The interior was dim, with a few locals at the bar. There was a couple heads bent, whispering to each other, and she quickly averted her eyes. On the other side of the pub was a table of guys talking loudly, and at another table, a family of four. Ashley chose a table next to the family. She ordered at the bar and sat down, scrolling through the notes on her tablet.
The aroma of freshly baked bread wafting up from the plate made her drool as she carried the meal to the table. The rolls were perfect. Crisp and crunchy on the outside and light and fluffy on the inside. It would be easy to eat an entire plate of those little bits of heaven. The stew was just as delicious, the vegetables done perfectly and the sauce rich and filling.
As she quickly ate, she looked around the pub, trying to avoid the far left corner. But no matter how hard she tried, her eyes kept straying to the couple. There was something about the way he looked at her, the softness in his eyes, that made her flinch.
For as long as she could remember, relationships had been hard for her. All around her, friends paired off, broke up, and found someone new. While she went ages and ages before she found anyone. Everyone made it seem so easy, but to her it was exhausting. Between work and staying fit, and making sure she was on track to meet her five-year plan, Ashley had given up on dating.
And then she met Ben. Her company had season tickets to the Rangers, and she’d always liked hockey. Had thought perhaps if people vented their frustrations on the ice, maybe everyone would get along better. At one of the games, a puck sailed over the glass and hit the man beside her. She stayed with him until the medical personnel arrived. While she was cleaning herself up, she met Ben, the team doctor. He’d been the only guy brave enough in a long time to breach her porcupine exterior, so when he asked her out, she said yes. They’d been dating for the past few months.
He was attractive, successful, and sometimes she wondered what he saw in her. Ashley knew she came off as prickly and standoffish, but they seemed to get along well enough. Though she still found herself thinking about their relationship, wondering if there was anything she could do to make it easier, and why it always felt like work.
The sound of a horse approaching had Christian unsheathing his sword. He put the blade back in its sheath when he recognized the figure.
Edward reined in the horse, sending mud flying as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
“A messenger arrived not long after you left. Melinda and James met a wealthy merchant at the last market day. They did not want to say anything until it was decided. The girl’s father has agreed to the match.” Edward dismounted and left the horse to graze.
Christian gaped at his brother as he wiped mud from his cheek. It smelled of decay and earth. “What girl?”
“Her father is a merchant, so she is not a noble, though I think you do not care as long as she has all of her teeth.” Edward waved a hand. “All that is of consequence is she has said she will plight her troth to you.”
“Do they know what is said about me?”
“Her father knows, but for a great deal of gold he has agreed for her to wed you anyway. He is desperate to raise their station and see his daughter make a good match. He promised his wife on her deathbed.”
“And you said I would pay.”
His brother slapped him on the shoulder. “Aye. What good is gold if you do not spend it? You would give all your gold to find a wife, would you not?”
Instead of answering, Christian scowled. It was true, but he did not like to hear his brother make him sound like a boy pining after his first love, the evil ogre hiding alone in his castle waiting for his bride. ’Twas pitiful.
“You are to marry before Yule. The girl will be delivered to Winterforth in six weeks. We will all travel for the wedding. Best stock the larder; you know how our brothers eat and drink.”
Christian handed Edward the leather flask. “Drink. You sound like a fish pulled from the sea.”
“Have you nothing to say, dolt?”
“Nay, I will not believe ’tis so until we stand in the chapel and say the vows.”
“As you wish. You have lost many brides, but you should not let this worry you overmuch. This will be the girl. You will be married and she will bear you a son before the next year is done, putting all the rumors to rest.”
His brother handed back the flask, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The smell of ale filled the air.
Christian was unconvinced. “We shall see.”
“Shall I ride with you to Winterforth? You should not be without your guard.”
“Nay, I’m meeting them in a few days. ’Twill be fine. You worry overmuch.” He did not tell Edward he had one stop to make first. One that did not involve his guards or his meddlesome brothers. For if he was caught…
Chapter Six
Ashley had finished congratulating herself on keeping left when she came upon a scene straight out of a chocolate-induced nightmare.
On her right, a monkey swung from the trees. To the left, a zebra ran through the field, and was that…? It couldn’t be. Oh yes it was: a tiger ran in front of the car and bounded after the zebra. Tires squealed as she slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop inches from a deep ditch. Fingers crossed, she hoped the zebra would get away.
Up ahead lay an overturned truck. People were running around checking the remaining cages and looking helplessly up at the monkey. Too stunned to laugh, she slowed down as a policeman motioned her to stop.
“The highway’s closed while we catch the animals, miss. Turn right up ahead then take a left past the old church, a right past the twisted tree, and another right past the bridge. Then you’ll see signs to get back on the motorway.”
“Got it. Good luck catching them.” She mentally recited the directions as she made the turn up ahead, though she hoped the animals might find a place to live in the countryside where they wouldn’t bother anyone. A remnant hope left over from all the books she’d read as a kid. The books with talking animals were her favorites. The world was changing. Would a zoo be the only place to see wild animals in the next twenty or thirty years? She hoped not.
A half-hour later as the roads narrowed until she was on what looked like an overgrown sidewalk, she had to concede she was lost and had missed a turn along the way. The map on the phone took over, and as she followed the directions, she thought about her presentation at the London office later this week. It had to go well.
Busy thinking about the graphs and charts she needed to update, Ashley frowned. The phone hadn’t said anything for ages, the sun had set, and a glance at the screen told her it was five o’clock. She should have been close to London by now. What happened?
There was a place up ahead to fill up, so she pulled over and looked at the directions. This was not her day. Somehow she must’ve incorrectly entered the address. So she put it in again. After paying for the gas and a water, she was on the way.
According to the navigation, another hour and a half to London. That would put her at the party at nine thirty—pushing it but still doable. She was humming along to the radio, following the turns, when the voice said, “You have arrived at your destination. Your destination is on the left.”
“What the hell?” The phone showed the end of the journey, but that couldn’t be right. She’d gone from the road to stone, and now to a narrow, grassy road that looked like nothing more than a dirt path up ahead. There had to be a place to turn around up ahead—no way she could manage it here—so she kept going and found herself driving on grass again when the road abruptly ended.
She got out of the car to stare through the growing darkness at the surrounding countryside.
“Where the hell am I?”
“Having a spot of trouble?”
Ashley’s mouth fell open at the sight the car headlights illuminated. It was a guy—no, make that a model—on an actual horse. What was a model doing cavorting about the countryside? Because something about him made cavorting the only appropriate word to fit, with his long bl
ack hair, perfect dimples in his chin and cheeks, and, oh, let’s not forget the eyes so blue they looked fake. He wore a pair of old jeans, a sweater, and what she guessed was a Barbour jacket. Ben had one just like it. She rubbed her eyes in case she was hallucinating. Nope. He was still there. It was as if she’d wandered into a shoot for a magazine.
“There was a detour on the highway and I got turned around.” She held up the phone. “I think my maps app played a trick on me. I don’t suppose I’m going to find London over that next hill, am I?”
The model blinked at her. “London? You are lost. That must have been some kind of crazy wrong turn. You’re not even in the right country. This is Wales.”
No, no, no. This wouldn’t do. “You have got to be kidding me. There’s no way I’m in Wales. I left Wales this morning.”
She was so busy picturing herself packing up her office and sitting alone in her apartment eating cheesecake day and night that it took a moment to realize he was talking to her.
“Miss?”
“Sorry?” Ashley snapped out of it. “Okay, forget London. This is where I have to be by eleven at the very latest tonight.” She showed him the address.
“I know the place. Did a shoot out there last month. It’s in the countryside; you’ve got a good long drive ahead.”
An odd shaky feeling started in her legs, moving up to her arms, and sounds were muffled like she had cotton in her ears. His voice sounded like it was coming from a cartoon.
Don’t panic. You’ve got this. There was no way she was losing out on her promotion all because the maps app was possessed.
“Is there any shopping nearby? Or a Halloween store? I need a medieval-style dress for a costume party tonight. It’s really important.”
The guy, who was way too good-looking to be human, stuck his tongue in the corner of his mouth as he thought about her question. As she was about to scream, his face brightened.
“Old Mary makes costumes for the theater company. I’m sure she’ll have something. I’ll take you.”
“Won’t the car spook your horse?”
“Leave it here. You can ride with me. It will be faster, and I’ll bring you right back.”
“On that? In the dark?”
He looked offended. “She isn’t a that, and she knows her way.” He patted the horse and leaned down to whisper in the animal’s ear. “Don’t mind her. She’s just a mean old Yank.
“The roads between here and the village are narrow, some barely wide enough for the horse. Your car won’t fit.”
Ashley eyed the horse.
“Don’t worry; she won’t bite.” Then he winked at her. “Unless you keep offending her.”
With another glance at her watch, a sigh escaped. “All right. But we have to hurry.”
He dismounted and lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. Then he climbed up behind her, put one arm around her waist, making her flinch, and took the reins.
“It’s just so you won’t fall off. You’re not my type.”
She stiffened in the saddle. “I knew that.”
He chuckled and made some kind of clucking noise to make the horse go forward.
Could they go any slower? At this rate, she’d have wrinkles by the time they made it to the village. The horse stepped over a branch, and Ashley looked down for the twentieth time, the dark playing tricks on her. When she first saw the horse it didn’t seem that high up, but now, riding on its back, it seemed a really long way to the ground if she fell.
The smell was back. She sniffed. Was it coming from the horse or the saddle or both? Another sniff told her it was both, though it was probably normal animal smells. Ugh, it was worse than some of the subway stations in the city. The model’s cologne mixed with the horse smell, making her slightly nauseated. Figured she was wearing her sweater dress and boots, the ones that made her feel invincible. Too bad they weren’t working on this trip.
It was a quaint town straight out of an old movie. The guy, whose name she still didn’t know, rode to the end of the street, turned left, and stopped in front of a hobbit-sized house sitting slightly apart from its neighbors, windows glowing, and smoke coming from the chimney. Ashley had the oddest feeling that a witch lived inside.
When he lifted her off the horse, she lost her balance. Thank goodness he caught her before she hit the ground.
“You’ve never ridden before.” He said it like it was some terrible thing, like she’d never used a fork to eat with, so it took considerable willpower not to give him the finger.
“No. I live in New York City. We use cars, buses, cabs, or the subway for transportation. Not horses.”
The guy winced. “All that concrete and steel, no fresh air. How do you stand it?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
The door to the tiny house swung open and a tiny lady with blue hair peered out before she turned around to push a dog back inside. She was dressed in a pink velour tracksuit with the words sexy grandma across her butt, making Ashley grin.
“Who do we have here, Douglas?”
The guy, apparently named Douglas, hugged the woman, kissing her wrinkled cheek. The scent of lavender drifted toward Ashley, tickling her nose.
“Found her up on the old sheep path. She’d taken a wrong turn, thought she was in England, says she needs a dress for a party tonight.”
The woman pursed her lips. “Come along inside and we’ll fix you up.”
It had taken Christian ten days to journey from Ravenskirk to the tavern in Wales where he would meet his partner. He had not told his brother the truth, for his men were not meeting him along the way. Two of his most trusted guards were already in Wales, staying at the tavern where Christian would transact his business. What he was about to do was between the three of them, and no one else would know.
Meeting a smuggler would be frowned upon by his family—well, perchance not John, since he had been the bandit of the wood, but still, ’twas a risk, and Christian did not want to expose his family to danger.
He had his reasons. Two of them. One was he needed gold to continue his other labors, and two, he chafed at the tax collected on his wool. Winterforth produced high-quality wool, known throughout the realm. This summer he had added to his flock, and ’twas now four thousand strong. Every year the wool was taken to Westminster to be sold, and every year he grew angrier and angrier at the amount of taxes collected.
From Westminster the wool was sent to Flanders and Italy—’twas the way things were done. Then a few months ago, Christian was in a tavern when a brawl broke out, and a man ended up with his head split nearly in two. Christian aided the man, only to find out later he was a smuggler, and apparently a very good one.
The man knew Christian was a Thornton, had seen the quality of wool from Winterforth, and proposed a plan. Christian thought it bold and daring, and if it worked, it would allow him to do more for others in need.
The smuggler had a great many connections. It was decided he would come to Winterforth up the river by barge, collect the wool Christian had held back from this summer, and take it where it would be loaded onto boats and sold without any taxes paid. He would continue to sell a portion at Westminster to avoid questions, but in time he hoped to sell the bulk through the smuggler.
If he was found out, it would shame his family, and after all the Thorntons had been through, he wanted to shield them from his doings.
This was how he found himself creeping along like a common thief in the night as he went to meet the man. The tavern was questionable, the kind of establishment where Christian might find his horse missing at the end of the night, so he flipped the boy an extra coin.
“See to it he is well cared for and there will be another coin for you when I depart.”
The boy bobbed his head. “As you say, my lord.”
During his journey, Christian had changed into his oldest hose and tunic so as not to draw attention to himself. He frowned at the sword the boy likely recognized was that of a knight or a l
ord. From his experience, boys noticed everything, whilst men saw what they wished, so he would present himself as a well-to-do merchant. Lord Winterforth was, as far as Christian was concerned, at home in his keep.
The tavern was smoky, the smell of ale overlaid with burned cooking and unwashed bodies filling the air. With so many men packed into the small room, the heat was intolerable. Christian breathed shallowly through his mouth as he made his way to the corner, where he saw the man sitting in shadow.
For a rather infamous smuggler, the man had a fitting name. Morien. Meaning sea-born. It agreed with his dark hair and even darker eyes.
“Were you followed?”
Christian shook his head. “Nay. I was most careful.”
He sat down, stretching his legs beneath the scarred table. A serving wench sashayed over, eager to do Morien’s bidding. He patted her on the rump as she left, winking at them both.
“The ale is good, the food edible.”
When the food and drink arrived, Christian thought Morien had been rather generous in his pronouncement. For while the ale was drinkable, ’twas watered down, the bread was full of tiny rocks, and the stew was greasy. Somehow he choked it down, not willing to draw attention to himself, as the other patrons seemed to take no issue with what they were shoveling into their mouths.
“You are certain you will not be discovered?”
Morien leaned back into the corner of the wall so only his nose and mouth were visible in the light, giving him the appearance of a spirit.
“I’ve had men watching the river for a month. There is one day each week ’tis not safe, but the rest will be fine if we go at night, as I have planned. But what of the guards at Winterforth?”
“The two men I brought with me will guard the walls on that side of the river. The rest will not know what we are doing.”
Last Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 4) Page 5