by Amy Harmon
“What?” The girl looked amazed. “How do you figure?”
Kellen’s puzzlement grew. No one ever questioned him, and for this tiny girl to do so was as astounding as the blow she’d dealt him. “We are betrothed.”
The girl’s face reflected surprise, then she glanced quickly around. Kellen looked too but could not fathom for what or whom she searched.
“What is this?” The girl’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The English version of Punked? An improv play? A medieval weekend in the country complete with command performance?”
Now that she spoke more slowly, Kellen understood her words better but still not their meaning. He tried to explain again, speaking more slowly himself. “You are my betrothed.”
Her face took on a haughty expression, much like the one her sister had always worn. “I see.” She glanced around again, her gaze taking in his knights and the servants staring at her. “As in engaged to be married? To you?”
“Yes, matrimony.” He saw a glimmer of understanding on her face and so tried to explain further. “Your father has paid a dowry, the contract is signed, and we are to be married in five weeks time.”
Her mouth tightened. “And this is your excuse for ordering those… those… women to violate me?”
“I need no excuse to establish your virginity.”
The girl gaped at him for a moment, her face losing its color before flooding with red once more. Then she took a step forward, sucked in a breath, and poked a finger in his chest. Again.
“Now you listen here, bucko. Even if we were engaged, which we are not, do you think engaged means owned? Because I don’t think so!”
She walked away, took several audible breaths, then came back, shaking her head. “So let me just make sure I have this straight. You’re saying we’re engaged, right? Isn’t that what this ad-libbing is about?”
Kellen was getting more befuddled. “What?”
“Betrothed.” She spoke slower. “Are we betrothed, you idiot?”
Kellen stiffened. He did not like her tone nor her name calling, but as they seemed to be making progress, such things could be discussed at a later time. He nodded his agreement.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “So my father paid a dowry? Making it all right and tight?”
“Aye. That is true.”
Her smile thinned. “Well, in that case, I am the one who owns you! You are mine.” She lifted her nose in the air and gave him a condescending look. “Not only have you been paid for, but as the woman I am your superior in almost every way.” She held up a fist. “I am the only one who can ask for directions, have children, and cry in public.” Three fingers went up, one at a time.
“And women live longer! Women are smarter!” Holding up five fingers, she lifted her other hand and continued the count. “And they have better peripheral vision and can load the dishwasher without acting like they’ve been asked to eat horse droppings!”
She shot him a look filled with triumph. “And didn’t the girl’s… my father, give you money? A transaction was made, was it not? My family paid for you. I own you. Money is power. The only thing men are better at is peeing standing up! So count them.” She lifted both hands higher to hold up eight fingers. “Eight reasons, and that’s just to start with, so I am the winner; therefore, I own you!”
Kellen could not help the big smile that spread on his face.
“You agree?” she asked.
Kellen nodded slowly, very pleased by the show of intelligence. She could count? Reason? “What about strength? Am I not bigger and stronger?”
Her tight smile was presented once more. “Who do you use that strength for? If we are engaged, that would be me. So I guess I win again, don’t I? That makes nine.”
Kellen laughed, startling many. He was incredibly amused at her reasoning. Also relieved that while she might be angry, and her talk strange, she not only seemed sane, but intelligent. His first impression of her was obviously wrong. Her way of speaking was still odd, but charming, now that she’d slowed her speech and he understood her. “How came you to be here?”
The girl’s shoulders drooped and for the first time she appeared lost. “I was drawing a castle and some men started chasing me.”
She looked so dejected that Kellen softened his tone. “Yes. This I already know. But how did you make the journey from your father’s keep?”
“What do you mean? How did I get to England? I flew here.”
Kellen glanced around. He did not want any accusing her of witchery. Obviously she was being sarcastic and did not wish to answer him, a trait he would soon break her of. He knew she could not have made the journey by herself and suspected her father sent her out for reasons of his own. Her temper? Perhaps she was in love with another? Did she seek to escape the match? Corbett’s reasons were unimportant now.
If her family did not know how to care for her, he would gladly do so.
She might think she owned him, but she belonged to him now.
And he was keeping her.
Chapter Six
This was going absolutely nowhere. With an exclamation of disgust, Gillian turned to leave. She didn’t have to stand around while this bozo questioned her.
She gave the knight one last, long look before heading for the door. The guy obviously wasn’t even the least bit sorry, so now would be a really great time for her to find a police officer to make him sorry!
Feeling uncertain, wondering if she’d be stopped, she left through the open front doors. When no one tried to intercept her, she breathed a sigh of relief and headed down the steps and into the courtyard. She spotted a couple of men nearby dressed as peasants.
Gillian approached, hoping she wasn’t jumping from the frying pan and into the fire by asking a favor from complete strangers. “Excuse me.” She sounded a little breathless and cleared her throat, not wanting to sound like anyone’s victim. “I need to get a ride back into the town of Marshall. Do you think you could help me out? Or at least lend me a cell phone?”
The men looked at each other, at her, then as one they shook their heads, bowed slightly, turned, and walked away whispering and casting glances over their shoulders.
With a sigh, Gillian watched them go.
She was really starting to hate this place.
She looked around, hoping for someone more sympathetic. Everyone was busy. She could see a stable with several men at work, what looked like barracks being fixed by a couple more guys, and some buildings that could be storehouses with some kids playing in the dirt nearby.
There were a couple of workshops, doors open wide, with men inside. Herbs, plants, and roots hung from the rafters of one building; and in the other, what looked to be pieces of wood in various shapes and sizes. What she didn’t see were any friendly faces. People were casting wary glances in her direction or flat out ignoring her.
She looked at some men digging in the dirt on the side of one stone wall. Not one of them would meet her gaze, so no help there. Further on, a cart was being loaded by several men; and beyond them, a tall, rounded structure with a cross over the doorway looked to be a chapel; but its doors were shut tight.
Another building, from what she could see and hear, was a kitchen filled with energetic women coming and going.
She started in that direction when a woman with an armful of material bustled across the courtyard. Feeling a one-on-one conversation might be less intimidating, Gillian hurried to intercept her. As she approached, the woman’s eyes widened, she stopped, and dipped a quick curtsy.
“Excuse me.” Gillian halted in front of her. “I’m looking for a ride into town? Could you help me out?”
“My lady.” The woman stared at the ground then bobbed another curtsy.
Impatient, Gillian said, “Could you at least point me in the right direction for some help?”
The woman pointed toward the keep and Gillian turned to see That Man in the doorway, watching her. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She swallowed, turned away, and
walked in the opposite direction feeling very much on display as everyone stared as she passed. She was positive she could feel the knight watching her.
She went around to the back wall looking for the parking lot. If someone had left keys or a cell phone in a car, she might not even ask for permission to borrow one or both items.
She came to a stop. There was no parking lot inside the inner walls, which made sense. Spotting a spiral staircase situated at the bottom of a corner tower, she quickly climbed the rough stone stairs getting her second or third workout of the day. Panting, her skirt pulled up to her knees, she finally reached the top and looked over the edge.
There was a huge outer courtyard enclosed within a high stone wall. More stables, a stream, an orchard, and a garden. Some men were fighting with swords in the far corner. Beyond the outer wall, she could see nothing but more fields and trees. Not a car, or anything else for that matter, in sight.
From her high position on the wall, she turned and looked over the castle and its inner courtyard. She had to admit it was beautiful with its imposing exterior and fairy tale flavor.
She noticed three little boys watching her from below. They pretended indifference when she looked their way, and it made her smile. And that, in turn, made them run away.
There were no movie cameras, no overt drama. It looked as if people were simply going about their daily business. No one was wearing modern clothing, and there was nothing to indicate this was the twenty-first century.
She didn’t see any phone wires, electric lines, or anything like that, and she was getting more than a little freaked out. It was almost as if she’d tumbled into the past.
That thought jarred her memory.
Gillian’s college roommate, Sophia, had honeymooned on a western cattle drive with her husband. It had been touted as a ‘heading back in time’ experience and had sounded to Gillian like a very odd way to start a marriage.
Gillian wondered if she’d inadvertently stumbled on a similar vacation package. To the extreme. It would explain why everyone stayed in character. It wouldn’t really explain what had been done to her, but… maybe they truly were die-hard fanatics? What would they have done if she hadn’t been a virgin? Burned her at the stake? Gillian couldn’t help a shiver. She had to get out of there.
She climbed back down and a girl hurried toward her. Breathless, she stopped and gave Gillian a slight curtsy. “I am Beatrice. I am to be my lady’s maid, assigned by his lordship.” The girl actually looked excited at the prospect.
“Oh. Okay. A maid, huh? You’d think that if your parents are paying for this vacation you’d get a better part, but you probably weren’t given a choice.” Gillian waited for the girl to comment, but she simply stared, uncomprehending.
Impatient, Gillian decided to try the straightforward approach. “Look, honey, can we step out of character for just a moment? I need a phone. Do you have a cell?”
The girl looked confused. “I sleep with the other girls and have no chamber of my own.”
“Ah… okay… look, I just need to know if you have a phone I could use to make a local call. I need to call a cab or something. Also, where exactly are we? I’m lost and don’t know where to direct the driver.”
The girl smiled. “I will take you to his lordship, and he will answer your questions.”
Gillian’s mouth twisted. “You’re what, fourteen, fifteen?”
“I am all of fourteen summers.”
“So, you’re fourteen and you’re telling me you don’t have a cell phone glued to your hip? Come on, just let me borrow it. I promise to make the call really quick. No one has to know.”
Beatrice looked around as if seeking help.
“Cross my heart,” Gillian made a crossing motion over her chest and smiled reassuringly. “I won’t tell a soul.”
The girl looked scared. “Perhaps if her ladyship would like to lie abed for a time? Her ladyship’s bedchamber is most comfortable.”
“Yeah, I laid on that bed earlier; and let me tell you, it was not a restful experience.”
The girl looked at the ground and clasped her hands in front of her.
In frustration, Gillian turned. “Fine, if you’re not going to help me, I’m out of here.”
A couple of hours later, with the girl still on her heels, Gillian sighed. She’d studied every inch of the place from the buttery to the barracks, to the blacksmith’s and the brew house, to the dovecote and the garderobes—which Gillian had unwillingly made use of. No one was giving up a phone, and most ignored her.
Even more worrisome, she couldn’t find anything that indicated she was in the twenty-first century. Not so much as a light switch or a pair of athletic shoes. And as far as she could tell, not one single woman wore makeup. Not even mascara. Surely that went beyond fanatic?
Unless she really was in the past?
Again, she went over what had happened before she’d arrived at the castle. She’d been running. She’d almost fallen a few times, but she didn’t remember actually hitting her head or anything. And she wasn’t in any pain.
She’d only sipped from her water bottle and didn’t remember being stuck with any needles. So how had she been drugged and brought to this place?
She tried to think, to remember every single detail. Right after she’d shoved her father’s ring on her finger, the hooligans had disappeared and the medieval guys had shown up. Suddenly, it was as if she were in a different place.
A frisson of fear chased up her spine. Was she in a different place? In a different time? Had she somehow managed to travel through time?
She studied the ring and thought about the engravings on the inside. She knew her father had hired someone to translate the markings, but she couldn’t remember what they meant. She let out a breath. If it had caused the problem, then she could remedy the situation quickly enough. She grasped the ring and pulled.
The ring stuck to her finger.
She spit on it, rubbed the moisture around, and tried to twist it off again. It didn’t budge. Panic bubbled in her chest. She didn’t remember the ring being so small when her father had worn it. Tugging at the ring was making her finger swell and she gave up.
Later she’d find some cold water to soak her hand in. What she was thinking couldn’t be the truth, anyway. “Beatrice. What is the date today?”
Beatrice curtsied, and smiled. “The first day of June, my lady.”
Gillian sucked in air as goosebumps ran up her arms. As far as she knew, it was April the eighteenth. With a shiver she asked, “What year?”
The maid looked confused. “The year of our Lord, 1260.”
Chills ran up Gillian’s back, and the hair on her nape stood straight. But disbelief had her scoffing. “The real date, if you please.”
The girl’s face showed absolutely no understanding. Either she was an incredible actress, or she really was more than seven hundred years old. “Are you telling the truth?” asked Gillian, trying to sound stern.
The girl looked scared. “Of course, my lady. I would never lie to you. If I did so, Father Elliot would serve up bread and water for a sennight!” The sincerity in the other girl’s face sent an icy chill through Gillian.
“What is the name of this castle?”
“Marshall Keep, my lady.”
Suddenly dizzy, Gillian placed a hand to her forehead. When she’d been drawing Marshall Keep, it certainly hadn’t looked anything like this.
She looked toward the keep. It looked like she needed to have another talk with That Man, after all.
And this time she intended to get some answers.
* * *
Kellen, seated at the head table and going over accounts with his steward, was very pleased when Edith finally sought him out. He had marked her whereabouts throughout the day and had waited patiently while Edith explored her new home. He had kept himself busy by performing his duties in the hall on the chance she might need him.
He was proud of his home and wished her to be happy t
here. He hoped his keep, stalwart and affluent, would sway her into accepting their marriage more readily.
Edith moved toward him and Kellen stood, struck anew at how beautiful he found her. Her gown didn’t hide her curves, and her slight form walked with purpose and allure. She looked to be refreshed and radiant from her afternoon outside. Obligation and duty aside, he found himself glad she belonged to him.
Edith stopped in front of him. “What is the date today?”
Kellen’s brows rose at her abrupt and demanding tone. As his betrothed, she must needs work on her address; but he would let it pass for the moment.
He wondered if she were worried about attending mass. Her sister, Catherine, had been quite devout. It was unfortunate the priest had not the influence to check her murderous inclinations.
But he would not think on that. This was a new girl and a new beginning. Kellen did his best to keep his expression pleasant as he answered with a slight bow. “It is Tuesday, my lady.”
She gifted him a look he did not appreciate. Like he was the idiot she had named him earlier. “The full date, if you please, as in month, day, and year.”
Kellen’s brows rose, and he tried to hide his disgruntlement. Did she now question his wits? “It is the first day of June, 1260.”
Edith’s expression was disbelieving. “Are you sure it isn’t April eighteenth? Are you sure I haven’t simply been kidnapped by a weird medievalist cult or something? I saw the movie The Village. They had all those people holed up in an isolated location thinking they were living in the past.”
Kellen knew not what she referred to, and fearing to look a dolt, he remained silent.
Edith placed her hand on her hips, momentarily drawing his gaze there. “Or perhaps I really did travel through time?”
Again, Kellen was not sure what she referred to but could clearly hear censure in her tone. This she must work on also. He narrowed his eyes in warning but again did not respond.
Edith sighed, and the tension drained from her body. “What exactly is it you want from me?” The belligerence evaporated and she sounded weary and confused.
