She almost laughed… almost… that is, if it was not so freaking embarrassing. Stopping her advance, she fiddled with the zipper on her purse and looked absently around the room, not seeing anything in it. It was all a blur. She waited, hoping he would say something… anything but he said nothing. Jerk.
A sudden crash sounded in the hall. Again, Raven jerked abruptly and pressed her hand to her pounding heart. The hot guy dropped his paper shield and rounded the desk quickly. She held her breath as he walked past her across the room and out into the hall. She was finally able to breathe for a moment. Lifting her shaky hand to her head, she tried to smooth her hair. It was useless. What was the point? She gave up and took the rubber band off her wrist, pulling her sweaty hair into a messy bun. What difference did her hair make when the hot dude just saw her smell her pit and try to flatten her stomach. Well, at least it couldn’t get any worse.
After a few reviving breaths she clomped out into the hall; her luggage was all over the floor. Milford and the hot guy were trying to shove her clothes back into one of them. Of course, the one that was open had all of her Hanes fatty cotton underpants and her control-top pantyhose with the feet cut out. She couldn’t afford Spanxs, she spent all her money on her outward appearance. Sure, she had some nice Victoria’s Secret bras and panties that she wore when she had a date, but of course, those weren’t what fell out of her luggage. Figures. She let out a deflated sigh. Good Lord, it really couldn’t get any worse than this…at least that is what she thought until the hot dude lifted a pair of her pantyhose in the air, looking at the missing feet with a peculiar look on his face.
Raven answered her own question. Why yes… yes it could get worse.
If dreams could come true
AGE OF CHIVALRY * THE PAST
SHARDS of streaming light danced across the hillside and through the treetops to the wooded ground below. Marguerite Elise Duprè took an exhilarating breath, feeling the cool air fill her lungs, and exhaled; it turned white, whirling around her face. She rubbed her arms and stretched her aching muscles. “Damn tree.” She shook her fist at it.
She had nearly fallen to her death in that very same tree. She gave it a sidelong glare and lowered her fist.
Granted, it was better than lying on the ground and being eaten by some carnivore, searching for its evening meal. Shivering from the image, she pulled her cloak more snugly around her body. The heavy velvet weighed upon her as the necklace had a similar effect on her mind.
She had no way of knowing if she would stay in this place or find herself ripped off to some other dreadful time, since she was literally dropped in this timeframe only a day ago, and her backside still hurt from landing so hard. She rubbed the sore spot absently.
If she were right, she was probably in the realm of King Arthurthe age of chivalry. At least, she hoped she was. In haling deeply, she shook her head in agreement. The air had the same smell to it. She knew that sounded strange, but air really does change in smell depending on where you are, or what timeframe you occupy. Just like the seasons, when they begin to change, you can smell it on the wind, just a hint, but enough to tell what season will soon arrive. She was so relieved to be here, especially since she saw him, the knight, with the raven as his coat of arms, plunging into the fray of battle.
In her heart, she knew he was the one she had seen so long ago, the one that she shared a moment with on one of her many travels through time. It was a perfect moment, the one you dream of, the one that is happily ever after. When she looked into his dark, almost black eyes, she knew in her heart that she was destined to spend the rest of her days with him. He was her soul mate. Yes, she realized she sounded preposterous, corny even, but it was as if everything in the universe had aligned in perfect symmetry for that one encounter. Two worlds, two souls together were complete.
Well, that was until she was snatched back to whacko world. Although even she had to admit, she really could have gotten used to living in the twenty-first century. The clothes alone could have kept her happy for quite some time. There were so many styles and ways of wearing them. Pants for women… divine, the silkiness of the nightclothes…
Oh, how she loved them all. Unfortunately, none of them filled the empty space in the center of her chest for the one thing she wanted most of all: him, the Raven Knight.
Mindlessly she walked through the forest, her cloak dragging through the dirt and fallen leaves as they clung to the hem. She didn’t care though. She was too busy wondering what his name was or if he would actually remember the moment they shared so long ago. It was a chance encounter, but appearing from nowhere in the middle of a forest had a way of sticking in one’s mind. At least, that was what she remembered. Seriously, she was beginning to think she might have just imagined him, conjured him from a young girl’s foolish dreams. But she remembered that day like it was only a moment ago. The way he looked at her made her pulse quicken and her stomach flutter.
The forest had went completely still as he reached his hand out and pulled her to him, his laughter filling the air, vibrating her body with his deep, melodic voice. He had a heady scent, his tunic was rough on her face, but she didn’t care. And when he looked at her, stared at her intently, he stole her very breath. She had never seen eyes so dark well, that wasn’t quite right, stupid Devlin’s were dark, but not like his. His were penetrating, shaped like almonds, with dark thick lashes, making them even more intoxicating. She had stood there stupidly, staring at him, his strong chiseled jaw with the faintest cleft in the bottom. He had the longest hair she had ever seen on a man, black as pitch, but twisting in long curls past his shoulders. One would think that would make him look less manly, but it only accentuated it, instead. And when he had brought his mouth against her own, she thought she would faint and fall to the ground, but she needn’t have worried. His strong arms had held her tightly, making her feel safe, secure, and utterly complete.
Even now, after all this time her heart hurt all over again as she remembered being ripped from his grasp. She still felt like part of her had been torn away as well.
But now she was back. She saw him… she knew she did. She tried to get his attention by jumping up and down, until she saw him, the little one, the bane of her existence, on the ridge opposite from the one she was standing on. She did not need to see him clearly to know exactly who he was. He was the one who screamed the first day that she was a witch and wouldn’t shut up about it. She could have killed the rotten troublemaker on the spot, especially since at different times throughout history, the people or cultures had some serious issues with witches and heretics. They tried to drown the women accused of witchery in the nearest body of water, and if by some miracle a woman lived through the drowning, she was then tied to a stake and burned to death.
Something swooped in front of Marguerite. Her breath caught in her throat as her wandering mind came crashing back to the here and now. Her foot was lifted in the air, about to take another step. Not more than fifty feet away, in a stand of trees to her left, were a group of men. Horses gathered under trees in a tight cluster. A fire burned, filling the surrounding area with smoke. They were making a loud ruckus, obviously well into their cups…how did she not hear them before now?
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She knew better. Really, she did. She glanced sideways, trying not to move her head for fear they might catch the movement. Of course, she did not need to look in their direction to know what kind of men they were. These men were the kind you steered clear of, else you may find yourself being tossed to the ground and made an evening’s entertainment, and that would be the good part.
Her heart picked up pace with each moment that ticked by. She darted her eyes around the area, gauging the distance between the opening ahead and where they gathered. Oh good Lord, there was no place to hide. Not a bramble, bush, or a tree close enough or big enough to hide behind. How could she be so careless? Bloody hell! She was a sitting duck. They were close… too damn close. The men would surely catch her if s
he tried to make a break for it and she knew what would happen; she had seen it. Her mind flashed back to another time…
mEMORY <> lONDON EAST END
Darkness was falling upon the city of London as fog rolled across the wet cobblestones. A hackney clamored by the entrance to an alley, making a lantern swing haphazardly back and forth. It cast a yellowish glow onto the woman standing at the corner, leaning against a cold stonewall outside a tavern. The woman was dressed in all of her finery, smiling to a man leaving the unsavory establishment. She called out to him, her voice heavily accented with cockney slang. The man stopped, swaying on his feet, and ambled over toward the lewd woman. She grabbed his hand and pulled him further into the shadows, but somehow she, Marguerite, could still see them in the low glow of the lamplight. The woman said something else to him, but the sound was drowned out by the foghorns blowing from a distant spot on the river. The man pushed the woman back against the wall, with little formality.
Marguerite stood there, frozen in place, watching, not able to make her feet move or turn her face turn away as the man shoved his hand down the woman’s bodice. The sound of ripping fabric rent the air. The woman began to yell as she pushed against him. She said he needed to pay extra coin for damaging her gown; it was apparently her finest. Marguerite had to wonder about that it looked pretty dirty to her. But as she looked down at her own clothing, stained with the filth of the city, who was she to judge?
It didn’t matter what the woman said or did, he kept tearing the fabric until her huge breasts spilled from the front, and he buried his face in them. The woman grabbed his hair, pushing him away, but he was too strong. He yanked her gown up, grabbing her leg as he struggled to release his breeches. They fell to the ground, bunching around his ankles. The woman tried to move away, but he kept her trapped against the wall. She moaned loudly as he thrust into her forcefully, making her head slam back against the rough, stonewall.
***
A gust of wind hit her in the face, filled with the smell of burning wood, and bringing the sound of laughter with it. Her mind came back from her morose reverie. She let out a tense breath; at least she was still undetected… for the moment. Moving as slowly as possible, she took a step backward. One after the other she made each step as quietly as possible. She was almost to the clearing…almost. It would only be a few seconds more. Freedom was in her sight. She was going to make it out in one piece. She could not believe her good fortune.
A crack split the air. BlooooodyHell! She looked down at the branch she was standing on, the wood was about to break completely.
She was a fool.
Lifting her foot very, very slowly, she stepped backward, making leaves rustle under her skirt. Every breath she took, every move she made, seemed so loud… too loud. Barely breathing, she waited in horror for their reaction until she simply couldn’t take it anymore. Gathering her skirts in her hand, she made a run for it. She ran like the hounds of hell were chasing her and knowing what these men were about, hellhounds probably would have been preferable. Leaves kicked up in her wake, skittering across the floor of the forest, as she broke into the clearing at full speed.
Unfortunately, Marguerite Elise Duprè’s flight for freedom came to an abrupt halt when she hit something with such force that it sent her body reeling backwards to the ground. Her teeth cut into her tongue, drawing blood. The metallic taste filled her mouth. “Ow,” she moaned, lifting her hands to stop her ears from ringing. “So stupid, dumb, idiotic…argh!” she muttered, feeling like her head split in two and fell back against the ground in pain.
***
Darias held the hilt of his sword, looking down at the girl who had just barreled into the side of his horse. He widened his eyes when she shook her head and fell back onto the ground, mumbling words he could not understand. She was very dirty.
Shaking his head, he looked back to the tree line. Was she running from something or someone? Or was she quite simply a fool? Only a fool would run full on into his horse. Well, if she wasn’t before, she probably was now. The force with which she hit his horse would rattle her brains, not to mention the way she bounced onto her backside before finally falling backward onto the ground. Her brains were probably scrambled well and good now.
Ignoring her for a moment he lifted his gaze to the tree line, listening. The reins jingled lightly as his horse threw his head up and down. Squeezing his thighs gently, his horse calmed instantly. He looked back towards the opening in the trees, from where the girl had just run. He had seen her coming too and he thought at the time she had seen him as well. Apparently not.
The sound of laughter drifted out to the clearing, answering one question, although he still wasn’t sure if she was a fool or not. Well, it was obvious that whomever she was running from had no idea she even left—yet. He also knew they would soon be following on her heels, if they intended to look for her. Damn.
Fighting was not what he wanted this day, but if it came down to it, fight he would. Another gust of laughter broke from the stand of trees. The men were making a good ruckus and sounded completely sotted. A dull ache formed behind his eyes, he closed them for a moment, rubbing his brow with his gloved hand. By the saints above, what was he to do with this crazy, little vagabond? This girl, whoever she was, was not what he wanted to deal with this day or any other for that matter. But what option did he have? Leave her where she was and what? Let the men, whoever they were have their way with her? He in no way wanted the responsibility of caring for her, but he would not wish that fate on her either. He groaned inwardly and ran his gloved hands over his face, letting his horse’s head drop for a moment.
***
The bright sun beat down against her face, turning her eyelids pink, but the pink turned to black as something or someone blocked the sun, making her tense. Marguerite groaned, hating herself, knowing nothing good was going to come of this. She knew she should get up and run, or at the very least, stand and fight, but everything suddenly seemed so useless. So instead, she prayed. If this was her end, please let it be as fast and painless as possible.
Unfortunately, the end was taking way too long. Too many horrible thoughts began parading through her mind as the beast’s hot breath blew across her skin. It was warm, wet… making her envision a gruesome beastie with foam dripping from its sharpened fangs getting ready to devour her at any given moment. Of course, it was her just reward for messing with the amulet in the first place. Clenching her hands, she prepared herself for the worst, knowing without a doubt her flesh would be torn from her body anytime now…
The horse nudged the girls face. It would seem she was lying on the only green patch of grass in the general vicinity. Darias shook his head, hating what he was going to do. He would save the girl not only from the ruffians, but from herself as well. Leaning down, he deftly picked her up off the ground. She was a light, little thing. He laid her face down across his horse. Her body began to shake under his hand. Was she going to be sick? That was all he needed. He looked over at the stand of trees, then back down to his burden. He knew he should leave, but also knew if he sent his horse into a full gallop right now, the girl would certainly be sick.
***
Marguerite’s breath whooshed from her body as she was shoved down across something hard and smelly. Her face was completely covered by the hood of her cloak and her arms were pinned by a massive weight on her back. It was in that moment she decided she had enough. She was tired of being afraid, tired of being tired, hungry, and alone. She made up her mind. Fate could quite simply stuff it. She had already made it through some of the lowest times of her life and accepted many of the piles of dung fate had already meted out for her. Stupid fate had already given her enough piles to last a lifetime.
It was like, “Oh, Marguerite, you haven’t had a horrific enough time of it. Let’s throw you into a screaming mob and cut your head off. Oh, no, wait… why not send you off to the foul-smelling dregs of London with the guy who likes to cut people into little pieces? A
nd now, let’s tease you… make you think you are finally going to find happiness, but no… not yet. You get to see your dark knight, but you can’t have him. No, you have to try to follow him, spend your nights in trees, fearing for your life at every turn, either by falling to your death or being eaten alive by some kind of beastie with a hunger for young girls. And yet, she managed to survive every rotten, tormenting moment. Anger replaced desperation and she began to fight in earnest, kicking her feet up in the air and bucking her body up and down. Her foot made contact with something.
Darias saw a flash of white as a small booted foot hit him squarely in the face. He lifted his hand to his nose. Did the little heathen break it? It hurt like the devil. He tasted blood on his lip too. Damn hellion, he was going to kill her.
With all the bucking and kicking she was about to fall from the side of his horse and her almost let her go…almost. Instead, at the last minute, he yanked her back up but she continued to buck up and down. Pressing his hand to her back he tried to get her to still. Although if she didn’t stop moving he was not overly averse to flipping her off his horse after what she did to his face. He shook his head to clear his vision and swore loudly when a sharp pain shot through his head from the action.
Too late, he realized he had broken one of his golden rules.
Never let your enemies know where you are. He had no idea how many there were and he did not have the time to assess them either. He heard them coming.
There was no reprieve this time.
Whipping his horse around, he placed a firm hand on her back and kicked the flanks of his horse. The wind tore at his hair, and his cloak billowed out behind as his horse ate up the ground, putting as much distance between them and the men as possible.
***
Much, much, later, when the sun burned a crimson shade across the horizon, Darias finally slowed his horse. His anger now gone, he put a tentative hand on the back of the girl. She stopped moving some time ago. He tried not to let worry fill his mind, but he was still reluctant to stop just yet. He did not want to lose what lead they had. It was too far back to the keep, with too many open fields in between. There would be no place to take cover if the need arose. He could be overtaken quickly. His horse was frothing at the mouth. He leaned forward and patted him gently on the neck, promising him sweet soft grass and clear water in the not too distant future. The horse bobbed his head up and down, as if in agreement. It seemed his faithful companion had saved him once more.
TIME TO REMEMBER: A NEW ADULT TIME TRAVELING ROMANCE (RAVENHURST SERIES) Page 3
