Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones Book 2)

by Dianne Duvall

  “For what?”

  Rising, his movements ever graceful and fluid, he tucked the shampoo into his fist beside the flashlight’s handle and extended his hand to help her up. “For washing your hair. If you lie on your back with your head resting on the edge, I can—”

  “Robert, I am perfectly capable of washing my own hair.”

  He smiled down at her. “You have been chilled for hours, Beth. If you remain in the water long enough to wash both your body and your hair, you will be half-frozen ere you emerge. I do not wish you to become ill.”

  He would have to echo her own thoughts. But she still couldn’t let him wash her hair. The two of them were all alone out there. Surrounded by darkness. And the city girl in her kept reminding her that, though he seemed like a very nice guy, she didn’t know him from Adam. “I’ll just hang my head over the water and wash it myself.”

  He shook his head and pulled her along after him. “Do not be stubborn. ’Twill be easier if I do it for you.”

  “You are the one who is being stubborn.”

  Stopping beside the rock, he stared down at her for a long moment. “You have great difficulty trusting men, do you not?”

  She shrugged. “I have met very few men who were trustworthy. Don’t forget, I spend most of my time hunting down criminals, many of whom are men. Between dealing with them and knowing the statistics on sexual assault and infidelity in our society, I can’t help but be cynical regarding your gender.”

  Raising their linked hands, he used them to tip her chin up, forcing her to meet his earnest gaze. “You can trust me, Beth.” He spoke the words softly, his grave eyes almost hypnotizing.

  Her treacherous heart began to pound again.

  “I would never intentionally harm you,” he continued. “Nor would I allow anyone else to do so. Were it necessary, I would give my life to protect you.”

  Beth stared up at him, astounded. “You mean that,” she whispered, seeing it in his eyes.

  She and Josh dealt with liars all the time. Not just the bail skippers, but their family members, too. As well as friends and associates who lied to buy the criminals time and divert the search. After a while, truth became easy to identify. Which was why confusion inundated Beth every time she worried and wondered if Robert and his friends had been involved in whatever twist had taken her away from Josh and brought her to this place, wherever they were.

  All of her instincts told her that Robert was exactly what he appeared to be—a really nice guy who only wanted to help her.

  “I do mean it,” he confirmed. “Will you allow me to wash your hair now?”

  Too tired to continue fighting her intuition, she nodded.

  Robert removed his tunic and draped it over the rock.

  “It’s going to get wet,” she warned.

  He shrugged, his chainmail glinting in the moonlight. “It matters not.” Taking her hand, he helped her recline on the rock. “I will not ask if ’tis comfortable. But is it at least tolerable?”

  Beth shifted around a bit until her spine no longer rested upon a ridge in the hard stone. “It’s fine.” Turning her head, she felt a jolt when she saw him removing his mailed shirt. “What are you doing?”

  “I do not wish my armor to become wet and rust. Although ’twould give my squire something more to do upon my return.” His mailed pants and his thick padded gambeson followed, leaving him in a soft shirt, trouser-like braies and hose.

  Apparently medieval reenactors even wore authentic underwear.

  Beth watched him wade into the water. Much to her astonishment, he didn’t even flinch. “The water is freezing. Won’t you be too cold?” she asked, tilting her head back as he moved around and knelt behind her.

  The rock she lay upon only extended about a yard beyond the grassy bank, so the water did not quite reach his groin.

  “I am accustomed to such.” Motioning for her to relax and stare up at the sky, he picked up her crusty braid and bent to examine it. “Unlike most of my men, I prefer to bathe daily whenever water is available. When not at one of my own keeps or my brother’s, I sometimes must resort to washing in whatever lake or stream is at hand, which is oft as cool or cooler than this one. And too, I am reluctant to trouble the servants with carrying bucket after bucket of hot water up to my solar every night.”

  Evidently he had a brother who was into the whole dungeons and damsels thing, too.

  “Beth?”

  “Aye?”

  “I cannot fathom how to remove the fastening at the end of your braid. There are no ribbons to untie or—”

  “It’s elastic. Just pinch the hair above it and pull. It’ll come right off.”

  “Will it not pain you, pulling your hair in such a fashion?”

  “Nay. I do it all the time.” When he hesitated, she smiled. “Go ahead, Robert. It won’t hurt. I promise.”

  He must have been careful even so, because she did not feel even the faintest tug on her braid before his hand appeared above her, holding the dark brown elastic band.

  “Thank you.” That was probably the only tie she had with her. Afraid of losing it, Beth wound it around the middle finger of her right hand like a ring and rested both hands on her stomach.

  Robert went to work on her hair, dunking the braid in the icy water, letting some of the dirt soften and rinse away before he gingerly began to untangle the long strands. When he cupped his hands and dribbled the first of many chilly drops on the hair at her temples and around her face, a shiver shook her, raising the hair on her arms.

  “Wow. That is really cold.” She rubbed her arms. “I don’t know how you can stand it.”

  One large hand smoothed the hair back from her face, gliding over the crown of her head. “Mayhap you should postpone your bath until we reach Fosterly and you can do so in warmth and comfort.”

  “I can’t.” Her stomach soured. “I don’t want to wait that long. I need to wash the blood off.”

  “I understand.” Leaning away, he reached for the shampoo.

  Did he? she wondered. Did he know the fear and revulsion that filled her every time she glanced down at her stained clothing? Did he understand the terror that claimed her whenever she acknowledged that most, if not all, of the blood had drained from wounds on her own body? Wounds that should have killed her? Wounds that—defying all comprehension—no longer existed?

  And did he sense the disgust that pummeled her when she admitted that some of the blood that coated her back could have sprayed from Vergoma when Josh had shot him with the Remington?

  Robert could see unrest growing in Bethany.

  A crease formed between her brows. Her hands began to fidget and pluck at her clothing in restless movements.

  Twisting the top off the container of shampoo, he wondered what he could say that might ease her.

  He tipped the bottle sideways. A white, pearlescent liquid flowed into his cupped palm as a sweet aroma rose up to envelope him. “A most pleasant fragrance,” he commented, bringing it closer to his nose for another sniff. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never used that one before. It was a free sample.”

  Setting the bottle aside, he began to work the strange liquid into her hair. Almost immediately, a thick white foam grew and spread throughout her long locks.

  “You are troubled,” he observed.

  Her frown deepened.

  “You may confide in me, Beth. Whatever words pass between us will go no further.” At least, he hoped they would not. If she told Alyssa that he had teased her about her breasts, Robert feared he would find himself spending a night in his brother’s dungeon.

  He still could not say what had come over him and made him speak so familiarly to her.

  Her throat worked with a swallow. “I’m just so worried about Josh.�
�� Her eyes shimmered as tears rose in them. “I keep seeing him, the way he looked when he staggered toward me. The blood on his clothes and the pain in his face. The fear for me in his eyes. How still he lay after he fell.” Issuing a sound of impatience, she brought a hand up and rubbed the tears away. “And the sound he made when he saw me fall… I don’t know how to describe it. He let out this… roar of grief and fury, as if he knew I would die from my wounds.” She shook her head. “Not knowing what happened to him is eating me up inside.”

  Robert nodded. He had emitted such a roar himself the day he had watched his brother take three quarrels from a crossbow. Not knowing whether Dillon had survived or died from his wounds would have been unbearable. “You said you slew your attackers, did you not?”

  She nodded.

  Then there was still hope they would find Josh alive on the morrow.

  “I’ve never killed anyone before,” she confessed, her voice low and strained.

  Another burden for her to bear. “You were protecting yourself and your brother. You had no choice.”

  “I know. And I would do it again if I had to. I guess it’s just now hitting me.”

  He nodded, his eyes on his hands as they sifted through the tangles. “Killing is never easy.”

  While he had participated in numerous skirmishes, Robert had not engaged in his first major battle until his last year under Lord Edmund’s tutelage. He had fought as he had been trained to fight, coolly and without emotion, spilling the blood of one opponent after another until no more had been left standing. The knights around him had heaped praise upon him as he had withdrawn his sword from the last man he had felled. Praise to which he had paid no heed. The scent of blood and death saturating the air around him, Robert had slipped away from the others and—out of sight and out of hearing—promptly lost the contents of his stomach in the brush.

  It had been the first time he had taken another man’s life. And it had disturbed him far more than he had expected it to, considering he would have lost his own life had he not done so.

  That night, instead of celebrating the victory with the other warriors and boasting of his kills to any and all who would listen, Robert had sought solace in Eleanor’s arms. Only she had seemed to understand.

  Leaning closer to Bethany, he massaged the fragrant soap into her scalp and tried in vain to remember what magical words Eleanor had imparted so long ago to banish his turmoil.

  Beth’s chin rose skyward as she looked up at him. “Are you just trying to make me feel better? Or are you speaking from experience?”

  “Experience.” He moved around to her side so she would not have to strain to see him while he continued to work the lather through the hair at her temples.

  “You’ve killed someone then?” she asked, her tone cautious.

  “More men than I care to admit.” He could see his words shook her and forced a casual shrug. “War cannot always be avoided.” He shook his head. “At times it seems constant, so often is it waged, warranted or nay. I choose my battles as I can, fulfilling my duty to my country and ensuring the safety of my family. Yet even in the most minor of skirmishes, there are casualties. I have been one myself a time or two.”

  When she didn’t cringe away from him, he relaxed. He had thought for a moment that she might turn away from him or again begin to fear him. “If you will slide a bit more toward the edge, I shall rinse your hair for you now.”

  Rising up on her elbows, she inched backward until her head hung completely off the edge.

  Robert slid one hand beneath her mass of soapy hair and cupped her head for support. The other he combed through her dark locks, letting the current sweep the soap away.

  When the last pale bubble had abandoned them, he gathered the gleaming strands together and gently twisted as he had seen Eleanor do to wring out the excess water.

  “Thank you.” Reaching back, Bethany liberated the thick bunch from him and sat up.

  Rising, he left the cool water and stepped up onto the bank, where he proceeded to remove his shirt.

  “Hey. What are you doing?” Bethany blurted. “Just because I let you wash my hair doesn’t mean I want to play I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”

  A burst of laughter escaped him, startling him more than it did her.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Forgive me, Beth.” It took tremendous effort to choke back his amusement and reduce his smile to a mere twitch of the lips. “While I admit such a game sounds intriguing…” He raised his eyebrows and gave her his most charming grin, sparking a small smile of her own. “’Twas not my intention to engage in it now. I merely thought to have a quick wash since my garments are already wet and soap and water are both available.”

  “Oh.” She twisted her hair to squeeze more water out of it. “So, where should I bathe then?”

  “Here. I shall turn my back.”

  “I can’t bathe with you here,” she protested.

  “I will not watch you, Beth,” he informed her patiently. Though the temptation would be great, he felt confident he could resist it.

  “Then go wait for me at the campsite. I can find my way back.”

  “I cannot leave you unprotected.”

  “Have you forgotten this?” Reaching down to her ankle, she removed the smallest of her weapons from her boot. “I have my twenty-two. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

  He eyed the silvery object doubtfully, unsure exactly what such a weapon did. “You are not familiar with these woods and know neither the dangers they possess nor how swiftly they can come upon you. I will not leave you alone.”

  Her expression darkened with a mixture of frustration and dismay.

  He loosed a heavy sigh. “I am here to protect you, Beth, not ravish you. Had the latter been my intention, I would have already done so. I vow I have never taken a woman by force in my life.”

  A flush mounted her cheeks.

  “I have already told you I will turn my back. If ’twill make you feel better, then leave your undergarments on, though I assure you such is not necessary.”

  A moment passed. “Fine,” she grumbled, scooting off the rock and stepping onto the grassy bank. “I guess it’s nothing you haven’t seen before anyway. Just don’t take this as an invitation.”

  “As you wish.”

  Robert learned something new about her then. When Bethany decided to place her trust in someone, she gave her full trust.

  After placing her twenty-two on the ground a few feet from the water’s edge, she proceeded to disrobe without even asking him to give her his back. She discarded her boots and odd, thick, ankle-high white hose first. Then she parted her long-sleeved tunic down the middle and shrugged out of it.

  He stepped forward and extended one hand.

  A question in her gaze, Bethany handed him the jacket, he thought she called it.

  “I thought to wash it for you whilst you bathe.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re real?”

  “I do not understand.”

  Shaking her head, she lowered her hands to the sides of her odd vest. “You’re too good to be true, Robert. First you say you would give your life to protect me.” Rrrrip. “Then you kneel in icy water and wash my hair.” Rrrrip. “And now you’re offering to wash my filthy clothes for me.” Rrrrip. Rrrrip. She lifted the vest over her head. “No man is that nice.” Tossing it aside, she reached for her belt. A few nimble pulls and it joined her vest at her feet.

  Robert stood rooted to the spot, his mouth dry, breath quickening, as she tucked her fingers beneath the hem of her tiny sleeveless tunic, then dragged it up and over her head.

  Heat seared him, racing through his veins and pooling in his groin.

  Was that a bra? Those two tiny scraps of sleek black fabric that cupped her full breast
s the way his hands itched to, barely covering the pale pink crests and held in place by the thin black straps whose purpose had eluded him earlier? More plump, pale flesh than he had anticipated rose above the edges, the shadowed valley between them drawing his hungry gaze.

  Despite the fact that almost every inch of her skin was coated with dried blood, Robert found himself consumed with lust the likes of which he had not experienced in years.

  “Mayhap I am not as honorable as you think I am,” he admitted hoarsely.

  Unconcerned, she handed him the sleeveless tunic, then started unfastening the front of her breeches.

  “Mayhap I only offered to wash your garments in hopes of distracting myself from”—his gaze returned to her breasts—“other things.”

  Her eyes met his, then slid away. “Oh.” He thought her cheeks darkened a bit. “Well, just pretend we’re at the beach and this is a bathing suit,” she mumbled, tucking her thumbs in the waistband of her breeches.

  “You make a habit of walking along the shore garbed so— By the saints!” he practically bellowed.

  Bethany jumped. “What?” Eyes wide with alarm, she scanned their surroundings.

  Try though he might, Robert could not look away. He knew he should, but he could not. Nor could he pick his jaw up from where it had landed on the ground. All he could do was stand and stare and go up in flames.

  Bethany’s breeches now lay bunched around her ankles, leaving her long, slender legs and almost everything else bare. The only thing that shielded her… modesty… was a V-shaped piece of shiny black material that formed a triangle at the juncture of her thighs and narrowed to two thin strips that disappeared over her hips.

  “Robert?”

  For a moment, he thought he would not succeed in dragging his gaze away.

  How those black scraps tempted him, beckoning him to abandon all honor and let his hands and mouth go exploring.