The boy considered her question. “My lord is very good at the joust. And sword fighting. He is one of the best in England. Has won a great deal of gold. Have no fear; he will win.”
A door opened and one of the servants came out bearing a tray. “Lord Highworth bid me bring you spiced wine. He didn’t want you to catch a chill.”
How unexpected. So he could be kind when he wished. Elizabeth accepted the cup, feeling the warmth seep into her hands. She looked down to find Robert looking up at her. Lifting the cup, she mouthed thank you before turning to the servant. “Thanks. It’s exactly what I needed.”
While she’d been busy thinking about the timeline of history, Robert and Radford had dressed in chainmail, with several plates of armor covering the vulnerable parts of the body. They sat on huge horses, waiting as men brought out long wooden lances.
She could feel the excitement in the air as Rabbie and the guard both leaned forward, watching.
“Come on, beat the whoreson.” The guard pounded the gray stone wall with a gloved fist.
She caught some of the crude remarks bantered back and forth as both riders prepared. One of the men called out and they were off. Galloping toward each other, lances down; the earth trembled as the horses thundered onward. The anticipation was infectious, and she leaned forward, clenching the cup in her hands, anxious to see who would win. And what her fate would be. For she had no rights. Was at the mercy of a jerk or a frog. Which was the least worst choice?
Chapter Nineteen
The scene unfolding in front of her made Elizabeth feel like she was standing on a movie set or attending one of those medieval dinners. She’d never been to a Renaissance faire, but imagined it must look similar.
As the horses brought the men closer and closer, Robert teetered back and forth in the saddle.
She squinted. “Is he drunk?”
The guard frowned, but it was Rabbie who spoke up. “No more than usual, mistress.”
As if that was supposed to make her feel better. When the frog’s lance struck Robert, she couldn’t help it: Elizabeth screamed. In slow motion, she watched as he leaned far to the right like a metronome but did not fall, instead coming back to center, leaning to the left, and then returning to an upright position in the saddle. The pounding of her heart made it hard to hear what the men below were saying. She clenched the cup so tightly she was surprised it didn’t shatter into a thousand pieces.
They went again, and she swore her nerves couldn’t take it. This time Robert hit Radford, who listed precariously to the side but did not fall. The whole thing was nerve-racking.
Rabbie rubbed his hands together. “’Tis the last time. My lord will take him down now.”
Radford’s lance struck Robert in the chest so hard he went flying backward off the horse, landing in the mud with a splat. The cloak trimmed in white fur and beautiful embroidery was now covered with muck. At least the mail and armor would wash off.
The inventive swearing made her grin. When Elizabeth made it home she’d have to remember some of them. As she watched, Radford dismounted and bobbled over to Robert, leaning over him. The man had his back to her, so she couldn’t see the look on his face or hear what he said. But she knew it had to be bad from the way Robert stiffened.
Then the frog straightened up and, even with his vertically challenged self, managed to look down his nose at everyone. Radford puffed out his chest. “You lose, Thornton. I will have a fine time with my spirited filly. Where is the faerie?”
That horrible little man was talking about her. This was not good. She couldn’t go with him; there was something about him that set off all the warning bells in her head. Elizabeth would have bet her camper and Lulabell that he wasn’t a nice guy at all. Some of the richest men were the worst, thinking the law didn’t apply to them. That they could do whatever they wished, with no thought to the consequences. Every fiber of her being told her Radford was one of the bad guys.
While Robert had acted like a complete jerk since the night she’d woken up in his bed, at least she knew he wouldn’t harm her. Well, other than throwing her in the dungeon, but she guessed it was better than being burnt at the stake for being a witch or a faerie. In this day and age, men thought women of knowledge were evil, so she’d count herself lucky. At least so far.
When Robert made it to his feet, he swayed for a moment. He was a lord with scads of money and a fairytale castle, yet all he wanted to do was laze about, drinking and fooling around. What a waste. Elizabeth thought of everything he could do to make people’s lives better. Rabbie had told her a little of the Thornton brothers. It didn’t sound like the rest of them behaved like frat boys.
What was up with Robert? There was something bothering him. She knew it like she knew when a coal company was hiding damning information. A gift, her mom said. The ability to see the truth.
The guard turned to her. “I am truly sorry. ’Tis time, mistress.”
There was no other way. She couldn’t escape; there were too many men milling around. They would catch her in a second. The dress and cloak slowed her down. She knew. Last night in her chamber she’d run across the room fully dressed, counting the seconds. Then after Joan helped her undress and left, she tried again. So much faster. The voluminous dress and cloak nearly tripped her.
And if she did escape the castle, where would she go? It wasn’t like there was a road or car for her to flag down help. There wasn’t a way to call for help, either. No phones. Face it. You’re all alone in medieval England without a cent to your name. And the only man you know just doomed you to leave with a disgusting frog.
As they made their way to the lists, Robert looked sheepish.
“I am sorry, Elizabeth.”
She backed away from him. “You’re not sorry. If you were, you wouldn’t have offered me up as the prize in your stupid little game in the first place.”
Lord Radford pranced over. As he opened his mouth to speak, Featherton appeared, a few hairs out of place, which for him meant there was some kind of major disaster. He was so much like the Featherton from her time that a wave of homesickness washed over her, threatening to pull her under and carry her away.
“Are you unwell?”
She saw the concern in Robert’s dark blue eyes. Too little, too late. “I’m fine.”
Featherton wrung his hands. “The kitchen maid has taken ill. Fever is spreading through the castle.”
Right. And she had a lovely swamp for sale. Neither Featherton would ever wring their hands. Not even if the roof collapsed. She pursed her lips, thinking. Illness was something he would whisper about to Robert, keeping it from the guests. But the steward purposely spoke in a loud voice so everyone could hear. Why? What on earth was going on? Did it have anything to do with the mysterious Scot hidden away?
Lord Radford jumped back, holding a cloth over his nose and mouth.
“Come. We depart.” He shrieked at his servant to bring his belongings, and bellowed to another for the carriage and horses to be made ready.
The other men quickly followed suit. Rabbie had told her they were minor nobles, third and fourth sons who traveled from estate to estate like locusts feasting on the fields.
Fever was serious. Part of her wanted to yell out, You think the fever is bad just wait until the plague hits. But she couldn’t. They wouldn’t believe her, and she’d likely find herself frantically blowing out the flames beneath her feet. Dread skittered down her back. When had the plague decimated England?
“Think. When was it?” She racked her brain, and a snippet floated from one of the file drawers to the floor of her head. “The Hundred Years’ War comes next. The plague sweeps across England in…1348.” She let out a sigh. Fifteen years from now. What if she was stuck in the past? Trapped in time. There would be a front-row seat with her name on it. There she’d have an up close and personal view as the plague ravaged the country. If it didn’t kill everyone around her. Including her.
Elizabeth pushed the thought of p
lague away. Not acceptable. No way did she want to live through such a terrible time.
“Sorry, Mom, there’s no adventure or fun in the plague.”
Somehow she’d find a way back. Back to her own time. And running water, electricity, and Wi-Fi. When she got home, she’d find adventure, but without swords and men who thought to send up a warm cup of wine when it was cold outside.
Chaos filled the courtyard. No one was paying any attention to her as the guests tried to depart at the same time. Now was her chance. She picked up her skirts and ran. Made it all the way to the first portcullis before a knight caught her by the arm.
She kicked him in the shin, and when he hopped back, she broke free. Though she didn’t get very far before Rotten Robert caught her. For a moment she thought she’d barf when he slung her over his shoulder.
“I lost and you will go with him. Do not make me tie you up. From the moment you arrived, you have been nothing more than an annoyance. I beseech you, mistress. Do not cause me any more trouble.”
“I don’t care what year it is—you shouldn’t be able to sell another human being. It isn’t right. I don’t care if this is how things are in the past.”
She felt his body tense.
“What do you mean ‘the past’?” He spoke quietly, as if he knew how dangerous their conversation was. “Why does the year matter?”
Time to backpedal. “You know, you’re very archaic. I’ve seen more modern castles.”
“Nay, lady. Highworth is a marvel of its time.”
She snorted into his back. “Maybe if I fell through a rabbit hole.”
“Lady?”
“Never mind.”
Robert held her to him, almost gently. “I did not sell you; Radford won you fairly.” Then he paused before adding, “Circumstances change—do not forget that, Elizabeth.”
“Whatever.”
Then the moment they shared was gone and he dumped her to the ground at the feet of Radford.
“Get in the carriage, girl.”
Elizabeth rolled under the carriage, jumped up, and ran. She didn’t get very far before Thomas caught her. Leaning close, he whispered in her ear, “There is more at stake here, lady. Robert is not a wicked man. He is doing what he must to keep all of us safe. Even you.”
“I don’t care what’s going on. He can’t send me with that odious man. He’s mean. I can tell.”
“Trust me, lady. Robert is doing what he thinks will keep you from harm.”
She pulled free from his hold and walked back to the carriage. A man with greasy-looking brown hair stood in front of her. “Lord Radford says I am to put you in the carriage.”
“I can do it myself.”
The man leered at her. He threw her over his shoulder, copping a feel. She kicked and screamed, swearing at them all. What was with everyone treating her like a sack of corn? With a grunt, she landed at the feet of Mr. Frog. She was jolted across the floor as the carriage lurched forward.
No matter what, she would find a way to escape. There had to be one kind person in this awful place. If she did find a willing soul, what would she say? The only thing she was sure of was that Highworth was critical to her getting back to her own time. So let Froggy take her to his home; she’d find her way back to Robert’s. And Mr. I Know What’s Best For You could stuff it.
She might as well try to make the best of the situation until she could figure out a plan. Find the fun and all that bullshit.
“Isn’t your name Paul? It seems silly to call you Lord Radford.”
He sputtered, turning red in the face. “You will not address me so familiarly. I am Lord Radford to you, nothing more.” He looked her up and down, sneering. “You are no lady. I am supposed to believe you are a faerie, but you have done no magic. Therefore, I will address you as girl or wench.”
Frustration got the better of Elizabeth, and she stuck her tongue out at him.
He narrowed his eyes and didn’t laugh, as most men would have. “You will be like a wild horse in my bed, wench. I will enjoy breaking you.”
The tone of his voice and the look on his face filled her with fear. She was alone in medieval England with no rights and no one to protect her. This man could do with her as he chose and no one would lift a finger to help her. This was sooo not the adventure or the fun she’d hoped for.
Chapter Twenty
Robert blinked, cursing the light. His mouth was dry and his head ached.
“Wine?” His steward flicked a hand in front of his nose.
A discreet sniff told Robert he did not stink. Featherton smirked.
“Do you have to bellow so, Featherton?”
The man banged around the chamber, muttering. Robert rolled to his side and sat up, reaching for the cup. The tableau from last night played in front off his eyes. The look on Elizabeth’s face as she was tossed into the carriage. He was an arse. One thing in particular stood out.
Whatever.
A word he had come to know well. A word only a few used. Elizabeth’s tone was full of disdain when she spat the word at him. He’d wanted desperately to tell her why he was behaving like a dolt, but he could not. Radford needed to believe he had won her fairly. If he suspected a ruse, he would sniff around until he found Connor. The man was the worst sort of gossip.
Four interminable days. Each day the same. He woke to scorn from Featherton, rode, crossed swords in the lists, and drank until he required aid to find his chamber. For four days it had been thus. Everyone was tired of him. He was disgusted with himself.
Robert staggered out to the lists. “Who’s first?”
A knight stepped forward as Robert unsheathed his sword. The sound of metal on metal made his teeth ache.
“I am sorry, my lord.” The knight shrank back, and Robert looked down to see his sleeve turn crimson.
“’Tis naught but a scratch. I would have lost my head if you weren’t treating me like a small child. The fault is mine.” He waved the man away. One of the servants bound the scratch on his arm. Deciding to take his foul self elsewhere, Robert paced back and forth on the battlements to calm his mood. Usually it worked, but not for the past several days. Thomas joined him.
“Fight like a witless babe for real and you will die. For four days you have moped around the castle. Go and bring the lady back.”
“I cannot jeopardize Connor’s safety. No matter how much I worry for her. Future girls are strong. She will be fine.”
“Go and fetch her. Tell her why Connor is here. She has secrets of her own. She will keep ours.”
Robert stopped pacing. “When did you become so wise?”
Thomas laughed. “I have always been wise. You don’t listen.”
Robert clapped him on the back. “You’re right. I will fetch her.” He took a deep breath of icy air.
Thomas put a hand on his arm. “Take men with you. ’Tis not safe to ride alone through the countryside.”
“I find my mood improved. To the lists, so I can grind you into the mud.” Robert unsheathed his sword. “I would ask you to remain here and keep an eye on our guest. But if it will ease your womanly fears, I will take three of the men.”
And for the rest of the afternoon, Robert worked up a sweat. Made preparations to leave the next morning and fetch his Elizabeth back. Future women had fierce tempers; he might needs duck when he explained why he’d been such an arse.
Elizabeth had been escorted to an opulent chamber. Or as she thought of it, a pretty prison. A bath had been brought in and two girls helped her bathe. After three days in a carriage with a man who believed bathing made one ill, it was heavenly to soak in the hot water, relaxing while one of the girls scrubbed her hair. The soap was scented with lavender, helping her to relax. A third girl crept in, carrying some kind of cloth to dry her off. When Elizabeth stepped out of the tub, she noticed the black eye.
“What happened?”
The girl flinched. “Nothing, lady.”
“A black eye isn’t nothing. Who hit you?”
The other women looked around, fearful of being overheard. One of them leaned close to Elizabeth. “Lord Radford is cruel.”
The other girl hung the chemise and dress near the fire to warm. “We fear for you, lady.”
The one with the black eye started to cry. Elizabeth went to her, heedless of the towel falling. “Tell me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
One of the women wrapped Elizabeth in a blanket and the four of them sat by the fire.
“His temper is fierce. I broke his prized statue. I didn’t mean to. But he…” The girl clutched her arms, her face pink.
Elizabeth patted her shoulder, pulling the girl close. “You don’t have to go on. Did he force you?”
The girl leaned back and looked up at her, tears running down her face. She nodded. And Elizabeth swore. One of the women put a hand to her mouth. “I’ve never heard such words from a lady.”
Elizabeth scowled. “I am not a lady. I’m just a woman, like the rest of you. No means no. A man should listen.”
One of the women blinked at her. “He owns us. He can do as he pleases. No one would help us.”
The oldest of the three—she looked about seventeen—said, “Three of the kitchen maids have given birth to his babes. All girls. Which infuriates him all the more.”
Elizabeth stood. “Help me dress. I do not wish him to find me like this.” She held up the dress. It was gray and trimmed in fur. “He lays a hand on me and he’ll lose it.”
There had to be a way to help these women. But she didn’t know how. Her main thought was escaping, and if she escaped, how could she do them any good? Then again, how could she help them by being locked up in this chamber? She’d have to find a way to escape and get help. To come back and help these women. She didn’t care what century it was. No meant no.
And if Lord Radford thought he could have her, he could think again. For it would be a cold day in hell before he laid a froggy finger on her skin.
Forever Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 2) Page 9
