by Sherry Ewing
He cocked his head as though pondering the matter. “I am certain I would recall you if we had met before, especially considering you were almost trampled by my horse. Do you not remember your name?”
“I remember who I am,” she whispered while she did everything in her power to think on this as their first meeting. “I am Ella.”
“Ella of…” he watched her carefully, as though trying to figure her out.
“Just Ella,” she answered, thinking her last name might not be in her best interest. She still had to stay with this man at least for a while. She could not see herself falling in love with him all over again, but she knew for certain she must act the way she had before. She remembered how terrified she had been when she had been thrown back in time. How he had scoffed at her words when she told him she was not of his world.
“I see… Mistress Ella.”
She peered at him. Was she mistaken, or was that a flicker of disappointment in his tone? Distaste? She was not certain but had no opportunity to ponder it further when he continued.
“I shall leave you to rest and will have a servant fetch you something to eat. Mayhap on the morrow, if you feel up to it, I can show you my estate,” he gave her a gentle, if not welcoming, smile.
She gave a short nod and his smile widened in response. “That would be lovely, Lord de Rune.”
“Call me Henry,” he answered, with a wink, before taking his leave.
Ella’s breath left her in a sudden rush. She swore then and there when she got her hands on Killian, she was going to strangle that man to within an inch of his sorry life!
Chapter 25
Ella stood in Henry’s solar. She had to admit the past two months had easily slipped away. Still, it had been a challenge as she relived everything she had done with the man before her. She had been wooed… period. She now remembered why she had fallen in love with this man the first time around. She now understood why she had held that love close to her heart for nigh unto thirty years when she had been thrown through the second Time gate. Understood why she had wished to return to him.
Henry had done everything right to convince Ella that he loved her. Except for one thing, her heart would be dangerously close to forgetting the future, just as she had done last time. She only needed to proclaim she would stay here with him and she could dismiss all the rest… or could she? For still the same problem existed, however, and in that aspect, nothing had changed… except for Ella.
As she listened to his words, her stomach flipped and made her nauseous. What was wrong with her? ’Twas not like she was not prepared for this conversation.
“Please listen to reason, my dearest love,” Henry tried again with his plea.
Ella gave a heavy sigh. She knew what was coming. Today was as good a day as any to slip through Time again. “I am not your dearest love, Henry.”
“Why, of course you are, my sweet,” he beamed.
He was giving her the look, as if those green smoldering eyes of his could persuade her into changing her mind. She was unsure why she never saw this side of Henry before now. Perchance her situation with him before was all based on her desperate need to be loved and he had been the one to come to her rescue. Although she had been acting to the best of her ability as if she cared so their situation together could be played out, she was not in love with him as she had been some thirty years ago.
Her stomach lurched again. “If I were, you would not be planning to marry someone young enough to be your daughter.” The words tumbling from her mouth called to mind a middle-aged man having a mid-life crisis as in modern days.
His face changed with her words. Indifference. Contempt. And above all boredom, as though her words and feelings held no worth. He was too used to getting his way and she could clearly see she had overstepped the boundaries set in place between them. His raised brows told her much of what was going to spill from his mouth next. Her thoughts were right on target when he spoke.
“Our marriage will ensure I remain in favor with the King, along with her monies to replenish my estate.” His gaze went to the parchment before him as he took up the quill, and Ella assumed he signed his name to the marriage document.
“And what of love, Henry?” Where did those words come from? she mused.
“Love? What does love have to do with any of this?” he scoffed, before folding up the parchment.
“It has everything to do with the way we live our lives, Henry. Life without love is meaningless. Do you not wish to be happy with the woman you shall wed?”
A strange sound escaped his lips before he composed himself again. “You own my heart. She will bear my heir and nothing more.” He took wax and held it over the candle, then let it drip over the document. Taking off his signet ring, he stamped the melted wax and sealed his fate… and hers.
“I wish you to be happy, Henry,” she whispered and, in her heart, she meant it. Everyone deserved to be loved despite the current custom of arranged marriages for nothing more than convenience and wealth.
“I shall be very happy,” he mused aloud giving her a bright smile. “I shall ensure your place in my household and have my lady wife make you one of her attendants. I shall visit your chambers once she is with child. Nothing shall change between you and me.”
Her eyes widened at his words, even while a small piece of her heart cracked wide open. Oh my God! She was going to throw up. That bit of conversation never happened before but, despite this fact, his words still crushed her spirits.
“How convenient for you,” Ella managed to croak out. Tears, unbidden, leaked from her eyes to rush down her cheeks. The urge to flee from the keep overwhelmed her as though the Time Fairies were telling her she must hurry through their gate.
“Come now. Why do you cry?” he asked, coming to stand before her. He took her hands and, despite his words, an unwelcome shiver of delight passed through her body as a grim reminder of what she once felt for this man.
“How can you ask me such a question?”
“I have been nothing but upfront with you. I told you this marriage had been arranged. We can still be together.”
“With me stashed away as your mistress?”
He shrugged. “Aye, although you have not shared my bed as yet, ’tis the best I can offer you. Since you have no wealth of your own to bring to our union if we were able to wed, how else do you expect me to save my lands?” He lowered his head while continuing to caress her fingers.
She snatched her hands away before he could place a kiss upon her skin. “I will be no man’s mistress and we shall never be together, Henry.”
Turning from him, she fled the room even while she heard him bellowing out her name. She ran down the turret steps, through the hall, and out of the keep. She continued to hear him calling for her to return even while she made her way through the bailey and out the barbican gate.
Angry tears for wasted time, rushed down her face as she made her way toward the forest. But it was the sound of horses and wagon wheels that made her hesitate. Turning back to gaze up at the castle, she saw Henry’s future wife as she made her way down the road. Her covered wagon was a clear indication of her station in life as she traveled with a full complement of retainers, along with her standard flying in the afternoon breeze.
Ella turned her back on the scene and ran into the forest. Falling to her knees, she gasped for breath before her stomach heaved and she lost what little food she had eaten that morn. Wiping her mouth, she rose, her feet practically flying down a path now looking strangely familiar. With her last fleeting thoughts of Henry, she stumbled into the glowing ring on the trail and once more slipped through time…
Chapter 26
Berwyck Castle
The Year of Our Lord’s Grace, 1153
Killian of Clan MacLaren swung his blade and watched in satisfaction when the sword of the knight before him was knocked from the man’s hands. The knight stepped back in surrender and yielded their match, much to the crowd’s delight. ’Twas nothing like winning a t
ourney event, lest it was to have a fair-looking woman beneath him.
He marched his way over to the covered platform where his Laird and the Lady of Berwyck clapped their hands. Laird Douglas’s sister Lady Freya stood as she, too, clapped her enthusiasm that he had won the match. He bowed before them, then winked at one of Lady Catherine’s lady attendants who stood behind her.
Laird Douglas raised his chalice in a salute. “Well done, Killian. I would expect nothing less from one of my clansmen.”
Killian nodded. “If ye are pleased, my laird, then so am I. I am yer humble servant.”
Douglas laughed. “Ye? Humble? I have known ye all my life and ye were never one tae boast about being humble. I think arrogant is a better description,” he quipped while leaning on the arm of his chair.
“Ye injure my pride, my laird, tae think such of me,” Killian replied with a devilish smile, causing the women behind Lady Catherine to giggle.
Lady Catherine looked behind her and the laughter quickly subsided. He gulped, not wishing to offend a woman he held in the utmost respect. Laird Douglas had wed his lady last year at Henry, the Duke of Normandy’s, command. Although an Englishwoman, she had managed to fit in with the clan as though she had been born here. Killian was not sure if he believed in love at first sight but such had been the case in the meeting between the pair. The tournament was a celebration for the villagers of Berwyck, both those who lived in the castle and those who tilled the fields.
Lady Catherine reached over and took her husband’s hand and a look passed between them that was not hard to miss. “Stop teasing him, my laird, elsewise you shall never get a day’s rest. Killian will no doubt challenge you so he may redeem his honor in your eyes. Knowing the two of you, as I already do, you shall be hacking away at each other ’til the moon is high in the sky.”
Douglas took her fingers and raised them to his lips. “I cannae deprive ye of my charming company for so long, my lady.”
“See that you do not,” Catherine chided with a twinkle in her eyes. “You see, Killian, your honor is intact. Is this not so, Douglas?”
“Aye, ye have that aright, wife,” Douglas proclaimed. “Come join us, Killian, and we will raise a cup to your victory upon the field.”
“I would happily join ye, my laird, but I fear the stench of me after all the matches may cause the fair ladies in yer party tae faint. Mayhap ye would indulge me by allowing me tae clean up first?”
Douglas waved his hand with another chuckle. “Off ye go then but do not keep these ladies waiting long else ye may find they are already spoken for.”
“Aye, my laird.” Killian bowed. “Ladies…”
He left to the sound of their giggles but had not gone far before he heard his name being called. ’Twas the Lady Beatrice, who was one of Lady Catherine’s attendants, and he could not be more pleased to see that she sought to follow him.
He took her hand and pulled her behind one of the many tents that had been erected between the tourney field and the castle. She willing went into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck despite the chainmail between them. She smelled of wildflowers and he inhaled the scent from her hair ’til he felt her pushing on his tabard.
“Killian… you smell, dear,” she murmured with a tinkling laugh that caused a part of him to stir to life.
He nuzzled her neck. “Ye asked permission tae leave?” he muttered as he moved to her ear.
“Aye.” Beatrice’s sigh of contentment was like the sweetest music to his ears.
“Good! I wouldnae wish ye tae get into trouble with yer lady.”
“Killian when are you going to ask—”
He silenced her words when he placed his mouth to hers, plunging his tongue past her lips as though he was a man starving. In a way he was. How long had it been since he had a woman beneath him? Far too long, he supposed, but he knew what the lady would be asking next. When did he plan to ask for them to marry? Marry? There were far too many women in the world for him to settle for just one. At a score and seven he was not ready to settle down, at least not yet, and certainly not with Beatrice. She was a pleasant diversion but he had also seen she had become flirtatious since her arrival at Berwyck. He would not take such a woman as his wife. To bed, aye, but nary to wed.
A sharp pain on the top of his head caused Killian to break off the kiss and turn in anger to see who dared interrupt them. “What the bloody hell,” he cursed and saw an older woman, heavy with child, holding a stick pointed at him. Mistress Shona, Berwyck’s healer, was none too pleased with him at the moment. He tended to stay clear of her and her queer ways, always telling people what they did not want to hear.
“What do ye think ye be doing, young Killian,” the woman chastised him before pointing to Lady Beatrice. “Ye best be on yer way, good woman. Killian is not for ye, so ye best not be setting yer sights on him. Now, shoo!”
He watched the woman he had been ready to have a tumble with scamper away. “What did ye do that for?” he moaned. “And what nonsense were ye preaching about her not being for me? ’Tis none of yer business who I bed.”
“Stop acting like a spoiled bairn.” She brandished her stick in front of him like she carried a mighty sword. “Or do ye wish me tae knock some more sense into that thick Scottish skull of yers?”
Killian crossed his arms over his chest. He was far too old to be reprimanded by this tiny woman who could see things that had yet to come to pass. He was careful to keep his distance from her whenever possible. ’Twas only when he had some injury during his training or fighting on the outskirts of the castle that he had need of her aid. Otherwise he had no notion to listen to whatever she would go sputtering on about.
“Well?” she asked, giving him a nudge with her stick since he had obviously not heard a word she said.
“What is it ye want from me, Mistress Shona?”
“At last, ye show me some respect. There may be hope for ye after all. Come with me,” she urged while taking his arm before he even offered it to her.
They made their way toward the castle, crossing the bridge with the dry moat far below, and at last through the barbican gate to reach the inner bailey. When they reached her hut, she set down the stick she had used to smack him and also as an aid to help her walk, although Killian doubted she needed such a device. She was not that old. But mayhap the child she carried pained her. Should not the woman be in confinement and not traipsing about for everyone to ogle her in such a state?
“Come in, come in,” she urged waving him inside while holding her lower back. “’Tis at last time and I can now tell ye many things ye will need tae know as ye go through yer life.”
“And this cannae wait?”
Her brow rose while she studied him before she went to her fire, tsk, tsking as she went. “Ye youth are too full of yerself. Always in such a hurry ye are. Never take time tae listen tae what is good for ye.”
“But Lady Beatrice is waiting for me. ’Tis not proper tae keep a lady waiting,” he said with a wicked smile.
She slammed her mortar and pestle upon the table. “Ye would be wise tae stay away from her. She be trouble and will take ye down a road ye may not wish tae follow.”
He laughed and snorted at the same time. “She is naught but a woman…”
“…who will be the ruin of ye and yer hopes for the future if ye continue this path!”
“For heaven’s sake, what path? She is but a diversion. Someone tae satisfy my needs. I have no intention tae marry her.”
“Well that is all good and said but if ye get her belly full with yer babe, ye will anger her father. She is not a woman ye should trifle with.”
“Fine! I will leave her alone. There are others who are more than willing tae share my bed.”
“Fool!”
“Fool? Why do you call me a fool and, in truth, why are we even having this conversation, woman?”
Shona shook a spoon at him. “Ye best remember yer tongue, Killian, lest ye find I put something in yer supper
and ye cannae eat for a week.”
His chest puffed out with pride. “Ye willnae dare.”
“Talk tae me in that manner again and ye will find out!”
Killian shuffled his feet. “What is it ye see, Mistress Shona? I have the feeling I willnae like it.”
She came over and took his arm and sat him in a chair. She pulled another one close to him. Taking his hand she began examining the lines before she closed her eyes. “There will be but one woman who shall belong tae ye. She comes from another place…”
“France?” he asked interrupting her.
“…in time,” she finished while scowling at him. “She comes tae ye from afar, farther than ye could travel by foot or by sea. In fact, ye shall not meet her for several years.”
“Years? Ye must needs be jesting with me, mistress. Am I tae remain celibate ’til I meet this mysterious woman?”
“Perchance.”
“Ye cannae expect me tae wait a year for some lady I have yet tae meet, Shona,” he growled out.
“Did I say a year?” she said with a small smile. “’Twill be far longer than a year’s time I am afraid.”
His breath left him. This conversation was getting out of hand and yet something inside his head was whispering for him to play close attention to what Berwyck’s healer had to say.
“Five years?” he asked watching Shona shake her head. “Ten?” Again, she gave a negative shake of her head. “I shall be an old man by the time another ten years pass.
“’Tis more like a score and ten,” she answered as she sat back in her chair. “But Time is a fickle mistress and such an outcome mayhap change. Ye shall have tae wait and see. She shall be worth the wait, Killian.”
“How much wine have ye been drinking this day? Surely ye are but jesting with me. I may not wish tae wed today but I do wish tae have a wee bairn or two with a woman I take tae wife. I willnae wait almost a score and ten some years for a woman I can only then claim as my own. Why, I shall be lucky if I even live so long.”