Timeless (A Time Travel Romance)
Page 41
* * *
The clatter of footsteps on the wooden stairs of the inn came without warning. Robyn’s eye lit up with pleasure. “William!” she exclaimed. “He’s back already!”
Almost as she spoke, she realized she was rejoicing too soon. Above the thump of booted feet racing up the stairs, she heard the flustered protests of the innkeeper. “Sir, you cannot go in there! Sir! The chamber is bespoken for the night!”
“Open the door or I will batter it down! And by God I will have you arrested for obstructing justice!”
Robyn and Hannah exchanged glances. “Captain Bretton,” Robyn whispered.
“Thank heaven he has arrived too late,” Hannah whispered back.
Too late to find Zachary, but not too late to cause major turmoil. Robyn and Hannah instinctively clasped hands as the door shuddered under the force of a blow directed at the lock. They heard the innkeeper and his wife protesting, but the protests were unavailing. The wife’s horrified wails broke into sobs as the captain issued his ultimatum. “Unlock the door or you will both be in chains before the hour is out.”
“We must let him in,” Robyn said. “We cannot allow the innkeeper’s family to suffer for our actions.”
“Very well.” Hannah started to walk toward the door, but Robyn arrived there first. “This is my battle,” she said.
“Are you feeling strong enough to wage it?” Hannah asked.
“More than strong enough, thanks to your kind attentions. Two hours of sitting in a chair that doesn’t move has worked miracles.” Robyn flung open the door as she spoke and the captain practically catapulted into her room.
“Captain Bretton,” she said. “I suppose I should have known that the oaf disturbing my peace would turn out to be you.
“Where is he? Tell me where he is!” The captain had unsheathed his sword, and he waved it wildly in the air. His usually immaculate uniform was splattered with mud. He stank of horse sweat and his face was streaked with the dust and grit of hours in the saddle. He pushed Robyn aside and hurtled across the room, sword slashing, eyes glittering with the fever of his obsession.
“I will find the treacherous knave and kill him if ‘tis the last thing I do on this earth!”
Hannah, horrified by such an unbridled display of temper, tried to calm him. “Sir... Captain Bretton... I beg you to compose yourself and behave with the decorum appropriate to your station. There is nobody here save the Lady Arabella and I.”
Captain Bretton was beyond reason, enraged well past the point of registering the good sense of what she said. “Out of my way!”
He pushed her so hard that she staggered and would have fallen if Robyn had not caught her. The captain began to pull covers from the bed with lunatic haste. The wails of the innkeeper and his wife rose to a piercing crescendo as the captain tore the hangings from the window, slitting them with his sword as if he expected Zachary to be somehow concealed within the folds of linen cretonne. Thwarted in his efforts to discover his quarry secreted behind the draperies, he pushed over the chairs and tore open the drawers of the chifforobe. When he knocked over the screen, he saw the pile of maid’s clothing still on the footstool and a gleam of enlightenment pierced the enveloping fog of his rage.
Body shaking, he swung around. “Your maid,” he said hoarsely. “Where is she?”
“Gone,” Robyn said.
For a moment the captain neither moved nor spoke. Then he gave a great bellow of frustrated rage. “Goddammit, how did you make the substitution? How did you smuggle him out of Starke?”
This was not a moment to gloat. Robyn tried to answer the captain slowly and calmly, so as not to enrage him further. Hannah and the innkeeper were both cowering in the doorway, overwhelmed by his truly insane display of temper. “If you refer to my brother-in-law, sir, please remember that you have no proof Zachary was ever at Starke, much less that my husband and I smuggled him out of the Manor today. For your own sake, I wish you would abandon your obsessive belief that my husband is sympathetic to the Jacobite cause. The baron has never by word or deed suggested that he is anything other than a loyal supporter of Hanoverian rule.”
“And I know that his appearance is deceptive! He is the region’s most clever liar!” The captain’s frustration was so strong that it had reached a point of simmering rage no words could appease, however conciliatory. He paced the room, a captive tiger deprived of his prey and still starving for red meat. His gaze darted from corner to corner, and then finally settled on Robyn. With a yowl, half of anguish and half of pleasure, he grabbed her arm and started dragging her toward the door of the bedchamber.
Hannah Wilkes recovered her courage and stepped forward at once. “Sir, are you run quite mad? Remove your hands from the Lady Arabella or ‘tis you who will find yourself in jail tonight, not this poor innkeeper, nor anyone else.”
The captain’s eyes rolled upward. “I have every right to touch the Lady Arabella. I take her prisoner in the name of King George!” His words emerged as gasping grunts. “She will be freed when the Baron of Starke surrenders his treacherous Jacobite brother to my custody!”
The innkeeper, with great courage, spoke up. “Sir, ‘tis not lawful to lay hands on a baroness what was resting peacefully in her chamber, sir. Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but you must not take her.”
“Your defense of my wife is appreciated but unnecessary.” William’s voice spoke coolly from outside the bedroom door. The innkeeper and his wife exchanged worried looks, not sure whether to be relieved that the baron had returned in time to rescue his wife, or fearful at the mayhem now certain to ensue. They retreated into the corridor, wringing their hands. Hannah moved to stand by the fire and William stepped into the bedroom. Hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, he issued his command in a voice that was quiet, controlled, and utterly implacable.
“You, Captain, will unhand my wife. I believe I warned you earlier today never to touch her again. I do not plan to warn you a third time.”
“You are bold for a traitor,” Captain Bretton snarled. Spittle frothed at the corner of his mouth, but he released his hold on Robyn’s arm and shoved her aside.
“Where is your brother?” he demanded. “God damn you to the darkest pit of hell, where is he? Have you put him on board ship?”
William made no attempt to answer the captain’s questions. He turned to Robyn. “Are you all right, my dear? I trust this extraordinary display has not totally overset you and Mistress Wilkes?”
The calm, everyday courtesy of William’s behavior did not soothe Captain Bretton back into reason. Instead, it seemed to precipitate the final break in his tenuous self-control. With a growl of thwarted rage, he lunged forward, clearly intent on murder.
Somehow, William managed to react to the flash of the captain’s upraised sword. He swung around, simultaneously pulling his own sword from its sheath and parrying the captain’s blow.
“Stand back!” William ordered and Robyn leapt out of the way. Captain Bretton was obviously in a state of such fury that his actions could neither be predicted nor controlled, except by force.
The two men fought in deadly, terrifying silence. At first the captain’s thrusts were wild, and his defense was so poor that even Robyn recognized that William could have killed him on at least three occasions. But the rhythm of the fight seemed to calm the captain as words had not, and his fighting soon became focused, and thus twice as deadly.
William fought now in earnest, not simply to disarm the captain, but to save his own life. Captain Bretton was a skillful fighter, not surprising given his profession, but fortunately he was tired after fourteen hours in the saddle and his rage was still not fully under control.
William, by contrast, was entirely in command of his emotions. He fought with concentrated, disciplined energy. He was stronger, less tired, and more naturally agile than the captain, but he was not a professional swordsman and could hope to win only by dogged determination as opposed to a sudden flash of brilliant swordplay.
Gradually, her hope turned to certainty. Captain Bretton was nearing exhaustion. Sweat ran from his forehead, blurring his sight, and he no longer offered any attack. Parrying William’s thrusts and lunges was the extent of his capability.
Robyn allowed herself a quick sigh of relief, but she still didn’t dare to move. The innkeeper’s moans faded as the end drew palpably near, and the innkeeper’s wife stopped her praying in order to watch.
With inexorable power, William pushed the captain back toward the wall, leaving him less and less room to maneuver. The captain realized that all was very nearly lost and he lurched forward in a last, desperate effort to attack. But William was waiting. The blade of his sword crossed with the captain’s, flashed under, then over his opponent’s weapon. With sheer physical force, William bore down on the captain’s right arm until his sword clattered onto the floor.
Quick as lightning, William touched the point of his sword to the captain’s throat. “Must... I... kill... you?” he asked, panting.
Captain Bretton seemed too exhausted to respond. His hands hung slackly at his sides, his mouth gaped open, and his breath came in great shuddering heaves. His gaze skittered frenziedly around the room. Suddenly he stiffened.
“You—shall—not—win—it—all—” he rasped. “Zachary—but—not—her—” Quicker than thought, he pulled a dagger from his sleeve and lashed out with deadly intent, not toward William, but toward Robyn.
Caught totally unprepared by the direction of the captain’s move, William’s blade sank deep into his opponent’s throat. Blood spurted out in a hideous, gurgling rush. Simultaneously, pain exploded in Robyn’s rib cage. Bewildered, she watched the captain’s blood trickle along William’s sword and besmirch his hands with gleaming scarlet. She wondered why she felt such dreadful pain when it was the captain who was dying. She swayed, wanting to reach William, but unable to make her wobbly legs obey her mental command.
“Oh, dear God in heaven, the captain has stabbed Lady Arabella! His dagger is in her heart!” Hannah’s voice. Anguished, distraught.
Robyn looked at the captain, who had fallen to the floor. Yes, he was dead, but the sword had pierced his throat, not his heart. What was Hannah talking about? William turned to her and she tried to smile, but the hideous throbbing pain didn’t go away. She closed her eyes. Her knees buckled, and she fell forward into William’s arms.
“My darling Arabella, you cannot die.” She felt him ripping at the lacings of her gown, tearing it open. A pillow was placed beneath her head. Hannah took her hands and chafed them gently.
“Bring me bandages,” William said, his voice shaking. “Get me water! And for God’s sake send for the surgeon!”
The surgeon. Robyn realized then that Captain Bretton had indeed stabbed her, and she knew instinctively that her wound was mortal. Grief, so intense that it engulfed even the pain of the dagger in her heart, welled up from deep inside her. She wasn’t ready to die. How could she die when her body... part of herself... still lingered somewhere, hundreds of years into the future?
She had to communicate at least part of the truth to William. “I am... not Arabella,” she whispered. “I... am... Robyn. The accident... changed me—”
“Yes, yes, my dearest love, I understand. You are my beloved Robyn. But hush, conserve your strength. You will need it all.”
She had accused William so many times of lack of trust, and yet she realized now—too late—that she was the one who had failed to have faith in the power of his love. Why had she never told him the truth about who she was and where she had come from? Now her laboring lungs wouldn’t draw sufficient breath to allow her to give complicated explanations about a fantastic situation. The pain came again, squeezing her chest tight and hard with agony.
Dear God, there was so much of life she still wanted to explore! It seemed unfair that she should lose William as well as Zach, two loves snatched from her in the space of a few short months. And her poor baby! He would grow up without knowing his mother, just as Zach had warned her, months ago, two hundred fifty years into the future.
Tears splashed onto her hand and she realized that Hannah was crying. Such a good, kind woman, Robyn thought hazily, a perfect mother for baby Zach. She turned toward William, desperate for a last glimpse of his beloved face.
“You must marry Hannah,” she said. She had no strength for tact, no energy for prevarication. “She loves you... always has... and the children. She... will be good wife.”
William’s face was white with anguish. “My heart, you are my wife and I can take no other.”
She couldn’t waste time in arguing. There was too much still to say. Her thoughts no longer came in coherent sequence, and she frowned, trying to sort them out. “Write to me.” She clung to his hand, consumed with the need to make him agree. “Tell me what happens to my children... baby Zach... Hannah... I will find your letter... when I am Robyn... in the future.”
Tears made the blue of William’s eyes more brilliant. “My love, you could not receive my letter—”
“Yes, yes, I will find it... Promise me you will write.” But how would she ever read his letter in the future, even if it survived, when she was dying here in the past, imprisoned in Arabella’s wounded and bleeding body? The question faded in a shuddering gasp of pain, and when she could speak again, she clutched at his hand. “Promise me, William.”
“Of course.” He pressed his lips against the tips of her fingers. “I shall write to you, my heart, if that is your wish. But why do we speak of communicating by letter, when it is my intention to grow old and crotchety beside you?”
“Not crotchety. Youwill be... old and... wonderful.”
“If you are there beside me, indeed I shall be wonderful.” He rested his hand against her shoulder. “Courage, my heart, the surgeon will be here in but an instant.”
She didn’t waste precious words in telling him what he already knew—that the surgeon couldn’t work miracles and that her wound was fatal.
“Zachary, your brother. He... is... safe?”
“Yes, securely on board ship for France, thanks to you. He sends his most heartfelt thanks.”
“I’m glad.” She was tired, and the urge to sleep was nearly overwhelming, but she still had important things to say. She looked deep into William’s eyes and told him what she most wanted him to remember. “I love you, William, with—all—my—heart.”
He carried her hand to his face, curling her fingers against his cheek. “I love you, too, Robyn.” His voice was harsh, but she knew the harshness sprang from emotion, and the struggle to hold back his tears.
“Tell the children I love them. And send baby Zach to America when he grows up. He will... flourish... there... and raise a fine family.”
“You will be able to send him yourself,” he said, but his voice shook and they both knew that he lied.
“My lord, the surgeon is here! Make way for the surgeon!”
Hope lightened William’s face. Robyn wished that she could sustain that hope. With phenomenal effort, she moved her hand and pressed the tips of her fingers tenderly against his lips.
“I... will... always... love... you... dearest... William.”
“No, Robyn, you must not die! Dear God in heaven, do not take her from me!”
“I... am... so... sorry,” she said.
She heard his heartbroken cry as the red-tinged darkness came. Pain blurred her vision and her eyes drifted closed. She smiled, glad of the darkness, because she could see William more clearly in her mind’s eye than she had been able to see him in reality. He reached out to her, his hands strong and secure, his face warm with love. At
the touch of his hand, her pain vanished. Bathed in happiness, she felt herself slip softly, almost imperceptibly, into sleep.
She was exhausted, but he wouldn’t let her rest. He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her awake. She sat up with a start, heart pounding, stomach tense with fear. But as soon as she saw that William was still there, standing right beside her, she calmed down. She glanced at her wound, but the bleeding had stopped, and the dagger no longer stuck out from between her ribs. She wanted to ask William how the surgeon had achieved such a miracle, but she was racked by a spasm of coughing and couldn’t speak.
When the bout of coughing ended, she turned to William, but his features had become blurred and difficult to recognize. The fear surged back.
“What’s the matter?” she asked him. “What’s happened to me? Why can’t I see your face?”
“Robyn!” She heard a mixture of fear and joy in his voice, and his hand reached out to smooth her hair away from her brow. The tension radiating from his body buffeted her with almost physical force. She plummeted back and forth into the darkness, ebbing and flowing like a wave struggling to reach a certain point on the sand.
He spoke again. “Robyn.” His voice pulled her higher onto the shore. “Can you hear me, honey?”
“I can hear you, but your voice sounds—strange.” As soon as she spoke, the mist parted and she understood why he sounded different. It was Zach who was calling her, not William, just as it was Zach pleading with her to open her eyes...
“Zach!” She smiled, overjoyed to see him again. “Why do you keep asking me to open my eyes? Look, they’re open already.”
He didn’t reply, and she glanced around anxiously, seeing only mist—and Zach. “Where are we? What happened to me? Where is William? I must go to him, tell him I’m alive—”
“Robyn, give me your hand.” Zach reached out to her, but the gap between them was too wide and their hands didn’t connect. She could see his face more clearly now, and she realized he was frantic with worry.