Last Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 4)

by Cynthia Luhrs

  The dress she had worn when she first arrived was packed away in the small trunk at the foot of the bed. Given it had a zipper and corset, she thought it best to hide it away, afraid it would attract too much attention, based on all the questions the girl had when she brought it back from mending and cleaning. Ashley had kept the story simple: coming from a faraway land, clothes were made differently, though thanks to the damn dress, pockets were catching on. Not like the pockets they already had, slits in a dress or tunic allowing access to a purse or pouch attached to a belt, but real pockets sewn into the clothes.

  “Sorry to whoever invented modern pockets.” Then again, maybe these pockets inspired the person. Who knew? So the dress was packed away for safekeeping. She cast a glance at the dresses hanging on pegs on the wall. Not like she could manage by herself.

  The girl, Gwen, would show up soon and help her dress. The water from the pipe in the wall was bracing as Ashley splashed her face and took a quick morning shower, as she called it, when really it was more like using a square of linen to wash, like a sponge bath.

  How she missed hot showers, the steam filling the room on a cold morning, the heat of the water soaking into her skin. But the cold, it certainly got her going, and on the plus side, she no longer needed a cup of coffee to wake up in the morning.

  There was a knock at the door, and Gwen entered. “Shall I dress you?”

  “Please.”

  Christian had sent a merchant. Ashley couldn’t believe all the choices and questions as to what she wanted. Apparently, she was to buy as much as she wished, but knowing she was going home, she only picked out material for three.

  That same day, Christian had taken her to a small garden behind the chapel and showed her the sundial. It was interesting, but she no longer cared about the time. She’d come a long way in a month or so.

  She’d missed not only Halloween, but Thanksgiving too! Then again, they wouldn’t be celebrating an American holiday here. If she was stuck here, she was going to find a way to have her favorite holiday meal. There had to be ships bringing cargo—surely she could ask Christian to buy a few and allow a small path of garden, maybe near the sundial, where the potatoes could be planted? The thought of mashed potatoes with butter made her stomach growl.

  “Mistress?” The girl held up the gray wool. “This one will look lovely with your hair and eyes.”

  The dress was made of wool and embroidered around the hem sleeves and neckline with leaves in silver thread. The shift and new cloak were also embroidered. The girl efficiently dressed Ashley, settling an ornate belt around her waist with a pouch dangling from it. Though hers was empty. When Ashley asked what it was for, the girl said the mistress of the keep would normally have keys and coins and other things that she kept on her person.

  Ashley had one tiny rock she kept in the pouch. She’d found it walking one day. It was flat and smooth, reminding her of the marble counters in her apartment. She’d picked it up and kept it with her ever since as a reminder, not only of home and what she had left behind, but how she had changed. As the time passed, she accepted her new reality, decided to make the best life she could, whether she remained at Winterforth or went elsewhere.

  As she sat on a stool while Gwen did her hair, Ashley touched the beautiful tortoiseshell combs Christian had purchased when the merchants had come calling. Gwen put her hair up using the combs. Ashley wished for moisturizer and body lotion. So far she hadn’t seen any, but knew there must be a way to make the cream. It was something she would have to figure out; no way was she spending the rest of her life in medieval England without moisturizer.

  She touched a hand to her hair. “Thank you, Gwen. It’s beautiful.”

  “Lord Winterforth is in the lists. Are you going to watch him?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. All that male prowess on display. Are you coming?”

  The girl blushed. Ashley knew for a fact Gwen had quite the crush on one of Christian’s guards. She thought the man’s name was Ulrich, which in her opinion was a horrible name, but it wasn’t uncommon for the time.

  The girl chattered away as Ashley followed Gwen down the stairs, with Quinn waiting in the hall. Before they stepped outside, Ashley pulled the blue cloak tight around her and put the hood up, grateful the thick wool was lined with fur and kept her plenty warm.

  Before. It was how she’d started thinking of her old life. As soon as it turned cold, people stayed inside, darting from cab to restaurant. Then they’d emerge in the spring, pale and blinking at the sun. Here, people were outside all the time, even when it snowed or rained. Then again, even with the fires blazing, it was chilly in the castle. Ashley blamed the abundance of fresh air, no more exhaust fumes, for the change in her mood.

  The ring of steel and insults hurled about told her the men were already in the lists. She’d made an effort to pick up a bit of Norman French, and of course the insults and swear words were the ones she’d learned first. If she ever did make it home, she couldn’t wait to use the best ones on her old boss Harry and, of course, Mitch.

  “Over here, mistress.” Gwen spread a blanket out over a stone bench. It was tucked into the corner of two walls so they were protected from the wind. They turned their attention to the spectacle in front of them.

  Ashley had never considered herself one of those women that ogled the guys at the gym like her friend Marsha, but this… These guys were worth ogling. There were a few men shooting arrows at targets. Her eyes traveled over to the other men fighting hand to hand with daggers, and still no sign of Christian. Then she heard his voice.

  “By twos, I wish to work up an appetite this morn.”

  Half of the garrison groaned as Christian strode into the lists, followed by Ulrich and Walter, and Ashley elbowed Gwen.

  “Look, Ulrich is coming up next.”

  Gwen leaned forward, hands under her chin as she watched the man, her feelings evident on her face.

  Watching Christian fight with his sword was like going to the ballet. It was a dance of beauty and grace. The blade seemed part of his arm as he fought Ulrich and another man. Ashley didn’t know where he found such a reservoir of strength. He told her he’d held a sword as soon as he could walk, and she could believe it. Christian threw back his head and laughed as he sent one of the men’s swords flying. Ashley pulled her legs up under her dress, wrapping her arms around her knees, content to watch. Even if he was engaged.

  As she was thinking about what it would be like to live here with him, she heard the sound of horses. A carriage came to a stop in the courtyard.

  Gwen pulled her up to stand on the bench. They had a perfect view as the carriage door opened.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As much as Ashley wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, she craned her neck to see as the carriage door opened. The horses were all black, and the carriage had curtains covering the windows. It looked like it would probably be a bumpy ride, but it certainly would’ve been better than being on horseback for weeks on end.

  Why couldn’t Christian have been traveling in a carriage when she met him? It would’ve made their journey from Wales so much easier, and maybe they wouldn’t have been robbed. Come to think of it, he always had guards around him, but he was traveling alone. As a merchant she didn’t question it, but as a rich noble? Why?

  An older woman stepped out first, dressed simply, probably the chaperone. The two men who had been driving the horses unpacked the luggage, and Ashley wanted to laugh. It looked like the girl packed more than Marsha packed, and that was saying something. Marsha would show up for a weekend trip with six or eight bags, while Ashley had one bag and one tote.

  There had been a lot of speculation around the castle—she’d heard the girl wasn’t a noble, but came from a family that Ashley would have called solid middle to upper-middle class. The father was a merchant who had made a deathbed promise to his wife to make a good match for their daughter.

  The lack of sound had her turning to see everyone avidly watch
ing to see what the girl looked like. Christian’s steward, whom Ashley called the weasel, scurried forward to greet the women. Which guard would he assign to his future wife? Quinn cleared his throat.

  “What?”

  He grinned. “She’s not as comely as you, lady.”

  Ashley rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

  His face turned serious. “Nay, I suppose it does not. ’Tis a shame. I rather thought Lord Winterforth would plight his troth to you.”

  “Go play with your sword or something,” she grumbled at him.

  Because really, her guard was just being loyal. The girl was breathtaking, with pale skin, an oval face, and a high forehead. Her hair was so blond it was almost white, making her gray-blue eyes look almost silver. She looked like a painting in a museum. For the first time in her life, Ashley felt like the frumpy middle-aged housewife who had let herself go and was now confronted with the mean girl from high school at their reunion who, of course, still looked perfect.

  Christian bowed, and the girl nodded, but Ashley couldn’t hear what they were saying from here. No matter; she’d seen enough. It was either go home or find a job here—well, not here as in Winterforth, but here as in the past.

  There was only one place to go, a place in a million years she’d never dreamed she’d long for. The stables. The atmosphere there was meditative. Brushing the horses, talking to them. They listened and didn’t talk back. The whole place calmed her. What did it say that she no longer thought the horses stank, and had come to like the smell of the stable and the horses? Talk about a change.

  One of the boys greeted her, handing her a brush without a word. They’d come to know her routine over the past week or so.

  The boys went about their chores, and during her days here, she’d noticed they tended to find time to sneak away and do heaven knew what. Not that she cared; she was glad for the privacy. As she brushed the old horse who had brought her to Winterforth, the one she had secretly started to call hers, she talked to him.

  “Guess what I brought you today?”

  The horse twitched an ear.

  “That’s right, I snatched a carrot. But don’t tell the others. They’ll be jealous.”

  The horse munched the carrot, and Ashley heard a noise. It sounded like her stomach, but her stomach wasn’t growling. She whirled around but didn’t see anyone in the stables, so she chalked it up to coming from one of the horses. It was warm and cozy in here with the horses, insulated from him and the decisions she needed to make. As she brushed the horse, she kept looking at the other stalls. Something was different. Then, in the empty stall next to hers, she saw the hay move. She tiptoed over, brave with the knowledge Quinn was only a scream away, and kicked at the pile of hay. A boy popped out, making her shriek.

  Quinn appeared, sword drawn.

  “Sorry, he scared me.”

  Her guard scowled at the boy. “Do not scare our lady.”

  The boy gulped. Ashley could feel him trembling as she held on to his arm.

  “Thank you, Quinn. You can go back to whatever you were doing.”

  “Guarding you, lady.” He winked and sauntered out of the stables.

  She waited a few minutes before she let go of the boy and knelt down to look at him.

  “You scared me and you frightened the horses. What are you doing hiding in here?”

  The boy was dressed in rags. His hose had holes in the knees, while his tunic was too tight and showed a strip of skin at his belly. He wiggled, revealing bruises along his side, making her sick to her stomach. One of the marks looked like a handprint.

  “I didn’t steal nothing.” The boy spat. “Let me go.”

  “How old are you?”

  His eyes downcast, he shuffled his feet. “Six.”

  “Now tell me, how did you come to be here?”

  “My parents left me in the woods for the fairies. I’m cursed.” Bravado gone, a tear streaked down his dirty face, leaving a clean track of skin in the dirt. Brown eyes met hers, and deep within, something shifted inside her.

  The boy pulled his hose down a few inches so she could see his hip. There was a large birthmark that almost looked like a flower.

  “Why are you showing me your birthmark?”

  “The mark of the devil, lady. I am cursed. The priest said so.”

  She took a handkerchief from her sleeve, dipped it in the water from the horses’ bucket, and scrubbed the boy’s face until it was pink and clean.

  “I want you to listen to me very carefully. You are not cursed. Your parents were wrong to do what they did.”

  He was watching her seriously, but skeptically as well.

  “I want to show you something.”

  With a glance around to make sure they were unobserved, Ashley pulled her skirts up to her knee, rolled her stocking down, and turned around.

  She pointed. “It’s not a curse. It’s how you were born. Many people have them.” She dropped her skirts and turned to face the boy. “Do I look cursed to you?”

  “Nay, lady.” He looked thoughtful. “Ladies shouldn’t show their legs.”

  Ashley grinned. “No, they shouldn’t. But we’ll keep it a secret between us, shall we?”

  The boy nodded.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Merrick.”

  “I’m Mistress Ashley. How did you find your way to Winterforth?”

  His stomach growled again. “I walked for a fortnight.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly that something about his acceptance of his situation broke her heart.

  “Come along; let’s get you something to eat, and then you can come back and help me finish brushing the horse.”

  He followed her into the kitchens, keeping close. The cook glanced at her and frowned.

  “Mrs. Smith, I found Merrick in the stables. Looks like he could use a meal and a bath.”

  The boy protested.

  “The cost of your meal is a bath.”

  He slumped, but nodded.

  Mrs. Smith clapped her hands together, nodding at Ashley over his head. She had seen the cook saving scraps for the poor, knew she had a soft spot for the lost ones, as she called them.

  “We will take care of him, lady.”

  The boy grabbed hold of Ashley’s skirts, brown eyes beseeching. “Don’t leave me here, mistress.”

  Ashley knelt. “I’m going to find Lord Winterforth and tell him you’re here.” Seeing his terrified look, she clarified: “Don’t worry—you are under my protection, and he will allow you to stay.”

  She brushed a curl back from his face. “Do what Mrs. Smith tells you and don’t make a fuss when they give you a bath. You are rather smelly. I think the horses smell better than you.”

  He gave her a tiny smile. It was enough.

  Ashley whispered, “I bet if you’re good, Mrs. Smith will find something sweet for you to eat after dinner.”

  She met the gaze of the cook, who nodded, wiping her eye.

  “One of the girls will come and fetch me when you’re nice and clean. Then I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

  The boy didn’t speak, he simply nodded and watched her go, the look on his face one of utter desolation. It took everything Ashley had not to run back and pull him close, hold him tight, tell him she would protect him always. Never let anything happen to him and that he would never be alone again.

  She was furious his parents would leave him, even though she knew how strong superstitions in this time were, and when she looked at it from their point of view, she could almost understand. She would keep him safe and tell him how to hide his birthmark.

  It was early afternoon, so Christian was probably in his solar with the rodent steward, going over the books. As she raised her hand to knock, she heard low voices. There was something about the tone that made her pull her hand back. Christian’s guards were nowhere to be seen, but Ulrich was always close, so she likely only had minutes until he came back. Knowing she shouldn’t eavesdrop i
f she didn’t want to take a chance on hearing something she didn’t like, she put her ear to the door anyway.

  “You must send her away, my lord. She is a temptress. You are to be wed. ’Tis not right to have your mistress under the same roof as your wife.”

  His mistress? Was that what people thought of her? Feeling sick, Ashley left without telling Christian about Merrick. She’d overstayed her welcome, and there was no way she wanted people gossiping about Christian. He’d had enough awful things said about him. As for her? What did she care what they thought? She sniffed and turned away.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ashley wasn’t used to having free time on her hands. As someone who had worked since she was sixteen, this life of leisure was disconcerting. Seemed she lacked any useful skills—her college degrees would be useful for wiping one’s rear and that was about it.

  Cooking? Disaster. In fact, poor Mrs. Smith had banished her from the kitchen, telling her never to return, except, of course, for a lovely chat. It was good the kitchen was made of stone, or Ashley might have burned the whole place to the ground. The good thing about her brief time in the kitchens? Homemade pastries. Mrs. Smith worked with her to perfect them. A bit of jam inside and a sprinkle of sugar on top. Ashley liked them because she could put one in her pocket to eat later, as she’d found she wasn’t hungry first thing in the morning. And while they probably should’ve been more of a dessert than breakfast, there was a lot of jam in the larder, so she figured it wouldn’t hurt to have them now and then.

  Crafts. The next fail. As a child she’d never gotten into crafts. Both her parents were solid lower-middle class, and worked all the time.

  Reading had always been her greatest love, and while Christian had a large library, many of the books were in languages she couldn’t speak. She guessed she could spend her time learning French, Greek, Latin, and Italian. Oh, probably German too. So she read the books he had in English, but she yearned for a good thriller to pass the time.