by Grant, Donna
Chapter One
LeBlanc village
Westmorland County, England
Summer 1244
Eyes as sharp as a falcon’s scanned the crowded village as people shuffled from place to place in an effort to accomplish their chores.
All was normal in the small, sleepy village, except for two men who stood silently against the loud backdrop.
Cole, the taller of the two by mere inches, found his gaze returning again and again to the three story tavern. He straightened from the blacksmith’s shop as his hand brushed the handle of his war axe.
“What is it?”
Cole glanced at his companion. Gabriel stood tense, his hands relaxed by his side, ready to grasp his bow and arrow at a moments notice.
“I don’t know,” Cole finally answered. “There’s something in the tavern that draws my attention.”
In response, Gabriel reached behind his head and drew his hair away from his face and tied it off at the nape of his neck with a string of leather.
Cole grinned at his friend. “Ready for some action?”
“I was born ready,” Gabriel said and flexed his shoulders.
Just as Cole lifted his foot to step into the street, a flash of yellow caught his attention. He stared, transfixed, as a shapely leg peeked out of an upstairs window.
“Is
that…?”
“Aye,” Cole answered, unable to look away.
To his glee, more leg was exposed, and then a slender arm joined it. It was only moments later a shapely backside also moved through the narrow window.
Gabriel leaned forward for a better look. “What do you suppose she is doing?” Cole chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have no idea, but I’m enjoying the show.”
During that time, the girl had managed to extract the rest of her body from the window and hung perilously by her fingers and toes to the side of the building, her faded yellow gown blowing in the slight breeze.
“She’s going to plunge to her death.”
Cole happened to agree with Gabriel. Yet, by the way the woman hung on, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, he had a feeling she knew exactly what she was doing.
“She’s not in a hurry,” Cole said as he glanced at the open window to see if anyone followed her.
Gabriel snorted. “Then why in the name of the Fae is she climbing down the tavern.”
Cole shrugged and involuntarily took a step toward the woman when her foot slipped.
“We need to do something,” Gabriel stated.
Cole was surprised that they were the only ones who noticed the woman. She hung above the villagers and any moment could come crashing down atop one of them.
A smile pulled at his lips as the woman slowly worked her way to the corner of the building and then climbed down. He heard Gabriel mumble something beneath his breath when the woman’s feet touched the ground and she untucked her skirts from betwixt her legs.
All Cole managed to see through the throng of people was strands of brunette hair that had escaped the cap atop her head. She had caught his attention as any women who would brave such dangers would. He couldn’t wait to have her in his arms.
Before he could go to her, Gabriel’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“There’s
no
time.”
Cole looked back toward the woman. She was just making her escape from the town when two men caught her and roughly dragged her back into the tavern.
It was just as well, Cole thought. His rod would have to wait while he and Gabriel gathered what information they could. With his mind set to forget the woman, anger sliced through him when one of the men backhanded her so hard she fell to her side in the dirt. It took every ounce of will for Cole to turn away. He couldn’t make a scene, not yet.
Not until they knew what evil lurked in the small village.
As they walked down the dirt road toward the castle high up on the hill, he found Gabriel fingering his dagger. Gabriel had a keen sense that the Shields always listened to. Cole wasn’t about to ignore it now.
“What is it?”
“The castle,” Gabriel murmured. “There is something about it, something that doesn’t seem quite…normal.”
Cole’s eyes immediately went to the imposing stone towers that reached toward the clouds. “You think the evil resides there?” Gabriel shrugged and slowed his pace. “In the past, anytime the Fae has moved us through time, we always arrive once the creature has begun to plague the village.” Cole nodded, following Gabriel’s line of thought. “Yet no one acts as though their lives are in danger. Do you suppose the creature hasn’t yet arrived?”
“Nay, it’s here. Aimery said as much.”
Aimery. Cole wished the Fae commander was with them to shed more light on their quest. Being a Shield was something Cole prided himself on, but a little more information could be as valuable as gold.
Gabriel punched him on the arm. “Don’t tell me you still dislike being thrown into a time and place that you know nothing about.” Cole shook his head at the grin on Gabriel’s face. It was a rare occurrence when Gabriel smiled, not to mention jested, and after all they had been through with being separated from Val and Roderick, then losing Darrick to death and Hugh to his heart mate, Cole could barely muster a grin, much less jesting.
“Knowing what we were up against could give us an added edge, at least.” This time Gabriel chuckled. “As if you need it. An immortal that can use a war axe like others use a sword.”
It was true, but Cole didn’t like to advertise it. He had been trained by the Fae themselves, and with his unnatural ability to use his war axes more effectively than most, he was deadly.
Cole lengthened his strides. “With time running out on us, why don’t we tackle the obvious first? Let’s see what the lord of the castle has to say.” They walked from the crowded village down the main road toward the castle.
The road twisted and many times their view was obstructed by trees from the forest on either side of the dirt road.
With just the slightest touch to Cole, Gabriel stepped into the forest as the castle came into view. Cole knew Gabriel would scout the castle while he talked to the baron.
Cole gazed at the massive wooden gate that was shut and the two guards that stood outside. As he passed villagers that were turned away, he began to wonder why the baron kept his castle sealed off to his villagers.
“What business do you have with the baron?” one guard asked as Cole approached.
“I’m a knight from a distant castle. I’ve heard great things about your baron and I wish to offer him my services.”
“We have plenty of knights.”
Cole inhaled deeply and crossed his arms over his chest. “Shouldn’t that be the baron’s decision?”
The two guards looked at each other and laughed. “Unless you have an invitation from the baron himself, you don’t gain entry into the castle.” Cole stared at the pair of guards before dropping his hands and turning on his heel to walk away. Half way back to the village Gabriel joined him on the road.
“It smells,” Gabriel said.
Cole glanced over his shoulder to see more villagers turned away. “Aye. What lord doesn’t allow his own people inside his walls?”
“One that has something to hide.”
Cole nodded. “And the quickest way to discover what he has to hide is through his villagers.” He turned to Gabriel to see his silver eyes alight with anticipation. “You have a plan.”
“I have a plan,” he said and quickly turned back toward the village.
Chapter Two
Shannon O’Malley seethed. Never in her life had she ever felt so alone�
�or weak.
Her chest still heaved from her frantic escape from the upstairs window. She had nearly made it too, but then Benton had suddenly appeared to stop her. Yet again.
Benton Ducre. She hated the name as much as she hated the man. He held her prisoner at the tavern, forcing her to work, and always keeping a close eye on her. Even at night, she had a guard outside her room.
The man was becoming a serious pain in the ass.
Why it was so important that she stay within reach at all times, she had no idea.
All she knew was that one minute she had been minding her own business driving down the Chicago streets and then the next, she was standing in thirteenth century England.
“Anon,
wench!”
Shannon jerked at the voice behind her. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, her face throbbed where Benton’s meaty fist had rammed into her, and her pride was bruised from not having made her escape after careful planning for two weeks. She was hanging onto her sanity by a thin thread that had already begun to unravel.
If she ever made it back to her time she was going to need serious psychological help.
With shaky hands, she reached for the mug of ale Benton had filled. Just as her hand closed around the thick mug, Benton’s closed around hers.
His dark hooded eyes glared at her. She stared at his square face, flat nose, and protruding brow, and all she wanted to do was run. He was a mobster. Oh, they might not be in Chicago, hell, they weren’t even in the twenty-first century, but he was a mobster.
“If you ever try that again ….” His gravely voice trailed off.
She looked into his beady black eyes and shivered. He didn’t have to finish the threat. She knew exactly what would happen to her.
With a jerk, she wrenched her hand out of his, sloshing ale over the both of them.
Her legs grew steadier with each step she took away from the bar, but the rage only increased. She would make Benton and his cronies pay if it was the last thing she did.
“About bloody time,” the man said when she delivered his ale.
She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat at his blackened teeth and greasy hair. It was just one of the many reasons she hated this hell hole she was in. She wanted to return to her twenty-first century where people bathed, brushed their teeth, and maintained general hygiene.
As she turned away, he grabbed her hand. What was it with everyone grabbing her? She wanted to scream. Didn’t anyone follow the personal space rule in this century?
“A nice set of tits ye have there,” greasy said as he hauled her onto his lap. “With those tits in me face, I could forgive ye anything.” Shannon guessed that most women would have been glad to receive such a compliment, but all she wanted to do was elbow him in the face. She tried to squirm out of his lap, yet he held on like a dog with a bone.
He laughed in her ear, his vile breath choking her. “Ah, ye like the feel of me pecker against yer backside, aye?”
Shannon stilled instantly. She glanced at Benton, and there must have been something on her face to alert him that she was fast loosing control because he hurried around the counter and pulled her out of Greasy’s lap.
“Enough, Thatcher. You’re wife is waiting for you,” Benton said.
She watched as the man’s smiled vanished at having her yanked from his lap. She wondered if there might be a fight, giving her another chance at escape.
“Ye’ve never stopped us before, Benton,” Greasy said as he slowly stood.
Benton glared at the man until Greasy sank back into his chair. “This is my tavern, Thatcher. What I say goes. If you don’t like it, leave.” Shannon started to back toward the door when Benton turned his black eyes on her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. She hurried away, not caring what else Benton had to say to the man. A woman could only take so much of the abuse every day without any answers to her questions before she turned like a caged animal and began attacking.
Her feet moved her to the back room under the stairway. It was a store room of sorts, but it was her room. No sooner had she closed the door behind her than Benton yanked it open and followed her in.
“Did I not hit you hard enough, wench?”
“I have a name,” she ground out.
He growled and stepped towards her. “Answer me.”
“What do you want from me?”
“To act like you’re supposed to,” he bellowed.
Shannon began to laugh. It was either that or cry, and crying in front of Benton the Beast was unthinkable.
His black eyes narrowed on her. “And just what do you find so humorous?”
“You,” she said between laughs that now had her doubled over.
Apparently Benton didn’t find anything amusing because he hauled her up by her hair, pulling the little white cap he made her wear off and scattering the pins that kept her hair in place.
She yelped and grabbed hold of his hand to stop him from pulling any harder.
“You will act like a proper bar wench. You will flirt with the men, let them fondle you and even fondle them yourself,” he spat in her face. “Do you understand me?”
She shook her head and blinked away tears. “Tell me why you weren’t surprised to find me standing in the middle of the field.” He flung her down and strode to the door. “Keep those questions to yourself, wench. You’ll find out the answers soon enough.” Shannon waited until the door closed behind him before she rose up on an elbow and swiped away the stray tear that had managed to escape.
Slowly, she climbed to her feet and found a poor excuse for a mirror on the wall.
Her cheek hurt so badly now that she could hardly move her mouth. Even in the dingy mirror, she could see the bruise forming on her right cheekbone.
With a sigh, she pushed her hair away from her face. Pins littered the floor, and she stared at them for a moment. Maybe if she refused to bathe, brush her hair or change her clothes Benton would no longer make her work the tavern floor.
Without another thought to her wild, tangled hair, Shannon walked out of the small room.
* * *
Cole spotted her instantly. She moved with the grace of a caged animal, one that was ready to strike at any moment. Her honey brown eyes flashed anger and resentment wherever they landed.
She was being kept here against her will.
As much as it was Cole’s nature to help the less fortunate and weak, he knew he couldn’t aid her. Not yet. Once they had vanquished the creature, then he could return to her and set her free.
He had seated himself in the back corner where the shadows kept most of him hidden. There he could watch everyone in the tavern and listen as the men talked.
It became harder and harder though as the woman kept drawing his attention.
Each time she went to a table to deliver drinks or food, he was given a glorious view of her ample breasts, and despite the disarray of her brunette locks scattered around her, she looked positively sinful.
The kind of sinful that had him thinking of bed sport. All night bed sport. When his mind turned to ways he wanted to claim her, he had to forcibly turn it back to the mission.
“Can I get you anything?”
Cole cursed silently at not noticing her before she walked to his table. He had been so deep in thought about forgetting her that he hadn’t been paying attention.
With everything hinging on the fact that everyone needed to think him a drunk, he raised his eyes, a goofy grin on his face as he pretended not to be able to focus on her.
Even acting drunk he couldn’t help but notice her oval face, full lips, pert nose, and gently arching brows over eyes that slanted upwards at the corners. She was a beauty, and one he wanted desperately in his bed.
“Hold still and I might answer you,” he said, making sure to slur his words.
“You’re drunk,” she said, not hiding the loathing from her voice.
Her accent was like no
thing he had encountered before. She wasn’t from England, Scotland, or France to be sure.
“Aye, darlin’, I am. I man has that right every once in awhile,” he drawled and took a drink, careful to make sure some spilled. “I’m nearly empty,” he said as he smiled up at her and set the mug down. “I’d like another.” She put her hand on her hip and stared at him. “You should probably get home to your wife now while you can still stand.”
Cole laughed. “Ah, but I don’t have a wife. I’m just drinking for the hell of it.”
Her face softened, and her full lips pulled as if in a smile. She turned to glance over her shoulder, and that’s when he saw the bruise. The entire right side of her face was turning a nasty shade of purple.
