He looked her up and down and answered the girl’s odd question. “The Year of Our Lord 1307.”
“Perchance the wench is feebleminded and should be sent away to a convent.”
Lucy lunged for Simon. “You. How dare you drug me, trick me into marrying you for real and then try to kill me. I’ll have you thrown in jail.” She slapped him hard across the face, gratified to hear the smack echo across the courtyard. “My sisters better be okay, you horrible pig!”
Simon reached out to grab her. “How dare this witch strike me? I’ll kill her where she stands.”
“Enough,” William bellowed, quieting them both. He grabbed Lucy and glared at Simon. “We do not kill women.”
She was shaking. “I seem to have made a mistake.” The man looked so much like Simon it was uncanny, but, looking closer, she could see small differences. Horrified, she looked at the man.
“You look exactly like Simon. I’m sorry I hit you.”
The man said something that didn’t sound very complimentary before William frowned at him.
“Begone, Clement, and leave the wench to me. I’ll see you in the solar momentarily.”
Lucy was busy sucking in shallow breaths of air. The walls of the courtyard seemed to pulse in time to the screech of metal on metal. Her stomach protested, but thankfully nothing else came up.
She’d fallen through time over seven hundred years. How was it possible? She was stupid to have believed in Simon. Stupid for ignoring the warnings in her head. A wet spot appeared on her hand. The raindrops ran down the side of her hand and made a dark mark on the filthy white dress. Hysterical laughter bubbled up.
“I’ve ruined my dress and I don’t have any shoes.” The shock must be wearing off just in time for her situation to sink in. 1307. Alone. Simon was still back in her time. And she was separated from her sisters by not only an ocean but over seven hundred years. With no way to go back in time to warn them.
Lucy jumped up and ran for the hall. If she could get back to the battlements, she could go home.
A string of angry French followed her. She risked a quick look over her shoulder. William was following her while keeping his men back. He made no move to stop her.
She raced up the stairs, panting and seeing spots. The door opened with a creak and there was light. Where was the bench? Heedless of the cold stone on her feet, Lucy passed by one bench and then the next. As she came to the third, she saw something sparkling in the sun. Lucy knelt down, reached in the corner and picked up a crystal that must have fallen off her shoes as another seam in the dress gave way.
What did she need to do? First, she closed her eyes and pictured home. The sound of a throat clearing broke her concentration, and she opened her eyes to see William standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with an inscrutable expression on his face. The man would make an excellent poker player.
She tried sitting on the bench and picturing the castle as it had been. A ruin, nighttime, thunder and lightning and rain. Lucy counted to fifty and opened her eyes.
“Damn it to hell.” There was no rusty-looking spot anywhere near the bench. Somehow she thought she’d touched that spot and felt a jolt, but it could have been the whole getting struck by lightning thing. So maybe she really was in a coma in the hospital. In that case, she needed to wake up. Now. With a vicious twist, she pinched the soft skin below her nonexistent bicep.
“Ow!” Nope, she was awake and present in this circle of hell.
William blinked but made no move toward her. She noted he motioned to the curious guards to stay back.
Arm smarting, she jumped up. “Hmmm…well, it can’t hurt.”
Closing her eyes, she whispered the words from The Wizard of Oz. It worked for Dorothy, so it should work for her.
“There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.” Lucy didn’t want to open her eyes, so instead she kept them closed tight and listened. No thunder, but she heard rain—and the sound of swords.
A tear fell. Then another, and before she knew it, William was patting her on the back hard enough to make her fall off the bench. He pulled her down next to him. Another piece of cloth was thrust at her. This huge, ferocious-looking man petted her hair and murmured soft words to her. She didn’t understand most of the words but swore one of them was “horse.”
“My sisters are most likely dead.” She looked up at him through a film of tears. “Why does whatshisname look exactly like Simon?”
William watched in fascination as the girl engaged in strange doings. His fascination quickly turned to horror as her eyes began to leak. He grumbled under his breath, hoping she wouldn’t heave her guts on his person again. Though he was doubtful she had anything left in her.
Womanly tears made him feel helpless, and William Brandon was never helpless. Fearsome, mayhap. Frowning severely, he hauled her down and onto his lap, hoping she would cease her blubbering. Not knowing how to comfort the woman, he spoke low words to her like he did to a frightened horse. The lady, Lucy, continued to leak, so he patted her shoulder and let her cry.
She blew her nose and wiped her eyes, and he was glad he had listened to his mother and always carried two cloths with him. Saints help him if she started leaking again. The lady must be feebleminded to ask him for the year.
Womanly matters finished, William took her hand and drew it through the crook of his elbow. “Time in the lists usually soothes my temper.”
He led Lucy back down the stairs, through his hall and back out to the lists. Several of his knights paused to glance their way before hastily averting their eyes from William’s frown.
He led her over to a bench and saw her seated.
“Why do y’all have a dog on your shields? Why not a lion or a bear?”
She was peering at him, her nose wrinkled up as if she found his herald distasteful.
He stiffened. “’Tis no dog, lady, but a hellhound. Legend says one protected the castle when it was in danger in 1129, and has been our herald ever since.”
“Oh. That explains the snarling and red eyes. Whatever. It looks like a dog with rabies to me.”
She was a saucy wench. William left her sitting on the bench and made his way back to the men.
A noise drew his attention. When he turned, it was to see a huge raven perched on the edge of the bench. The bird looked him over, turned its head to watch his men and then turned to Lucy. It made a soft sound, and she spoke to the creature.
Men mumbled and crossed themselves. William was a learned man, so he resisted the urge, barely. After a few minutes, the bird cawed and flew away.
“My lord, she is a witch.”
Another knight leaned on his sword. “She was communing with the creature.”
“Unwholesome doings. We must drown her in the sea,” chimed a third knight.
His garrison knights’ reactions bespoke dire tidings. It would not do for them to go around spreading rumors of a witch at Blackford Castle. The new king would likely take the castle and all its lands.
William cast a baleful eye over his men. “Womanly prattle, the lot of you. Now draw your blades. I will grind each man into the dirt one by one. Who is first?”
Chapter Seven
William woke in the morning, annoyed. He had given up his chamber to the wench and was currently sleeping in a filthy chamber with tattered bed coverings. Not for the first time, he wondered if Edward thought to make a jest by rewarding him with Blackford. No, his king, God rest his soul, was never one to jest. The banging on his door did little to improve his mood.
“My lord, come quickly—there are men at the gates asking for you.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, he made his way out of the castle to the portcullis.
“Let them pass.”
Three men stood before him. Men he had fought beside, bled with—most importantly, men he trusted.
“Heard Edward had awarded you a castle. Thought we’d come take a look for ou
rselves.” The man standing before him was a fearsome warrior.
William clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome.” He looked to the other two men, nodded and gestured for them to follow.
“The walls are falling down, the stables in disrepair, my halls reek with foul odors and the food is dreadful. If these things don’t scare you off, be welcome in my hall.”
The three men laughed. “We come to serve you, my lord.”
“No, I’m still William to you. No longer fighting as mercenaries?”
One of the others spoke up. “Heard you were awarded Blackford for saving the old king’s life. Thought you could use our blades at your side.”
The frustration William had felt since he arrived at Blackford abated upon seeing the warriors. Men he had fought alongside many times over the years. For as much as it pained him, he was no longer sure he trusted Clement. In fact, he wondered if he’d ever trusted the man he called friend growing up.
William showed the men to the garrison. It was one of the few buildings in decent repair. “You’ll have a roof over your heads. The masons have begun work.”
Then he went to find Lucy. First he stopped in the kitchen.
“Have hot water and the bathing tub filled for the lady.”
Without waiting to see if he was obeyed, William turned and stalked out of the kitchens. He hesitated at the door to his chamber. It galled him to knock on his own door. Lucy opened the door looking as if she’d slept in the dreadful gown.
“A good morrow to you, my lady.”
Lucy looked up at him. “Please call me Lucy.”
He gestured to her dress. “I will procure clothing for you today. In the meantime, I thought you might enjoy a bath.”
“Oh, yes please. That would be delightful. I smell like a skunk that’s been run over three times.”
Shaking his head at her odd speech, William led her down the stairs through the kitchens and into a small room.
“I didn’t even have water to wash my face, so thank you for the bath.”
Was the wench daft?
“Did you not see the pipe for water in the chamber? Blackford may be falling apart; however, the pipe bringing cold water to the chamber is a most recent invention.” The girl had probably never seen water running out of a wall before.
There was a knock at the door. “Enter.”
Three young boys hurried into the chamber and proceeded to fill the bathing tub whilst casting nervous looks at Lucy. He needed to ensure no rumors of witchcraft spread about his guest.
Her stomach rumbled. William turned his head. When was the last time she had eaten? His own stomach sent up a protest, making him wonder when he’d last broken his fast. A new cook was of great import.
“I do not have many servants.”
She looked at him with gray eyes the color of the ocean outside after a storm. And William was reminded why he wanted no women in his hall. She looked nothing like Georgina, but all women were treacherous. He would be on his guard.
“Why not? I’d think a castle this big would need a lot of help. I had a housekeeper, and my house was tiny compared to this place.”
She spoke in a strange manner, enough so William had difficulty following her speech.
He stiffened. “I am recently returned from fighting for my king. Most of the servants left before I arrived.”
“Okay.” She wandered around the room, looking at the hearth and bathing tub as if she had never seen such things before. Many did not bathe. William grew up bathing and preferred it to smelling foul.
“Bring the lady something to eat.” William sent the boys on their way and turned to face Lucy. “I’m afraid the cook produces less-than-palatable food. Until I find someone else, it will have to do.”
“What I wouldn’t give for a pizza and a glass of sweet tea.”
“You have a strange manner of speaking, my lady.” He wondered again where she was from and what she was doing in his hall.
“Well, so do you, buster.”
He would ponder this “buster” later. With a look over his shoulder, William opened the door. “I have sent for clothing from the village for you to wear, my lady.”
The men left, shutting the door behind them. Lucy couldn’t get out of the tattered, soiled and horribly smelly dress fast enough. There was no way the dress would come clean. Such an expensive dress reduced to rags. The thought of the amount of money thrown out the window made her cringe. While it was the dream dress she’d posted on her wedding board, Lucy never would have spent so much on a dress she’d only wear once. Instead, she’d rather put the money toward a cottage on the beach.
It was colder inside the castle than outside. William told her the year, though she hadn’t thought to ask the month and day. Wouldn’t it be the same month? Did it matter? By the temperature outside, it must still be summer.
Strange to have fires burning inside in the fireplaces when it was warm outside. The room he’d taken her to was off the large kitchen. Not a tapestry or painted wall in sight; nothing but cold stone. When she laid a hand on the stone, she felt the damp. It smelled faintly of the ocean outside.
One man handed her some kind of rough towel and a lump of what she assumed was soap before he shut the door. Sniffing it, she wrinkled her nose then decided it likely smelled better than she did. She reeked.
Steam rose off the water. Lucy stuck a finger in to test the temperature. It was blissfully hot, and she climbed in with a sigh. As she drew her knees up and sank down into the bath, she thought about the events of the past several days. You couldn’t make this kind of story up. She’d gone through every explanation and was left with the fact she was in the past.
Not sure how long it would take her to find a way back home to her own time, Lucy decided she’d best dig into her brain for what she knew of this time. Knowledge was power, no matter what time period you found yourself in.
William had confirmed the date, and as she scrubbed the dirt and grime off her body, she thought about what she knew of the time. During high school she paid enough attention to pass history. In college she took the basics required for her business degree. This was one of those times she wished she’d grown up in Europe and had a more detailed knowledge of history.
Lucy worked on washing her long, matted hair while she reviewed what she did know. Based on the date, it was Norman French that William and his men were speaking. No wonder it sounded so strange to her ears. Then again, she was pretty certain they’d never heard a Southern accent like hers either.
Everyone knew about William Wallace thanks to Braveheart. He’d died two years ago, and Edward was king. Had Edward I died yet? If not, he’d be dead soon—wasn’t it July when he died? His son would take the throne. Crap on toast, when was the black plague? She racked her brain—maybe mid-thirteen hundreds? Lucy shuddered in the wooden tub despite the warmth. She did not want to be stuck here and live through such a horrific epidemic.
So England and Scotland were feuding. Robert the Bruce hadn’t beaten Edward II at Bannockburn yet. Did she know anything else? Edward II would be murdered. Bad weather and famine. Not a good time to be stuck in the past. Lucy searched her mind for any fragment of history mentioning Blackford Castle. All she came up with was what Simon had told her.
She sat up in the tub sloshing water over the side onto the stone floor. He’d said his ancestor took the castle by force from a traitor in…1307. This year. Who was the ancestor? This time she stood up. It was the man she’d mistaken for Simon. Clement was his name.
He had to be the one, right? Though a lot could happen over several months in medieval England. Did she warn William? What would she say? Hi, I’m not a witch, I’m from the future, and your friend Clement is going to make you a traitor and take your castle?
Right. He’d have the fire going and her at the stake before she could say “broomstick” three times fast.
No, she’d do what she did whenever she was in an unfamiliar situation. Keep her mouth shut and watch. Lea
rn. Then she would figure out what to do. How to get back home to face whatever awaited.
As she air-dried by the fire, Lucy waited. Still no one came. The gown lay on the floor, a wrinkled mess. What could it hurt? She picked up the gown and dunked it in the tub. Doing her best to wash it out with the small sliver of soap left, she made a face as the water turned gray. Yuck.
Once she’d wrung out the water as best she could, Lucy laid the dress by the fire to dry. Then she sat down on a stool next to the fire, covered herself with the small piece of fabric that passed for a towel and set to work on her hair. It was horribly tangled. What she wouldn’t give for a bottle of conditioner right about now.
One of the men had left her a comb made from what appeared to be ivory. Carved with flowers and vines, it was a work of art.
A knock sounded at the door. “Wait just a moment.”
Lucy picked up the dress, held it in front of her and called out, “You can come in.”
Albin came in, his arms full of some type of clothing. He took one look at her and hastily turned around, his face red as a tube of lipstick.
“My lady, forgive me,” he stammered. “I should not be here with you. Your reputation.”
The laugh escaped before Lucy could hold it back. “I won’t move, so you won’t see a thing. Are those clothes in your arms?”
The boy turned, blushed again then took a few steps forward, his eyes on the ground. He held out his arms. “A dress from the village.”
Lucy tucked the damp dress under her arms and reached out to take the clothing. “I’ve got them. You can go now.”
The boy turned and fled, calling out over his shoulder, “I’ll be outside the door waiting, lady.”
As the door shut, she smelled something bad. Lucy sniffed. It was the dress. Foul and smelling strongly of the previous owner, who likely never took a bath in her life. She sniffed again. Body odor and some kind of perfume. A lot of it.
A Knight to Remember: Merriweather Sisters Time Travel (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 1) Page 6
