“Lady Katherine is no witch,” Alex said in all his earl-ish importance. She just hoped it worked. “Would a witch save the life of a child, or would she take it? Would she teach her skill so others may use it, or hoard her knowledge for her own benefit?” Alex helped her stand.
Props to him for coming up with an explanation so quickly, but the muttering and staring didn’t look promising.
“And would I, the earl of Shelton, marry a witch?”
Kate was one foot from running when Alex’s steward stepped forward. “My lord, I don’t believe you would choose a witch. I’d be honored if Lady Katherine would teach me this skill.”
Give that guy a raise.
Beatrice stepped out from behind someone and stood beside her brother. Then Joan. Then Mary. One by one, others came forward and Kate almost wilted with relief as a line formed behind them.
She took a deep breath, returned her knees to their non-wobbly position, and gestured for everyone to spread out. She couldn’t trust her voice at the moment.
Finally, she worked words past her dry throat and began the CPR lesson. It wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped to teach Cook, but, as another way to save lives—especially her own—she’d take it.
***
Damn her! He shuffled along with the crowd, pretending he was interested in watching this stupid demonstration. She ran a hand over her brow, smiling so sweetly at Alex. God’s blood, it made him ill.
And, curse her, the child would live. He’d anticipated the horror, reveled in the knowledge of what the death would do to Alex, a sentimental fool who cared overmuch for children. A man who had grieved like a silly woman at the loss of one of his own.
He’d enjoyed it then, as he’d wished to enjoy it now, but she’d ruined it.
They’d called her a witch. Was she? Where did she get her magic? Would it be enough to save her? To save all of them?
It’d better not. He’d planned this for too long.
Chapter Eleven
“What did Rory say, Alex?” Kate looked up from preparing the place settings for their evening meal as Alex entered the great hall.
“He wouldn’t speak. Not a bloody word.” He unclipped his cloak and draped it over the back of his chair then sank onto the cushion, and ran his hand over his face.
Did the man have any idea how sexy a move that was?
“I was afraid of that.” She picked up the last of the linen napkins she’d been folding. She was going for a flock of swans, but they didn’t look quite right.
“You knew it would happen?”
The swan’s neck was all wrong. Too limp.
No, she wasn’t thinking about the wall incident… Much. Not that there’d been anything limp about—
She dropped the napkin and looked at Alex. Big mistake. He was leaning on his elbows—nice table manners—his blue tunic falling forward to reveal that temptingly silky mass of chest hair. She couldn’t suppress the shiver when she remembered what his skin had felt like, tasted like, his musky scent, the whisper of that hair against her cheek, the pleasure his fingers had given her—
“Sometimes people can’t talk about what happened after a harrowing event. It’s called post traumatic stress disorder.” Her reaction she put down to adrenaline rush. That affirmation-of-life thing.
She picked up the pitiful swan and began to refold it.
“Is there a cure?”
“Time. We have to wait for him to be ready to talk.”
Alex exhaled and sat back. “I don’t like waiting.”
“At least he’s alive.”
“Thanks to you.”
She fanned the swan’s wings. A grateful Alex was a dangerous Alex and she’d better concentrate on something else—like this poor, beleaguered napkin—if she wanted to leave this place with her heart intact.
She scrunched the wings. Not going down that road. “So, um, Alex. The gypsies. Any luck finding them?”
Another swipe of his hand over his mouth. “Gregorio will come when he learns I need him. I’ve sent word.”
“More waiting.”
“Yes.”
She worked on the wings again. Poor thing looked like a kiwi.
“Kate, what are you doing?”
“Mangling a napkin.” She held up the swan. “I’m trying to impress Cook. She’s still resistant to my ideas.”
Alex took the bird. “You need to earn her trust, not create swans no one can eat.”
“You can tell it’s a swan?”
“Of course. What other bird has a neck that long?”
That was actually the tail, but since he’d paid enough attention to what she was doing to figure it out, she wasn’t going to correct him.
She took it from him and fanned what had originally been the neck. That actually looked better this way. “So how am I supposed to gain her trust? Saving Rory’s life wasn’t enough?”
“You ask my opinion? Surely the heavens will fall.” His deadpan delivery would’ve worked if not for a cocky grin.
She smacked him with the napkin. “Not funny.”
“You have to go slowly, Kate. Despite what happened with Rory, it will take time to become accustomed to you and your ways. Remember your disbelief when you realized what year it was in my tent?”
That wasn’t all she remembered about his tent. He’d kissed her, turning her world upside down on two fronts. “Good point, but time is something I don’t have a lot of.”
He covered her hands with his. “I know, Kate. My men are working on it. I’ve sent more out to look farther afield for your window.” His thumbs circled on the sensitive skin by her thumb. “I’ll take you hunting tomorrow. It will take your mind off your worries and help you with Cook, too.”
“Unless it’s for murderous thieves, Alex, I’m not all that big into killing things.”
“But ladies in this time are. We’ll go hawking. Your bird will do the killing, and you’ll have something to give to Cook. That will ease her suspicions. Change alarms people, Kate. If we keep with what they know, they’ll come to accept you. And perhaps your ideas, too.”
He had a point. When in Rome—or England as the case may be. “Okay, I’m willing to give it a try. It looked pretty cool yesterday.”
“Yesterday? No one was hawking yesterday.”
“Someone was. In the field across from my room. He had a red-tailed hawk.”
Alex dropped her hands. “No one hunts on my land without my permission. Poaching is a serious offense, Kate. And we don’t have a red-tailed hawk. It was stolen from our mews months ago.”
“Then it was him. The thief. He’s taunting you.”
Alex pounded the table and started pacing. “What’d he look like? Where was he? Where did he go?”
“I don’t know. He was too far away. Dark, baggy clothing. A hat. It could have been anyone.”
“But it was him. He was here.” He cursed again. “My men have been out scouring neighboring lands and the bastard has been here, close by, all along.”
***
Closer than you know, Alex.
He swallowed his laugh beneath the shadowed confines of the stairs. This was almost more fun than the final act he had planned. He’d let Alex suffer a bit longer.
As he had.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, Kate had a late breakfast in the hall after her hunting lesson with Alex. Her peregrine, a beautiful slate-blue bird with a speckled ivory underbelly and eyes like obsidian, had performed well. Thank God, because she’d almost dropped the thing when it’d flown at her carrying a mourning dove with its neck at a ninety-degree angle. She shuddered. No thank you. She preferred her meat from the local grocery store.
One of the dogs by the fire scratched his ear. Another one soon joined in.
Kate sighed. That was one battle she didn’t have a prayer of winning. Alex didn’t see anything wrong with flea-ridden mongrels hanging out where people ate and slept. “Choose your battles, Kate,” he’d said.
She h
ad a whole slew of battles she wouldn’t mind fighting. Not the least of which was this attraction she couldn’t deny.
He’d been too damn perfect during her lesson. Encouraging, helpful, patient… So different from her ex, and that was going to make it that much more painful to leave him.
But, of course, she would. He might be the perfect man, but he was still a fifteenth century one, and she was a twenty-first century woman. The two did not and could not go together.
She just wanted to go home already. Find the window and make it to her appointment. She hated this waiting. Hated this feeling of impotence. She had to do something.
Another dog joined in with the scratching. Another one sorted through the rushes on the floor.
Kate kicked the dried reeds. As far as floor coverings went, she could name a lot more acceptable ones. These things hadn’t been changed in days and were starting to get ripe.
Okay, so she’d get to work changing the rushes. It wasn’t traveling back to her time, or going on a quest for the window, but at least it was something.
Luckily Beatrice walked into the hall just as Kate was about to look for her. “My lady—”
“Beatrice! Just the person I wanted to see. We need change these rushes.”
“Certainly, my lady, but they were changed a few days ago.”
“And have had men with muddy boots tramping over them, servants spilling mead in them, not to mention the dogs.” She glared at the hounds. “Those really need to go. I love animals, but they’re unsanitary to have around the food, not to mention fleas.” She scratched her arm. “And the rushes in William’s room—they’re in really bad shape. My foot sank in up to my ankle.”
Beatrice smiled. “William likes to pour water on them and watch it disappear.”
“All the more reason they should be changed more often. Moldy rushes are the cause of a whole host of breathing maladies.”
“I’ll see to it, my lady, but the ladies have asked if you would join us with the tapestry this afternoon.”
A tapestry. As in sewing. Something with a needle. The last time she’d done that was a macramé class at summer camp and had ended up in the infirmary with ten bandages. She’d given up the hope of learning to knit before Emma arrived.
Emma. Friday’s deadline loomed over her like a storm cloud. What if Alex never found her window? What if she couldn’t go back? What if she was stuck in this god-forsaken time period with no hope of returning—
“My lady?” Beatrice touched her arm. “Are you well?”
No she wasn’t. But since there wasn’t a graceful way to get out of this invitation, she plastered a smile on her face as big and as fake as her engagement ring. “Probably just something I ate that didn’t agree with me.” Given Cook’s lack of hygiene, that might be the truth. “Let’s go to the solar.”
***
Kate was greeted with a chorus of “welcome, my lady”s when she and Beatrice arrived in the chamber as four women looked up from the fabric they were working on, only one of whom looked familiar. She was reminded again of all the responsibility Alex carried as lord of this castle.
“We’re glad you can join us,” said one of the women. Lady Hampton, if Kate remembered correctly.
They wouldn’t be when she bled all over the thing. How the heck was she going to explain her utter inability to sew a straight line?
“You can’t?” asked another woman.
Oops. She’d said that out loud. “Um, well… it’s been so long that I’m not certain I remember how. The sisters felt we could best serve the Lord by… um… nurturing the earth.” Sure, she knew how to garden. “We spent most of our time working to provide food for those less fortunate.” She strove for her best apologetic look.
“An exemplary cause,” said Lady Hampton, pulling another chair into their sewing circle. “But perhaps you could tell us a story instead?.We have heard all of ours many times.”
Points to the woman for diplomacy.
“Certainly. What would you like to hear?”
“A love story,” sighed a young woman to her left.
“Hah! You would remind those of us without husbands of our state, child?” said a crotchety old woman whose gnarled hands did a much better job with the needle than Kate could ever hope to.
“Pay them no mind,” said Lady Hampton. “Mistress Anne has no expectation of romance and wears her bitterness for all to see. Would she but change her disposition, she may find her opportunities greater. And Mary over there—” She pointed to the young romantic. “She is newly married.”
“And free of Wexham, the monster,” said Mistress Anne. “Three wives and twice as many daughters have met with accidents. One wonders what fate would have befallen them had they been male. ‘Tis fortunate our Mary did not wed him.”
“How’d you get out of it—I mean, why didn’t you?” asked Kate.
Mary studiously stitched another couple of stitches. “There was talk of Lady Marston. Her lands are greater than mine.”
“A fact for which you should be thankful,” said Mistress Anne. “And from all your sighing and mooning over your husband, one would assume you have fared well.”
“I have. Even better than I had wished for.” At that, Mary set down her needle and put her hands on her stomach. “And now I shall have someone else to moon over.”
Kate tried to hide the envy at Mary’s announcement while the rest of the women congratulated the mother-to-be. She loved the idea of adopting Emma, but she hoped to one day know what it was like to carry a child.
Lady Hampton clapped her hands. “Now, ladies, ‘tis unseemly to speak of such things until the lady Kathryn marries our lord. Let us hear her story instead.”
“Very well.” Kate folded her hands in her lap. “There once was a girl named Vivian—”
Um, no. Julia Roberts’s character was a hooker in that movie.
Take two. “There once was a girl by the name of… Juliet.” Ah, yes. This was a safe tale and one more in line with their medieval mindset anyway since it was based on the legend of Tristan and Isolde. “Her young man was named Romeo.”
Thank God for her film class graduate assistant that year. They’d watched Olivia Hussey’s Juliet three times that semester so she knew the whole thing by heart and was able to ramble off the famous balcony scene, the family feud, all the accompanying angst, and that pivotal scene in the tomb, without once worrying about any anachronisms. “When Romeo found Juliet in her tomb, he thought she’d died. Hee couldn’t live without her, so he took a vial of poison from his cloak and drank it. Then he fell on top of her, joined forever in death.”
Mary sighed. “I love that story, no matter the names. It’s so romantic.”
“ ‘Tis pure drivel,” said a male voice from the chamber’s entrance.
Kate didn’t have to turn to see who it was. There was no one else with a timbre that made her spine tingle.
“Lord Shelton,” Mistress Anne clucked. “You know better than to visit this hen coop. And eavesdropping, no less.”
“Come now, Mistress Anne.” Alex’s smile took the sting out of his tone. “Surely you don’t begrudge me the company of my intended.”
“ ‘Tis not my place to begrudge you anything, my lord.”
Alex smiled again and Kate felt her stomach twirl. The man did have a potent smile.
And touch. And kiss…
“Then, by your leave, Mistress Anne, I shall spirit my lady Katherine from your good company.” He nodded at the women. “Good day, Lady Carlton. Lady Hampton. Lady Arden.”
“Lady Arden?” Kate squeaked as she left the room. “Lady Mary Arden?”
Alex nodded.
“But… but… Uh oh.” Kate caught her toe as they headed into the corridor and she stumbled.
Alex caught her arm. “What troubles you, Kate?”
That troubled her. One touch and her knees threatened to give out again in a way that had nothing to do with her stumbling.
She flounced her skirts
to dislodge his hand. She needed a clear head so she wouldn’t make things worse, but, geez, talk about a gaff… “I messed up, Alex. Somewhere in the future, Mary Arden’s son or grandson is going to become a famous playwright and I’ve just given her one of his most famous works.”
“That nonsense about lovers killing themselves? I can’t believe the man will be successful with such a story.” A tallow candle in the sconce on the wall flickered as Alex walked past. Drafty place.
“Trust me. William Shakespeare will become one of the most famous writers ever with that story.” She blew out a breath. “What if she’d been someone else? Mary Poe. Or Mary Chaucer. Mary Shelley. I really need to get home before I cause any more trouble. Any word on the window? And what about the gypsies? Did we find them yet? What if we never find them, Alex? What if I’m stuck here?” The panic attack was back, and it didn’t look like it was going to leave anytime soon. Kind of like her.
“Don’t fear, Kate. You will go back.”
“How can you be so sure? We’ve made zero progress on that front.”
“Kate, do you believe that all of this, you finding my ring, your friend coming here, the window disappearing, do you think it is mere happenstance?”
“Of course it is. It has to be. You can’t tell me you think this is fate, do you? No control over our own destiny?”
“There is coincidence and there is Fate. This is another thing altogether.”
“What, witchcraft?”
Alex grimaced. “Don’t jest about such things. No, Kate, I believe your situation may be the work of a higher power.”
She put her hands on her hips. Poor God; he got blamed for so much. “What? He doesn’t have enough to do that He’s going to rearrange some century markers in His spare time? I highly doubt that, Alex.”
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