Rendezvous With Yesterday

by Dianne Duvall

  “Maude, will you please have Alice bring Vanessa down?”

  “No need,” a deep voice rumbled softly.

  Beth turned and watched Marcus approach, her sleeping infant daughter cradled gently in his arms. Her smile widened. “Must you charm all of the females of Fosterly?”

  “All but one,” he teased, his dark eyes sparkling.

  Beth laughed. “Don’t kid yourself. You charm me all the time.”

  Maturity had molded Marcus’s boyish good looks into the strong, handsome countenance of her beloved friend Marc. She was so glad he had stayed on at Fosterly after attaining knighthood. It was like having a little piece of home with her. And he provided yet another excellent role model for her children, all of whom he cherished.

  Especially Vanessa.

  The Fosterly men adored Vanessa, her father most of all.

  Her older brothers and Marcus, Michael, Stephen, and Adam fawned over Vanessa and thought her the most clever little girl in the world. And while most infants were left in the care of wet-nurses and maids, Vanessa was forever being stolen away by her brothers, paraded about by her proud papa, or tucked into the crook of a warrior’s arm and told tales of battle and warfare a little girl just shouldn’t hear.

  As Marcus deposited her daughter in her arms, Beth heard a commotion erupt in the stairwell that led to the solar and chambers above.

  Rolling her eyes, she called out, “Don’t muss your hair!”

  Vanessa jerked awake with a grunt of surprise.

  Robert and Josh stepped into view. Josh’s head was wedged under his father’s arm, his laughter filling the hall as he struggled to escape. Robert met Beth’s gaze, smiled sheepishly and released him, then helped his son right his hair and tunic.

  Meanwhile, Vanessa’s little face puckered up as she prepared to have a good long cry over her sleep being so rudely interrupted. Contrite, Beth rocked her and tried to soothe her as the first wails erupted. Marcus lent his aid as well, cooing and making funny faces that made Beth laugh but had no effect on her daughter.

  Robert joined them and gave Beth a light kiss. “Did I not tell you? She bears your temperament as well as your beauty, sweetling.”

  Marcus laughed.

  “Oh, ha-ha,” she responded, not at all upset. The fuzzy hair atop Vanessa’s head was the same brown as Bethany’s, her eyes an expressive hazel. Robert had made no secret of his delight in having a daughter who resembled her mother so closely, confessing only last night that he had been hoping for such ever since Beth had agreed to marry him.

  Taking their daughter and settling her in his arms, Robert bent his head and rubbed his face against her tummy, making growling sounds that instantly transformed her wails into giggles.

  Robert had changed very little in the years they had been together. His body was just as firm and muscular as it had been the day she had met him. His hair was still black as night, something about which Beth complained often because her own was already lightly peppered with gray. While her face remained smooth and unwrinkled, his now sported laugh lines at the outer corners of his eyes. Laugh lines for which he deemed her responsible.

  He was so handsome, still able to steal her breath with just a look. Beth didn’t know why everyone believed married couples never had sex. She and Robert made love all the time, their relationship full of never-ending passion and laughter.

  Robert kissed Vanessa’s forehead, then handed her back to Beth and herded the boys over to the hearth, where a padded bench had been placed.

  Beth sat, smiling when Robert bent and carefully adjusted her skirts for her, stealing another kiss in the process. When all was to their liking, he sat beside her and lifted Alex onto his knee. Young Michael and Josh stood close on either side, according to Monsieur Tiveau’s directions.

  Robert wrapped his free arm around her waist.

  Josh rested a hand on her shoulder.

  Beth glanced at her husband, at their children gathered around them, thought of the life she had left behind in the future, and knew no regrets.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Robert leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Have I made you happy, Beth?”

  Lifting her lips to his, she met his gaze and smiled. “The happiest.”

  “I love you. You are my world.”

  She kissed him again. “And you are mine.”

  Bonus Scene

  In every manuscript I write, there is always at least one scene I cut either to reduce the word count or because I ultimately decide that—although I enjoy the scene—it doesn’t advance the plot. The following is just such a scene, but I thought both readers of The Gifted Ones series and those who enjoy my Immortal Guardians series would be interested in it. It takes place shortly after Robert and Bethany arrive in her time to visit Josh.

  In the quiet of the master bedroom on the second floor of Marc’s modest two-story home, a rhythmic thumping and muted laughter filtered in from outside, breaking the silence. Drawing back the curtains of the window that overlooked his front yard, Marc carefully avoided the scorching afternoon sunlight and remained in the cool shadows while he watched the activity below.

  His lips twitched when the basketball Robert hurled toward the goal careened off the backboard without so much as brushing the rim.

  Robert was appallingly bad at the sport and clearly grew frustrated. To a man who could throw an axe or a dagger with astounding precision, sending a rubber ball through a net must appear a simple task. But Marc suspected Robert’s inability to master it was only partly responsible for the frown that drew down his brows.

  While fall temperatures cooled northern states, temperatures in Houston still hovered in the mid-nineties. The heat index or feels-like temp was probably a good ten degrees above that.

  Perspiration trailed down the sides of Robert’s flushed face and saturated his T-shirt. His arms and the thickly muscled legs left bare by the shorts Josh had loaned him were damp as well. The Earl of Fosterly was definitely having a difficult time adjusting to the new climate, and had to pause frequently to guzzle the cold water Beth kept in the shade of the front porch.

  While Josh loped off after the ball, Beth smiled up at Robert and offered him advice and encouragement.

  What an unlikely couple they were. Born and raised eight centuries apart, they had nevertheless found enough similarities between them to fall deeply in love.

  In deference to Robert’s medieval mind frame, Beth had foregone wearing shorts herself (Robert balked at her revealing so much tempting bare flesh to others) and instead wore jeans and a T-shirt. Even these, Marc knew, had met with some disapproval. And he could understand why.

  The jeans were a pale, pale blue and hugged her slender legs and firm, shapely ass like a second skin. They rode low on her hips, the waistband falling beneath her belly button, and allowed teasing glimpses of muscled abs and the soft white skin of her narrow waist every time her T-shirt drifted up. Several damp patches darkened her red shirt, making it cling to her full breasts and small frame in alluring ways.

  Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail that jounced and danced with every movement. Damp curls had sprung loose, and clung to her temples and the back of her neck. Her pretty face glistening, she caught the ball Josh tossed her, flashed Robert a grin, and effortlessly sent the ball sailing through the net.

  Marc’s hand curled into a fist around the loose curtain fabric.

  She was so damned beautiful. Her laughter so musical.

  And he had missed her so much the two years she had been gone. How could he withstand losing her again when she returned to Robert’s time?

  “You can’t,” a voice said behind him, where seconds before no one had stood.

  Marc stiffened. “Can’t what?” he asked, abandoning his faux American accent and letting his native English accent color
his words.

  “Do what you are thinking,” Seth informed him somberly.

  For many long moments, Marc said nothing. He simply continued to stare at the play below.

  Robert attempted another free throw and missed the backboard entirely. Sailing over the top of it, the ball hit the roof so hard it rebounded and flew clear across the street. Robert swore foully and began to stomp down the driveway after it. But he only made it a few steps before a smiling Beth leapt onto his back. Laughing, he stumbled forward, then tucked his arms beneath her knees and carried her with him, piggyback style, grinning at her over his shoulder when she pecked him on the cheek.

  “Would it be so bad?” Marc whispered finally, loathing the despair and vulnerability the question revealed.

  Seth sighed. An unhappy sound. “You know you cannot tell her who you are.”

  “I would not have to,” Marc pointed out. He had thought it all through very carefully, how he could approach her. What he could say that would produce the desired results without exposing all. “I could—”

  “Bethany is an exceptionally bright and perceptive woman, as you know. She may even yet figure out who you are. But you cannot tell her what you are or what made you what you are.”

  “Then you go to her.” Desperation driving him, Marc glanced over his shoulder and located Seth lounging in the darkness just inside the doorway. “You were the one who took her back in time. She knows you possess knowledge the rest of us do not. She would listen to you. You go to her. Then she would not have to know who I am. She would not have to know what I have become. You could—”

  “Marcus—”

  “Let me finish!” Silence descended in the aftermath of his shout. Marcus closed his eyes and mentally swore.

  One did not yell at Seth.

  No one yelled at Seth.

  The immortal’s power was incalculable. His true age, in what millennium he had been born, where he was born, remained a mystery. All anyone knew with any certainty was that he had lived long enough to have witnessed biblical events, and it was extremely unwise to cross him.

  Yet Seth’s face, when Marcus dared to look again, remained impassive.

  “Very well,” Seth stated softly. “Continue.”

  Marcus strove to moderate his voice, present a calm argument. “As I said, you would not have to tell her who I am. She knows you are gifted, that you can do things and know things that others don’t. All you would have to do is go to her and tell her you have had a vision or a dream and that she should do all in her power to keep Marcus from journeying to London in September of the year 1213 or a terrible fate shall befall him.”

  “If memory serves, she did attempt to prevent you from going to London—”

  “Because she loved me like a brother and missed me whenever I was away,” Marcus gritted. “If she had thought some harm would befall me, she would have fought tooth and nail to keep me at Fosterly. She would have chained me to the damned walls of the dungeon if necessary. Lord Robert would have, too. If you tell her now, they will do so.”

  “And then?”

  Marcus returned his attention to the scene next door. “And then all of this will be wiped away,” he said tonelessly. “None of it will have happened. I would not be immortal and…” He shook his head. “All would be as it should be.”

  “You cannot change your fate, Marcus.”

  “Why can I not? You altered Beth’s fate. She would have died that day had you not plucked her from the present and delivered her to the past. And there is no telling what would have become of Lord Robert without her.”

  A series of whoops and shouts erupted below as Robert scored his first basket.

  Marcus had not anticipated what seeing Lord Robert again would do to him. The memories it would stir. The longing to recapture the deep, abiding friendship and camaraderie they had shared in his youth. Robert had been the only real family Marcus had had, though they bore no blood relation. When, upon her return to the present, Beth had innocently introduced the two of them, Marcus had damn near broken down and wept.

  “You misunderstand,” Seth spoke. “Bethany was always meant to live out her life with Lord Robert in the past. Just as you were always meant to live out your life as you have. I did not in any way alter her fate. Nor can I alter yours.”

  “Fate,” Marcus snarled. “How I detest the word. If everything that happens is fated, how can there be free will?”

  Seth sighed as if the complaint were not a new one. “The day before I brought Bethany and Lord Robert forward to this time, I watched Lord Dillon engage his toddler son in a foot race.”

  Sadness flickered through Marcus. He had not thought of Lord Dillon or Lady Alyssa in years.

  “Lord Dillon clearly had the advantage. And yet I knew before the race even began that he was going to let his son win.” Seth paused. “Did my knowing ahead of time that Lord Dillon would throw the race in any way prevent him from making the decision to do so of his own free will?”

  Marcus’s fist tightened around the curtains. “No.”

  “So it is with fate. You were fated to travel to London in the fall of 1213—”

  “And be transformed against my will.”

  “Yes. Some things cannot be changed, Marcus, even when it appears we have the power to do so.” Great sorrow weighted Seth’s voice.

  But not nearly as much as that which suffused Marcus. He shook his head, wanting to shout a denial.

  It had been foolish to hope. Pointless.

  His eyes fixed on Beth, followed her every move. His ears strained to hear every laugh, every teasing comment she made.

  “I am weary of this life, Seth,” he whispered despondently. “So incredibly weary that I must struggle to find a reason to rise each evening.”

  “Did you rest at all today?” Seth asked in the most gentle voice Marcus had ever heard emerge from him.

  “No. I don’t want to. Not while they are here. Not while she is here. I don’t want to miss a moment of it.” He swallowed hard against the lump that rose in his throat. “I will only have her for a few more days, Seth. What will I do when she is gone?”

  Below, Beth squealed when Robert growled and swept her up in his arms, then dangled her upside down in response to her taunts and teases.

  “Eight hundred years,” Marcus continued softly. “I have lived for over eight hundred years, and the only happiness I have ever experienced was during the years I lived at Fosterly as Robert’s squire, then his knight, and this last decade I have spent living near Beth.”

  “Your life span is that of a babe’s compared to mine.”

  Marcus continued as though Seth had not spoken. “There were decades… entire centuries really… when the only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that I would see her again one day. That if I could just hold out another century—then another and another and another—I would be rewarded with her presence once more. I could see her smile. Hear her laugh. Feel one of her sharp jesting punches to my shoulder. Have her hugs. Her friendship. Her affection.”

  “You could have had more than that, had you wished it,” Seth commented cautiously.

  Marcus nodded. “That has been the sweetest torture of all, I think, knowing that she could have been mine.”

  Beth, Josh, and Grant began playing a game of twenty-one while Robert took a few minutes to cool down in the shade.

  “When I was Robert’s squire, she told me that she had once been smitten with her next-door neighbor. I did not realize until we met again all of these centuries later that she spoke of me, here in this time. That she…”

  “That she could have loved you?”

  Just hearing it spoken aloud was painful. “Not like she loves Robert. Not like he loves her. She could have been content with me. But they belong together. They were made fo
r each other. Even you have admitted that. And I love them both too much to ever betray them by acting on my feelings.”

  Robert brought Beth some water and was rewarded with a kiss.

  “How I adore her,” Marcus murmured. “She is my light, Seth. My candle in the darkness of this existence. When she and Robert return to the thirteenth century, that light will forever be extinguished. I will never see her again, will have nothing to look forward to, nothing to keep me going. What will I do?”

  When next Seth spoke, he sounded infinitely weary. “You will do what we all do, Marcus. You will survive. And perhaps, in time, you will receive another, sweeter reward.”

  Beth jumped up and down and cheered when the ball she had just thrown swirled around the rim twice, teetered, then finally fell through the goal.

  Marcus shook his head. “There can be none sweeter.”

  If you would like to know more about Marcus and whether or not he will find love and happily-ever-after for himself, you can read his story in Night Reigns, Immortal Guardians Book 2.

  Thank you for reading Rendezvous with Yesterday. I hope you enjoyed Robert and Bethany’s story. It’s one I’ve wanted to tell for quite some time now. If you’ve read my Immortal Guardians books, you received snippets of this tale when I revealed Marcus’s history. I hope seeing it unfold in full—as well as getting a glimpse of Marcus and Seth’s lives in the Middle Ages—proved entertaining. If you haven’t read my Immortal Guardians books, you might be interested in knowing that there is some crossover between that series and The Gifted Ones series. Seth, Marcus, and Roland are all major players in my Immortal Guardians books. So, if you are interested in seeing more of them, I hope you’ll give that series a try.

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