“I would,” Robert insisted. “You are a worthy opponent who would give even my brother a challenge.”
“Wow,” Beth said. “That is high praise indeed, Marc.”
Incredibly, Marc blushed an even darker crimson.
“Wait,” she said, straightening. “You’re speaking Middle English.”
Marc nodded. “I’m a member of a reenactment group.”
Her mouth fell open. “You are?”
“Aye.”
“Wow. It must be one of those really fanatical ones if you learned to speak Middle English.”
Robert grinned at Marc. “She thought I was a member of such when she first met me.”
Marc laughed.
“Hey, Robert?” Beth remarked casually.
“Aye?”
“Have I told you how hot you look in jeans?”
He had learned that hot in her time did not always refer to temperature. “You have.”
She looked at Marc. “You look hot, too, by the way.”
Marc darted Robert a nervous glance.
He smiled wryly. “Beth has already assured me that I am the only man who is hot in a way that makes her want to tear my clothes off and have her way with me.”
“Something I would love to do right now,” Beth said, grinning mischievously, “but I have news.” Skipping forward, she clapped her hands rapidly in the manner of a child who has been promised a sweet and was fairly bursting with excitement. “Guess what! Guess what! Guess what!”
Thoroughly charmed, Robert grinned back. “What?”
“I’m pregnant!” Then, squealing, she jumped up and threw herself into his arms.
The sword Robert held clattered to the floor as he caught her. Shock rippled through him. “What?”
She laughed. “I’m pregnant! You’re going to be a daddy!”
Joy swept through him as her words sank in. Squeezing her closer, he spun her around in a circle. A babe! Beth was carrying his babe. Their babe. Their son or daughter.
Setting her on her feet, he covered her face with kisses, then hugged her close again.
A happy smile wreathed her face when he released her.
“Congratulations,” Marc said, smiling as he pulled her into a hug, then offered his hand to Robert.
Robert shook it and thanked him, his heart full.
“I don’t know why I was so surprised when Doctor Cohen told me,” Beth said, taking Robert’s hand and swinging it back and forth between them. “I mean, it wasn’t like we were using birth control or anything. But you could have knocked me over with a polo mallet! No wonder I’ve been crying so much lately. I thought it was just stress.”
Marc laughed.
Robert shook his head.
“You are pleased, aren’t you?” she asked him.
“More than I can say.” Spinning her into his arms, her back to his front, Robert rested both hands on her tummy.
She smiled up at him over her shoulder and placed her hands atop his. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, sweetling.”
“Now give me your sword,” she went on in the same dulcet tones. “I want to see just how good Marc is.”
Beth took Robert’s sword.
“You can wield a sword, Beth?” Marc asked.
She laughed. “Hell, yes, I can. Let’s do this.”
Robert backed away, smiling.
Marc went easy on her at first. But once he saw she knew what she was doing, he relaxed into it and soon fought her as Robert would, even offering some instruction.
The longer they sparred, the more familiar it began to feel to Beth.
So much so that she paused. “Robert, honey, would you please get me a glass of ice water? Or maybe some Perrier on ice?”
Marc lowered his sword. “I’ll get it.”
She held up a hand and shook her head. “Let Robert do it. He’ll enjoying playing with the ice dispenser and he likes the bubbles in the Perrier.”
Robert’s face lit with curiosity. “Ice dispenser?”
Beth nodded. “Press the button on the outside of the refrigerator door and little chunks of ice will come out.”
Robert headed for the kitchen.
Marc told him where to find the glasses, then looked at Beth as Robert disappeared from view. “Are you sure I shouldn’t show him?” he asked in modern English.
She shook her head. “He’ll be fine.”
He nodded.
Beth studied him, instincts yammering in her ears.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re him, aren’t you?” she asked.
A clatter came from the kitchen.
“By the saints!” Robert cried.
Marc laughed. “What?”
“You’re him, aren’t you?” she repeated. “You’re Marcus.”
Marc lost his smile. His look turned cautious. “Who?”
“Robert’s squire. Marcus, heir of Dunnenford.”
“The boy in the pictures from the Middle Ages?”
She nodded. “That’s why he kept feeling so familiar to me. He’s you, only younger.”
“Beth—”
“I’ve never seen you without the long hair, mustache and beard. And his more youthful face threw me. But he’s you, Marc. You’re him.” She motioned to him with her free hand. “You move the same way. You tilt your head the same way. And, now that I’ve heard you speak Middle English, you even phrase your words the same way. You’re him. You’re Marcus.”
In the kitchen, more ice clattered, accompanied by exclamations of awe.
Marc lowered his eyes and poked the floor with his blunted sword tip. “That man Edward in the pictures looks just like William Shatner. That doesn’t mean—”
“Marc, don’t.” She stepped closer to him, lowering her voice. “Please, don’t deny it. I know you’re him. I feel it. Seth said I’m a gifted one, that my intuition isn’t just ordinary intuition. And I believe him. I know I’m right.” A moment passed. “Tell me I’m right.”
Slowly, he nodded. “I am Marcus, heir of Dunnenford.” This time, when he spoke, his voice carried a British accent.
She smiled, excitement filling her at his admission. “That is so cool! How can this be? Did Seth bring you forward in time?”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
His lips curled up in a smile that contained a hint of bitterness. “Seth does not wish me to alter my fate.”
She grimaced. “That whole dancing around fate thing is really annoying.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I mean, why is it okay for him to bring you to this time to live, but not okay for me and Robert to stay here?”
Again, he glanced down at the floor.
Seth had brought him forward in time, right?
Not necessarily. Back in the clearing, hadn’t she drawn the unbelievable conclusion that Seth had not come forward in time from the thirteenth century, but had instead simply lived long enough to see them again in this one?
Had Marcus done the same?
“How long have you known Seth?” she asked, hoping for a clue.
“Forever, it sometimes seems,” he murmured, then said no more.
The crack and fizzing sounds of a Perrier bottle opening carried to their ears.
“Are you going to tell Robert?” she asked softly.
He shook his head. “I only want him to know me as I used to be, not as what I’ve become.”
She frowned. What did that mean?
Beth didn’t know and opted not to push him. “Well, I’m glad you told me.” Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged him hard. “Seth said I can’t take anything from this ti
me back with me.” Withdrawing, she smiled up at him. “But now I’ll have you there.”
Sadness tinged his smile. “The boy I was then won’t know you from this time.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “It’ll still be you.”
Amusement lightened his sober expression. “Sending the tent back with you was my idea, by the way.”
She laughed. “It was?”
He nodded. “I remembered Robert frequently mentioning your icy fingers and toes and hoped it would keep you warm that first night.”
“Thank you,” she said wryly, then frowned. “Wait. So you knew—when you told me to bring the backpack—what was going to happen that day?”
“Yes. But Seth would not let me warn you.”
Trippy. “Well, if you had warned me, things would’ve turned out differently and I never would’ve met Robert. So I’m glad you didn’t.”
Robert returned, carrying a glass full of ice and bubbling Perrier.
“Thank you.” Beth took a sip. “How much ice did you spill on the floor?”
Robert gave her a sheepish grin. “A lot. But I picked it up and put it in the sink.”
All laughed.
The evening before they were to return to the past, Robert went to bed early, leaving brother and sister alone. The two siblings stayed awake all night, talking, reminiscing, and trying to cram decades of teasing into the few hours they had left together.
When the sun painted the sky with the first flush of dawn, they rose without speaking, donned their jogging shoes and went for their final run together.
It was hard. Harder even than the Houston Marathon. Her throat kept tightening up. Her breathing was choppier than usual. Tears posed a constant threat.
The impending departure weighed heavily upon them both. Their spirits lifted only slightly upon returning home when they found Robert, decked out in his medieval garb, baking yet another pizza.
Then it was time to leave.
Somber silence accompanied the drive. Beth and Robert, clad once more in his chain mail, rode with Josh in his SUV. Marc and Grant followed in Marc’s Prius, which had windows tinted as dark as those on Seth’s van.
Seth awaited them in the clearing, clad in jeans and a black T-shirt, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, leaning casually against a tree. He raised one eyebrow at the backpack Robert carried—a backpack full of secrets Robert wouldn’t disclose—but offered no protest. Nor did he examine the contents, so he must approve of whatever was in there.
A sense of unreality invaded Beth, accompanied by near panic.
This couldn’t be it. It couldn’t be time for them to say good-bye. She wasn’t ready.
Then Grant wrapped his strong arms around her in a hug. “Be happy,” he whispered hoarsely.
She clutched him tightly. “You, too,” she forced past the lump in her throat.
He nodded, eyes glimmering.
Marc approached her next, hugging her so hard she could barely breathe. “I’ll miss you.”
Tears spilled over her lashes. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. “I’ll miss you, too. I’ll have to tease you mercilessly in Robert’s time to make up for it.”
He loosed a hoarse chuckle before he drew back, eyes damp.
Grant shook Robert’s hand. “Take care of her.”
Robert smiled. “I will.”
Marc took Robert’s hand, then surprised Beth by pulling him into a rough hug. “It has been an honor, my lord.”
“Robert,” her husband corrected with a smile.
Marc nodded. “It has been an honor, Robert.”
“For me as well.”
Beth embraced both friends again and told them she loved them. “Watch over Josh for me.”
“We will,” they promised.
She turned to her brother. Rising onto her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight.
Josh buried his face in her hair and clung just as desperately.
“I love you,” she murmured brokenly.
“I love you, too.”
Many long moments passed before he reluctantly pulled away. “Cause lots of chaos when you get back to the Middle Ages,” he ordered, tucking a few curls behind her ear.
She forced a wobbly smile. “You can bet on it. Maybe I’ll do like they did in the Back to the Future trilogy and arrange for Western Union to deliver a bunch of letters right after we leave.”
He returned her smile with a sad one of his own. “Western Union didn’t exist then.”
“I know. But I’ll think of something,” she vowed with false confidence.
Josh gave Robert a big hug. “I couldn’t have chosen a better husband for her.”
“Nor I a better brother-in-law,” Robert replied. “I want you to know that I have never loved anyone more than I do Bethany. And I shall strive every day of my life to make her happy.”
“I don’t doubt that you’ll succeed.” Josh started to back away from them, then stopped and pulled Beth into another fierce hug.
Tears flowed freely down Beth’s cheeks.
Not yet. Please, not yet.
She bit back a sob as he loosened his hold. She could barely see him through the moisture filling her eyes as he dipped his head and kissed her forehead.
“Tell my nieces and nephews about me,” he said, his voice thick. “Tell them I love them even though I’m not there to give them piggyback rides.”
She nodded helplessly. “Tell mine about me.”
Nodding, he backed away to the outer fringes of the clearing.
Robert wrapped an arm around Beth’s shoulders.
Marc and Grant moved to stand behind Josh in the shade.
Dimly, Beth was aware of Seth’s approach. But her eyes clung to her brother’s.
Then Josh’s face and the clearing blurred. That peculiar feeling of weightlessness swept over her, lingering several seconds.
And the world swam back into focus.
Once more, she and Robert stood on Fosterly land in the clearing from which they had departed a week ago.
Seth stood nearby, now sporting medieval garb.
A party on horseback was just disappearing into the trees on the far side.
One member turned to look back over his shoulder.
It was Marcus. The faithful squire’s mournful expression brightened as soon as he spotted them and realized that Beth’s clothing had changed and her weapons were gone.
Apparently Seth had returned them mere minutes after they had left.
At Marcus’s joyful cry, Dillon and Alyssa spun their horses around and, spying the couple, urged them swiftly forward.
Her thoughts on her brother, Beth buried her face in her husband’s chest and wept.
A horse skidded to a halt. Its rider dismounted.
“My lord,” Marcus broached hesitantly, “did Lady Bethany not find her brother?”
Robert smoothed his hands across her back and rested his cheek against her hair. “She found him, Marcus,” he answered softly.
Epilogue
“Josh?” Beth glanced around the great hall, but did not see her quarry. “Josh!”
A handsome nine-year-old boy with brown hair and hazel eyes, who was the spitting image of his namesake, exited the kitchen, still chewing whatever treat Cook had slipped him. “Aye, Mother?”
“Honey, go up and see what’s keeping your father. He should have been down here by now. And do not dare wipe your hands on your tunic.”
Grinning, he gave her a smart salute and left on his quest.
Shaking her head, Beth turned to Monsieur Tiveau. “Forgive me. ’Twill only be a few more minutes.”
He smiled affably and adjusted the large blank canvas that rested on the easel be
side him. “I am here at your pleasure, my lady. You should not apologize.”
“Of course I should. We are always late, and you are always patient.”
He was an immensely talented artist. It had taken her the entire first year of her marriage to find him after Robert had let it be known they were searching for someone of his abilities.
Pierre Tiveau had been only a year older than Marcus when he had arrived at Fosterly. Beth had almost decided on a much older man to serve her purposes when she gave young Tiveau some parchment and told him to spend the day sketching the people of Fosterly. The results had been so detailed, so like a photograph, capturing every thought and emotion reflected in his subjects’ faces, that she had hired him on the spot.
He had lived at Fosterly ever since, an artist in residence, and had been given his own chamber here in the castle. Most days he sketched the family going about their various pursuits. Robert training his men. Beth sparring with Robert or Marcus or even Dillon when he visited. Beth dancing with Robert or her sons. Robert, Marcus, or Michael roughhousing with the boys. Beth snuggling with Robert in his great chair before the hearth.
Tiveau captured it all in beautiful detail, amassing piles and piles of sketches. Every year he painted a formal family portrait as well. And every year or two, Seth dropped by for a visit and Beth coaxed him into working his magic on the artwork and the letters she wrote to her brother, doing whatever he could do to preserve it all for Josh to uncover in the twenty-first century down in the hidden oubliette, which was now free of spikes and skeletons.
How Josh would know it was there and where to look for it she hadn’t quite worked out yet. But she would. And through this, Josh would know she had lived a very happy life.
Beth turned her attention to the two boys seated near the buttery. “Michael, Alex, give those to Maude and come over here. You can have them back as soon as Monsieur Tiveau is finished with us.”
Both children stilled, glanced over at her, then obediently handed Maude their practice swords.
Beth smiled with pride and a great deal of love as she watched her youngest sons approach. They looked so like their father, with jet-black hair and bright blue eyes. They even possessed his forbearance, standing still and offering no complaint while Beth brushed off their tunics and smoothed their hair.
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