim chance that she wasn’t hallucinating all of this and had actually traveled back through time, she did not want to let Robert, the one man she trusted, out of her sight.
Weren’t medieval times and people supposed to have been rather barbaric?
Peering around her, she took in the strange stares directed her way.
Weren’t the people also supposed to have been extremely superstitious? What if she said or did something wrong and they all decided she was a witch? Would they try to burn her at the stake or drown her or stone her to death before Robert returned?
Robert raised his free hand and drew his fingers down her cheek in a brief caress. “You are safe here, Beth. No one at Fosterly will harm you on penalty of death. You have my word.”
“Yes, but—”
He touched a finger to her lips, silencing her. “You have my word.”
Reluctantly, she nodded. “Are you sure you don’t want company? I could come along for the ride.” She really did not want to let him out of her sight.
Smiling, he shook his head. “You have suffered much. I will not drag you hither and yon and exhaust you further. You need rest.”
Beth didn’t think rest was going to help her. “All right. But hurry back.”
Though the command seemed to astound Edward, Robert chuckled.
Bowing, he brought her hand to his lips for a kiss, then released it. “Take good care of her, Edward.”
“I will, my lord.”
Somewhat forlorn, Beth watched him leave, then met Edward’s curious stare. “Are you sure you’re not William Shatner?”
His friendly face puckered with a perplexed frown. “I thought you mistook me for a soldier named Kirk.”
“I did.”
“Do I also bear a resemblance to this Shatner?”
“Actually they’re one and the same. Captain Kirk is William Shatner’s, ah, title. And it isn’t a minor resemblance. The two of you could be twins. Except I’ve never heard Shatner speak English with a British accent. It’s a bit disconcerting.”
Edward motioned for her to walk with him. “I noticed you bear an unusual accent yourself, my lady.”
She nodded. “I apologize if my words are difficult to understand.” She tried hard not to stare with gaping mouth at the towering castle that loomed before them. Large, rectangular, with rounded towers at each corner, it was like something out of a fairy tale. “I’m not from around here.”
“You are from the continent then?”
“Aye.” It wasn’t a lie. She was from another continent, just not the one he meant.
They climbed a long set of stone steps that led to a pair of massive double doors. Edward opened one, then motioned for her to precede him inside. “My lady?”
Taking a deep breath, Beth crossed the portal.
Exhaustion weighting his steps, Robert climbed the stairs to the donjon. He had meant to return earlier so he would have plenty of time to bathe and change into fresh clothing before escorting Bethany down to supper. Instead, a goodly amount of dirt and soot coated him and he smelled no better than his horse.
The marauders had struck again. They had watched him leave, then attacked in his absence, damn them. Two dozen sheep had been slaughtered, which Robert thought even worse than their having been stolen for profit. Greed was a familiar malady. Such malicious destruction as this, however, was something entirely different.
This was personal. This was meant to anger. To frustrate. To send a message Robert could not discern since none of his attempts to discover his enemy’s identity had met with any success.
And his people were suffering the consequences.
A crofter and his two eldest sons had been slain when they had challenged their assailants and protested the burning of their cottage. The crofter’s youngest son, a lanky lad of twelve, had been badly beaten when he had leapt into the fray and fought by their side.
By the boy’s account, the marauders had outnumbered them three to one. And though the will to defeat them might have been there, the crofters had lacked the weapons and skills needed to do so.
Thankfully the wife and daughter remained unscathed, both having left before the attack to attend the childbed of a relative. Had they been present, Robert feared they also would have been slain.
He stepped into the donjon.
Robert did not doubt that the marauders acted under the directions of one man. He must find some way to identify and defeat his enemy before the man claimed more victims.
Again bemoaning the fact that he came to her so filthy, Robert entered the great hall, then stopped short.
The chair Beth should have occupied beside his own at the high table sat empty.
A quick survey of the room failed to locate her. Frowning, he turned and climbed the stairs in search of an answer. At the top, he passed the closed door of the solar and continued on to Bethany’s chamber—the same one his brother and Alyssa occupied during their visits.
Michael, Stephen, and Adam lounged in the hallway outside it.
Noting his approach, they straightened.
Robert could not decide what their expressions indicated but feared it did not bode well. “Where is Lady Bethany?”
“In her chamber,” Michael answered, face somber.
“Why is she not supping below? Is she ill?”
“Nay.”
“Not in body,” Stephen muttered.
Robert stiffened. “What say you?”
“She is mad,” Stephen declared, then grunted when Adam’s elbow promptly lodged
itself in his ribs. “Oomph. That is to say, we think… ah, the three of us… fear she may be a bit”—he glanced uncertainly at his friends—“daft. Just a bit. Mayhap.”
Bethany’s flight from him earlier leapt to Robert’s mind. Her heartrending sobs.
I’m m-mad! I’m looney! I’m w-wacky in the wicky woo! I’m c-completely nuts!
All but one of those expressions were foreign to him. However, her meaning had been clear. And his most trusted men seemed to agree with her.
“What happened?” he asked grimly.
“After you left,” Michael informed him, “she insisted that I show her the kitchen.”
Robert frowned. “Did Edward not ensure she was served a light repast in her chamber?” The customarily reliable Edward would feel his wrath for neglecting his guest’s needs after Robert had specifically instructed him to see to her comfort.
“He had not the chance. He had no sooner shown her to yon chamber and left her with a change of clothing than she threw open the door and, upon finding me outside, made her demand. Or request. ’Twas more of a request. For all of her bold speech and bravado, Lady Bethany is a sweet lass.”
Robert had long since discovered that fact on his own. “Why were you lingering outside her door?”
Michael shrugged. “I merely thought to watch over her in your absence, to ensure that all was well with her.”
“As did we,” Stephen inserted.
Adam nodded.
Robert eyed them suspiciously. “Are you certain you were not simply seeking an opportunity to coax her into showing you more of her intriguing possessions?”
“Nay!”
“Of course not!”
Robert bit back a smile as the knights flushed and stammered and drowned each other out in their rush to deny it. Even Adam joined in.
Rendezvous With Yesterday Page 14
