Rendezvous With Yesterday

by Dianne Duvall

  “You’d think differently if you could see yourself right now,” she retorted.

  “It was lies. All lies. I promise you.”

  “I’ll go along with that.” Whatever would lessen his fury.

  “Alyssa is all that is good in this world,” he vowed fervently. “She is kind and thoughtful and beautiful. As beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside.”

  Beth frowned, her steps slowing. Wait. What?

  “She has devoted her life to aiding others,” he continued, “healing them and bringing them back from the brink of death time after time, with no care for the pain it causes her. Only once has she lifted a finger to harm another. And despite what you may have heard, it was in defense of her own life when the villain tried to plunge a dagger into her breast. Her soul is pure and innocent, free of any taint of evil. And I know of no other who would sacrifice so much for so little.”

  Beth stopped.

  Robert no longer stalked her, too consumed now with listing this other woman’s virtues, rambling on and on about how good she was and how beautiful and wonderful.

  Beth’s blood began to boil as he continued to praise his precious Alyssa, whom she hadn’t even mentioned, damn it.

  “I am certain Father Markham would be more than happy to correct any notions you may have to the contrary,” Robert informed her. “She is sweet and generous and…”

  He made this Alyssa sound like a bloody saint! A wholesome, generous, spiritually perfect, physically exquisite saint. The man was in love with her!

  And it made Beth want to scream, which she did when Robert continued to gush over his goddess’s virtues. “Who the hell is Alyssa and what the hell does she have to do with anything?” she bellowed, unable to take any more of the torture.

  Robert stopped mid-sentence. Startled into silence, he took a step backward and lost his scowl. “What?”

  “I said, who… the hell… is Alyssa?”

  Though not as deep, his scowl returned as he propped his hands on his hips. “What game do you play, Beth? You asked me about her yourself.”

  “I did not! You just started gushing over her. Who is she?”

  “You know who she—”

  “Is she your wife?” she demanded furiously. “Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” When she recalled how he had held her and kissed her and let her snuggle up to him in bed when he’d been married all along, it made her want to explode. What, was the woman away visiting family or something?

  “I am not wed,” he denied.

  “But you want to be, don’t you? Are you engaged? Is that it? You’re engaged or betrothed or however the hell you want to put it?”

  “Betrothed to whom?”

  “To Alyssa!”

  “Alyssa is my brother’s wife.”

  Oh, this just got worse and worse. “You’re sleeping with your brother’s wife? How could you, Robert?”

  “I am not! I did not!”

  “But you want to! You love her, don’t you?”

  “Nay! Aye! That is, I—”

  She took a combative step toward him. “You put me in your mistress’s room and dressed me in your mistress’s clothing?”

  “Alyssa is not my mistress!”

  “But you just said you want her to be!”

  “I did not! Why are you shouting at me?”

  “Because I’m jeal-ous!”

  She roared the last word so loudly—lengthening and extending it in almost a growl—that the people down in the great hall probably heard her.

  Beth drew in a deep breath and struggled to bring her fury under control.

  “Robert,” she said, making her voice low and even the way he had, “so help me if you don’t wipe that grin off your face, I am going to wipe it off for you. And that is not a threat you should take lightly.”

  The grin fled, replaced by sparkling eyes and a look of innocence she found equally aggravating.

  “I’m warning you…”

  “I am not grinning,” he protested. His lips twitched.

  “That does it.”

  Robert caught her fist before it could connect with his nose and brought her white-knuckled fingers to his lips for a kiss. “Beth,” he said tenderly, foiling her attempts to withdraw her hand, “Alyssa is my sister by marriage, but I love her as if she were my sister by blood. ’Tis all there is to it. I assure you there is naught”—he gave her fist a little shake—“in my relationship with her that should inspire jealousy, nor has there ever been. Verily, there was a time when I treated her most abominably because I thought her a wicked sorceress.”

  Beth did not doubt his sincerity.

  The anger left her in a rush. “Oh.” When Robert pulled her into his arms, she tucked her head beneath his chin. “That makes me feel both better and worse at the same time.”

  His lips touched her forehead. “I know why you feel better…”

  “If you tell anyone I threw a jealous temper tantrum, I will deny it unequivocally.”

  He chuckled. “As you will. Now tell me why you feel worse.”

  “Because, when I asked if you thought witches should be burned at the stake…”

  “Aye?”

  “I wasn’t talking about Alyssa the Magnificent.” Okay, it might take a little longer for her jealousy to subside. “I was talking about myself.”

  His head came up. “You?”

  “Yes. Aye.” Thank goodness Robert seemed to have a knack for languages, too, because her Middle English tended to slip quite a bit when her emotions ran high. Or when she was tired. Or rattled.

  In the short time she had known him, he had already learned quite a few of her modern words and was becoming pretty adept at deciphering her accent and occasional mispronunciations. Michael, Stephen, Adam and Marcus were, too.

  “Are you telling me you are a witch, Beth?” Robert asked now.

  “No, I’m not. I’m really not.”

  “If you are, you need not worry. I have a particular fondness for witches and wisewomen.”

  Ire rose once more.

  “Nay, do not stiffen up on me,” he said, giving her an affectionate shake. “I already assured you my feelings for Alyssa are merely those of a brother.”

  “I’m not a witch, Robert. I just asked you that because I’m afraid that once I tell you where I come from, you will think I’m a witch.”

  He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I will not turn from you, Beth. Whatever secrets your past may hold, I will always be here for you… to seek comfort from… or to scuffle with…”

  She grinned.

  “Or to ply with kisses.”

  “Is that a hint?”

  “Just planting the notion for later.” Turning her in his arms, he placed a hand on her lower back and guided her back toward the hearth. “Indulge me now ere I let you distract me again. I would have you fret over this no more.”

  Anxiety returning, Beth waited while he arranged the two chairs so they faced each other with only a few feet separating them. He seated her in one, then lowered himself into the other.

  Robert leaned back casually, his face open and expectant. His knees were comfortably splayed, his big feet planted on the floor, his tanned, long-fingered hands laced upon his flat, muscled abdomen.

  He looked good enough to eat.

  “Oops. Sorry,” she said without thinking, her eyes flying up to meet his.

  “For what?”

  “I just had another naughty thought.”

  “Beth.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean to. I was just looking at you and it popped into my head.”

  He groaned, dropping his head back against the chair, which only fired Beth’s imagination more.

  Closing her eyes, she pressed h
er fingertips to her temples. “Okay. Give me a second to banish the image, then I’ll get started.”

  It took longer than a second.

  She opened her eyes.

  Robert sent her a smile. “Ready?”

  She nodded. “I guess I’ll start by asking you another question.”

  “As you will.”

  “When were you born?”

  “I was born in the year of our Lord eleven hundred and seventy-three.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Holy crap,” she whispered. He had been born in the twelfth century. The twelfth freaking century!

  Robert’s smile faded. “You seem surprised.”

  “I am.” The twelfth century for crying out loud!

  His brow puckered. “You think me old?” He shifted slightly. “I have no gray hairs yet and—”

  “No! No-no-no. I don’t think you’re old, Robert. It isn’t that.” Perhaps it would help if her eyes weren’t wide and her mouth didn’t hang open. It obviously made the poor guy self-conscious. But the twelfth century? Really? She hadn’t realized just how far back she had traveled. “What is today’s date?”

  “’Tis the fifth of June.”

  Leaning forward, Beth tucked her hands between her knees. “The whole date, please.”

  His expression went blank. “’Tis the fifth day of June in the year of our Lord twelve hundred and three.”

  “Twelve hundred and three,” she repeated softly. 1203. The beginning of the thirteenth century.

  Robert waited patiently as she mulled it all over. Beth had known him long enough to realize that the total lack of expression on his face was an indication of concern.

  What was he thinking?

  What would he think when she spelled it all out for him?

  Her hands grew clammy. “The day you found me in the forest, after I woke up in that clearing…,” she began.

  “Aye?”

  Please, let him believe me. “The day Josh and I were shot, and I collapsed and thought I was dying…”

  He nodded, watching her closely.

  “Robert, when I passed out in that clearing, I was in the twenty-first century.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Beth held her breath, awaiting Robert’s reaction.

  He said nothing. He made no sound at all, offering not even a grunt of acknowledgment.

  Did he not understand?

  “What I’m trying to say is, I’m not only from another continent, I’m from another time. I’m from eight hundred years in the future.”

  Robert just stared at her, unmoving.

  The silence stretched.

  Her anxiety mushroomed.

  Just when she thought she would scream from the tension of it, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

  Tugging her hands free, he clasped them in his own and locked gazes with her. “Beth, I wish to ask you a question.”

  Just one? Were she in his place, she would ask hundreds. “Okay.”

  “In the other clearing you spoke of, the one with your brother…”

  “Aye?”

  “When your wounds felled you, did you strike your head when you hit the ground?”

  A laugh full of despair tumbled from her lips. “Oh, Robert, don’t you think I wish it were that simple? Yes, I bumped my head on the ground, but not hard. Or rather not hard enough. It didn’t give me amnesia. I know damned well who I am and where I’m from, even though I know how crazy it sounds.”

  Rising, she began to pace the large chamber. “It didn’t give me a concussion either. And even if it had, a concussion couldn’t explain this.” She gestured to the room around them as well as the world outside the windows. “Concussions may cause confusion or make it difficult to think clearly, but I’ve never heard anyone mention massive hallucinations. And this is way too detailed, not to mention historically accurate, for a delusion or a hallucination anyway.” She shook her head. “I thought it was a delusion when I saw your castle and the village for the first time. I mean, it felt real. But I just couldn’t believe that it was, because it didn’t make sense and shouldn’t be possible. Then you brought me here and I couldn’t deny it anymore, because people just don’t live like this in my time, Robert. I know there is hunger and poverty every damned place you go, but let’s face it. Anyone who could afford to buy or build a castle this size could also afford to install electricity and indoor plumbing. And their servants would all be paid by the hour.”

  “By the hour!” He looked astounded.

  “Yes, by the hour.”

  “I have not the coin to pay all those who work for me so richly!”

  “Look, I didn’t say that to insult you. It’s just… feudalism ended a long time ago. This way of life no longer exists in my time. Not in America, where I’m from. And not in England.” She frowned. “Not that I know that much about England, in all honesty. But I guarantee you no one over there, or rather here, but in the future, would be willing to labor for nothing.”

  Robert stiffened. “My people do not toil for naught. Though recent events may have made it appear otherwise, I offer each and every one of them my protection.”

  Beth abruptly stopped pacing. She hadn’t meant to upset him. “I know you do.”

  “And they may have starved under the rule of my predecessor. But since Fosterly came into my possession, not one of them has gone hungry. I—”

  “Robert, I know.” She gave him a smile full of the tenderness she felt for him, hoping to eradicate his belligerent expression. “I know. I’ve watched you with them. I know how much they love you and how well you care for them. You almost treat them as if they are part of your family.” Again she frowned. “Which is really weird. You aren’t at all what I expected a medieval nobleman to be like. I thought they were mostly narcissistic jackasses who treated peasants like dirt and ran around molesting and forcing themselves on all of the women and girls who weren’t born with a title. And in some cases, I’m sure, the boys.”

  His eyes widened. Because he had never heard of noblemen behaving so vilely? Or because he was shocked that she knew of such things? Was Robert the exception to the rule? Or had Hollywood and some of the history programs she had watched gotten it wrong?

  “Is your brother like you?” Beth didn’t realize until the question popped out that she was curious about Robert’s family.

  “Hmm?”

  “Your brother. Is he like you? Does he treat his people like family the way you do?”

  “Nay, though I often think he would if given the chance.”

  She didn’t bother to hide her distaste. “So, he impregnates all of his serving girls and—”

  Robert released a short bark of laughter. “Nay. Not Dillon. His desire lies only with his winsome wife. And I can say with nigh absolute certainty that my squire has bedded more women than my brother had ere he wed.”

  Beth stared. “You mean Marcus? He’s just a boy!”

  Robert chuckled. “That boy has many admirers who fight every night over who will share his pallet. Whereas Dillon…” He tilted his head to one side. “I believe my brother had precious little knowledge of women and intimacy ere Alyssa stole his heart. Which is not to say he went to his marriage bed a virgin,” he hastened to add. “He merely rarely indulged those needs as far as I could tell.” His look turned thoughtful. “I never understood it, really. He is wealthy and powerful. Women think him handsome. They must have offered themselves to him fairly frequently.”

  “But he declined?”

  “Aye. I know not why. And he refused to discuss it despite my prodding. I admit it troubled me.”

  “Why? I think it’s admirable that he exercised a little self-restraint. Goodness knows other men don’t.”

  Robert shook his head. “’Tis not a little self
-restraint I speak of. My brother was nigh as chaste as a monk. Did I not know better, I would have thought he had sworn some vow of celibacy.”

  “Is that so bad?”

  “I thought so at the time. He lived such a solitary existence and was always so solemn. Surely he could have benefitted from a little tenderness and love play. But whenever I would encourage him to tumble one comely wench or another, he would find an excuse not to.”

  Beth bit her lip. “Did you ever think that maybe he might have some trouble in that area?”

  His lips curled up in that familiar, handsome smile. “Alyssa was already carrying their first child when they spoke their vows.”

  “Oh.” She smiled back. “Well, I guess that answers that.”

  Robert nodded, his pleasure with the outcome plain to see. “He is happy now. Far happier than I ever dreamed he could be. It gladdens my heart to hear him laugh so often.”

  Yet, something didn’t quite click for Beth. “If he’s so happy, why does he treat his people badly?”

  Robert looked surprised. “He does not.”

  “I thought you said—”

  “His circumstances differ, Beth,” he interrupted. “Dillon is one of the most feared warriors in all of England. On the continent, as well. Those who followed Lionheart and King Philip in the crusades were all witness to Dillon’s ferocity on the battlefield.”

  “You’re talking about Richard Lionheart, aren’t you? As in King Richard?”

  “Aye.” He perked up a bit. “You recall him now? You knew him not when last I spoke of him.”

  “What can I say? History isn’t my strongest subject. All those dates and names. I’m doing good to remember American history.” She shrugged. “As far as England’s history goes, unless it was in a movie, in a novel, on the news, in a History Channel program, or mentioned by my mom and her medieval literature cronies, chances are good that I don’t know it.”

  His face went slack with patent disbelief. “We speak of King Richard! He perished only four years ago!”