Rendezvous With Yesterday

by Dianne Duvall

  She nodded, fingers fondling his whiskers.

  “Beth, I wish to spend every night with you as we have this one.”

  She bit back a laugh. “I’ll bet you do. I do, too.”

  “And I want you by my side every day,” he continued earnestly, “touching and kissing me freely, scandalizing any who care to watch, aggravating me, making me laugh and making me happy in a way I did not think I could ever be again.”

  Her heart began to pound as he continued, both his tone and expression somber.

  “I love you, Beth.”

  Elation filled her.

  “In the short time you have been here,” he said before she could respond, “you have become as important to me as the air I breathe.” Pressing another kiss to her palm, he pressed her hand against his chest above his heart. “Will you marry me?”

  For a moment, warmth and wonder filled her, expanding her chest and making her heart race. Then something like pain ripped through her, shredding the happiness she so wanted to grasp.

  A lump rose in her throat. She squeezed her eyes closed.

  Robert’s heart beat abnormally fast beneath her palm as he awaited her response. She heard him swallow hard, waiting for her to speak.

  “Robert,” she whispered, her voice and heart breaking, unable to find the words she needed.

  Robert wrapped his arms around her and drew her face to his chest. “’Tis all right, love. I have your answer.” Though his voice was gentle, sorrow weighted it. His chin came to rest atop her head as he smoothed her hair with one large palm.

  How could he comfort her like this when he thought she had just rejected him?

  As Beth fought to hold back the tears that threatened, she felt the hand at her back clench into a fist around the covers. Every muscle pressed against her tensed as he fought the pain of the wound she had just inflicted.

  Why? she wondered desperately. Why had they not been born in the same time?

  His time. Her time. It didn’t matter which.

  Why had she only found him after she had watched her brother fall?

  Why had she been brought here to find love when her uncertain future left her unable to claim it?

  Why did she have to hurt Robert when she only wanted to make him happy?

  Struggling to find her voice, she leaned back and looked up at him, regret piercing her like needles when she saw his face. “You know I love you,” she whispered brokenly.

  His shattered cerulean eyes avoided hers.

  Her heart clenched. “Robert.” Grasping his chin, she forced him to meet her gaze. “I love you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  “Yet you do not wish to be my wife.”

  She shook her head. “I do wish to be your wife. But, Robert, we don’t even know how long I will be here. For all we know, I might wake up tomorrow back in the twenty-first century.”

  “All the more reason to take what time we may have together.”

  “I can’t do that. I can’t marry you, knowing that I might leave you at any moment. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “I will not keep you here against your will.”

  Beth frowned. “What?”

  Robert’s jaw clenched. “What I meant to say is, I want whatever time we have together to be spent as man and wife. If, after we speak our vows, you should find a way to return to your time and desire to do so, I will not force you to stay with me. I want you to be happy, Beth. I know you miss the comforts of your time and—”

  Anger suffused her. “Are you kidding me?” she demanded, her sorrow evaporating. Sitting up, she yanked the covers away from him and tucked them up under her arms to cover her breasts. “You think indoor plumbing and air-conditioning and-and-and freaking rocky road ice cream mean more to me than you do? You think that is why I didn’t say yes?”

  Robert sat up slowly, brow furrowing. “I—”

  “If it weren’t for Josh,” she raged, “I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if I returned to my time!”

  His eyebrows flew up.

  Had her language surprised him? Or the temper he had sparked?

  Beth didn’t know and really didn’t care. “Those things,” she ranted, her voice rising with each breath, “don’t mean squat to me if you aren’t there to share them with me!”

  “Beth—”

  “Which is not to say that I won’t try to make changes if I end up staying here, because that garderobe is just not working for me, Robert. I mean, we are seriously going to have to do something about that.”

  “Beth—”

  “But I’m not so shallow that I’d give you up for a hot shower or chocolate or satellite television or whatever the hell else you think I can’t live without. I can’t live without you, damn it! I’m going to be miserable if I go back to my time and have to spend the rest of my life without you!”

  “Sweetling—”

  “I know I don’t fit in here. I keep forgetting to omit modern slang and sometimes can’t find medieval equivalents for modern words, so my Middle English probably ends up sounding more like Spanglish to you. And I shake men’s hands and curse when I’m pissed off and do a hundred other things wrong every day. But that doesn’t mean that I—”

  Robert abruptly cupped her face in both hands and pulled her mouth to his.

  Caught off-balance, Beth tumbled forward against him as he plundered her lips. Desire rose, swift and strong, commanding her to bury her fingers in his hair and press her breasts to his chest.

  Robert softened the kiss and drew back.

  Beth stared up at him, her body already tingling.

  “Wait.” She frowned, her anger not yet spent. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t think you can distract me by—”

  Again Robert took her lips with his own, seducing and devouring as though he were converting all of the hurt he felt at her refusal into pure lust.

  When next he pulled back, her breath came as quickly as his own.

  “Okay,” she admitted hoarsely. “You win. You made me lose my train of thought.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Will you listen to me now?”

  She nodded. Relinquishing her hold on him (the man was just too tempting), she scooted back to place a little distance between them.

  He hesitated a moment. “I loved another in my youth, Beth.”

  A heavy weight lodged itself in her chest. She had expected him to start enumerating all of the reasons he thought they should marry, not make a confession that sucked all of the air out of her lungs. He had loved another?

  “When?” she asked. “How long ago?”

  “I was ten and eight.” Robert shifted until he sat with his back cushioned by their pillows. “Come here, love, and let me hold you.”

  She did feel a sudden need to cling to him, as though whatever he intended to reveal might tear him away from her.

  Beth snuggled up against his side. “Who was she?”

  “I was squire to Lord Edmund. She was a handmaiden and a year younger than I.”

  “Was she pretty?” Though it was totally irrelevant, she couldn’t help but ask.

  “Aye, she was. In truth, she was somewhat similar to you in appearance, small and dark haired. But she lacked your strength.”

  “What do you mean? Like physically?” She doubted the women here spent whatever free time they managed to find doing yoga and running marathons.

  “Aye. She was plumper and had not honed her muscles to perfection as you have.”

  “Thank you.” Beth didn’t think medieval women were as body conscious as women in the future were. At least, the peasant women weren’t. Any muscles built here were built through manual labor.

  “And, too, she lacked your strength of will,” Robert continued. “Eleanor was a timid girl, her feelings easily inj
ured by a mistress cruel enough to take advantage.” His voice hardened at the end.

  “Why are you telling me this, Robert?”

  “I wanted to wed her, Beth. It mattered not to me that I was nobly born and she was not. I wanted her for my wife. Even more so after she bore me a son.”

  Beth bolted upright. “You have a son? You’re a father?” How had she not known that?

  He tugged her back into his arms. “Let me finish.”

  Her imagination exploded with images of a child-sized Robert racing about as she rapidly estimated the boy’s age and bit her lip to keep from asking Robert where he was. Didn’t they foster children out or send them off to be raised by someone else in medieval times?

  “Eleanor was afraid to wed me. The countess knew of the love we shared and took great delight in filling Eleanor’s innocent ears with horrific tales of the torture she would endure at the hands of my family, were I to take her home with me.”

  Beth frowned. “What kind of crap is that?”

  Robert shook his head. “Had she not already heard rumors of Dillon’s cruelty—”

  “I thought you said—”

  “He is not.”

  “Oh.”

  “Bounteous gossip said otherwise, however, and reached Eleanor’s ears ere the countess poisoned them further. It took me until two months after our son Gabriel was born to convince her that all would be well if she returned to Westcott with me.”

  “I don’t get it. Why did the countess want to prevent your marriage? Did she want you for herself or something?” He was pretty damned irresistible.

  “Nay,” he said, his voice like flint. “She simply thrived on the wretchedness of others. The countess was never so happy as when those around her, including her husband, were miserable. Even had the differences in our stations not been an issue, she would have sought ways to prevent Eleanor and me from finding happiness together. And she delighted in spreading foul rumors and speaking poorly of others.”

  “Oh. One of those.” Beth had met people like that in the past. There seemed to be far too many of them in the world. “Robert, I’m beneath your station. Why wouldn’t it be a problem with me?”

  “Because all will believe me when I tell them you are a noblewoman from another land.”

  Beth considered that. “With no way to disprove it, I suppose they would take your word for it?”

  “Aye.”

  “So what happened with Eleanor? Did you marry her?”

  Robert tightened his arms around her and took a deep breath. “Nay. Eleanor and Gabriel both drowned three days after she agreed to return to Westcott with me.”

  Shock swept through her. “Oh, no. Oh, Robert.” Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged him tight. “I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she whispered.

  His hands fisted in her hair. “I have always regretted not wedding her when we had the chance,” he said, voice thick. “I do not wish you to leave me with the same regrets, Beth. Whether you remain here with me in this century or return to your own time, I want you for my wife. I love you.”

  Nodding, Beth wished in that moment that she would not have to leave. “I’ll marry you, Robert,” she agreed softly.

  His arms tightened around her. “Because you pity me?”

  Beth leaned back so she could look him in the eye. “Because you’re right. Because I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. And, whatever happens, I don’t want to have any regrets.” Reaching up, she cupped his lean, stubbled jaw in her hand. “Because I love you and want you to be my husband.” She pressed a light kiss to his lips. “I want your face to be the first one I see in the morning when I wake up and the last one I see at night before I fall asleep. And I want your voice to be the first and last I hear every day we have together.”

  Turning his head, he kissed her palm. “I love you, Beth.”

  “Always.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Every living thing fled in terror as the Earl of Westcott and his massive destrier tore through the village toward Fosterly. Women crossed themselves. Children froze in place, watching his approach with round eyes until their mothers scurried forward, wrapped them in protective arms, and led them safely out of sight. Men trembled, ducked their heads, and breathed sighs of relief once he had passed.

  Dillon was accustomed to their fear. ’Twas the same everywhere he traveled. Even the damned minstrels sang tales of his ferocity and savagery on the battlefield, exaggerating them to include monstrous acts off the field that fascinated and horrified listeners and reduced most to shaking, stuttering lumps in Dillon’s presence.

  Such had only worsened since he had wed a woman whose supposed sorcery terrified even the king.

  Slowing, he scrutinized Fosterly’s curtain wall.

  The usual number of guards stood atop it. The gate was raised, the drawbridge lowered. He could find naught to indicate that any kind of catastrophe had befallen them, yet his stomach still knotted with tension.

  A few nights earlier, Alyssa’s sobs had awoken him. Still a prisoner of her nightmare, his wife had not roused until he had shaken her gently, then wrapped his arms around her and held her close to calm her. He had known ’twas grave when she had hesitated to tell him her dream. But he had not expected the worst.

  She had dreamed of Robert’s death.

  And her dreams foretold the future.

  Alyssa had tried to reassure him in her usual manner. Death in dreams more oft than not represents change, much like hallways represent transition.

  And when it does not mean change? he had countered.

  She had looked away with furrowed brow, heightening his fears.

  The next morning, as they had packed horses and a wagon in the bailey, preparing to leave with two score men, a young messenger from Fosterly had arrived. Dillon’s stomach had sunk like a stone. He feared he had inadvertently frightened the boy in his haste to tear the missive from his trembling fingers and read it, expecting news of his brother’s death.

  Instead, there had been an oddly curt request for their presence penned by Robert himself.

  Dillon scowled as he approached the gate.

  Fosterly’s guards offered no protest as he crossed the drawbridge and rode through the barbican. The men guarding the gate bowed nervous greetings as he passed, too tongue-tied to speak. All wore Fosterly’s coat of arms, so at least the keep had not been taken by another.

  Or so he thought, until he entered the bailey and saw the bodies strewn across the ground.

  Alarm and adrenaline surging through his veins, Dillon drew his sword and prepared to fight.

  Naught happened. No one attacked.

  Cautiously, he lowered his sword. Guiding his horse forward, he studied the dead.

  They lay in various stages of dress. Some in full armor. Some garbed only in tunics, braies, and hose. Others somewhere in between, as if someone had scavenged a piece of armor here and another piece there after they had fallen.

  None bore bloodstains. Dillon’s sharp gaze could locate no apparent wounds. No weapons either. And, as he looked more closely, apparently no dead.

  The men all lived.

  Many of them lay like the dead, exhausted and gasping for breath. But they lived.

  What in hell had happened? Had some illness befallen Fosterly?

  Laughter drew his attention to the keep.

  Relief poured through him when Dillon spotted Robert, fully clothed and armored, sprawled comfortably on the steps. A substantial number of his warriors, only partially garbed like the others, surrounded him, including Sir Michael.

  The rest of the bailey nigh the donjon was crowded with serfs, who strangely had divided themselves into two groups according to gender.

  Growing more and more puzzled, Dillon dismounted, barely noticing the quaki
ng man who crept forward to take the reins from him. Dillon scowled as he sheathed his sword and approached the steps.

  Some of the men attempted to straighten when they saw him, then gave up and fell backward, still huffing.

  Leaning back on his elbows, looking happier and more relaxed than Dillon had seen him in years, Robert finally noticed his brother’s arrival.

  “Dillon!” Blue eyes sparkling, his smile widening, he leapt up, hopped down the last few steps and drew him into a rough hug. “I did not think you would arrive so soon.”

  His fears temporarily assuaged, Dillon pounded his younger brother on the back, then kissed both cheeks. Damn, but he looked good. Not at all like he knocked at death’s door. “What has transpired here?” He motioned to the men around them.

  Robert grinned. “A contest of sorts. The men you see here have all failed in their quest for victory.”

  Those closest to them either flushed or cursed. One muttered beneath his breath.

  Robert laughed and dealt that one a soft kick to the ribs. “She warned you not to underestimate her.”

  The man groaned and rubbed his side, feigning pain. “I shall never doubt her again, my lord.”

  Dillon pounced on the word that most piqued his interest. “Her?”

  Robert nodded. “Lady Bethany, the woman I intend to wed.”

  Astonishment rendered Dillon mute.

  Robert laughed and slapped him on the back. “Shocked you, did I? I am eager for you to meet her, brother. You will love her as we all do.” His brow furrowing suddenly, Robert peered over Dillon’s shoulder. “Where is Alyssa? Did she not accompany you?”

  Still reeling, Dillon almost missed the anxiety that stole into his brother’s voice.

  What was this, then? Robert almost sounded as if he hoped Dillon had come alone. “I rode ahead. She and the rest of our party will be along in a few hours.”

  Something like resignation clouded his brother’s features. Then cheering and shouting broke out all around them. And Robert’s face lit up as he looked to the west.

  Dillon followed his gaze.