Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones Book 2)

by Dianne Duvall

  “Robert? You’re starting to make me a little nervous.”

  He imagined so, slavering over her the way he was, like a wolf wishing to dine on a ewe.

  “Not to mention self-conscious,” she added.

  At last, he managed to close his mouth. Clearing his throat, he tried to remember what he had been saying. “You wander along the shores garbed so sparsely?”

  She glanced down and stepped out of the breeches. “Actually, no. I sunburn too easily. But I’ve seen women at the beach who wore less.”

  “Less than that?” he asked incredulously.

  Her brow crinkled slightly. “Aye. Lots of times. Especially during spring break.”

  He didn’t know what spring break was, but surely she jested.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, eyeing him dubiously.

  All right? Nay, he was not all right. He trembled with need. He was on fire. He was a breath away from losing both his control and his sanity. And she seemed completely oblivious to the effect her near nudity had on him.

  Robert bent to scoop up her breeches and froze. “Your feet!”

  “What about them?”

  “Why did you not tell me they were injured?” Dropping the bundle of clothes he held, he knelt and reached for her left foot.

  “They aren’t. What are you—?”

  She rested one of her hands on his shoulder as he carefully placed her cool foot on his bent knee and stared at her toes in dismay. She had shown no sign of injury, no limp or other evidence, so he had not thought to ask.

  Swearing silently, Robert berated himself for letting her walk from the campsite when he obviously should have carried her.

  “Oh,” she said, understanding lightening her voice. “Robert, that’s not blood. That’s nail polish.”

  Robert squinted down at the red that coated her toes and realized that it only covered the short, perfectly shaped nails at their tips. “Nail polish?”

  “Yes. I don’t paint my fingernails very often. I have to keep them short because I spend so much time at the computer. And with all of the criminals and quote-unquote good ole boys I have to deal with, I’ve found that it’s best not to add too many feminine frills to my appearance. So I paint my toenails instead.”

  This time Robert failed to decipher most of her words, apart from her admission that she painted her toenails. What a peculiar practice. He drew one finger across the nail of her big toe. Smooth, shiny, and oh-so-red. Peculiar indeed.

  Yet he could not deny that it looked quite appealing next to her alabaster skin.

  Again he frowned. That alabaster skin was as icy as the river water. Sliding his hand across the top of her foot and around her narrow ankle in an attempt to infuse some warmth into her, Robert made a second, even more astonishing discovery.

  “Beth, you have no hair on your leg.”

  “I know. I just shaved.”

  “You shaved the hair off your leg? For what purpose?” Had she been ill? Was she recovering from some fever as well as the attack she had suffered?

  “Legs plural. And I did it for the usual reasons.”

  If suppressing the need to touch her had been difficult before, it now proved impossible. He had to know what those smooth, sensuously curved limbs felt like.

  Still holding her foot pressed against his thigh, Robert ran one hand up her calf, caressing his way to the back of her knee, around and down the front. So soft and tempting.

  His heart thudded against his ribs. “What reasons might those be?” he asked hoarsely, repeating his slow foray up and down her leg, wishing he dared venture higher.

  Goose flesh appeared in the wake of his touch. And he felt a shiver rock her.

  Was it spawned by cold or by desire?

  “B-because, like most women in our society,” she began, voice quieter, “I’ve been conditioned by men and the media to believe that—on a woman—hairy legs are ugly.”

  The faint huskiness that entered her voice made his blood sing. But ere he could inch his hand up farther, eager to reach that shiny black triangle and really make her breath catch, his damnable honor resurfaced.

  Was he not the one who had elicited her trust by assuring her he would not look and had no intentions of touching?

  Swearing silently, he dropped her foot, collected her wadded-up garments and rose. He would have turned and, without another word, walked straight into the icy water to cool his raging ardor had she not stopped him.

  “Wait!”

  His pulse skipped, thrumming through his veins as he halted.

  Would she call him back? Invite more caresses? Tell him it had been his touch, rather than the cold air or her wet hair that had made her shiver? “Aye?”

  “On second thought,” she said, “you better not wash my clothes. The police might need them for DNA evidence.”

  He sighed.

  It must have been the cold.

  Dropping the shirts without asking what police or DNA meant, he strode into the frigid water without removing his braies and hose.

  “You forgot the soap,” she called after him.

  “You may toss it to me when you are finished with it.” Under his breath, he muttered, “I have a feeling I will be here awhile.”

  Thankfully Bethany finished her bath in short order.

  Keeping his back turned, Robert pushed aside thoughts of her enticing body and what every splash and gasp that sounded behind him signified. He forced himself, instead, to think of other things. Like whether or not the men who had attacked Bethany and her brother were part of the marauders who had been wreaking havoc upon his lands.

  For months now he had traveled from one estate to another, attempting to capture them, always arriving a day or a sennight too late. There had been no deaths thus far. But crops and huts had been burned. Cattle had been stolen or slain.

  Who were the bastards responsible? Why did they target him and his people?

  Robert and his men had just returned from parleying with his nearest neighbors. None had suffered the slaughtered cattle, burned huts or terrorized serfs that he had. All were on good terms with him and had offered to aid him by sending out patrols to ensure the malefactors did not access his lands by crossing their own.

  ’Twas not enough, though. He wanted to capture the blackguards and have done with it.

  Robert’s anger and the glacial temperature of the water that buffeted his body at last succeeded in dampening his ardor.

  Until Bethany spoke behind him.

  “Here’s the soap.”

  Staring at the opposite bank as though it held the answers to all of life’s mysteries, he reached behind him and felt the block of soap drop into his hand.

  Hard like a stone with streaks of varying hues of green crisscrossing it like veins in marble, it too puzzled him.

  Vigorous splashing heralded her exit.

  “Would you mind if I used your tunic to dry off?” she asked.

  He looked without thinking and nearly lost his hold on the soap. All of his heedful concentration had been for naught. His overly chilled body defied the laws of nature and instantly turned hot and hard.

  If he had thought Bethany pretty before, she was no less than stunningly beautiful now. Moonlight bathed her pale clean skin, so much more exposed now that the blood and dirt had been washed away, bestowing silvery highlights upon it and accentuating shadows and hollows that begged to be explored. Standing there, shivering, her knees clenched together to preserve warmth, her arms crossed tightly beneath her breasts, plumping them up for his ravenous inspection, her hair straggling down over one shoulder…

  She looked utterly irresistible.

  “The tunic?” she prodded, her teeth chattering audibly.

  He blinked. “Of course. You are welco
me to it. There is another in my pouch that you may don for warmth.”

  “Thank you. Now turn back around and don’t look until I tell you to. I don’t want you to see me naked.”

  Doing as she bid him, he bit back a groan.

  Mayhap he should send her back to camp alone after all. That might be the only way he could walk out of the water without embarrassing them both.

  Chapter Six

  Robert took so long to bathe that Beth began to wonder if he weren’t part seal. Seated on a cold stone, she didn’t know how he could stand the icy temperatures. Even covered in his dark tunic—which fell to the knees on him but reached her feet—she still shook like a leaf in high winds.

  “You’re going to get hypothermia if you don’t come out of there soon,” she cautioned, squeezing water out of the braies and hose he had tossed onto the bank.

  Like him, she had failed in her resolve not to peek. And, wow, he had a magnificent body. Granted, she could only see him from the waist up. But his face and torso alone were enough to heat the blood in her veins. Broad shoulders that looked strong enough to carry any burden. Well-developed pecs. Rippling, washboard abs. Biceps that bulged with muscle.

  Put those together with his handsome face, which now glistened with moisture in the flashlight’s beam, and he was absolutely beautiful.

  “You’re turning blue,” she called, striving to sound normal.

  “I shall come out now,” he announced.

  More reluctant than she cared to admit, Beth turned her back.

  Water splashed and clothing rustled as he emerged from the river and rubbed himself dry.

  Well, at least I’m feeling warmer, she thought, then cursed her vivid imagination as her mind conjured tantalizing images to match every sound that reached her ears.

  His hand abruptly appeared before her. “Shall we go?”

  Startled, she glanced up.

  He had hidden all of that lovely muscle beneath the fresh shirt and braies she had seen in his pouch, along with his boots. Both his pack and hers hung from one shoulder. His armor and their damp clothes dangled over his arm.

  “Beth?” he prodded.

  “Yeah?”

  “Shall we go?” he repeated.

  “Oh. Aye.” Placing her hand in his chilly one, she stood, took two steps and tripped on the hem of his tunic.

  Fortunately, Robert caught her before she hit the ground.

  Beth shook her head at her own clumsiness and braced one hand against his chest. “Thanks, I—” Her eyes widened with alarm. “Holy crap, you’re cold!” She pressed her other hand to his chest, felt the arctic temperature of his skin, the tremors that shook him, and panicked. “Robert, you’re freezing!”

  He was the one thing enabling her to keep her sanity. She sure as hell didn’t want him to die of hypothermia.

  Throwing her arms around him, she lowered her face to his chest, pressed her body against his, and began to vigorously rub his back, hoping to lend him a little warmth.

  He stiffened. “I am well, Beth,” he objected.

  “Nay, you’re not. You’re an icicle! Here, let me warm your arms.” She latched onto one of his arms and began to chafe it with both hands. Sheesh, his muscles were huge. “Here. Take your tunic back. I don’t need it anymore. I’m warm now,” she lied.

  He grabbed her hands before she could remove the long garment and offered a frozen chuckle. “You are barely warmer than I, Beth. Let us hie ourselves back to the clearing, where a blazing fire awaits us. ’Tis not far.”

  A fire sounded wonderful. “Okay. But let’s hurry.” Linking the fingers of one hand through his, she chafed his arm with the other as he led her back to camp.

  When the two of them stepped from the trees, relief filled her. A sizable flame roared and crackled in the center of the campsite.

  Michael, Stephen and Adam glanced up from their positions around it, looked back down, then all did double takes.

  Beth frowned. “What?” She looked behind her and saw nothing but trees.

  Were they looking at her? Had she missed some of the blood on her face or something?

  Reaching up, she ran her free hand over her features but found only clean skin.

  So what had captured their attention?

  After gaping at her like the fish they presently roasted over the fire, the men directed their gazes to her hand clasped in Robert’s, then looked up at their leader.

  Robert’s fingers tightened around hers.

  Almost as one, the men looked away.

  Beth glanced up and caught the tail end of a glare Robert sent them.

  Was he angry? Why?

  Offering no explanation, he guided her over to the side of the fire opposite the others and invited her to sit upon a folded blanket Michael produced for her comfort.

  Very thoughtful.

  The temperature felt like it hovered somewhere around sixty degrees and was steadily dropping. This time of year in Houston, temperatures usually didn’t even fall out of the eighties at night. Yet now it was cool enough for her butt to go numb if she sat on the bare ground.

  She frowned as Robert handed her another blanket. She wasn’t really in Pennsylvania, was she?

  The others seemed neither surprised nor affected by the chill. Maybe that thick padded gambeson thing Robert had worn under his mail kept them cozy warm.

  Since Robert no longer wore his own, Beth unfolded the blanket so they could share it. Crossing her legs beneath the somewhat coarse material, she patted the makeshift cushion at her side.

  Robert draped two more blankets around her shoulders, then obliged her by seating himself close enough that their shoulders brushed.

  “There’s plenty of blanket,” she said. “Why don’t we share?”

  “’Tis not necessary,” he protested.

  “Aye, it is. Look at us.” Opening her arms, she drew half of the blankets around him. “We’re both shivering.” As added incentive, she stopped clenching her teeth and let them chatter at will.

  Across from them, Stephen muttered something about it not being the cool air that made Robert shiver, earning another dark look. Robert nevertheless cocooned himself within the blankets with her and lent her his warmth as his own chill deserted him.

  “Mayhap your brother will see our fire and be drawn to it,” he suggested softly.

  Thankful for that bit of hope, she nodded. “I hope so.”

  The rest of the evening passed as pleasantly as it could with dozens of unanswered questions swirling through Beth’s brain and concern for Josh constantly prodding her. The fish ended up being rather tasty. In true warrior fashion, her four male companions wolfed down their share in less than five minutes, then set about attempting to assemble her tent while she slowly ate her fill.

  “Why don’t you just read the instructions?” she asked at one point, motioning to the single sheet of paper they had set aside.

  “We need no instructions,” Stephen muttered now, frowning over the way the slim metal rod in his hands bent. “This metal is of very poor quality.”

  Beth rolled her eyes. “It’s supposed to bend. The tent is dome-shaped.”

  “The cloth is flimsy, as well,” Michael added. “’Tis thinner than parchment.”

  “It’s waterproof. It’s windproof. It’s fine,” she countered.

  The only one who didn’t grumble was Adam, whom she had already identified as the quiet one of the group. He merely nodded his agreement with the others’ complaints and scowled his frustration when nothing they tried seemed to work.

  Beth glanced over at Robert, who also neglected to consult the instructions, and caught him staring at her across the fire. Rising, he abandoned the tent and the others and came to sit beside her once more.

  “Giving up?” she
asked.

  He shook his head. “I find your company more pleasing than theirs.”

  “I heard that,” Stephen groused, tossing the metal rod down and picking up another.

  She smiled. “What is it with men and their refusal to read instructions? It’s almost as bad as their insistence on not stopping to ask for directions when they get lost.”

  “I cannot speak to the latter. But, with regards to the first, I am the only one here who can read with any proficiency.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  He nodded. “Michael can read a little. Lord Edmund, the man Michael and I fostered with, insisted that our training include learning to scribe. Alas Michael was often ill and was not made to suffer through as many of the tiresome lessons as I was.”

  He sounded, for all the world, as if he had really had such a medieval upbringing. As if he had been a page, then become a squire, and then the knight he was now.

  “And the other two?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “The knights who trained them had little use for such abilities.”

  She couldn’t hide her shock.

  “’Tis not uncommon, Beth.”

  “I know, but didn’t they go to school?”

  “Unless a boy either plans to enter the church or possesses estates he must oversee, he has little need for numbers or letters.”

  She studied him, trying to convince herself that this was simply his medieval-reenactment-group way of saying they had slipped through the cracks, that both the educational system and their parents had failed them.

  But he really didn’t seem to be acting. Her instincts kept telling her he was sincere.

  You have great instincts, Beth, Josh had told her many times. Trust them. They’ve never failed you.

  She glanced at the men across the campfire, then returned her gaze to Robert.

  Had she inadvertently guessed correctly in her mental ramblings earlier? Were these guys mentally off? Did they actually believe they were medieval knights, guided by a code of honor?

  There were worse delusions someone could have, she supposed. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying knowledge is power?” she queried.