“Ever heard of Velcro?”
“Nay,” Stephen and Michael answered with every appearance of honesty.
These guys just didn’t give up, did they? “Whatever. Let’s just get going.”
The leader motioned to his men, who moved to mount their horses. “You shall ride with me,” he informed her.
Beth took one look at the mammoth-sized, stomping, snorting stallion he led toward her and abruptly turned coward. “Um, you know what? I think I’m going to walk.”
He frowned. He did that quite often, she noted, and wasn’t sure if it was because he disagreed with her words or simply couldn’t understand some of them. “’Twill be faster if you ride.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll walk.” She scuttled backward as the horse drew near.
The others all mounted their horses and sat, looking down at her as if she were certifiable.
Or perhaps just being difficult.
But she wasn’t being difficult. She was being a wuss.
“Why?” the leader asked.
“Because I, um….” Ah, hell. How was she supposed to come up with a good excuse when that huge thing was peeling its lips back from its teeth and stretching its neck out as if it wanted to take a nice big bite out of her?
“You shall ride with me,” he commanded again.
“No. I mean, nay.”
Great. If the tightening of his lips and the muscle jumping in his cheek were any indication, she had offended him.
Beth sighed. “All right. Here’s the thing,” she confessed in a low voice the others leaned forward and strained to overhear.
The leader obligingly ducked his head to better catch her words.
“I have never been this close to a horse before,” she told him softly. “And, as embarrassing as this is for me to admit, I just realized that I’m apparently afraid of them.”
He blinked. “You have never been nigh a horse?”
Resentment bubbled up inside her, heightened by her embarrassment. “Look, not everyone in Texas owns a ranch, you know,” she blurted defensively. “We aren’t all cowboys. We don’t all own horses and wear boots and fringed shirts and big belt buckles and cowboy hats and listen to country western music. That’s such a stereotype! I grew up in the suburbs of one of the largest cities in the country, for crying out loud! The only time I ever even saw a horse was when my parents took me to the rodeo when I was a kid. And the horses there didn’t look nearly as huge from my seat way up high in the nosebleed section as yours does now.”
“Cowboys?” he queried, seemingly confused.
“Nosebleed section?” This from Stephen.
“Suburbs?” Michael parroted.
“Yes!” Her temper erupted in a growl of frustration. “I mean, aye!”
The leader held his hand out to her. “Berserker will not harm you.”
“Berserker is your horse’s name?”
“Aye.”
“And that’s supposed to reassure me?”
He didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Not that anything he said would erase her qualms.
“I will not let you fall, Mistress Bethany. You have my word that you will come to no harm if you ride with me.”
She stared up at him, taking in his handsome, earnest features.
Something about this man was starting to grow on her. Something that made her want to throw caution to the wind and give him her trust.
He must have sensed she was weakening, for he moved in then with a killing blow. “If you ride with me, we will cover ground more quickly and will have a greater chance of finding this Josh you seek before nightfall.”
Great. He had found her biggest weakness. She would do anything to find Josh and see to his safety, even ride an oversized horse with an attitude.
Her wary gaze on Berserker, Beth placed her hand in the leader’s much larger one.
It was warm and tanned and callused but capable of gentleness, she learned as he folded his fingers around her own.
“Your hand is as cold as well water,” he exclaimed, frowning down at it. Curling his other hand around it, he brought it to his lips to blow warm breath on it.
Butterfly wings fluttered in her belly. “What was your name again?” she asked.
“Lord Robert, Earl of Fosterly.”
She nodded slowly, his touch doing strange things to her insides. “Well, Robert, I’m going to hold you to that promise. So, I guess you’d better go ahead and give me a boost.”
Something about the way she said his name surprised him. She saw it in his eyes and felt it in the tightening of his grip on her fingers before he frowned over the rest of her words.
Shaking his head, he dropped his hands to her waist, lifted her effortlessly and deposited her sideways on the saddle. It was an odd one, not like those she had seen in movies, but Beth barely registered it as she clutched the high pommel with a death grip.
Her heart raced madly. Her palms grew moist. The ground seemed miles away from her precarious perch. And every horror story she had ever heard about people being thrown from their horses and winding up either dead or paralyzed chose that moment to flood her mind.
She gasped as Robert launched himself into the saddle behind her, lifted her and settled her firmly across his lap. One heavily muscled arm locked around her waist while the other took the reins.
“Fear not, Mistress Bethany,” he murmured soothingly in her ear. “I shall let no harm befall you.” Then the horse beneath them moved, carrying them forward to retrace her path through the forest.
Beth had just enough time to convince herself that—under other circumstances—she might actually enjoy learning to ride horseback… eventually… on a nice, slow, elderly nag, before they broke through the trees.
The meadow in which she had awoken opened up in front of them.
Relief rushed through her when she saw her possessions. “My backpack!”
Berserker stopped at Robert’s unspoken bidding. The others followed suit.
“I shall dismount first,” Robert spoke gruffly in her ear. “Then I will assist you down.”
“Okay.”
Beth didn’t realize how tightly she was holding his arm until he carefully peeled her fingers away and settled them on the pommel. “Just hold on here and you shall be fine.”
She nodded jerkily.
Covering her hands with one of his, he gave them a comforting pat, then dismounted. Seconds later, he gripped her waist, lifted her and settled her gently upon the grass.
“Thank you.” Beth hurried over to her backpack and dropped to her knees. As she began to paw through it, she heard the others dismount. “Where is it?” she muttered. “Where is it? Where is it? Come on, you son of a— Aha!” She cried out in triumph when she finally located her cell phone. Turning it on, she prepared to dial 911.
No bars.
“Shoot!”
Scrambling to her feet, she bumped into Robert and Michael. The two had apparently come to stand beside her and now leaned down to peer curiously at her phone.
“Sorry,” she mumbled as she took several steps away to try again.
No bars. Not even a flicker.
“Shoot!”
She crisscrossed the clearing at least a dozen times, holding the phone high and low, this way and that, trying to get a signal with no luck, her worry increasing with every step.
“Work, damn you!” she shouted, and tried yet again with no luck.
No phone. No Internet. No nothing.
Sighing, she bowed her head. Her shoulders slumped. She lowered the hand holding the phone and let it dangle uselessly by her hip.
How was she supposed to summon help when her freaking phone wouldn’t work?
“What precisely is it supposed t
o do?” Stephen asked.
Eyes narrowing, Beth turned to look at him.
Stephen and the one she now knew was called Adam had joined Robert and Michael. All stood a few yards away.
“I’m trying to call 911,” she told him, thinking it pretty obvious.
She may as well have spoken in ancient Aramaic. All four regarded her blankly.
“You were not successful?” Michael asked.
“Nay. I can’t get any service.” Frowning, she tucked the phone into one of her jeans pockets. “Do you think it’s the trees? Do trees block the signal? I don’t think I’ve ever seen any this tall before.”
Michael and Adam both looked up and around at the trees.
Robert stood with his hands on his hips, his tunic stained with her blood, a scowl marring his otherwise handsome features.
“Whom do you wish to call?” Stephen asked.
Clearly, he wasn’t the brightest bulb.
“911,” she repeated, returning to her backpack. “Josh, two dead men—at least I hope they’re both dead—and who knows how many others are still out there.” For the first time, she noticed the cylindrical nylon bag that was lying on the ground beside her backpack. She frowned. “That’s weird.”
“Is aught amiss?” Robert asked.
“I don’t know.” She opened the drawstring end and confirmed her suspicions. “It’s our camping tent. Josh left it in the trunk after we got back from our trip last month. I don’t know why it’s here. Josh wasn’t carrying it when we left the car. I know he wasn’t. He didn’t even want me to bring my backpack.” Which also hadn’t been with her in the clearing when she had fallen, come to think of it. So why was it here? What did it mean?
Kneeling down, she set the tent aside and began to rifle through her pack again in search of the bottles of water Marcus had included. Her mouth was so dry it felt as though no liquid had crossed her lips in days. She couldn’t blame the heat since the air had cooled quite a bit. So it must be a result of the blood loss. She was light-headed, too, and hoped some water might help clear her head. “We need the police to organize a search. And Josh will need medical attention when we find him. The last time I saw him…” Her throat closed off. Tears blurred her vision.
After he had collapsed, he had lain so still.
Robert knelt beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “We shall find him for you.”
Nodding, she dipped her chin and continued to rummage through her things. At last, her fingers brushed the familiar cold plastic.
When Beth stood with the water bottle and began to unscrew its top, she suddenly found herself encircled by four enormous men who gazed at the bottle as though it were a perfect, baseball-sized diamond. “Do you, uh, want some water?” she asked no one in particular, assuming thirst inspired their interest.
“’Tis water inside there?” Stephen asked.
Nodding, she held it up so they could read the label.
“What manner of container is that?” Michael queried.
“Is that parchment wrapped about it?” Adam followed. “Such colors!”
Beth looked down at the object in her hand, wondering what was so unusual about it. “It’s a plastic bottle full of spring water. What’s the big deal?”
When they continued to ooh and ahh over it, she raised puzzled eyes to Robert’s.
“We have never before seen the like,” he explained.
“You mean you’ve never seen this brand?” Improbable, considering one could purchase it in just about any grocery or convenience store in Texas. “Or you’ve never seen a bottle this size?”
Stephen reached out and gave the bottle a squeeze before she could stop him. It emitted a squishing noise as bubbles and large droplets of water oozed out from the base of the partially unscrewed lid. “It gives!” he cried, as excited as a child.
Then they all wanted to squeeze it.
“Hey—hey—hey!” Beth called out, backing away from them and swiveling to place her body between them and the water. When Stephen reached around to take it from her, she slapped his large, gloved hand away. “Stop that!”
“Stephen, leave her be,” Robert ordered, even though he had squeezed the bottle himself a time or two.
Only when she was sure they would all obey him did she turn back around, both hands locked protectively around the bottle. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything. I just didn’t bring that much with me. It would’ve made the pack too heavy.”
Their gazes remained fixed on the bottle.
Were they even listening to her?
“You’re more than welcome to drink some,” she offered. “But I can’t afford to let you waste any of it on the ground while you pretend you’ve never seen plastic before. I want to save some for Josh.”
“The flask is formed from plastic?” Robert asked.
Bewildered, Beth looked down at the bottle, then up at him. “Well, yeah. Aye.”
“We have none of us ever beheld plastic.”
Beth looked from one to the next, taking in their befuddled expressions and melding them with their strange garments. “Ohhh. Is this part of the whole reenactment thing?”
Robert frowned.
“It is, isn’t it?” she persisted, removing the lid from the bottle they still sought to fondle and raising it to her lips. Cool, sweet water slid across her tongue and down her throat, quenching her fierce thirst. Feeling a little better, she offered the bottle to Robert. “Would you like some?”
His hand brushed hers as he took it, sending a little tingle through her. The plastic crackled and popped as he gave the bottle several more experimental squeezes, then downed a few swallows.
The anticipation on his friends’ faces as they awaited his judgment was almost enough to convince her that this wasn’t, in reality, all a game to them. She’d had no idea these reenactment groups carried things so far. It was… pretty weird, wasn’t it?
Of course, she had heard that a few groups were quite fanatical about it, forbidding participants from carrying anything evenly remotely modern on or about their person, attempting to keep things as true to the time period as possible, allowing no modern language or inappropriate accents, even strictly abiding by the hierarchical stratum.
But she was not a part of their troupe or whatever they called it, so weren’t they taking things a bit too far? Particularly considering the circumstances?
“’Tis water,” Robert pronounced after taking another swig, “as she said.”
If she weren’t so worried, she would be amused. What had he thought it was—her secret liquor stash?
Beth returned her attention to her pack. When she tugged it up to rest it on its base, she was surprised to find her other 9mm resting beneath it, along with the pistol-grip shotgun she had last seen lying beside Josh. A large hand grabbed hers as she reached for them. Startled, she looked up into Robert’s vivid blue eyes.
“I shall keep those with the other,” he informed her as he picked them up.
Damn it!
He nodded at the smaller weapon and raised one eyebrow. “Is it safe?”
“Safe?” she asked, unsure of his meaning.
“Aye. Do you need to make it safe as you did the other?”
“Oh. No. Nay, this one doesn’t have a safety. Just don’t touch the trigger.” She really wished they would give up the Middle English already. Translating on the fly when she was rattled and distracted and worrying about Josh was not easy.
Satisfied, he tucked the weapon in his sword belt. “And this?” He indicated the shotgun, holding it out for her inspection.
Beth pushed the small round button on the side, near the trigger. “It’s safe.”
Robert looked it over briefly, then slipped the strap over his shoulder.
Reaching for th
e zipper on her backpack, she started to close it and again found herself surrounded by four fascinated men. All wanted to know how she had done it and demanded she zip it and unzip it again. With very realistic exclamations and awed expressions, they crowded and buffeted her and reached for the bag.
Beth threw herself bodily across it to keep them from taking it from her. “I am not going to do this again!” she shouted, swatting at their grasping hands. “Come on! Cut the crap! We don’t have time for this! We need to find Josh!”
“Cease!” Robert bellowed, shoving the men back as if he weren’t just as guilty as the others.
Air whooshed out of her lungs as Beth cautiously sat up and clutched the heavy backpack to her chest. “Thank you.”
“Forgive us,” he entreated, his expression chagrined. “We did not mean to overset you, but we have never—”
“Seen a zipper before?” she finished for him.
“The marvelous fastening is called a zipper?”
“Aye,” she said, her patience beginning to fray.
“Aye. We have none of us seen a zipper.”
“Well, this whole medieval thing is all very entertaining. But right now I just want to look for Josh, okay? You can pretend to marvel over all of my twenty-first century gadgets later, after we’ve found him.”
The men exchanged a look.
Beth stood with the backpack in her arms, a new need making itself known. She hadn’t thought she had been unconscious for that long, but her full bladder suggested many hours had passed. And she had no idea how long it would be before she could find a restroom.
A quick survey told her there were plenty of thick bushes and trees behind which she could relieve herself, but having four men for an audience did not appeal to her in the least.
“So,” she broached tentatively. “If I go out there to, ah, you know,” she motioned to the surrounding forest, “you won’t follow me and peek or anything, will you?”
She must have phrased it funny or something because they again gazed at her as if she had three heads.
“Did you say twenty-first century?” Michael asked, his face clouded with doubt.
Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones Book 2) Page 5
