by Sherry Ewing
He went to lift her only to take a full assessment of her clothing. Where in the world was the rest of her gown? This flimsy material barely reached the girl’s knees. Her tunic was cut shockingly low, and his eyes could do nothing but momentarily devour the cleavage shown for his viewing pleasure. Bloody hell! He could not bring her into Berwyck looking like this. He would never make it through the village without someone calling her a witch.
He tore his cloak from around his shoulders and wrapped it round the young woman’s. As he began to lift her in yet another attempt to get her to his horse, he saw what he could only assume were perchance her shoes. Yet they were shoes as he had never seen afore. How anyone could dare walk on such spikes was beyond his comprehension. He scooped them up along with his charge and made his way to his horse, for he would not dare to leave such evidence behind.
“Lie down, Fury,” Fletcher commanded. His horse neighed in protest, and Fletcher tried again. “’Tis no time to be stubborn, my friend. Can you not see the lady needs aid? Be good, and let us get her to Kenna.”
Fury lifted his hooves in the air ’til he at last obeyed, allowing Fletcher to easily get himself and the lady into the saddle. Fury stood whilst Fletcher kept a steady hand upon his charge. He had just gathered the reins in his hands when she stirred. Her eyes flickered opened, and he used his hand to shield them from the blinding sun whilst she squinted in her effort to focus. The smallest of smiles began to enlighten her face as she stared at him as though seeing him for the very first time.
“You’re so beautiful…” Her whispered words were so quiet, he leaned forward in order to hear them over the roar of the ocean.
Her hand reached up towards his face but fell short of her objective as she once more succumbed to her affliction. Me? Beautiful? No woman had ever called him such afore. Handsome, mayhap, but certainly never beautiful. Such a word was generally used to describe a woman and certainly nary a man. He shook his head thinking surely he misheard her. Her wits must be more addled than he thought. Fletcher flicked the reins, and Fury bolted forward as the knight held tightly to the woman for whom he knew he was now responsible.
Clumps of sand went flying from beneath his steed’s hooves as he shortened the distance across the strand. In no time at all, he was making his way through the village, up the hill, and over the drawbridge as the steed’s hooves clip-clopped over the wooden boards. He called out to the knights standing guard and waited with a fair amount of impatience for the portcullis to rise on the barbican gate. What was taking so long? One would have thought they would have seen him coming and been at the ready. The men were slipping, and Fletcher would have a fair amount of speech on their lack of prompt attention to the captain of the garrison.
He turned his horse towards the stable in the outer bailey as a lad readily came to take the reins. Still holding on to the unconscious woman, he carefully slid from the mount then yelled for Kenna. Boots pounding turf and stone, he raced through both baileys, up the few stairs to the keep, and continued into and through the great hall. It became surprisingly quiet as serfs halted their cleaning to watch his progression towards the turret stairs.
Fletcher took them two at a time afore he realized he had no idea where he should place her. His decision made, he proceeded up to the third floor, down the dimly lit passageway, and opened the door to his very own chamber. Staring down at the bed, he was bemused on how to turn down the covers when a servant, who must have followed him, took care of the problem for him. He thanked her for her service, then sent her on her way as he laid his charge down upon the pillows. Thinking of what he should to do while he waited, he banked the fire then began pacing afore he at last heard Kenna’s knock upon the door. He flung it open, pushing it wide for her to enter.
Kenna wasted no time in seeing to the lady, and she began to cluck her tongue at her own assessment of the wound. She went to his desk to move papers out of the way and began pulling items out of her satchel. The healer put an assortment of herbs into a mortar, and she took up the pestle to grind them ’til they resembled nothing of their original forms. She poured some kind of concoction from another bottle into the bowl of the mortar and stirred it ’til she formed a paste.
Fletcher resumed his pacing ’til Kenna completed her task of dressing the woman’s wound.
When she had finished cleaning her hands upon an apron tied at her waist, Kenna said, “She must not be moved.” Then, she went to the desk and packed her supplies back into her satchel. Her job done, she turned around, stared straight at Fletcher, crossed her arms, and began tapping her foot.
Fletcher felt as if she were about to scold him. “What is amiss?” Fletcher asked, knowing he was about to be berated for some offense he had unknowingly given.
“You have brought her to your chamber. That is what is amiss. There were certainly other rooms you could have taken her to besides your own.”
“’Twas the only place I could think of. I was more concerned with having you see to her than where.”
“And what of her reputation, Fletcher?” Kenna was clearly annoyed with him, and as Fletcher thought on it, he could understand her plight on the lady’s behalf.
“She will be safe here, and no harm will befall her.”
“You do not care that all and sundry will call her a whore that she sleeps in your bed without the benefit of marriage?”
“I had not thought of such but only to watch over her ’til she awakes.”
“Nay, you will do no such thing. Since she cannot be moved, you must needs find another place to rest your head. I will send a woman to watch her throughout the day and night if necessary. Surely, you can understand the situation must be handled delicately if we are to protect her,” Kenna said, taking a seat by the fire.
Fletcher nodded his agreement then made his way to the unconscious woman’s side to push back a lock of her hair so as to better see her visage. “Who is she, Kenna?” he whispered.
“I believe you already know the answer to such a question, Fletcher. There is no need to ask me of it.”
Staring down into the ashen face resting peacefully on his pillow, he still doubted there was some kind of an unseen or felt connection with this woman. True, she was not of this world, and she had appeared out of nowhere on the beach. Yet, such an occurrence hardly meant the lady was meant to be his, despite Rolf’s interference.
Reluctantly, he turned his attention back to Kenna, who motioned for him to take the vacant stool next to her. He shortened the distance between them and added a log to the fire afore sitting beside her.
“One moment, I was standing on the beach, staring at the waves as they splashed upon the shore, and the next moment, out of nowhere, she…appeared…her body falling on the sand afore me. Truly, Kenna, ’twas as if someone had thrown her to the ground from nothingness.” Fletcher’s hand ran through his hair ’til he rested his arms upon his legs and took hold of his head. “You must think, I am losing my mind.”
Her gentle touch had him raising his head to look up into Kenna’s face. “Surely, you of all people, know I think no such thing.”
“Did you foresee anything when you attended her?”
“Only brief glimpses…and they were jumbled, at best.”
“And…”
Kenna sat back in her chair. “She has come far, just as another of your acquaintance has done.”
“Surely, you jest?” Fletcher was aghast that a similar twist of fate could bring yet another woman back in time.
“You know I do not. Besides, another told you to be in the right place at the right time, did he not?”
“Aye, Rolf has been busy of late.”
Kenna smiled. “He has seen you struggling. Perchance he thought he was helping you in your fight with your own demons and the dragons you have failed to slay.”
“’Tis not fair to her…whoever she be.”
“This could be true, and yet, we do not know what trials she has faced in her own life. Somehow, I think she must hav
e wished for another life, as well, or she would not be here, among us.”
“Then she was meant to be here, but─”
Kenna held up her hand. “There is more, Fletcher.”
“Then tell me the truth of the matter so I can be prepared for whatever may come my way. Your gift can only help me understand.”
“You must tread carefully with her. I can see she has been hurt, but, from what I can see of her initial assessment of you…well…it appears she is afraid of you.”
“I have never harmed a damsel in my entire life,” Fletcher protested in earnest.
“Aye, but she does not know that, does she?”
He pondered her words for a moment afore answering her. “I will take care.”
Kenna stood and began motioning him from his room. “Then all will turn out as it should. You should go. I will see to her ’til another can take over her care. Besides, I heard Lady Amiria say you were defaulting on her challenge this morn. You should know better than to keep a lady waiting.”
And that was how Fletcher found himself standing in an empty passageway with his own chamber door hitting him in his sorry arse when it shut firmly behind him. He would leave the lady to be cared for by others, for he had other duties he must needs attend to more pressing than playing nursemaid to a woman he hardly knew.
Chapter 7
A strange sound rustled across the floor. Footsteps. Softly tread, as if not to wake her.
“I will see to her.” The man’s voice that penetrated through her dreams was forceful in nature, as though he was used to being obeyed and his orders kept without question.
“But, sir, Mistress Kenna said for me to─”
“Leave us,” he ordered.
Jenna’s thoughts were foggy as she woke, her mind awash with flights of her wildest fantasy that swam in her head. She had been having the most fanciful hallucinations of castles and knights, and heaven and hell. She certainly preferred the former over the premonition of being doomed to the underworld. Feeling relaxed for the first time since her ordeal with Dylan began, a sigh escaped her. She needed to get a grasp on the reality of her life instead of some fiction she created in her imagination from whatever novel she had been reading. Mr. Darcy certainly wasn’t about to come knocking at her door anytime soon, and what a shame was that.
She rolled over onto her back with another heavy sigh. As she stretched in the bed, she realized her head was pounding with one of the fiercest migraines she had ever had in her entire life. Her hand reached up to feel the large knot, and she felt a bandage wrapped around her head. What the heck?
As she attempted to sit up, her head began to spin, and she fell back on the pillow. Something pricked her cheek, and she took hold of whatever was piercing the linen. After pulling it free, she tried to focus on the fact she was holding a quill from a feather in her fingertips. Where in the world did a feather pillow come from? She generally stayed away from buying them, finding they tended to flatten out and not be so poufy.
When she made a grab for her blanket, a gasp escaped her as her hand came in contact with fur. Her gaze riveted around the room, only for her to realize she certainly wasn’t in her own bedroom, or any other room familiar to her. A long thin candle was lit on the bedside table, and shadows cast themselves onto the wall from the fire lit in a fairly large hearth she could have easily stood in. The walls were made of stone, and the floor was bare.
And then, she slowly became aware of his presence when her gaze again swiveled to the fireplace, and she blinked, as though she didn’t want to recognize she wasn’t alone. The man just sat there in silence, staring into the flames with his face hidden in the shadows of the room. Who is he? Has he taken me captive?
“Where am I?” Jenna’s voice was raspy, and she hardly distinguished it was her own.
He flinched, as though she had startled him by disturbing his thoughts. When he came to stand next to the bed, he towered over her, making her quake. “You are awake. ’Tis a good sign.”
Jenna’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?” Did he actually use the word ’tis?
“You have slumbered for several days now. Our healer was concerned you may not awake.”
“Healer?”
“Aye. Mistress Kenna has been overseeing your care.”
He seemed to be waiting for her to speak and peered down at her until she let out a burst of laughter. “Oh, this is just too crazy,” Jenna replied, causing the giant beside her to frown.
“I do not understand, mademoiselle.”
“Come on out, Amy…you’ve made your point with your little prank,” she called out, waiting for her roommate to jump out of hiding. “Amy?”
“I assure you, there is no one by that name residing here at Berwyck, my lady.”
Confusion racked her brain as she tried to concentrate on what the heck was going on around her. “Then you never answered me. Where am I?”
“Berwyck Castle.”
“A castle?” she muffled a laugh. “That’s a good one. And just where exactly does this so-called castle reside?”
“In the northern realm of England, of course.”
“Right…” Her eyes flicked around the room again in disbelief of what he was telling her.
“You doubt my words?” the man asked. He, too, looked as puzzled as she was feeling.
“Every single one of them.”
“On my honor, I vow, I speak no falsehood, my lady.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“What?” his brows knitted together again, and Jenna began to have the distinct impression this man wasn’t used to having his words questioned.
“Who are you, and why have you taken me hostage? If it’s a ransom you’re after, you’re barking up the wrong tree, mister. I live paycheck to paycheck and barely have a dime to rub together.”
“My apologies for the lack of introduction. I am Sir Fletcher, captain of the garrison knights here at Berwyck, and at your service.” He bowed before her like someone out of one her romance novels. What a great actor.
“Uh huh, like I’ll believe that tale. You should be in the movies.”
“What in God’s wounds is a moo-vie?” His voice boomed, almost rattling her teeth with the level of sound it carried in the room.
“Dammit, stop playing games with me. What are you trying to pull on me anyway? This isn’t funny anymore, and I want to go home.” She was getting angry and scared, all rolled up into one huge ball of emotion, and she was about to break down. Jenna didn’t want to become unhinged from the little bit of reality she had been holding on to.
Fletcher held out his hands, and in her confused state, she assumed he was about to take advantage of her.
“Don’t touch me,” Jenna yelled. Pulling at the blanket, she looked down for the first time, and her eyes widened with the realization she was completely naked beneath the covers. “Where the hell are my clothes?”
“Please, calm yourself, damsel. Do you not remember falling upon the beach?” Fletcher asked her in a soothing voice.
But there was nothing that was going to soothe her shattered nerves as a flurry of surreal visions flashed before her eyes, as if she were living her last moments on earth. Dylan’s rejection, walking along the beach, the Cliff House, and then being pulled almost as if she was being wrenched…through…through what? My God…it can’t be!
A scream of terror burst forth from the depths of her despair. She couldn’t stop, and she slapped away the hands of the madman who seemed to be at the root of her predicament.
The bedroom door burst open and slammed up against the wall. Everything seemed to proceed in slow motion. A bevy of people suddenly filled the room that appeared as though it was growing smaller and smaller by the second. Heated conversations with raised voices swirled around her, conversations she couldn’t keep in order, as sweat began to bead on her upper lip and forehead. Her eyes became blurred once again until she blissfully passed out, and nothing of her fate troubled her further
until the dreams came. They were restless and filled with the picture of a man who called her name through time itself, begging her to join him, even as she resisted the pull of his irresistible charm.
Chapter 8
Fletcher was pulled down the passageway ’til he was all but shoved into Dristan’s solar. The lord and lady of the keep clearly appeared displeased as they both passed one another with their pacing to and fro afore the hearth. They finally seemed to realize what they were doing and turned as one to face him.
“What were you─” they began at the same time. Dristan gave his wife a look, and, with her eyes rolling heavenward, Amiria took a seat. Her fingers began an insistent drumming on the arm of her chair ’til she heard her name being said by her husband. She folded her fingers in her lap, almost, it seemed, as if to keep herself from clenching them around Fletcher’s throat.
“Well?” Dristan growled. “Why were you in her room?”
“’Tis my room,” Fletcher began.
“Not at present,” Amiria yelled from across the chamber then clamped her lips tight in a submission that was completely against her nature. Amiria was not one to easily back down from anything. Fletcher could tell it was taking everything in her power not to speak her thoughts, nor, by the look in her eyes, were she able to manifest them as objects, fling them about his head.
“I just wanted to see how she was faring,” Fletcher replied, at last answering Dristan’s question.
“You could have asked a servant for such news. You may have done her further damage by having speech with her. You knew she would not be ready for such a confrontation,” Dristan ranted, taking a seat next to his wife. “What is the matter with you that you thought only of your own selfish desires instead of the needs of one who is under our care? You should have held some pity and compassion for her, since she is injured.”
“I did not think─”
“That is plainly clear,” Amiria chimed in with glaring, angry violet eyes.