The clouds gave way to the sun and the warm spring air fell around them as Morgan ran to catch a small redheaded boy. “Gotcha!” She mirthlessly tickled his tummy.
“Uncle, uncle,” Timothy screamed, his small, skinny legs flailing about as he begged for leniency.
A clod of dirt hit Morgan’s backside, causing Timothy to explode in laughter laced with intermittent hiccups.
Nine-year old Joseph had hit his mark, and he ran to escape Morgan’s wrath after he saw her abandon Timothy and grab her slingshot. In one swift motion she made a ball out of soft mound of dirt, took aim, and hit Joseph’s shoulder before he could get away.
Joseph grabbed his chest, fell to the soft grass, and let out an exaggerated wail. Morgan laughed at his foolishness.
“You have been practicing, my lady.”
With a cool smile, she stood over the young boy, blowing on the slingshot as if it were a pistol. “Looks like I just beat you at your own game, Sir Joseph. I guess I am now officially the best sling-shooter in town, wouldn’t you say?”
Joseph whipped out his own slingshot before she had time to reload and shot her point blank. She fell down dead.
~~~~
“There,” Morgan said triumphantly, dropping the quill into the inkwell. “The books are in order and I’m ready to learn falconry.”
Derek stopped writing in his journal and peered over at her with one brow raised in question. “How could that be? You have been at those ledgers for less than a sennight.”
“Too bad your steward ran off,” she said. “I would say he was worth his weight in gold. He kept a thorough account of your lands, listing in time-consuming detail the revenues, acreage, and produce, etc., on each of your manors. There is only one thing that seems odd.”
“And what is that?” Derek asked, coming to stand behind her. He could smell her familiar rosewater scent. He inhaled deeply, relishing in her nearness…and surprisingly her intelligence. Each day he grew needier, searching for ways to keep her by his side. And each day he feared more than the one before that he would wake up and she would be gone.
“Right here,” she said, pointing to the ledger. “Every few days the number of pigs, chickens and rabbits used here at Braddock changes. That wouldn’t seem odd if the numbers weren’t so erratic. According to these notes…even when your men are gone the number of livestock used at Braddock increases. Everything else remains relatively the same from week to week. It’s very strange.”
“Are you saying someone is pilfering my food supply?”
“It looks that way. It also makes me wonder about this steward of yours…you know, whether he ran off or not.”
Derek raised a brow.
“What if he didn’t really run away?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What if he just knew too much?”
Derek circled his fingers about her slender neck and kneaded her soft flesh. He swallowed dryly as the serenity of the moment brought images of a mother he hardly remembered and a father he knew too well. Had his father ever felt this way about his mother…had he felt the same suffocating fear? Would every day spent with Lady Amanda bring a new bit of trust, producing a need so great that he would soon be vulnerable and weak, dependent upon her lingering kisses, her calming smile, and possibly even her friendship and advice? He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath until her voice brought him back to the moment at hand.
“Derek, are you all right?”
“It is nothing,” he said, shaking all forlorn musings from his mind. “About this missing livestock,” he went on as if there had been no pause in conversation. “Are you suggesting mayhem at Braddock?”
She wriggled in her seat and regarded him with open fondness as she took his hand in hers, setting his very blood aflame. “I don’t know what I’m suggesting other than keeping a closer eye on the livestock.”
“You do have quite an imagination.”
“And right now I’m imagining you keeping your promise and showing me your hawks.”
“And I am imagining you wearing that bit of cloth you call a bikini. ‘Tis absurd to think the French allow their women to waltz around in such…nothingness.”
“Terrible, I know,” she said with a devilish smile. “I need to change my clothes before we go. Meet me in my bedroom?”
“Better yet,” he said, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, “I will meet you in your bed.”
As soon as the door closed behind her, Derek sat before his writing table and became quickly immersed in mounds of unfinished business. He wrote more than a few letters, including one to Simon DeGald, arranging for promotion of one of the servants at a nearby manor.
He addressed another missive to the steward in charge of the manor of Chelshire, inquiring as to the marling of the fields there. As he tried to think of the word he was looking for, he envisioned fields of wheat, the same color as…
“Bloody hell!” He plunked down his pen and headed for the door. He’d forgotten that Amanda awaited him, naked and wanting. Although it might take more than a few moments of coddling to make amends at being delayed, he was pleased to know he had actually gotten some work done.
As he made his way through the keep, he nearly tripped over two small boys as they rolled across the stone floor in front of him. They were both red in the face and furious with one another. Derek grabbed the bigger boy by the collar and held him up so that his feet hardly touched the ground. “What is this about?”
One of the maids came quickly to the boy’s aid. Her face red and pleading as if she feared for the boy’s very life. “I assure you, my lord, it was only children’s play.”
“He tried to take my wood carving!” the smaller lad said from his place on the floor.
Derek set the older boy back on solid ground, keeping him close to his side as he bent down on one knee. “Let me see that.”
Warily the smaller boy handed him a piece of oak that had been well carved into a knight.
“Fine piece of work,” Derek said proudly. “Did you make this yourself?”
“Aye,” the boy said, his eyes beaming with pride.
“And what about you?” Derek asked the bigger lad. “Perhaps you should make friends with the boy in hopes that he will teach you to carve.”
“I hath not an adequate knife, my lord.”
Derek pointed a finger. “Wait here,” he said. And when he returned a moment later, he handed the older boy a carving knife, its handle carved from a rare blackish wood and inlaid with crushed pearls.
Both boys gasped at the sight and the maid said, “Nay, my lord. ‘Tis too fine a piece to lend the boy.”
“It is for the lads to keep,” Derek stated firmly. “I used the knife to carve when I was small. It would serve me well to know that the lads will make good use of it.”
As he sauntered off he heard the boys arguing anew. This time over who would use his lordship’s knife first. Matti interrupted Derek’s chuckle as she hurried to catch up to him. “My lord,” she said, touching at his arm as she walked with him. “That was a kindly thing you did just then.”
“My actions were only a means in which to keep peace, since it appears the dozens of maids I employ cannot handle such a small task.”
“Oh, I see,” Matti said with a knowing twinkle in her eye. “You did not think I was implying that you were getting soft, did you? Maybe I will return to those boys and remind them that you have a heart of steel.”
“It would be good of you to do so.” He walked off, leaving her smiling to herself as if she’d seen something inside of him that did not exist. “Women,” he muttered. “Always making something out of naught.”
Derek entered Lady Amanda’s chamber expecting to find her awaiting him in bed. Instead he found her maid straightening the room. “Where is Lady Amanda?”
Odelia jerked around. “I b-believe her ladyship is playing with the children, my lord. Shall I go in search of her?”
“Aye,” Derek said, feeling mischievous and abnormally light-he
arted. Why, he wondered, did everyone seem to tremble when he was near? Was he not one of the most generous lords around? Did he not feed his people well?
He sighed as Odelia left in search of Lady Amanda. He then paced the room as he waited. Lady Amanda’s wooden chest had been left open. A tightly rolled parchment caught his eye, and he thought it peculiar that Amanda had not mentioned receiving a missive. He picked it up and eyed it curiously before untying the ribbon.
His jaw tightened unmercifully as he read the unfamiliar scrawl. No signature, no date. All of the earlier fears from this morn quickly rolled into a ball of fury within. To think, she did not even have the courtesy to hide the damn note.
Every muscle grew taut as he envisioned Amanda these past days, talking to him, listening with feigned interest as she continuously dug for scraps of him that had long been buried. Lies. She was like his mother. He shut his eyes and squeezed his head between his palms as he watched his mother run off in his mind’s eye. She had abandoned her family…her responsibilities. Why could he not forget? The biting hatred of such memories always contrasted with the warmth of her motherly arms about him. But he could still hear the words she’d spoken only days before she left. Do not fret, my sweet, sweet boy. I will never leave you. Chills washed over him as her words turned to intense screams within his mind. He watched himself as a boy reach out small arms. To help her or to stop her, he was not certain. He could never remember anything past the screams. And whose piercing cries woke him most nights he knew not. He only knew that his mother had left him. He could still see the faint blackness of her mantle, like the wings of a hawk, as she ran from Braddock. She lied to him. She left him. And she never came back for him.
And now this…
He dropped his hands to his side and opened his eyes. The blood in his veins thickened at the thought that he had dared to trust his betrothed these past days. Not once had he questioned her with regard to the bikini incident or the noise she brought to his castle as she chased children through the hall with her ridiculous slingshot. He had dared to think she might be growing content; he had dared to let his guard down.
He should have known something was amiss when she gave up her talk of being from another world. The fact that she had run away twice should have convinced him she had other plans. He had failed to believe his intuition, shouting for him to be wary. He had no real inkling of what she was up to, but whatever it was no longer mattered. She should have run away whilst she had the chance.
He tucked the note in his belt as his eyes blazed anew with a raging bitterness that refused to stay buried. She was his betrothed, and he refused to spend another moment guessing at her games. Before sundown, she would be his wife.
~~~~
Odelia could not find her ladyship anywhere. At the same moment panic set in, a clod of dirt hit her square in the chest. Odelia tapped her foot to the ground and glared at Morgan as she came out of hiding. “Sorry, Odelia. I thought you were Joseph.”
“Amanda,” Odelia said indignantly. “His lordship wishes to see you.”
“Derek?”
Odelia put her hands to hips. “Who else? ‘Tis not proper for you to call his lordship by his given name…his people may take offense.”
Morgan hissed. “He was supposed to meet me hours ago. I figured he was too busy, so I came here. Where is he?”
“In your bedchamber and appearing quite mysterious,” Odelia said. She took the slingshot from Morgan and handed it over to Joseph, giving the boy a harsh glare, unwilling to forgive him for teaching her ladyship how to use the thing.
Before Morgan and Odelia reached the main hall, Shayna rushed toward them, red in the face and out of breath. “Your ladyship,” she said, “you’ll not believe what has happened.”
“What?” Morgan and Odelia asked in unison.
“Lord Vanguard has declared that the wedding is to take place today!”
“What wedding?” Morgan asked.
“Why yours, my lady, who else?”
Morgan’s heart rate spiraled. “Why today…why now?”
“No one knows…but all within the castle are running about like dogs after their tails. Matti said we must hurry and prepare you for the ceremony.”
“This is crazy,” Morgan said, her voice strained. Why would he plan such a thing without talking to her first? “There’s no way I’m rushing into this before I get a chance to talk to him. Where is he?”
Shayna glanced worriedly at Odelia.
Morgan swept past both women. Everything had been going so well. The last few days had been peaceful, bordering on wonderful. At times Derek truly seemed to have let his guard down. Lately he seemed relaxed as if ribbons of emotions inside of him were slowly untangling.
She opened the door to her room, hoping to find Derek. But the room was empty. Shayna and Odelia followed her in. Before she could head back out in search of Derek, five more maids scurried in circles about her. They carried baskets filled with combs, towels, and ointments. Morgan gasped as an elderly woman stripped her naked in record time. Two other maids prepared a bath for her. They came at her from all angles, ignoring her complaints. Odelia’s brown eyes widened with the same worry and confusion she felt.
“I will see what this is about,” Odelia said as she hurried out the door. By the time Odelia returned, Morgan had been bathed and slathered with assorted sweet smelling herbs. She sat stiffly on a stool, wearing only a prickly towel. For the last hour she’d been going over in her mind what she would say to Derek when she saw him. But her patience had all but left her. When she got her hands on Derek Vanguard, she was going to rip him to shreds for setting her emotions into such a wild spin.
A short plump maid held assorted headdresses up to her face. The procession of women gave approving nods or disapproving frowns.
Odelia came to her side. “Lord Vanguard is nowhere to be found. I know not what this is all about.”
Morgan’s head dipped from side to side as a maid yanked at her tangled hair with a wide-toothed comb. Another maid scrubbed at her fingernails. “Are you sure no one knows where he is?”
“Aye, I am certain. But Hugo promised to send his lordship abovestairs as soon as he is located.”
Morgan sighed, unwilling to get these women into trouble by refusing their services. When they finished with their primping and prodding, Shayna held up a mirror.
Morgan looked at her reflection. It had been weeks since she’d gazed into a mirror and it suddenly occurred to her that she’d sort of buried the fact that she was Morgan Hayes. Morgan Hayes from the future appeared to her now as a lost child in a woman’s shell, like a caterpillar in a cocoon, wanting to get out but not sure how to go about it. Waiting for things to happen instead of making them happen. This new Morgan Hayes, the one staring back at her, had in a sense been set free. She was tired of worrying about why her biological parents left her. She was through worrying about things she had no control over, things she couldn’t change. She was ready to experience life and all it had to offer.
As she looked at the people around her she felt that same keen sense of belonging that she’d felt the first day she’d come to Braddock. Her eyes watered. She was ready to let go of expectations and fears. More than anything in the world she wanted to call her mother, tell her not to worry, assure her she was okay and, most of all, to tell her thank you.
The maids mistook her tears as a sign of her happiness to be marrying Lord Vanguard. And she hated to correct them in that regard, but she knew she must. Her hair looked elegant in an elaborately braided coif entwined with thin silky ribbons. She wore a silk, antique-white gown with gold embroidery. The dress clung to her hips, flowing to the ground in close folds. The sleeves were tight to just below the elbows where they abruptly expanded into small puffs of material until they reached her wrists.
“I don’t know how to thank you all for everything you’ve done,” she said, “but I hope you understand when I tell you I can’t possibly marry Lord Vanguard.”
/> Odelia’s shoulders sagged.
“Whatever do you mean?” Shayna asked.
Morgan wanted to tell them everything…who she was, where she came from, how she might disappear at any moment. Instead she said, “He doesn’t love me.”
Matti stepped forward. “Oh, but he does. ‘Twill take some time, though, before he can say the words.”
“Aye,” the bloodletter said, “sometimes these hardened warriors need to have the words sucked right out of them!”
Shayna laughed and Morgan forced a half-smile.
“You don’t understand.”
They all looked at her…waiting, hoping she could indeed make them see the light.
“Nobody could ever understand,” Morgan said sadly as she turned and headed out the door.
Two guards resembling Doberman pinschers minus the iron-studded collars awaited her in the hallway. They took a firm hold of her arms, one on each side of her, and led her through the narrow hallway so that she was sandwiched between the two giants as they pulled her along.
Horrified, the group of women followed close behind as she was ushered down the stairs, through the keep, and to the outer bailey where a crowd of people had gathered, including a priest.
Derek had truly planned a wedding. Morgan looked about, wondering where he was now. With a small jerk of her head, she motioned for Odelia to come closer.
“Aye, my lady?”
“Didn’t you say that Derek was in a pleasant mood this morning when you saw him?”
Odelia nodded. “He appeared quite amiable when he entered your bedchamber.”
“Is this pre-wedding stuff normal? You know…is it common practice to have a small trial wedding before the actual event?”
“Nay, my lady. Never have I heard of such a thing.”
None of this made any sense. She looked up, as much relieved as she was angry to finally see Derek coming toward her. He wore tight fawn-colored breeches that were snug against his powerful legs. His white linen shirt hung loose near his collar, revealing curly dark hairs at the vee. He wore elaborate boots and gloves, and a short leather mantle that hung like a small cape. She also noticed a slight instability in his walk.
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