Teatime with a Knight (Matchmakers in Time Book 2)

by Kit Morgan

  “I say we stop,” Bob said up front.

  Oh no! Had they heard? Tory quickly sat, tucking her bare foot under her to hide it and began working the slipper off her other foot.

  “Stop? What for?” Hughes asked.

  “Ain’t nothing says we gotta turn over the lady in one piece, is ‘ere?” The lechery in his voice was obvious.

  Well, obvious to everyone but Hughes. “What’re you talking about, Bob?”

  “’Bout that fine piece back there. What say ye let me have ten minutes with her?”

  Tory made a face. Ew!

  “What?” Hughes snapped. “Don’t be daft. I want t’get t’London and collect that reward!”

  “Five minutes?”

  Silence. That wasn’t good – it meant Hughes was thinking about it. Finally the magistrate said, “All right, tell you what I’ll do. You do what you want with her, but I keep driving. You’ll have to make the best o’ it.”

  Bob cackled as the wagon slowed to a stop.

  No, no, no! This can’t be happening! She pulled wildly at the chain binding her to the iron ring.

  The wagon lurched as Bob clambered down. She listened to his footsteps come around the wagon, the key in the lock, the creak of tired hinges as the door opened again. And there was her worst nightmare silhouetted in the moonlight. “Hullo, sweet,” he rasped.

  Tory felt tears of rage and terror come to her eyes. If she wasn’t chained, she’d kill him. But she was and gagged besides – she couldn’t even throw up on him. She started praying even harder.

  “Ooh, ain’t you a sight,” he drawled and climbed in. “We’re gonna have some fun, you ‘n I.” He grabbed one of her ankles, pinning it.

  Tory screamed into the gag and kicked him with her other foot, but he grabbed and pinned that too. No, no, no, no! This can’t be happening!

  “Now be a good girl and let ol’ Bob have a taste of ye.” He used his hands to not only move up her legs but keep them pinned as well.

  Tory screamed again and tried to squirm away but between him sliding his hands up her legs and chained as she was, she was stuck.

  He licked his lips. “Oh, yer going to be so swee …” His breath caught, mouth open in surprise, as his eyes bulged. He looked at her as a red stain began to spread on his shirt front, right before he fell on top of her, dead.

  “Hey! Who are you?” she heard Hughes cry from the driver’s seat. “What do ye think yer doing? I’ll have ye know I’m the magistrate from …”

  There was a phhhnt sound, followed by a thud. Considering the slight rock of the wagon, Hughes just fell off the wagon seat and onto the ground. Tory rocked back and forth to get Bob off her, but he was too heavy.

  “Good evening, Miss Phelps.”

  She froze, eyes wide, and looked over Bob’s shoulder at the man standing outside the wagon. Bob hadn’t bothered to close the door.

  The man looked at Bob’s dead body. “Tsk-tsk. Need some help?” He held up a finger, as if remembering something, and reached into the pocket of his jacket. “And I believe this belongs to you.” He held up her slipper.

  Two other men joined him, and though they were dressed in period clothing, she knew they weren’t from around here. She didn’t think they had silencers in 1880, which could only mean they were from the future.

  The first man turned to his counterparts. “We’ll have to get rid of the bodies. As Miss Phelps is so conveniently bound and gagged, we’ll use the wagon to take her someplace we can conduct our business.” He looked at Tory and smiled. “Does that suit you, Miss Phelps?” With another smile, he shut the door, turned the key and locked her inside.

  Tory shook her head. In her gut she knew she’d just gone straight from the frying pan into the fire. But who were these guys? And where were her rescuers?

  “Dallan, should we not help?” Shona asked as she watched him expertly load a pistol. “And is that the right type for this century?”

  “Aye, lass. ‘Tis the correct weapon.”

  “Are you planning on using it?”

  “Only if I have to.” He looked at her. “Using you would draw too much attention, aye?”

  She smiled. “True.” They both knew what she was capable of, but no one else involved in this assignment did except Lany. She didn’t like keeping people in the dark, but the secrecy about who and what she was, of whom Dallan was and where he came from, was necessary.

  They were a couple with the ability to time travel, but they weren’t allowed to tell or show people how. Let them imagine it, picture some monstrous machine lit up with thousands of lights to accomplish the impossible. It was easier for people to believe something like that than the truth.

  Shona wasn’t human and only a handful of her own race could do what she could. There was still a handful of Time Masters in existence, but Dallan held the current office, so it was currently his responsibility to clean up the mess caused by Philip Brennan, a corrupted Time Master who wanted to wipe out her bloodline by making sure compatible mates, of her race or human, didn’t produce another like her.

  Aldrich and Tory could have a child compatible enough to be a match for one of her kind, thus creating someone with powers similar to hers if brought together. There were no guarantees – it was complicated and, for humans, confusing and frightening – and it could take two or three generations of humans to get the result they were after.

  Lany was right – it was best to keep others on a “need to know” basis. If humans found out an alien race had been stranded on their planet for thousands of years, they’d panic. Worse, if they knew that a handful of her race were bent on controlling this world and had the kind of power she possessed … well, better not think about it. Shona and Dallan’s job was to make sure neither happened, while continuing to bring together those that might be compatible. Like Duncan and Cozette, like Jefferson and Lorelei, like Aldrich and Tory.

  “Are ye ready, lass?” Dallan asked.

  “Dallan, Aldrich needs to do this on his own. His act will seal their hearts. You said so yourself.”

  “Aye, but it doesna mean we canna help. Ye wouldna want him to kill Tory’s captors, would ye? He’d be arrested and hanged.”

  “You have a point.”

  “So ye see, we must rescue the poor fools that took her or cause more trouble in time. Who knows what killing them might do?”

  Shona nodded. Dear Creator, but this timeline-management business could get complicated.

  They were about to head out when the Countess of Belford ran screaming into the drawing room. “Savages! There are savages in the house!”

  Duncan came running across the grand hall from the dining room. “What’s this? What’s going on?” He looked at Dallan.

  The Scot shrugged, then his eyes narrowed. “Something’s happening …”

  “What?” Duncan asked.

  “Savages!” the countess screamed and pointed.

  All heads turned as Kwaku Awahnee, Dallan’s predecessor, strolled into the drawing room with his wife Zara. The ex-Time Master stood to his full height of seven feet, a huge grin on his coal-black face. He smiled at the Scot and chuckled.

  Dallan blinked in surprise. “Why, ye bloody heathen. What are ye doing here, scaring the locals?”

  Melvale stepped into view wearing … well, something resembling period clothes. They were closer to Georgian style than Victorian. “Sorry, Dallan. We have a problem.”

  “Yeah,” Kitty said as she caught up. “A big one.”

  “Kitty!” Shona ran to her and they hugged. “What are you doing here?” She saw her attire. “And what are you wearing?”

  Kitty glared at Melvale. “It’s all we could find on the estate. I know, it’s eighteenth century attire instead of nineteenth. We think it must be left over from some costume party …”

  “Who cares?” Melvale yelped. “We have a problem!”

  Dallan looked around at everyone, including the countess, who was staring at Kwaku in horror. And no wonder – he was we
aring his native dress: a loincloth, a feathered headband and various jewelry worn by his tribe, the Azurti. Zara was dressed in white Muiraran robes tied with a golden sash. Her long black hair held in place with a gold headband as befitted a Time Master’s mate.

  “Savages …,” the countess squeaked.

  Dallan rolled his eyes and sighed. “Shona …”

  She nodded, went to the countess and whispered something in her ear. The countess dropped like a stone. Duncan caught her as she went down, put her on the nearest piece of furniture and quickly shut the drawing room doors.

  “Now what’s the problem,” Dallan asked.

  Melvale took a deep breath. “Silas Graves and Robert Kent.”

  Shona backed up a step. “What did you say?”

  Dallan was at her side in two strides. “Easy, Flower.” He put an arm around her and turned back to Melvale. “And?”

  “They came to the estate,” Kitty said. “Tried to deliver a package to Duncan Cooke.”

  “Me?” Duncan said in shock. “But I’m here …”

  “Aye,” Dallan agreed. “Melvale’s right. That’s a problem.”

  Shona shuddered.

  “Shhh,” Dallan said gently. “‘Tis all right, Flower.”

  “That’s okay, Shona,” Kitty said. “You should have seen my reaction.”

  “Where are Miss Phelps and Sir Aldrich?” Melvale asked.

  “The man’s off to rescue her,” Dallan groaned.

  “What?!” Melvale and Kitty said.

  “From a greedy magistrate,” he finished. “But … something’s changed.”

  Kwaku’s hands went to his hips. “Yes, Boyeee. She is no longer wid her previous captors.”

  Dallan’s jaw went slack.

  “Always expect de unexpected.” The ex-Time Master wagged his finger at Dallan. “And do not let down your guard for a moment. Do you need help?”

  Dallan sighed. “Nae, we can handle it.” He nodded at Melvale. “Thank ye for letting us know.”

  “It’s my job.” Melvale bowed. “Now if you don’t mind, kindly go rescue the rescuer and rescuee. Time Master Kwaku would like to return to roasting his dinner.”

  Kwaku laughed, put one arm around his wife and rubbed his belly with the other hand. “Dat is true!”

  Dallan stared at Kwaku. “How did ye ken Melvale had need of ye?”

  Kwaku glanced at Kitty. “I have my ways, Boyeee. Now get to work.”

  Dallan glanced at Kitty as well, then shrugged. There was no time to figure out what he meant.

  Shona hugged Kitty again. “It will be all right. Dallan and I will take care of this.”

  “I know, but it’s just that I thought this was over.”

  “So did I.” She released Kitty and turned to Dallan. “I want to know what Brennan’s henchmen are doing here.”

  “Ye ken why they’re here. It’s who they’re working for that interests me.” He turned to Melvale. “Stay a wee while – I might have need of ye.”

  “Of course, Time Master.”

  Dallan nodded and took Shona’s hand. “Let’s go.” They headed for the French doors at the other end of the room and slipped out into the night.

  “Well,” Duncan said as he glanced at the Countess of Belford out cold on his sofa. “What now?”

  “Damage control?” Kitty suggested.

  “Miss Morgan is quite right,” Melvale agreed. “Easily done. That woman is the only one that saw us.”

  “True – most of the other guests have left,” Duncan said. “Only the Earl of Belford and the marquess and his family are still here, and they’re in the billiard room on the other side of the house.” He looked at Kwaku. “Er, do you have a way to make her forget what she’s seen?”

  Kwaku smiled. “Of course.” He looked at Zara, then pointed at the countess. “Pretty One, give dat woman a good dream.” He then spoke again, in his native tongue.

  Zara smiled, went to kneel by the sofa and, placing her hand on the countess’s forehead, began to softly sing.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Aldrich spurred his horse away from the village. Thank Heaven there was a moon to see by or it’d be much slower going.

  He crested a small rise and got a good view of the road before him. There was no sign of the magistrate’s wagon. He wanted to catch up quickly, but he’d have to calm himself before he did lest he lose his temper. If he gave into it, Tory might suffer the consequences. He didn’t know the magistrate, Thomas Hughes, only that he’d taken over when the old magistrate died last year. Who knew what kind of fellow he was? Aldrich hoped he wasn’t the type to stir up trouble where there was none.

  He kicked his horse into a canter. Riding too fast was dangerous, even with the moonlight to guide him. He had to get to Tory, so he couldn’t afford to break his neck in the process. He’d catch up to them eventually.

  He still couldn’t get over that this happened in the first place. But considering the way she talked, her mannerisms, her boldness … no wonder she got arrested, aside from the actual reason. If he’d been smart, he’d have gone to the village himself to look for her. But arrests during a carnival were common, usually for drunkenness or brawling. Depending on whom the stable master and the other servant asked, they might get several different accounts of arrests, or none at all.

  Blast. It would be impossible to question every person who attended the carnival that day. He should be thankful he knew where Tory was being taken and concentrate on that. Of course, he’d had the same thought when he reached the gaol twenty minutes ago, only to discover she was no longer there. What if he didn’t catch up? What if they were taking her someplace else?

  Aldrich fought the urge to push his horse harder. He had to catch up, but he couldn’t do that if his steed dropped dead under him.

  Tim Hughes, the new magistrate’s son, hadn’t given him much information, but it was enough to piece together what happened. Apparently his father had arrested Tory on a counterfeiting charge after she was found with some British currency from her own time. The Crown gave rewards for catching counterfeiters, and the elder Hughes was looking to cash in by transporting her to London. Tim didn’t even know her name.

  As to why he took her at night, that was obvious – the blackguard wanted to be on his way before the duke found out he’d absconded with his wife’s tutor. Move fast and he might get the money – provided his son kept quiet. But even the most loyal son is apt to talk with a dagger at his throat. And Sir Aldrich always kept his dagger well-sharpened. But Thomas Hughes had a huge head start, and Aldrich knew that they hanged counterfeiters.

  He rode on, hoping against hope that he wasn’t too far behind.

  “Who are you?” Tory asked as soon as her gag was removed. “What do you want?”

  “Feisty, isn’t she?” said one of the men standing outside the wagon.

  Tory’s eyes went wide. This one spoke with an English accent too. Were they all Englishmen? She looked at the third man also standing outside. He was about the same height as their leader, who crouched before her and wore a knapsack.

  “Who we are doesn’t matter,” the leader said. “Who you are, on the other hand, does.”

  She stared at him in confusion. He looked to be about fifty, with golden blonde hair peppered with gray at the temples, and dark eyes. For some reason, he creeped her out far more than Bob the rapist or that greedy magistrate Hughes. Lord only knew where these guys had dumped them. “Let me go.”

  The man laughed, looked at his counterparts, who chuckled too, then faced her again. “I’m afraid that’s not happening.” He backed out of the wagon and tossed some keys to the shorter of his two companions. “Mr. Kent, unchain her and bring her out.”

  The man climbed in to do his boss’s bidding. One man in and two outside. Did she have a chance of escape? Oh, where was Aldrich when she needed him? Everyone must be looking for her by now, but how would they know where to find her?

  She watched numbly as Kent inserted a key (one t
hey had to have gotten off Hughes’ dead body) into the shackles and freed one wrist. He took care of the other, then with lightning speed grabbed her arms and pulled her toward the door. He shoved her into the waiting hands of the leader.

  He glanced around as he handed her over to his other man. “Mr. Graves, take her into the woods. I don’t want anyone to hear her in case she screams too loudly. Who knows if there are any farms about?”

  “Scream?” Tory squeaked. “Why would I scream?”

  The leader sighed and nodded at Graves. He clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her away from the wagon. “Mr. Kent, be so kind as to retrieve the gag, then hide that.”

  He must mean the wagon. Did that mean they had another mode of transportation? Well, how else did they get here? Heck, how did they get to this century? How did she?

  Graves dragged her into the nearby trees, despite her muffled screams and wild kicking. His hand was clamped so tightly over her mouth it was hard to breathe. They were still on the road when they stopped, but once the wagon was hidden there would be no trace she was there. They could take her into the woods and do whatever they wanted with her. How did she get into this mess? All she wanted to do was go to the village that morning, get a cup of coffee and charge her phone. Now she didn’t know whether she’d live or die.

  She tried to twist away but it was no use. This gorilla just kept going deeper into the woods. She was surprised he could see as well as he did, but the moon was bright. And maybe he was used to dragging women around in the dark.

  After about five minutes he finally stopped and removed his hand from her mouth, but kept a tight grip with both arms around her as the others approached, flashlights in their hands. She glanced at Graves. “What does this make you, a bat? You have radar or what?”