A Promise to Keep (Out of Time Book 2)

by Loretta Livingstone

An involuntary yawn stretched her mouth so wide, she felt as though her jaw would crack. All she really wanted was her bed. Shaking her head to try and clear the fuzziness that filled it, she leaned against the wall, grateful for its support.

  Chloe was out on the path by now, picking up the bags she’d left by the gate, and Shannon heard her mum’s voice float out into the hall. “That’s not Shannon, is it? What’s she doing home so early?”

  As Mum called out again, she felt a pang of remorse that she’d barely spared a thought for her during her operation.

  “Yep, Mum, I’m home early. Long story. Be with you in a mo.”

  She leaned on the door handle and took one last look down the road. The taxi had gone. She grinned. It had been pretty funny really when Father Dominic insisted on coming with her. Her face must have been a picture. She hoped she could trust him to go home, but she had a sneaking suspicion that… Oh well, it was up to him. He was probably much more capable of taking care of himself than she gave him credit for.

  Leaning heavily on the crutch, she limped indoors, slipping Giles’ ring from her finger and into her pocket before her mother could see it. She must remember to sneak it back into Mum’s jewellery box as soon as she could and hope it hadn’t been missed. Maybe she’d ask if she could wear it sometime – but later. Much later.

  As she passed the mirror in the hall, she glanced at her reflection. When Mum had come back from the past, Shannon had felt a difference in her. Do I look the same? she wondered. I don’t feel it. She shook her head again, trying to get her mind completely back into the right century, then opened the door to the front room, went to hug her mother and prepared herself to tell as many lies and half-truths as she must.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  AUGUST 2012

  A few weeks after she had started working at the abbey, Shannon, dressed as Rohese, had just finished with her second group of tourists. She switched off her microphone battery pack, waved across at Emma who was also on her break and talking animatedly to the new archer, Will, and was heading for the café when a voice hailed her from behind. It wasn’t anyone she recognised, but she guessed it to be another of the students earning a holiday wage as a tour guide.

  “Lady Rohese, I fear I am late to make your acquaintance, but right ready to welcome you now I’ve returned.”

  What a fool. She turned, and the laugh that had been ready to bubble out of her died on her lips as she gawped in disbelief at the young chestnut-haired knight standing before her, his lips parted in a grin of welcome, green eyes sparkling with fun. Her hand flew to her mouth, and her legs felt as though they would buckle under her. “Adam? But, but…” She trailed off in confusion.

  He took her hand, bowing over it and kissing it before she tugged it away. “My lady, forgive me.”

  Forgive him? It was Adam then. But how could it be? Her head was reeling, and she held her hands to her face unable to believe what she saw, clammy with shock.

  “Hey, chill! You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Here, sit down before you fall down.” He shoved a chair her way, and she subsided onto it before her legs gave way completely.

  “Adam? Adam?” A pulse throbbed wildly in her temple, black specks danced before her eyes, and her heart was racing so much, she wondered vaguely if she was having a coronary.

  “That’s me.” He grinned cheerfully. “They told you about me, did they? Don’t believe a word of it.” He gestured to his chain mail, and she realised it was only imitation. “They tell me wearing this get-up was your idea. Nice one. I like it, and the tourists really go for it, don’t they? My tips have doubled.”

  Shannon couldn’t trust herself to speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t move.

  “So where do you come from? Uni? Which one?”

  “C…Cardiff,” she stuttered. “I start in September. And you?” she asked, fighting for control. This was impossible.

  “Manchester. I’ve been working here in the holidays for a couple of years. I was away on a break. That’s why you haven’t seen me before.”

  “A c…couple of years?” Shannon pinched herself. This wasn’t happening. And she was sounding like an idiot. C’mon, Shan, think! Get your brain connected. “You, er, you have dressed for the part. Is your name really Adam?” Please, no. It can’t be, it just can’t!

  “Nah, I’m Craig.” He grinned. “Can’t call myself that, though. Not sure there were many Craigs back then. Had to pick a medieval one.”

  Yes, but why that one?

  Shannon finally got a grip on herself. The world had stopped its wild dance around her, and she was beginning to be able to think straight. She made her shoulders relax, felt her heart steady, and the pulse that had throbbed so hard she could barely see was fading now. Think, Shannon, think. C’mon, make small talk. So what if he looked like Adam de Grosmont? Of course he wasn’t. As she opened her mouth to speak, Craig waved to someone behind her and got to his feet, saying, “Sorry, gotta go. My next lot have arrived. Can I catch you later? You coming for a drink after we close?”

  Shannon grinned. What a fool, thinking he was Adam. But, oh, he’d shaken her up for a few minutes. And yeah, why not go for a drink with him. Just because he looked like Adam didn’t mean he’d behave like him.

  “Mm hmm. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

  “See you later, then.” And he was gone.

  Shannon stood up. There was just time to get a coffee before her next group of tourists arrived, and she’d kill for a chocolate biscuit.

  That evening, Shannon sauntered down the lane to the Sparnstow Arms, tagging along behind the rest. Until now, she’d not joined them at the pub.

  Craig was way ahead, laughing with a couple of the lads. Out of costume, dressed in jeans and tee shirt, Shannon found it easier to disassociate him from Adam.

  Emma glanced round, noticed Shannon and dropped back to walk with her, linking arms and towing her along to catch up.

  They barged into the pub gardens laughing and jostling, ignoring the sidelong glares of a couple of old men under an apple tree, who muttered darkly into their pints about waking the dead.

  Pushing and shoving, they took possession of one of the long tables. Emma dragged Shannon onto the end of the bench with her, thrusting a menu under her nose.

  “What do you fancy, Shan? Ooh, there’s a special on the board. Come on, let’s go and see what they’ve got.”

  Shannon hung back. “No, you go. I’m happy just to choose from here.”

  She ordered fried chicken and chips, and the waitress moved down the bench, pointedly tapping her notebook with her pen as the others dithered and argued.

  Meal eaten, the temperature cooled, and, as the sun started to go down, they began to drift away in ones and twos. Shannon sat there, running her finger round the rim of her glass as she watched the setting sun start to paint the sky in shades of lavender, red and gold.

  Craig got up from his place at the table and ambled round to her, dropping onto the bench next to her and draping an arm lightly round her shoulders. Oh, help. Was she ready for this? She half turned – he did seem different now, but the resemblance was still marked, and it tugged at her like a freshly healed scar.

  She drained her glass, and he stood up. “Want another?”

  She nodded and glanced away. As he moved to the bar, she realised her shoulders were nearly back up to her ears again and focussed on making them drop back to a normal position, rotating them and feeling the tension ease. She couldn’t judge him because he looked like Adam. He seemed nice, and she thought he liked her. Maybe she could get to know him, give him a chance – slowly. She’d had enough of rushing into things.

  Craig came back, dumping her glass on the table, splashing the lager as he did so. “Oops, sorry. Here, have a serviette.”

  She mopped at the table and flapped away a couple of hovering wasps. “So, Adam, I mean, Craig, how come you’re working here?”

  “Same as you, I expect, and all the rest. Trying to make enough cash in tips to
see me through the next year. I love history, so something like this was the obvious choice. And the Americans love us, don’t they? Great tippers, not like our lot.”

  Shannon’s interest quickened. “I love history, too.”

  “Yeah? Do you live round here?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “So how did you end up here?”

  “I sort of have family connections. It’s hard to explain.” Don’t ask, please, she begged silently.

  “Yeah? Same here. I did my family’s genealogy. As far as I can work out – but it’s too far back to be really sure – my ancestors didn’t live far from here.” He stopped and took a long swallow of lager, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and continued. “One of them was a right one. He must have loads of descendants round here, most of them born on the wrong side of the sheet, like my family.

  “They probably came from Magshall originally, moving here around the fifteenth century. The Lord of the Manor at Magshall in the thirteenth century was called Adam de Grosmont.”

  Shannon stared in horror, her eyes wide. She was struggling to breathe, but he didn’t seem to notice, continuing with his tale. “Apparently, he was a bit of a randy old goat, and it looks as though he had loads of illegitimate kids on his estate. Any one of them might have been my ancestor, so when I came here, I thought I might as well take on the part of de Grosmont. I thought it would give the place a bit of colour, and they reckon the ladies love a villain, eh?” He chuckled. “I mean, villain not villein.”

  He rose to his feet, tilted his head slightly, swaggered a few steps, then turned and bowed, saying, “My Lady Rohese, allow me to present Sir Adam de Grosmont, and I counsel you not to believe a word the knave tells you.”

  He bowed again, took her hand and raised it to his lips before bending to pick a buttercup, which he offered to her as though it were a rose, saying, “A fair flower for a fair maiden.”

  Shannon sat as though turned to stone. Then, she got up and, without a word, walked to the stream where she plonked herself down on a flat stone, hugging her knees. Craig dropped his swagger and went after her. Crouching down beside her, he said. “Shannon? What is it? What did I do?” She turned towards him, and he caught the glimmer of a tear on her lashes before she put a hand up and swiped it away. “Shannon, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Shannon blinked hard. For a few moments, he had been Adam. She couldn’t speak, just shrugged and sniffed. Craig said again, “Shannon? What did I do?”

  Pulling out a handkerchief, she blew her nose violently, then wiping away another tear, she glanced at him again. Adam had gone; it was just Craig, and she was going to have to take him on trust. “You didn’t do anything, I was being silly. I just came out of a relationship with someone exactly like that. Worse, he was called Adam and looked a lot like you. He lied to me – badly. And…other stuff. I couldn’t trust him, in the end.”

  “Oh, hell, Shannon, you must have thought you’d seen a ghost.”

  Despite herself, she grinned. “You have no idea.”

  Craig reached for her hand. “Shannon, I really like you; I’d love to get to know you better. And I promise, I’m nothing like Adam, not either one of them. What do you say? Can we hang out a bit?”

  Shannon sat there gazing into the distance, feeling Craig’s hopeful eyes watching her. What should she do? Could she manage to put Adam behind her? And, why should she allow him to reach out through the centuries and smear his lies on her life in this one? You can’t judge one man by another’s sins. Hildegarde’s voice came back to her as clearly as if she’d been standing there.

  Craig was still looking at her. “How do you feel, Shannon? Can you take a chance? Even if I might be related to him, I’m not a bit like de Grosmont, I promise.”

  Her eyes clouded, then cleared. Why not? But she wasn’t going to rush anything this time. Standing up, she pulled Craig to his feet, then leaned against him, letting him wrap his arms around her. “All right, we’ll see how it goes. But you better not let me down. You have a promise to keep.”

  If you have enjoyed reading A Promise to Keep, please consider writing a review on Amazon. It really does make a difference. Thank you.

  To keep up-to-date with future books and any offers, you might like to sign up for my newsletter. You will find a link on my website at www.treasurechestbooks.co.uk

  or here:

  The series continues with Blossom on the Thorn. It isn’t published yet, but you can read chapter one over the next few pages.

  Start reading book three in the Out of Time series here.

  Blossom on the Thorn

  Coming next year

  BLOSSOM ON THE THORN

  Chapter One

  Winter 1194

  The hunters gave wild yells of glee as they pursued their quarry. At last, cornering it, they dismounted warily, spears at the ready.

  The boar’s eyes were red with fury. Baldwin’s blood sang in his veins with exhilaration as the beast squealed with rage and launched itself upon him. He hurled the spear; his aim was true; the boar shuddered to a halt, blood gushing from its throat, but as it kicked in its death throes, a second one dashed from the undergrowth beside them. Someone cried a warning, another spear flashed, but it was too late.

  ***

  Isabella plied her needle listlessly as the wind whistled through chinks in the closed shutters. The fire flickered as the draught stirred it and cast its smoke sulkily across the room. Her fingers ached with cold, and she longed to cast her sewing aside and move closer to the hearth, but her mother-in-law’s sharp eyes were upon her.

  Adelaide sniffed. ”I told Baldwin chimneys were a mistake, but he would have his way. Girl!” She beckoned to one of the maids. “Stir that fire, and bring hot spiced wine.”

  Isabella swallowed and hoped Evelina would bring her some, too. The chill had seeped into her bones. If even Adelaide was feeling it, it must be cold indeed. And with no central hearth, very little of the meagre warmth the flames produced was reaching her. Her feet were numb.

  “And light the braziers.”

  Isabella dared to glance at her mother-in-law who was looking even paler than usual, her skin tight to her skull, her lips pressed together in a forbidding line. “Ma mѐre, are you unwell?” she ventured.

  Adelaide snorted. “Is it not enough that this wind gives me the headache? Must I also answer your foolish questions?” Her voice was colder than the ice that formed on the edges of the castle moat.

  Isabella dropped her gaze back to her embroidery so Adelaide would not see the surge of hate that blazed in her eyes.

  There came a clattering outside the door; raised voices, shouts of alarm, and Matthew burst into the room. Adelaide looked down her haughty nose at him, but at the expression on his face, she rose with a cry of concern.

  “My lady!” Her senior woman took an anxious step towards her but stopped as a ferocious glare was directed at her.

  “What is it? Are we under siege? Speak, man!”

  Matthew hesitated a moment before meeting those fierce eyes. “It’s your son, Lord Baldwin.” He paused. “An accident…the boar–“

  She cut him off, her voice sharp. “My son? He is hurt?”

  “My lady…” The man’s eyes flickered away and back again. “Lord Baldwin is dead.”

  Adelaide stood as though turned to stone, her face like bleached linen. She gave a hoarse cry.

  So slowly that, at first, Isabella did not realise what was happening, Adelaide toppled towards the floor, falling against the newly-lit brazier. Pandemonium reigned. Matthew caught her and lifted her before the hot coals that brushed the skirt of her gown could catch. Men surged in behind him, righting the brazier, stamping out the flames that had begun to lick the floor rushes. Women screamed and ran hither and thither. Amid the chaos, Isabella had risen to her feet and was now rigid, clasping her embroidery to her, eyes downcast to hide the wild joy that ripped through her.

  She was cons
cious of one thought only. “Free! I’m free!”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I should like to apologise for the liberty I took with Berkhamsted Castle. The ruins are there for all to see, and entry is free, so if you would like to explore them for yourself, you will find the information board to which I refer. It does indeed show the castle as it may have looked, but since the description didn’t quite work for my story, which is, after all, complete fiction, I allowed Shannon and Hildegarde their cheeky comments.

  An interesting piece of information I did come across in my research was in a publication by M. M. Dworetsky, EUS Berkhamsted revision 2005, where it states that the new town grew up along Akeman Street, not the castle, because of the topography.

  I am not a historian but have done my best to give a sense of the time. If I have made errors, I hope they have not prevented you from enjoying my story.

  OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR:

  Fiction

  Out of Time (Book 1 in the Out of Time series)

  Where Angels Tread

  Beautiful and other short stories

  Four Christmases

  Three for Hallowe’en

  Poetry

  Rhythms of Life

  Jumping in the Puddles of Life

  Hopes Dreams & Medals – Volumes 1 & 2

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo by vanessachampion.co.uk

  British author Loretta Livingstone lives with her husband and cat in the beautiful Chiltern Hills. She started writing poetry but progressed first, to short stories and now, to full-length fiction.