A Knight to Remember: Merriweather Sisters Time Travel (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 1)

by Cynthia Luhrs

Horrified, Lucy snatched her hands away from the table and placed them in her lap. She looked up to see several men looking at her with expressions ranging from humor to disgust.

  “I see I have made a mistake. Where I come from, you eat the bowl the stew is served in. I really like bread.” She was so embarrassed she wished with everything she had the floor would open up and swallow her where she sat. But at that moment William looked at her and winked. He shrugged, picked up his bowl and took a large bite.

  Several men watched him. “What? We will give the trenchers to the poor tomorrow. ’Tis her custom. We should follow suit, no matter how strange it seems, to make the lady feel comfortable. As likely some of our customs seem strange to the lady.”

  She smiled at him, grateful he’d saved her from feeling like a complete idiot.

  Two small boys brought out a tray of what smelled like hot pies. Lucy sniffed—yes, cherry pie. Her stomach rumbled, and saliva pooled in her mouth. Dessert, the best part of a meal. She’d missed it so much. She couldn’t wait to try the pie. And there was no Simon to frown and make a comment on the size of her thighs.

  Lucy froze. It was the first time she’d thought of her ex without wanting to kill him or weep for what he had done. Grateful for the knowledge she would move forward with her life no matter what happened to her, Lucy accepted a large slice of pie from a serving boy.

  How many boys were living in the castle? There seemed to be a never-ending stream of them running to and fro. She wondered, were they sons of the men here? Had they been sent to foster here, like Albin? Or was the most likely explanation that they were orphans William had taken in? She smiled at him, and as she raised her spoon to take a bite of the pie, it slipped off, falling to the floor with a soft plop.

  At that moment a rat scurried out from under the muck on the floor, snatched the morsel and ran over to a corner to enjoy his treat. Lucy seemed to be the only one who noticed. The rat greedily consumed the morsel then started to wash his paws and face. The beast was obviously quite pleased with himself. As she smiled, the rat fell over and started to convulse.

  The scream left her mouth before she could stop it. “No! Something’s wrong with the pie.”

  Some of the men were looking at her as if she were some kind of hysterical female. Others put their spoons down, looking a bit gray. William jumped up, came around to her and leaned over her shoulder.

  “Where, my lady?”

  Lucy pointed to the corner where the rat lay, unmoving. William strode over, kneeled down and picked up the rat, looking at the creature. There was still a tiny piece of pie smeared on the rat’s face. He leaned close and sniffed, frowning.

  He stood up, rat in hand. “Who has eaten the pie?” Several knights stood. “How do you fare?”

  The men looked nervous, but none fell to the floor. The rest were watching with looks of horror on their faces.

  William held the rat for all to see. “The pie has been poisoned.”

  Men swore. Lucy heard the unsheathing of blades as they looked about for enemies. She thought she saw a look of satisfaction cross Clement’s face, but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be positive.

  “There is treachery afoot,” William bellowed. “A traitor in our midst.”

  He met the gaze of every man in the room. Clement met his gaze unflinchingly. William looked speculatively at the man for a moment before turning back to her.

  “Are you well?” He pulled the chair out and offered his arm. “Shall I show you to your room?”

  “Please. I’m feeling a bit faint.”

  He turned to the men. “Wymund—”

  “I have sent men to search the castle, my lord.” The captain of the guard nodded and strode out of the hall.

  “Thomas. You will take first watch outside the lady’s door tonight.”

  The young man jumped to his feet, following them up the stairs.

  “My lord?” She gulped. “I think Clement tried to poison me.”

  “Why would someone want to poison you, my lady? I have many enemies—’tis most likely one of them.” William narrowed his eyes at her. “A serious charge against my steward. Have you any proof? Clement and I are like brothers. We grew up together.” William stomped up the stairs. “He is lazy and arrogant. However, he is a knight. He would not kill a woman.”

  She shrugged. “He thinks I’m a witch. Seems to be reason enough in this day and age.”

  He looked at her a question in his eyes but didn’t say another word until she was in the room. William paced back and forth in front of the fire before turning to look at her.

  “Methinks it is time for you to tell me the truth how you came to be on the battlements at Blackford.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Clement muttered to himself as he paced back and forth in front of the fire in the third-best chamber. By all rights, Blackford should belong to him, not William.

  He should be Lord Blackford. ’Twas a stroke of good fortune, William naming him steward. He set about eating his way through the larder, spending the gold William sent and allowing the castle to fall into disrepair. Enough to be worrisome, but not enough he could not undo the damage. For Clement didn’t want to have a great expense when the castle belonged to him.

  Then the witch showed up. Clement had seen the ravens hanging about the castle. She spoke to them. Sent them to spy on him. He had not determined how she had shown up on the battlements in the middle of a great storm, late at night. Only that it must be witchcraft. How a mere woman managed to kill one of William’s knights was a mystery. She must know powerful incantations.

  The witch had mistaken him for someone else. A man she was angry with. ’Twas passing strange, as he had no brothers…except one, and they looked nothing alike. That his brother didn’t see their father in Clement made his heart ache. For they shared the same father.

  He had failed to poison the witch tonight. Lucy Merriweather called upon her unholy skills, called the vermin to her and thwarted his plan to end her. Now William would be on alert, searching for the traitor within the castle.

  Clement would fashion new plans. He must not fail. Now that his family had fallen into disfavor with the king, there was no other path open to him.

  Nothing else to be done except ensure William was declared traitor to the crown. Then he would show the king the letter his father wrote. His real father. Declaring Clement his son. The letter would be enough for the king to take Blackford, the title and William’s gold, and bestow it upon Clement. Who instead of being Clement Brandon had the misfortune to be Clement Grey. William was his half-brother, though the man did not know.

  When Clement’s mother died, he’d searched her trunks and found the letter. She’d written to William’s father, told him she was with child. Named him as the father. William’s mother fell ill soon after bearing William and was barren. The earl, wanting many sons, looked elsewhere. Clement knew he was one of possibly many bastards roaming the countryside. William, naïve and believing his father to be a good man, had no idea.

  William was under the woman’s spell and would not allow her to be burned, as a witch needed to be. Clement would find a way to make her death look like an accident. Then, when the time was right, he would strike out against William, and take back what should be rightfully his.

  He remembered the last time he’d seen his real father. Hugh Brandon was a tall man, with sandy blond hair, smiling brown eyes and a warrior’s body. Clement inherited the hair and the eye color, but not the warrior’s form. In that he favored his mother and ran to plumpness.

  William, on the other hand, had inherited his mother’s looks. From the dark hair to the bright green eyes that looked into a man’s soul, William was tall and well fashioned. A warrior of renown throughout England and France.

  His childhood friend was bewitched by the strange Lucy Merriweather. Clement had watched her, saw her strange doings. Heard her unwholesome songs of incantation when she thought no one was around. He had spent his time at the castle
well, knew the secret passages. Would use them to his advantage when the time was right. Clement would have his chance to kill the witch. Once and for all.

  William shut the door to the chamber with a bang. Removed from his own bed by a mere girl. The household was in shambles, the floors covered in muck and the walls falling down around his head. The hall reeked with all manner of foul odors. He’d never noticed the stench until she arrived and wrinkled her fetching nose.

  He paced in front of the fire. The daft girl was lying to him, he was sure of it. A knock on the door interrupted his grumblings. “Come,” he bellowed.

  Clement approached. “Is aught amiss, my lord?”

  William crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “The lady believes you tried to poison her.”

  “I would do no such thing to Mistress Lucy,” Clement sputtered. “She is a witch, my lord. The evil creature would curse me.” His friend wrung his hands. “I believe your immortal soul to be in danger. She has bewitched you.”

  William blew out a sigh. “You have been superstitious since we were children. I tell you again, she is no witch.”

  Clement looked unconvinced. “Mayhap the pie was meant for someone else, my lord.”

  “There is treachery afoot. I mean to find out who is behind these doings.” Many of the jealous nobles were known to use poison. Let his enemies come. William would dispatch them with a smile. For he missed battle, missed the feel of steel in his hand. Mayhap he was not meant for peace.

  “My lord?”

  William looked at his steward. “Did you require something else?”

  “Let me send for a priest. He will determine if the woman is a witch.”

  “No. The matter is settled. Tomorrow we shall review the ledgers.” Was it his imagination, or did Clement look worried?

  “As you wish, my lord.” His steward scurried away, no doubt to finish eating through the remains of William’s meager larder.

  He barred the door, then poured a cup of ale and stared at the trunk. It had been moved to his room along with some of his other things. Her strange clothes were in there. He knelt, opened the lid and rifled through the contents. With a click, the false bottom opened and William removed the odd-looking footwear. Lucy Merriweather could not have walked far in shoes such as the ones he held. They were beautiful yet looked to be fashioned to torture the wearer.

  He picked up one of the pins for her hair. It sparkled, catching light from the fire. He had never seen such fine craftsmanship. The gown, reduced to rags, was made of a material so fine, William wondered exactly where she had come from.

  Might Clement be correct? Was the piece of pie meant for someone other than Lucy? For him? There were sinister doings happening at Blackford. Some unknown person was causing trouble. But why?

  William threw open the shutters, letting the sea breeze into the room. Most likely Lucy ran away from her betrothed. Mayhap the man sent her away, for she could be shrewish.

  The thought was enough to make him laugh. She was no shrew—she was pleasant and beautiful. Her gray eyes always filled with sorrow. The haunted look reminded him of men who had survived battle only to become walking corpses.

  When was the last time he’d laughed? William couldn’t remember. He thought it had been years. Mayhap he had grown out of laughter as some lads grew out of getting spots on their faces. Laughter was merely an affliction, something purged out of the body as one aged.

  He wasn’t sure how long he paced back and forth in front of the fire thinking about her. The moon was high in the sky when he heard the door to her chamber open. What was she about at this late hour?

  He opened the door and followed, keeping to the shadows of the corridor. She made her way onto the battlements. William pressed into the shadows and listened to his guard greet her.

  “Off to walk again, lady?” the guard said.

  She waved her hand around her head. “Just ignore me. You know how much I like to look at the moon.”

  William moved closer, straining to hear as she muttered to herself. As he watched, she clicked her heels together.

  “Abracadabra.” She opened her eyes, sighed and closed them again, a fierce look of concentration upon her face.

  “I want to go home.” She turned in a circle three times. “When I open my eyes, I will be where I belong.”

  William hardly dared to breathe as he gazed upon her, spellbound. When she opened her eyes, her entire body slumped inward. She sank down onto the bench then jumped up, leaned over and proceeded to examine the stone.

  Had she lost her wits? She closed her eyes tightly and resumed mumbling to herself.

  “Oh, hell,” she said when she opened her eyes and noticed his guard passing by.

  William rarely heard a lady swear. Plenty of wenches, but never a lady. He wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or to laugh. Lucy Merriweather promptly closed her eyes again and began singing softly to herself.

  He had never heard the song as he caught something about take me home. ’Twas an agreeable tune. Riveted to the spot, he could do naught but watch her.

  Every so often she would open her eyes, a dejected look on her face. Then she’d take a deep breath and screw them shut again. Her anguish was a bolt to his heart. Unable to bear her pain, he moved forward soundlessly and placed a hand on her arm, startling her.

  “Come inside, my lady.”

  The grief in her eyes almost sent him to his knees. He unfastened his cloak and gently settled it around her shoulders.

  “Whatever are you doing, my lady?”

  “It won’t work. I don’t know why, but I can’t go back.”

  “Back? Back where?” Mayhap she was addled.

  She seemed to realize he was standing beside her, and pointed behind her. “The bench? Did it ever have a stain on it?” At his blank look she continued, “A mark that looked like blood?”

  The hair stood up on the back of his neck as he felt a pain in his breast. Could she see the future? He shook his head to clear it. “No, my lady. Why do you ask?”

  She huffed out a breath. “Just wondering.”

  William decided it best not to worry overmuch on things he could not change. He did not believe in the fey folk, but she made him wonder. He offered his arm to escort her back to her chamber.

  At her door, he patted her on the shoulder, making her stagger. “Bar the door. Things will look better on the morrow.”

  “Will they?” She favored him with a slight smile. “Thank you. For your company tonight.”

  Her smile was like a blazing sun. He bowed. “’Twas my pleasure, my lady.”

  “Lucy. My name’s Lucy.”

  “Good night, Lucy.”

  “Night, my lord.”

  He turned and smiled. “You may call me William.”

  “Okay. Night night, William. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

  Shaking his head, he turned on his heel, smiling as he heard the bar slide into place.

  Lucy flopped on the bed, listening to the mattress crunch beneath her. She’d failed again. Every night since she’d fallen through time, she went up to the battlements and tried everything she could think of to go back home. The guards were used to her and barely gave her a glance as she went about her strange doings, as they called them.

  Her heart broke again as she thought of her sisters. Dead. But then again, they wouldn’t be born for hundreds of years. It was a sobering thought. Lucy missed her home, with its creaky old floors, leaky plumbing and nosy neighbors. And my oh my, how she missed Pepsi. And pizza. Let’s not forget chocolate. At least they had wine here. Good wine.

  What was she missing? In the folktales she’d read as a child, people that vanished usually came back. She racked her brain, thinking of every detail of the night she came through. It was the first day of summer—did that have something to do with it? And the storm. The rain and the lightning.

  If she had to wait for the first day of fall, she’d be here for a couple of months. Nonetheless,
she’d keep trying, because if she gave up, she’d have to accept she couldn’t save her sisters. Then again, who was to say she’d go back on the same date she left? She’d arrived here a month later. Would she go home a month later? Or earlier?

  Earlier and she could change things.

  She needed a plan. The mattress rustled and Lucy shivered, thinking of the bugs that were surely crawling around inside, and her skin started to itch.

  How had her judgment become so skewed? Or was it that you never really knew the person you were with? Had Simon hidden his true self from her?

  Trust. A simple word, yet so hard to put into practice. She was afraid. To try again, to open up to another person. No matter how interesting William was, what if she was wrong about him too?

  It seemed like Lucy tossed and turned for hours before she gave up and moved to the chair in front of the fire. Over and over she twisted her hair through her fingers, trying to come up with some way that would take her back home. To the future.

  As morning light filtered into the room, Lucy stood and looked out at the water. She’d come to a decision. It was time to put on her big-girl panties and face the ugly truth. Trapped in medieval England with no clue how to get back to the twenty-first century, she had to move forward.

  Her head ached from all the questions, all the worry. If only she had a packet of Goody’s Headache Powder. That bitter-tasting powder signaled relief. And Pepsi. Stop. All you’re doing is drooling on your shirt. Stop thinking of what you cannot have.

  It was time to figure out how she was going to blend in, since it looked like she was stuck here permanently. Maybe William would hire her to work in kitchens? Heaven knows she could come up with something better. The food stank.

  As she closed the door in her head to the future, a tiny glimmer of light shone through the keyhole. If another thunderstorm raged, she would go to the battlements and try again. And on the first day of fall, September twenty-third, she would try one last time.

  Then she would accept her fate.