He had broached the subject of gifted ones once or twice since Beth had revealed whence she came, hoping to ease any fears rumor might inspire and prepare her for her inevitable first encounter with Dillon and Alyssa.
Beth had expressed not fear, but fascination. So much fascination that he suspected she would not have believed that there were men and women capable of performing such feats as healing a wound with a touch or moving objects with his or her mind if anyone else had told her. Beth had said she had never heard of such outside of what she called fiction, which he believed might be similar to minstrel tales invented to entertain. So he had assumed that no gifted ones lived in her time and that whatever miracle had brought her back through time had also healed her wounds.
But the day she had fallen, she had seen a man in black robes with long midnight hair.
That man had been with her ere she had lost consciousness.
And when she had awoken, she had found herself in Robert’s time.
Though most of the gifted ones Robert knew were women—Alyssa, her mother, her grandmother, her cousin—Robert knew two or three were men. One of them, Dillon referred to as the giant. He stood at least a head taller than Robert and seemed to possess more knowledge and power than all of the others combined. But Robert had never seen his face or hair.
Alyssa’s brother, however, was another. And his hair was long and black, just as Beth had described.
Alyssa had never divulged what special gifts her brother possessed. But she and her grandmother could both heal with a touch of their hands, so would it not be unreasonable to think Sir Geoffrey could heal as well?
Was it possible his gifts also enabled him to traverse time?
“Please,” Robert whispered. There must be some other explanation. Any other explanation.
For, if Sir Geoffrey had brought Beth back to Robert’s time, he could return her to the future.
And, in so doing, would leave her forever beyond Robert’s reach.
Chapter Fifteen
“Well?” Beth prompted suddenly, a little worried by Robert’s pensive expression. They had ridden in silence for some time now.
He glanced over at her. “What?”
Stephen and Marcus rode behind them, with Adam and Michael bringing up the rear.
She motioned to the gentle mare beneath her. “Aren’t you going to compliment me on my superior riding skills?”
His lips twitched. “You are indeed a superior rider,” he praised with mock solemnity.
Grinning, she blew him a kiss. “Flattery will get you everything.”
He quirked a brow. “Although, were you at all concerned with propriety, you would ride turned to one side, rather than riding astride.”
Beth bit back a laugh. His jaw had dropped a bit when she had climbed atop the horse and straddled it, her gown rucking up to her knees and leaving the legs she had talked him into shaving for her bare. All she wore beneath were the black panties he loved so much. And she had thought, for a moment, that he would rip his cloak in his haste to remove it, throw it across her lap and cover her.
“I think men just want women to ride sidesaddle because you’re afraid we’ll show you up,” she taunted. She didn’t think they called it sidesaddle yet, but they had become surprisingly adept at translating her modern speech, so she suspected they would catch her meaning.
Stephen, of course, took the bait. “Do you imply we fear you will best us?” he asked with some affront.
“Absolutely,” she affirmed. “If women were allowed to ride astride, you men would eat our dust.”
Stephen snorted. “Aside or astride. If one is skilled, it makes no difference.”
“Oh, yeah? Have you ever ridden sidesaddle?”
“Do I look like a woman to you?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” she countered.
“Beth,” Robert cautioned as thunderclouds darkened the scruffy knight’s features.
Grinning unrepentantly, she tossed him a wink. “I can’t help it. He’s such an easy mark.”
“What is a mark?” Marcus asked.
“A target,” Beth clarified.
Robert’s lips twitched.
“Who is an easy target?” Stephen barked.
“You are,” Michael pointed out dryly.
Stephen grumbled something beneath his breath.
Beth laughed. “Adam wanted to teach me to ride sidesaddle,” she told Robert. “But I refused.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” he asked with a shake of his head.
“Because you adore my independent spirit?” she quipped.
“Ahhh. You did tell me to keep that in mind, did you not?” he responded with a smile.
Good. She was happy to see his mood lighten.
Quiet descended as they continued their journey.
Birdsong, the occasional hum of insects, and the sounds of small creatures scuttling about out of sight filled the air around them. This place and time was a nature lover’s paradise. Trees abounded, so tall their tips seemed to pierce the cottony clouds that drifted above them. Their leaves bore a deep healthy green color.
Closing her eyes, Beth drew in a deep cleansing breath. And the air was fresh and sweet. So much better than the stale, polluted air of Houston and so many other twenty-first-century cities.
An hour or so passed.
Every once in a while, just to keep things interesting, Beth would aggravate Stephen. It was becoming something of a hobby for her and seemed to amuse the others.
“My lady?” Marcus asked her. “Is it true that you were a warrior in your homeland?”
A warrior? “I guess you could say that.”
“Your menfolk allowed this?” Stephen groused.
She laughed. “They didn’t have much choice.”
Robert snorted, his lips curling up in a faint smile. “You had them wrapped around your little finger, did you not?”
Beth grinned. “Absolutely.”
Marcus regarded her with some amazement. “Verily, your father did not object?”
Beth reached over to give Robert’s arm a squeeze, then fell back to ride beside his squire, displacing Stephen, who joined Adam and Michael behind them.
The sun’s warm rays shone down upon them as they left the trees and entered a clearing roughly the size of a football field. Colorful wildflowers bobbed between tall, feathery grasses, infusing the air with a heady perfume. Dense green forest surrounded the meadow like stadium seats. A light cool breeze wove between the trees and set all into gentle, rolling motion.
So beautiful.
“Actually, my father did object,” she admitted. “He didn’t want me to have any part of bounty hunting. He thought it was too dangerous and wanted to keep me safe. But he died before I was old enough to decide for myself.”
Stephen grunted. “’Twas not your decision to make.”
Beth’s hackles rose. “Hey, where I come from—”
Fwuh-thmp.
Beth jerked her head back as something flew past her nose. Beside her, Marcus’s horse made an abrupt restive movement.
She turned to ask Marcus what it meant and felt her stomach sink like a stone. “Marcus!”
His face tight with pain, the squire gritted his teeth and gripped one thigh just above an arrow that was embedded in it.
The other men drew their swords.
Fwuh-thmp.
Beth cried out as a second arrow struck Marcus in his shoulder.
His face blanched. His body began to sway backward.
Beth lunged toward him and gripped his tunic to keep him from falling.
Men erupted from the forest on the opposite side of the clearing, their shouts answered by the warriors at her side.
Panic r
ose. Beth didn’t think she would be able to keep Marcus upright much longer. He might be young, but he still outweighed her by a good sixty or seventy pounds. “Robert!”
“Get to the trees!” Robert urged her.
She tossed a frantic glance over her shoulder.
What appeared to be a limitless number of men poured from the forest, all on foot. Their rough features twisted and contorted as they bellowed battle cries and thrust their swords high.
Michael, Stephen, and Adam raced toward them, the hooves of their horses rumbling and sending clods of dirt flying.
Another arrow flew from the trees beyond the attackers and narrowly missed Beth.
Robert swore foully, his look turning murderous. “Now, Beth! Hie yourself back to Fosterly and do not stop until you are safely within its gates!”
Perhaps Beth shouldn’t have exaggerated her skills as a horsewoman earlier. For when three men fought their way past Michael, Stephen, and Adam, Robert did the only thing she supposed he could’ve done to protect her. He slapped the rump of her horse to get her moving, then dug his heels into his own mount and tore off to meet the men halfway.
Regrettably, Beth’s balance—as she attempted to aid Marcus—was precarious at best.
As the mare beneath her sprang forward, Beth tumbled out of the saddle.
Marcus went with her and somehow managed to hit the ground first, cushioning her fall as she sprawled atop him, breaking one of the arrow shafts in half.
“Ahhh!”
Beth winced. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” She hastily sought a place to put her hands that wouldn’t cause him further harm so she could lever herself off of him.
Fwuh-thitt.
Both of them froze when an arrow impaled the grass barely a foot from their faces.
“My lady, please,” Marcus bit out urgently, gritting his teeth as he gripped her arms.
Heart pounding, adrenaline whipping through her, Beth scrambled off of him.
Robert and the others fought the marauders a good thirty or forty yards away. The formerly beautiful clearing was already awash with red, the wildflowers’ fragrance befouled by the odors of sweat and death and the metallic scent of blood. Sunlight winked off of flashing swords as bodies writhed in a battle so surreal she could hardly absorb it all.
“My lady, please,” Marcus repeated, trying to drag her around behind him as he sat up with a growl of pain. “You must get to the trees, where the arrows cannot find you.”
Just as she located Robert, an arrow narrowly missed him.
Terror clutched her heart. Robert!
Shrugging off Marcus’s hold, Beth parked her butt on the ground by his feet. “Tell me where they’re coming from,” she ordered, yanking her skirts up to her thighs.
Marcus’s eyes flew wide. “My lady!”
The heels of her boots digging into the soft soil, her knees pointing skyward, she began to fumble with the holster she had donned beneath her dress. “Where are the arrows coming from?” she demanded. “I need you to watch and tell me exactly where they exit the trees.” Damn it! Frustrated, Beth yanked her skirts up to her waist, not caring who saw her black panties. She had to get her 9mm out and take down that damned archer!
Ignoring Marcus’s scandalized regard and his constant attempts to drag himself in front of her and serve as her shield, she focused on getting her fingers to stop shaking long enough to liberate her weapon and protect Robert.
Finally!
“My lady—”
“Keep your eyes on the trees!” she snapped.
Yanking the semiautomatic from the holster, she flicked off the safety.
Marcus grabbed her arm and tried to keep her from rising.
Beth would have none of it. Shoving her skirts down, she gained her feet and faced the battle.
Fwuh-thitt. An arrow pierced the grass where she had been sitting.
“Where did it come from? Did you see it?” She wrapped both hands around the grip and raised the Ruger.
The clearing wavered, seemed to change.
Shaking her head, she blinked hard.
For a moment, it looked smaller, the foliage around her drier. Another body—that of her brother—lay before her. Another villain waited in the foliage across from her. Another ambush threatened to take all from her.
“My lady!”
Something tugged at her skirts, nearly toppling her. Scowling, she braced her feet farther apart. “Damn it, Josh, just tell me where the shooter is!”
She spared the boy at her feet a quick glance.
Why was Marcus looking at her so strangely?
“Where is he?” she bellowed, out of patience.
He pointed. “There. Above Sir Michael’s head. Mayhap ten hands higher.”
Aiming accordingly, Beth squinted down the barrel and waited. Another arrow sailed from the trees, a little to the left of where she watched. Making the necessary adjustments, Beth squeezed the trigger.
Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow!
Marcus flinched and threw his hands up to cover his ears.
Every horse in the clearing bolted.
Birds abandoned the trees in droves, screeching in alarm.
All fighting ceased as men ducked and looked wildly up at a sky that carried no storm clouds capable of producing such thunder.
Wide eyes rolled. Gazes searched the clearing.
As echoes of the gunshots faded, a body crashed through the trees’ foliage and landed with a thud on the ground.
The archer had fallen.
Robert spun around to look at Beth.
Instead of being safely on her way back to Fosterly, she stood on the opposite side of the clearing, feet braced apart, clutching one of her odd weapons with both hands at arm’s length. One side of her skirt was caught up on her hip, leaving one long, shapely limb exposed.
Marcus lay at her feet, his hands cupped over his ears as he stared up at her with wide eyes and gaping mouth.
A quick look to either side told Robert his men had also guessed ’twas Beth who had felled the archer.
And ’twas Beth who had spawned the terrifying thunder.
Those they fought gradually turned their gazes in her direction as well. Mutters soon swelled, rising on the wind. Several crossed themselves.
Robert took swift advantage of their attackers’ distraction and disarmed as many as he could. Michael, Stephen, and Adam joined in. The fighting began anew and soon grew as fierce as it had been before the interruption, though the tide at last began to turn in their favor.
Four men met their end at the tip of Robert’s sword, then a fifth. The number of those still combating them thinned. As Robert swung his blade at a sixth opponent, he heard something that sent shards of ice slicing through his veins.
Above the grunts and groans and shouts and sounds of weapons clashing, Beth’s voice rang out. “Don’t! Stay back!”
Robert looked in her direction.
His opponent’s sword penetrated the chain mail covering his left biceps and pierced flesh. But the pain of his wound could not compare with the fear and fury that seized Robert when he saw two men racing toward Beth.
Only one other time had Robert been accused of going into a berserker’s rage, killing any and all in his path without pausing to determine whether they were friend or foe. Then, he had been struggling to reach his dying brother’s side. Now, as the red haze overtook him, he roared and began to cut a swath to Beth, dispatching any man foolish enough to get in his way.
“I mean it!” Beth yelled in a very un-Beth-like shriek. “Don’t make me kill you!”
Marcus struggled to his feet at her side, sword drawn, ready to give his life to protect her.
Robert never slowed his pace. As the last man be
fore him fell, Robert realized he would never reach Beth in time.
The two villains were nigh upon her.
He glanced down, then transferred his sword to his left hand and grabbed the battle-axe his last opponent had dropped. Drawing his right arm back, he prepared to throw it.
Pow!
Flames flashed from the tip of Beth’s weapon.
One of the two men running toward her jerked to a halt as a hole appeared between his bushy eyebrows and flesh burst from the back of his head. The other man stopped short and gawked as his friend dropped limply to the ground, eyes staring sightlessly up at the sky.
Once again stillness fell over the clearing.
Robert stared, his heart slamming against his ribs.
Just what manner of weapon did Beth wield?
Though everything within him urged him to go to her, Robert instead watched long enough to ensure the second man would not attack her, then resumed the battle.
In short order, he and his men disarmed and restrained the remainder of the marauders. More than one tried to flee, but met with no success.
Marcus restrained the man closest to Beth. That one seemed too afraid to move while her witch’s weapon was pointed at him.
Once Marcus herded the man over to join the rest, the young squire returned to Beth and sank weakly to the ground at her feet.
Robert didn’t think Beth had noticed. She said nothing, just kept staring down at the man she had slain.
The danger now past, Robert strode toward her, his sword still in his left hand, the battle axe in his right.
Just as he was about to call her name, the greenery behind her parted.
A man limped forward, hunched over, the front of his filthy leather armor wet with blood, his blond hair befouled by dirt. His young face twisted with rage as his lips stretched into a sneer that revealed teeth stained crimson. He held one arm, bent at an odd angle, close to his side. The other awkwardly cradled a crossbow, which the man raised under Robert’s horrified gaze.
“Beth!”
Rendezvous With Yesterday Page 28