Rendezvous With Yesterday

by Dianne Duvall

  A score or more of men appeared beyond the edge of the keep, jogging along the curtain wall. Unevenly spaced. Led by a squire. All but one of the men had doffed his armor. That one tossed aside his heavy gambeson even as Dillon watched. Several nigh the back looked as though they might drop from exhaustion at any moment.

  Squinting, he thought he recognized Sir Stephen and Sir Adam just before the group disappeared behind the armory.

  Bewildered, Dillon looked around the bailey. No one present engaged in their usual daily labors. Instead, as the runners came back into view, everyone jumped up and down, shrieking and shouting. The men and boys yelled encouragement to the soldiers, calling out names and confirming that two of them were indeed Sir Adam and Sir Stephen. The women and girls praised…

  Dillon straightened.

  They cheered for Lady Bethany.

  Mouth falling open, he realized the squire leading the pack was not a squire at all, but a woman roughly Alyssa’s size.

  Her slender form was clad in braies and a tunic belted tightly around her narrow waist. Her feet were encased in mannish boots, her long brown hair pulled back in such a way that it resembled a horse’s tail that bounced and jounced with every step. Damp curls sprang loose to surround what, even from this distance, appeared to be a pretty, though flushed face.

  This was the woman his brother intended to wed?

  A shrill, ear-piercing whistle split the air beside him as the group neared the barbican.

  Cringing, Dillon gaped at his brother, who grinned widely as he waved to the woman.

  Waving back, she smiled and shouted in oddly accented English, “Hi, sweetie! It will not be long now!”

  The men behind them all groaned.

  Robert laughed and—to Dillon’s complete and utter astonishment—blew the woman a kiss.

  The crowd’s cheering and goading continued until the group disappeared around the eastern corner of the keep.

  Two men staggered around the western corner, dropped to their knees, then sprawled backward on the grass, gasping for air.

  “Robert,” Dillon said.

  “Aye?”

  “Explain.”

  Chuckling, Robert clapped him on the back and guided him over to the steps, where Michael and Marcus made room for him.

  Dillon nodded to both as he settled himself beside his brother.

  “Beth wants to train in swordplay alongside the squires,” Robert began.

  Dillon grunted. Alyssa would like her then. His wife had ridden into battle at Dillon’s side many times and would appreciate any woman who wished to do the same for Robert.

  “Faudron and some of the men objected rather strenuously. I was about to intervene when Beth suggested they protested because they feared she would be better than them or show them up as she put it.”

  She thought she could defeat them?

  Michael laughed. “I thought Faudron’s head would burst.”

  “Which roused their anger enough,” Robert drawled, “that Faudron fell right into her lovely clutches and agreed when she challenged him to an endurance contest of her choice. Beth chose running and invited any man who wished to participate to join them. Most of the knights, men at arms, and squires agreed at Faudron’s insistence. I wisely declined.” He nodded to the men around them. “Anyone who stops to catch his breath is disqualified.”

  “And if she is the last one standing?” Dillon asked.

  “Faudron must train her.”

  He frowned. “How many times have they been around?”

  Robert shrugged. “I have lost count.” When Dillon curled his lip at the exhausted men around them, Robert gave him a hard shove. “I will hear no censure from you, brother. I train my men as vigorously as you do your own.”

  “Then how is it a woman has bested so many?”

  Marcus muttered, “I would say naught disparaging about women in front of Lady Bethany were I you, my lord.”

  Dillon arched a brow.

  Michael grinned. “She is stronger than she appears and has the heart of a true warrior. I can attest to that myself.”

  Robert smiled as he looked to the west. “In truth, she never ceases to amaze me.”

  Dillon had never seen his brother so besotted. Was he in love with this Lady Bethany?

  Who was she? And how did her presence at Fosterly tie in with Alyssa’s troubled dreams? Would she be the catalyst that would bring about Robert’s demise?

  “Tell me more of this woman,” he murmured, looking to the west with the others.

  “In good time, brother. I feel no desire to repeat myself and would rather delay the tale until Alyssa has arrived. For now, let us enjoy the entertainment.”

  Unsettled by the somber undertones in Robert’s lightly spoken words, Dillon agreed.

  The entertainment lasted another hour. The group of runners slowly dwindled to Lady Bethany, Faudron, Adam and Stephen. When Stephen ceded the battle and staggered over to join them on the steps, Dillon expected a slew of expletives to fly from his lips as soon as he regained his breath. But the crusty knight surprised him, expressing only admiration.

  Faudron faltered next, too winded to spew any curses or objections.

  Then, at last, Adam tottered, swayed drunkenly, and drew to a halt. Bending over, he shook his head and braced his hands on his knees while he drew in great gasping breaths.

  For one brief moment, silence reigned in the bailey. Then the men all groaned and the women burst into loud cheers, jumping up and down and embracing each other.

  Still running, Lady Bethany glanced over her shoulder. A huge grin split her damp face when she saw Adam. Throwing her hands up in the air, she shouted, “Woohoo! I am woman! Hear me roar!” and jogged over to the assembly of females.

  Every one of them seemed to adore her. The children chattered and tugged on her tunic while their mothers and sisters took her hand or patted her on the shoulder, congratulating her.

  “I did it, Alice!” Lady Bethany declared with a grin.

  “Well done, my lady!” an unusually tall woman praised with a broad smile, then leaned down to embrace her.

  As with Robert, there was none of the usual distance between noble and villein. No aloofness on Lady Bethany’s part. Nay, they behaved like one large, happy family.

  Robert, Michael, Stephen, and Marcus began to whistle, applaud, and praise Lady Bethany.

  Many of the men she had bested did the same.

  Dillon rose alongside Robert and watched his brother descend the stairs and stroll forward.

  At once, Lady Bethany broke away from the women, skipped toward him, and launched herself into his arms. Bright, tinkling laughter escaped her as Robert spun her around in a tight circle ere he allowed her feet to touch the ground. Ducking his head, Robert spoke something into her ear that Dillon was too far away to hear. Lady Bethany laughed and locked her arms around his neck, leaning her body fully into his.

  Dillon glanced around to gauge the response of the other occupants of Fosterly’s bailey. ’Twas a highly improper embrace the unwed couple shared so openly. Yet most onlookers either smiled indulgently or paid no attention, as though ’twas a common occurrence.

  Stunned, he looked back in time to see Lady Bethany reach up, clasp a fistful of hair atop Robert’s head, and playfully rock his head from side to side. Robert grinned and pressed his forehead to hers. Her hand drifted down, stroked his cheek as he rubbed noses with her. Their words grew quieter as he drew her even closer, lifted her onto her toes, then kissed her. Deeply. Thoroughly. One hand drifting down her back and coming dangerously close to her bottom. Pulling her even tighter against him.

  Dillon could practically feel the heat from where he stood as the couple’s passion flared.

  And still those in the bailey paid them
no heed.

  Dillon looked at Michael, who appeared to be struggling not to laugh at the shock that must be written across his face.

  “They tend to forget the rest of us when they are in each other’s presence.”

  Dillon could not remember the last time he had been so confounded.

  Descending the steps, he wished Alyssa were there to see it.

  Robert looped his arm around Lady Bethany’s waist and guided her forward. “Beth, sweetling, this is my brother Dillon, Earl of Westcott.”

  Strange that he spoke English instead of French.

  Dillon waited for the usual cringing, terror-filled reaction his name roused.

  Instead, her face brightened as she stared up at him with open curiosity. “You’re Dillon? Wow. It’s wonderful to meet you.” She spoke with an accent he had never encountered before. Still breathing heavily from her run, she thrust out her right hand. “Robert has told me so much about you.” Leaning forward, she winked up at him and said as one would to a fellow conspirator, “Only good things, of course.”

  Dillon would have raised her fingers to his lips, but as soon as he touched her, she clasped his hand firmly in hers and began to pump it up and down.

  Discomfited, he looked from their hands to Robert, who shrugged sheepishly, then back to Beth. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you as well, my lady.”

  Wrinkling her nose, she waved her free hand. “Please, call me Beth.”

  “As you wish. Might I congratulate you on your victory, Lady Beth?”

  She released his hand. “Just Beth. You don’t have to be formal with me. And thank you. I hope you will forgive my appearance.” Tugging self-consciously on her sweat-dampened tunic, she eyed Robert balefully and nudged him with her hip. “Robert neglected to tell me you were arriving today. Had I known, I would have postponed the race.”

  Robert held his hands up in surrender. “I knew not he would arrive so swiftly. I thought ’twould take him another two or three days.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Fascinated, Dillon studied the two. He had never seen his brother behave so with a woman. As though she were both friend and lover.

  As though Beth were to Robert everything that Alyssa was to Dillon.

  “You must be weary,” Dillon commented.

  She sent the men around them a wicked smile. “Not as weary as some people I know.”

  When the men groaned, she laughed and leaned into Robert’s side. Robert draped his arm around her shoulders and smiled down at her as he toyed with loose tendrils of her hair.

  “I can’t help it,” she admitted gleefully. “They were all so smug when the race began. I have to rub it in a little.”

  Though some of her words confused him, Dillon caught her meaning and fought a smile. “You are the victor. I believe a little boasting is allowed.”

  She laughed. “Just between you and me, it wasn’t a fair contest. I run the Houston marathon every year, so I knew I would win before the race even began.”

  Houston marathon? What was that? And whence came this Lady Bethany? Why was her speech so peculiar, as if she tossed the words of some foreign language in with the English?

  “My lady,” Edward called from the top of the stairs.

  Beth grinned up at him. “I won, Edward!”

  He offered her a proud smile. “I knew you would, my lady.”

  Grinning, she hugged Robert, who kissed the top of her head.

  “I took the liberty of having a bath prepared for you in the solar,” Edward informed her.

  She started to reply, then cast Dillon an uncertain look. “Would you think me rude if I took advantage of that and left you men to talk or whatever?”

  Again it took him a moment to find the meaning in some of her words. “Nay. Mayhap by the time you have bathed and rested, my wife will have arrived.”

  “Oh.” All laughter deserted her. “Sure. I’ll meet Lady Alyssa when I come down then.” Stepping past him, she climbed the stairs.

  Dillon could not help but notice his brother looked equally pensive.

  Why did Alyssa’s impending arrival disturb them both so?

  Beth bit her lip as she regarded the kirtles spread across the bed. She really wanted to look her best tonight when she met Alyssa and saw Dillon again.

  Cringing, she tried not to remember how rumpled and sweaty and reeky she had been when Robert had introduced her to his brother. Dillon was probably downstairs right now, questioning Robert’s sanity and trying to talk some sense into him.

  She groaned. At least she wouldn’t have to meet them in Alyssa’s borrowed clothing. Robert had arranged for several dresses to be made for her that fit her well.

  Undecided, Beth continued to survey the array of gowns before her. They were all very pretty, though rather uncomfortable for a woman who was more accustomed to wearing jeans or shorts and clothing made from nice stretchy fabrics. Toying with the belt on Robert’s robe, which she had donned after her bath, she narrowed the decision down to either the green or the red one.

  “Are you well, my lady?”

  Beth turned to Alice, who stood near the door.

  Once the two had become friends, Alice had asked if she could serve as Beth’s handmaiden.

  Beth had thought that might be something along the lines of a personal maid, and had wanted to balk. She just wasn’t comfortable with having someone wait on her and perform tasks she was fully capable of performing herself. But she had needed someone to help her dress and undress when Robert wasn’t around. And Alice had looked so hopeful.

  “My lady?” Alice prodded gently, collecting the towels Beth had tossed on a trunk after her bath.

  “I’m fine,” Beth answered, mustering a smile as she motioned to the bed. “I just can’t decide what to wear. Which kirtle do you like the best?”

  Alice looked past her at the bed. “I like the green one.” She smiled. “But that is only because green is my favorite color. I think the red would look beautiful against your dark hair.”

  Robert entered the solar.

  “Finally!” Beth exclaimed.

  Alice bobbed a curtsy, then slipped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

  Hurrying over to give Robert a quick peck on the cheek, Beth took his hand and pulled him toward the bed. “I want to make sure I look my best tonight, but can’t decide what to wear. What do you think?”

  His brow crinkled. “Beth, there is no reason for you to be nervous.”

  “Aye, there is. I want to make a good impression.” She grimaced. “Or at least a better impression. Was your brother totally offended by my looking like a boy and shaking his hand?”

  “Nay, he was intrigued.” Amusement sifted into his handsome face. “And no matter your garb, you could never look like a boy, sweetling.”

  Beth rolled her eyes. “I was wearing Marcus’s old clothes.”

  Robert’s face darkened. “And do not think the men failed to notice how tight the tunic fit across your breasts or how it and the braies hugged your lovely bottom. Those who ran behind you will receive a grueling punishment on the morrow once I drag their weary carcasses onto the practice field.”

  “They were all running behind me, honey.”

  His eyes narrowed dangerously. “I know.”

  Laughing, Beth motioned to the bed. “So, which one?”

  “The red is my favorite.”

  “Red it is. Would you please help me dress?”

  Nodding, he set about dressing her as efficiently as Alice would.

  Beth couldn’t decide whether his being so adept at getting a woman in and out of her clothes was a good thing or a bad thing. Clearly, he had had a lot of practice.

  Quiet descended as he laced her up. He offered none of his usual playful leers
or teasing touches. Nor did he suggest that they forego dinner and feast on each other instead.

  Kneeling in front of her, he straightened a portion of her hem that had folded back.

  “Well?” Beth plucked at one long sleeve. “How do I look?”

  He stared up at her, his gaze traveling slowly from her dainty slippers up to the hair that fell down her back in long, loose curls.

  “I have never seen a more beautiful woman in my life,” he whispered, his deep voice hoarse.

  Beth cupped his face in one hand, her heart turning over in her breast. There were times when the love she felt for him overwhelmed her with its depth and intensity.

  Robert turned his face and nuzzled her palm.

  “I love you, Robert.”

  Still on his knees, he leaned into her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  Beth stroked his hair as he buried his face between her breasts and held her tightly, almost desperately.

  Unease sifted through her.

  Something was wrong. She had felt it for days now. Between his usual bouts of passion and playfulness, Robert had grown increasingly preoccupied, as though some problem weighed heavily on his mind.

  Her mouth went dry. Beth swallowed. “Have you changed your mind?” she asked softly.

  “About the red?” he mumbled, his warm breath heating the valley between her breasts.

  “Nay. About marrying me.”

  Leaning back a bit, he frowned up at her. “Why would you ask that?”

  She shrugged. “I know I must have embarrassed you earlier and—” She broke off when he loosened his hold long enough to rise and press two fingers to her lips.

  “Beth, love, if I could live forever, my only wish would be that I might spend eternity with you by my side as my wife and that you would always love me in return.”

  Reaching up, she stroked his cheek, rough with stubble no matter how often he shaved. “I do love you, Robert. Enough to know that something is troubling you. What is it? Talk to me. Let me help you.”

  He closed his eyes. Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to hers. He rested his hands on her waist, his fingers gently caressing her as though he couldn’t help himself.