He stared at her, horrified by the notion. “Nay!”
She rolled her eyes. “Robert, this is what I do—or did—in my other life, in my time, in the future. I tracked down criminals.”
“And were nigh killed doing so,” he reminded her.
“That was a freak, onetime thing.”
“I care not. You will not accompany me.”
“I’ll be careful,” she promised. “I’ll wear my vest. I’ll carry my weapons. I’ll—”
“You will remain here within Fosterly’s gates, where I know you will be safe,” he intoned, unmoving.
She considered him a moment.
Did she think she could change his mind?
“Last night you said you liked my independent spirit,” she reminded him.
“I do.” Mayhap more than he should. “But indulging it in this instance would mean risking your life. You are neither proficient in our methods of fighting nor confident on the back of a horse. Should you need to flee swiftly, you would not be able to do so.”
She smiled wryly. “In other words, I would be a liability.”
He frowned. “A what?”
“A hindrance.”
Aye, but he did not wish to say it and injure her feelings. So he shook his head instead. “I will not risk your coming to harm.”
“Fine,” she conceded grudgingly. “I won’t go. This time. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
He smiled. “I will.”
She frowned, acquiring a rather adorable petulant expression. “What should I do while you’re gone? I’m not used to being idle. If I hadn’t been so busy obsessing over the whole time-travel thing the past couple of weeks, the sitting around doing nothing would’ve killed me.”
He shrugged. “Do as you wish. I meant it when I said I want you to make Fosterly your home. Mayhap you would like to take command of the servants and put the kitchen in order. I know its current state displeases you, as does the fare. You have eaten little since your arrival.”
“You can blame that on a fear of botulism.”
Robert did not know what that meant, but suspected it again revolved around the state of either the kitchen or the fare. “You are welcome to make whatever changes you desire.”
She chewed her lip. “Any changes? Really?”
“Any changes that do not involve moving stone,” he cautioned, only half in jest. “I would prefer that my walls remain where they are.” He could almost see her mind working as she considered the possibilities.
“Will the servants listen to me?” she asked. “I’m a complete stranger, after all.”
“Of course they will. I shall ensure that they do ere I depart.”
“And by ensure you mean what exactly?”
He grinned. “I will not beat them or threaten them, if that is what you are imagining in that violent mind of yours. I will simply inform them that they are to follow your orders as though they were my own and that by pleasing you they will please me.”
Doubt pursed her lips. “That’s it? Just I want you to do what she tells you to and they’ll jump to do my bidding?”
“Aye.”
“They don’t even know me, Robert.”
“They will. And, until they do, they know you are important to me.”
Color crept into her cheeks. “You mean they know we, ah…”
“Made love?”
“Yes.”
“Nay, sweetling. They do not, although I fear ’twill not remain a secret for very long.”
“Then why would they think I’m important to you, if they don’t know?”
He tucked a lock of sleep-snarled hair behind her ear. “Word of the embrace we shared last night in the bailey will have spread to every ear ere you have broken your fast.”
“It was just a hug.”
He raised her hand to his lips for a tender kiss. “Men and women of my time do not express affection so freely in the presence of others.”
She snorted. “I beg to differ. A couple of nights ago on my way to the garderobe, I heard moaning coming from the shadows and—”
“Let me rephrase that,” he hastened to interrupt. “Men and women of the nobility do not express affection for each other so freely. Even husbands and wives share only the most innocent of touches when not alone.”
“Oh.” A moment passed. “Does that mean your brother and his wife don’t touch in public?”
He laughed. “They are an exception. Dillon has great difficulty keeping his hands off his sweet wife and has raised many an eyebrow—as well as inspired a number of tart criticisms and jealous murmurs from the women—with his open pursuit of her. Their circumstances are a bit different, however.” The two were wed. And both were feared by so many that none would dare to openly criticize them.
Beth’s brow puckered. “Should I not have hugged you like that last night, Robert?”
“What?”
“You said everyone is going to be talking about it, and that things are different with Dillon and Alyssa. I thought maybe you were trying to tell me that you didn’t like it, or that I shouldn’t do it again because—”
“Do it again,” he inserted.
“What?”
Leaning forward, he pressed a warm kiss to her lips. “Do it again,” he repeated softly. “I care not who approves or disapproves. Were I to receive such a greeting each time I returned home, I would forever be a happy man.” While he thought it best to keep the people of Fosterly from knowing he had bedded her, he found himself unwilling to forgo all of her gestures of affection. He craved them too much.
“In that case,” she murmured with a smile, “’twill be my pleasure.”
He rewarded her with a longer, deeper, heat-inducing kiss that left them both groaning in frustration when he forced himself to pull away. “I must go.”
She nodded, clinging to his hand a moment longer before releasing him. “Be careful.”
“And you as well.” Rising, he adopted a stern expression and pointed an authoritative finger at her. “Do not slay any of my people whilst I am away, my fair warrioress.”
She responded with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “All right. If you insist.”
Chuckling, he pulled the tapestry aside and slipped back to his room.
Chapter Thirteen
As it turned out, Robert had exaggerated the ease with which Beth would begin her new life at Fosterly. She didn’t think he had done it on purpose. His expectations regarding his servants just didn’t pan out the way he had said they would.
Not that it really surprised Beth.
Robert seemed to have sincerely believed the servants would accede to Beth’s wishes and carry out her requests without questioning them or giving her a hard time.
Unfortunately, that ended up being quite a miscalculation.
After Robert’s departure, she rested for a couple of hours to make up for a sleepless night of lovemaking.
No complaints there.
Then, wanting to make a good impression on the people of Fosterly, she carefully donned more of Alyssa’s clothing.
There were two parts to the gown, if that’s what it was called. The first was a fairly shapeless, cream-colored dress that was shaped like a great big T. Beth pulled that on over her head, glad it was shapeless or she wouldn’t have been able to tug it down over her shoulders and hips. (She had taken the stretchy materials of the twenty-first century too much for granted.)
Next came a rust-colored kirtle decorated with elaborate hand-stitched, cream-colored embroidery. The sleeves fit fairly tight until halfway down her forearm, then widened dramatically, falling almost to the floor. The kirtle laced up the back like the others she had worn, necessitating the help of a maid she flagged down outside her door. The hem fell t
o the tops of her boots. A gold belt looped around her waist and hung low on her hips.
Though the overall effect was pretty, it really just made her miss her comfy jeans and tank tops.
Once dressed, Beth made her way down to the kitchen, unsure what to expect.
It took her very little time to realize that Robert’s servants fell into two categories. The majority of the servants were just as Robert had predicted—eager to please him by pleasing her. Admittedly, they were a bit wary of her differences, probably because she had made such a spectacle of herself that first day, crawling around looking for electrical outlets, but offered no complaints when she explained what she wanted to accomplish and how she would like them to help.
Her strange speech didn’t seem to concern them overly. She had learned since arriving at Fosterly that, although the peasants spoke English, the nobility often spoke French, which seemed weird to Beth, considering they were in England. Apparently some members of the nobility—those who lived up to the ugly reputations given them by several of the period piece movies she had seen—refused to speak English at all, even if they knew it, causing communication problems for which the servants were more often than not blamed.
So the servants of Fosterly appeared pleased that she spoke English, albeit an English that was different from the one to which they were accustomed. She tried extra hard not to insert too many modern words, but still had to repeat herself periodically.
Beth didn’t mind, as it helped her gain an even better grasp of Middle English. It was pretty fascinating, seeing just how much the English language had changed in eight hundred years.
Michael helped. He remained nearby all day. Beth didn’t know if Robert had ordered him to watch over her or if Michael had volunteered for the duty, but she appreciated his attempts to help her convert modern to medieval slang whenever she slipped, if he understood it. The children were particularly tickled when such happened.
Enlisting their aid in correcting her pronunciation astounded, amused, and eventually made Beth’s helpers warm right up to her. They even shared a few laughs over it.
Most of them did, anyway.
The second group of servants quickly became a problem.
There were only a handful of them, all women around Beth’s age. In appearance, they ranged from average to pretty, tall to short, slender to plump. Vocally they ranged from stonily silent to obnoxiously outspoken. One characteristic they all shared, however, was their resentment of Beth and Robert’s obvious affection for her.
The one Beth quickly came to think of as the leader of the group boasted long, dark blond hair, pale blue eyes, and substantial—if a bit saggy, despite her youth—breasts. Her name was Alice.
According to Michael, the kitchen was a relatively new structure that had been attached to the great hall shortly after Robert took command of Fosterly. The kitchen had formerly been located across the bailey, which made Beth think the inhabitants of the keep must not have had many hot meals if the servants had been forced to lug the food that distance through snow and rain.
Beth considered the kitchen’s being a new addition something of a blessing. She hated to think of the sooty, grimy buildup that would have covered its walls and surfaces if it were as old as the rest of the keep.
Not that it was filthy. It just really needed a good scouring with modern disinfectant cleaners.
Since those were not available, she ordered all supplies and foodstuffs removed to the great hall until the walls, floors, tables, stools, cauldrons, kettles, utensils and everything else the kitchen contained could be scrubbed thoroughly with the harshest soap available. Most of the men, women, and children were busily engaged in doing just that when a spate of harsh, angry whispers sounded behind her.
The room abruptly went silent.
Beth looked up from the sack she had been hesitantly peering into, hoping she wouldn’t find any rodents or insects peering back, and found herself surrounded by an exhibition of statues and statuettes whose eyes regarded her with varying degrees of shock and horror.
“What?” As she glanced at the frozen faces around her, their gazes slid away from hers. “What did I miss?”
“’Tis naught to concern yourself with, my lady,” Maude, a plump woman who looked to be in her fifties, offered briskly. Maude had behaved in a warm, almost motherly fashion toward Beth from the instant they had met, bustling around and directing the servants in carrying out her wishes.
Now displeasure pinched her round, time-worn features as she glared at Alice.
Beth looked at the troublesome blonde, whose stance screamed stubborn defiance, then back at Maude. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“As I said, my lady, ’tis naught. Some here do not know their place is all.”
Alice muttered something beneath her breath that made her comrades snicker. A little boy near her gasped and stared at Beth with wide eyes. Michael straightened away from the wall he had been propping up, his eyebrows lowering in a suspicious frown.
Her hackles rising, Beth crossed to stand a few feet in front of the much taller woman. “I didn’t quite catch that. Would you care to repeat it?”
Lips clamped shut, Alice glared at her mutinously. Unbridled anger oozed from her sapphire gaze. That and a certain grating smugness.
“If you have something to say to me,” Beth told her, “I suggest you say it to my face instead of behind my back like a coward.”
“I am no coward!” the woman hissed, swallowing the bait. “I said I know my place and ’tis not serving Lord Robert’s whore!”
Michael lunged forward with a furious growl.
Beth planted a hand on his chest before he could storm past her. “Let me handle this, Michael.” She kept her tone neutral, her expression calm and her manner unruffled, though she snarled and growled a bit on the inside.
Keeping her gaze on Alice, she raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
An unattractive sneer twisted the woman’s face. “All here know you share his bed.”
“Really,” Beth commented, letting her tone drop on the second syllable. “Well, since I’m pretty sure the earl doesn’t invite you all to sleep in his chamber every night, I suppose that means you can see through wood and stone? Or do you forego sleep and keep your ear pressed to his door instead?”
“We need not be there to know ’tis true,” Alice declared disparagingly. “We have all seen the way you throw yourself at him like a camp follower. ’Tis obvious he was bedding you long afore you arrived at Fosterly.”
“You deceitful slut!” Maude shouted furiously. “’Tis not true and you know it! She was a virgin ere last night! You saw the sheets yourself!” As soon as the words left her lips, the older woman gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh! Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean… I only thought to… Oh, dear!”
Michael groaned.
Lovely. Beth had never tried so hard in her life to suppress a blush. “Be that as it may, what business is it of yours, Alice?”
The blonde’s face darkened as Beth continued.
“Lord Robert is the earl. Fosterly is his. And all who inhabit it are subject to his authority. Is that not correct?”
“You have it aright, my lady,” Michael spoke behind her, barely restrained by the hand she still pressed to his chest.
“Lord Robert asked me to set his kitchen to rights,” Beth said. “He also said that my will is his will and that to please him”—she took a step forward and stared Alice directly in the eye, uncaring that she had to look up to do so—“you will have to please me.”
“You will not last!” Alice screeched. “You will never please him the way I do. He will tire of you quickly. Then he will come back to me. He always comes back to me!”
A fist fastened itself around Beth’s heart and slowly began to squeeze.
Alice and Robert had been lovers?
Michael took a step closer, ready to interfere. “You dare to—!”
“Shut up, Michael. I’m handling this,” Beth snapped, then gritted her teeth. Damn it. Don’t show any reaction. Don’t let her see that she’s rattled you.
And she had. Vivid images of Robert and Alice making love filled her mind as a primitive urge to do violence rose up within her.
Jealousy, rage, and insecurity all buffeted her as she stood there, outwardly impassive.
Wait a minute. What was she doing, taking this woman’s word that Robert had slept with her? Josh had taught her better than that.
While all of the other occupants of the kitchen waited amidst a fascinated hush, Beth examined Alice and the situation as objectively as possible, then drew the only conclusion she could, knowing Robert as she did.
Her eyes on Alice, Beth shook her head, a slow, steady wagging from side to side. One corner of her lips she lifted in a patronizing smile as she released Michael and folded her arms across her chest. When next she spoke, she infused her words with condescending amusement. “You’ve never shared Robert’s bed.”
Alice’s lips tightened. “I have. Lord Robert has sought me out many ti—”
“Not even once,” Beth interrupted. “You’re not his type.”
Michael grunted. “Aye. Lying bitches in heat do not appeal to him.”
Male laughter and female giggles and snickers filled the room.
Alice’s face twisted with rage as she leapt forward.
Beth didn’t know who the intended target was—herself or Michael. She simply reacted according to all of the self-defense drills Josh had put her through.
Dodging to one side, Beth grabbed Alice’s wrist, knocked her off-balance, and—seconds later—pinned her to the floor, facedown, with one arm twisted up behind her back and Beth’s foot planted firmly between her shoulder blades.
While their audience gaped, Alice struggled in vain for several seconds, most likely believing her size would give her the advantage, then subsided as Beth forced the woman’s captive arm up a fraction higher.
Rendezvous With Yesterday Page 24