by Amy Harmon
Ah. This was good. His patience had finally yielded profits. Kellen relaxed a bit, pleased at her inclination to learn her role here. Her distress in coming to him in such a manner had likely frazzled her nerves and made her awkward. Now they could discuss their betrothal in a reasonable manner.
Kellen reached to take her hand, to reassure her. She did not resist, only appeared bewildered as she gazed down at his larger hand engulfing her smaller one, and this pleased him also. She would soon learn to lean on his strength and to trust him in all matters. The softness of her skin made him smile, and the quiver of awareness prickling throughout his body had him looking forward to their wedding night.
Perhaps after they had known one another better she would not make him wait the five weeks until they wed to consummate the marriage? If she carried his heir on their wedding day, he would be doubly pleased.
“You may call me Kellen. May I call you Edith?”
She jerked her hand from his. “Why would you?” Her words were sharp again.
Kellen was taken aback, his pride stung, and he straightened. “That is your name, is it not? Lady Edith Corbett? We are betrothed, so formalities between us can surely be dropped?”
Lady Edith sucked in a breath. “I might not know much about what is going on here, but I am positive we are not engaged and that I am not Edith.”
Kellen struggled to hold his temper, but it was obvious she tried to escape the marriage. She did not like her new home? She did not like him? That was unfortunate, because she would find him unyielding on this subject. They would marry.
Anger hardened his heart. “You are not Lady Edith Corbett?”
Edith folded her arms. “No, I am not.”
Kellen gave her one final chance. “So, you are not Lady Edith and are not my betrothed?”
“I already said no on both counts, didn’t I?” Again, her tone held the sharpness he was beginning to detest.
Kellen sucked in a breath and tried to control his temper. Obviously his betrothed needed instruction on the way of things. “Then how came you to be here? Who are you? If you are not Lady Corbett, you must be a thief and a spy and therefore must be hanged immediately.”
Shock and fear were plain in Edith’s face as she swallowed and stepped back. “I’m not a thief or a spy.”
Kellen did not want her afraid. He wanted his wife to want him. To yield to him. This display of neediness on his part, the fragile hope for a companion in marriage, made him angrier still. When would he learn?
He hit out harshly. “You wear the Corbett ring. If you are not his daughter then you must have stolen it.”
Edith hid the ring under her hand. “No! This was my father’s ring!” Fear laced her expression and voice.
“Then once more, I will ask for your name.”
She studied him for a long moment, and he was well aware of the visage she beheld. Brutal, grim, harsh. Her unwanted future.
She gulped. “I am Lady Edith Corbett, your betrothed.” She grabbed her bag, turned, and ran out the door again.
Kellen let out a breath and tamped back the pain and anger. It was not as he had hoped. But there would be no games played between them. He would not allow it. She would learn her place and keep to it. The marriage would be one of duty, and any tender feelings he felt toward her he would keep to himself.
Eventually those sentiments would expire.
Just as they had in his first marriage.
Chapter Seven
The guy was a… a… a big, scary jerk! Gillian ran outside, finally slowed, and came to a stop. Breathing hard, she looked around.
So the year was 1260, huh? These guys were good. Everything pointed to this being medieval England: the castle, the way everyone dressed, their speech, the way they occupied themselves, everything. There was not one little clue that this was the twenty-first century.
But, of course, that was impossible. Time travel via a graveyard? The idea was ridiculous. She had to look at this logically. Take away the time travel idea and what was she left with?
A fraud of some sort. A trick. And probably drugs and a kidnapping to boot. But for what purpose?
Perhaps this was some sort of English Candid Camera type show that had gone way too far. A give a girl a gynecological exam, then threaten to kill her, type show. It was hard to believe anyone would arrange something this elaborate, but it made more sense than time travel.
They were probably going to feature her on YouTube or something along with a bunch of other idiot tourists who fell for their ploy and were molested by them. British humor? Somehow watching Monty Python would never be the same.
But shouldn’t they have jumped out by now and admitted it was all a joke? Surprise, surprise, we got you. Ha, ha, ha.
Or did they realize they’d gone too far and now didn’t know what to do? Didn’t know how to get out of it? Were they afraid of being sued? Gillian’s mouth tightened. If not, they should be.
She headed toward the front gate. She’d climb to the top of the wall and take a good look at the view from the front of the castle this time. See if she could spot a road or perhaps even her rental car if they’d brought it along.
She still had her keys in her pack, so she could hike out to it and drive away without a backward glance. If she didn’t see the rental, well, at this point she was even willing to take her chances and hitchhike to the town of Marshall. As long as the driver wasn’t an obviously drooling psychopath or dressed in medieval garb, or both.
Ignoring the way everyone continued to stare, she walked to the imposing front gate, located the circular staircase, and started to climb.
When she’d almost reached the top, two men rushed forward blocking her way. Guards from the looks of them, one taller with a bigger nose, one shorter with worried brown eyes. Strong men, stocky with muscle. Both looked uncomfortable.
Big Nose glanced at his friend then ordered. “My lady, you must turn back. ’Tis not allowable for you to be up here.”
Gillian stopped a few steps down and glared as she tried to catch her breath. “Just get out of my way, okay? I’ve about had it with this place, and I don’t need any more men telling me how it’s going to be; so back off, buster.”
Surprise registered on both faces and the brown-eyed worrier positioned himself more firmly in her path but glanced between his friend and Gillian as if unsure which side to take. His voice was gentle. “We cannot let you by, your ladyship. ’Tis high off the ground. Turn back lest you be frightened by the view.”
Gillian smiled tightly. “I was just looking at the view from the back side of the keep a while ago. This isn’t that much higher and I promise it won’t scare me. Just get out of the way, will you?”
Big Nose placed a fist on one hip. “’Tis not allowable.” Arrogance oozed down the steps.
Sudden suspicion had Gillian’s eyes narrowing. “Why not? Is there something you don’t want me to see? A parking lot, perhaps? Or a nearby town? Policemen on patrol? A telephone?”
The men exchanged a confused glance, or was that a guilty one? Big Nose’s brows rose. “Er… no, miss.”
The worrier looked visibly distressed but didn’t move out of her way. “Please miss, this is no place for a lady such as yourself.”
Gillian gave a fake smile. “What’s a girl like me doing in a place like this, huh? I’m asking myself that same question. Now, move it.”
Gillian surged up the few steps and tried to squeeze around the shorter guy. She pushed but couldn’t get much of a foothold from her position on the stairs, and the guy didn’t budge at all. Gillian, hands and head pushing against the man’s stomach, said, “Nothing you can say is going to stop me. Get out of my way!”
Neither guy moved.
Gillian sighed and let up. She moved down a step so she could glare up at them. “Look. The jig is up. I surrender.” She lifted both hands. “You got me. Ha. Ha. Ha. You can show me your tiny little cameras, and we can all laugh together. Okay?”
Both men loo
ked at each other then back at her again. She made another dive, and this time the taller man blocked her way grabbing at her arms as she tried to go around him.
Off balance, upset, and on the verge of tears, Gillian shrank back. “What are you trying to do? Push me down the stairs? If you touch me, if anyone dares to touch me again, you are both going to be in so much trouble!”
The guards looked anxious and uncomfortable, but both held their positions. The worrier looked around as if seeking more help. “Miss. Please. You must not come up here. The height will only upset your sensibilities.”
“Turn back.” Big Nose’s arrogance reared its ugly head again.
Gillian looked down, shook her head, and sighed. Fine. They wanted her to play damsel in distress? She’d play it their way. She tried to look scared as she peeked up at them. “The view is truly frightening?” Gillian tried for fear, but wondered if she’d overplayed when her voice wavered. “I guess you’re right. I’d better go now.”
Brown Eyes looked relieved. “Thank you, miss. That is for the best.”
Big Nose smiled in a superior way. “There’s a good lass. And don’t be coming back up here.” Under his breath he muttered, “Meddlesome female.”
Gillian twisted her body to look down the spiral staircase. “I should just go back this way? I’m not sure how to get down. It’s so steep.”
Gillian’s dress hid her firmly planted feet as she pretended to lose her footing. “Oh… oh, dear… oh, no!” She started to windmill her arms and let out a real scream as her pack pulled her backward. “Help me! I’m falling!”
The shorter guy grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up the few steps.
Gillian clung to him as she looked down the staircase. “I… I can’t. Oh, thank you… I almost… I’m so scared. I could… I could have died!”
The man’s grip tightened protectively. “Fret not. I have you.”
Both men pulled her the rest of the way up the stairs and she collapsed on the stone floor, her heart pounding. She started to laugh as she scooted away, then stood and brushed off her skirt. “Thanks, guys. Now that I’m here, I might as well look around.”
Big Nose’s mouth fell open then his face tightened into an angry mask. “Now, see here.” He reached for her.
Gillian backed away. “I wouldn’t if I were you. I’ll scream the castle down if you so much as lay one finger on me.”
Brown Eyes made frantic motions toward the staircase.
“Mistress, please.”
Gillian skipped a few feet backward out of their reach. “Back off. I’m just going to take a look around, and then I’ll be on my way. Okay?”
Gillian turned, walked to the edge and clung to a stone parapet in case they tried to use force. She looked over the village and the surrounding countryside.
Within moments, her shoulders sagged in disappointment. No car, no sign of a paved road, no sign of civilization at all. She’d expected to see something to convince her she wasn’t in the thirteenth century. If not a car, at least a satellite dish on the side of a hut or a telephone wire. Something.
“Now, miss,” said the worrier. “I told you ye’d feel faint. And now look, you’ve gone pale as parchment. Shall I carry you down, then?”
Gillian waved a hand at them. “No. I’m fine.”
The man nodded reluctantly and the two walked a few feet away to confer. Big Nose’s voice rose as he talked about trickery, women, and guile all in the same sentence.
And then Gillian spotted the cemetery. Could it be the same graveyard she’d run through before? How could she possibly know? She looked beyond it and saw something that made her spine stiffen. In the distance sat a cluster of rocks, one bigger than the rest, in the middle of a field.
Gillian’s heart started to pound. Could it be the same rock she’d been sitting on a couple of hours ago as she’d sketched the ruin? As she’d drawn the castle with the exact same arch as this one had?
At a guess, the rock was located in exactly the position it should be in relation to the castle.
Was she being ridiculous? Was it simply coincidence?
She looked to the left of it, to where the road should be. There was no road in that direction and no car. But there wouldn’t be if she were in the thirteenth century, would there?
She brushed the thought away. She refused to buy into that madness. The rock simply had to be a fluke. Of course, it would be easy enough to put her mind at ease. Her rock had been unique.
Turning away from the men, Gillian dug into her pack, pulled out her camera, turned it on and scrolled through the pictures she’d taken of the ruin until she came to the rock.
She checked it against the one on the outskirts. It did look like the same rock. But from that distance and angle, she couldn’t be sure.
Gillian scoffed at herself. Surely rocks like that were scattered throughout England? But they wouldn’t be exactly the same, would they? It had been unusual with its dips and curves. And up close she could check it against the picture to be sure.
She sprang into action, shoved her camera in her pack, and shrugged it onto her shoulders. She headed for the stairs and pulled the strings tight on her backpack.
“Do you need help going down the stairs, mistress?” asked Brown Eyes.
“Hardly!”
Big Nose sniffed. “A good riddance to ye, then. And don’t come back.”
Gillian’s mouth twisted. “Don’t worry. If I have anything to say about it, I won’t.” Scrambling down the staircase, she hurried to the bottom and then around the corner. She was relieved when no one stopped her from leaving through the huge front gate. She’d go and get a look at that rock and settle her doubts once and for all. And when she was done, she’d just keep on walking.
Chapter Eight
Wearing a dress, and moving across the harsh terrain, it took Gillian about thirty minutes to go through the village, past the cemetery, up the rise, and over the field to the rock formations.
Breathing hard as she neared them, fear constricted her chest. Because the closer she got, the more convinced she became that they were the same group of rocks.
The gray stone, interspersed with green and black markings, the different shapes of the boulders, the way they were positioned, all looked remarkably familiar.
Chills climbed the middle of her back, spread across her body, and had the hair on her arms standing on end. The rock she’d climbed before had vaguely resembled a mushroom, and there it was. Even from the ground she could see the dip in the front that looked suspiciously like the depression she’d been sitting in.
Could a rock remain unchanged over a period of seven hundred years? Was that even possible?
Gillian took off her backpack, retrieved the camera, and scrolled through the pictures until she found the rock. She skirted the boulder until she found the exact location from which she’d snapped the shot.
Shivers raced up her spine as she compared the past and the present. Unless they had lookalike rocks strewn across England, then yes, this had to be the same rock. The shallow depression was there, even the ledge on which she’d set her pencils was right where it was supposed to be. She could even see the other rock formations in the background, both in the photo and in the present.
Could this really be happening?
Encumbered by her dress, she bunched the material in one fist, climbed the backside of the rock, and lowered herself into the hollow.
Sitting in the exact indentation she’d occupied earlier, she looked toward the castle, took a few deep breaths to stave off dizziness, and scrolled through the pictures on her camera.
Looking between the castle ruin on her camera, and the now pristine version of the castle with the village set out in front of it, Gillian’s breath caught. The same arch, towers, arrow slits, everything. Even the graveyard was in the correct location. There could be no doubt.
Gillian felt the blood drain from her face and a whirling sensation had her dropping the camera in her lap and
clutching at the rock as she took a few deep breaths, trying to get enough air into her lungs.
This was unbelievable. How could this have happened? Why would this have happened? Somehow, she’d actually traveled through time? Had she stumbled through a wormhole without noticing? Or been snatched up by the hand of God and moved to prevent her murder by those boys?
Did things like that happen?
Gillian rubbed her fingers against the scratchy surface of the rock, making sure it was really there. That she was really there.
She wasn’t unconscious or dreaming and this wasn’t some sort of elaborate set-up to trick her.
Unsurprised, she watched as Lord Kellen Marshall crossed the field on horseback, a few of his men following. She stuffed her camera into her pack, closed it, and waited.
He was without helmet or shield, and his black hair gleamed with shots of mahogany and gold in the sunlight, his tanned face hard and unyielding. He still wore chain, armor, and sword, and his loose tunic sported a coat of arms in red and green, depicting a black bird of prey, claws extended.
As she was feeling slightly hunted at the moment, his crest seemed appropriate.
His men stopped; but Kellen, eyes intelligent, perceptive, and without an ounce of guile, maneuvered his horse around the rock, never taking his gaze from hers.
Her own gaze dropped when he moved behind her, until finally he finished rounding the rock and stopped in front of her. He instructed one of his men to search the other rocks.
“What do you do here?”
Slowly she raised her head and met his dark gaze again. She shivered. A real, live, medieval warrior, and he was looking at her as if he owned her, as if she were his possession. His amber eyes took in every part of her, making the blood rush back into her face. A medieval warrior who believed she belonged to him and who believed he had the right to establish and then claim her virginity.
Gillian swallowed, then pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them. Breathless, and still even a bit dizzy, she thought it was a good thing she was sitting. She tried a smile. “Sightseeing?”
