“Secrets rarely stay so. Be prepared.” Morien’s gaze darted to the right. “I see the one with light hair by the fire with the saucy wench on his lap.” Then he looked over Christian’s shoulder. “The other is wagering; his blade gives him away. As does yours. No wealthy merchant would have such a fine sword. Only a noble such as yourself.”
“We will not draw attention to ourselves, and my men can be trusted. I do not wish anyone in Winterforth to be in danger from what I am doing, so I will keep this from them as long as I can.”
Morien studied Christian. “Why did you help me? You could have left me to die. Most would have.”
“’Twas five against one, and whilst those odds might be fine for a Thornton, you looked as if you were not ready to die that night. I thought you could use a man at your back.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
Morien picked his teeth. “Aye, you may be right. Still, you knew who I was and yet you aided me.”
“I could not leave you to die. Since we spoke, I have thought much on your plan.”
“Not that I care, but what will you do with all this gold? Is it true what they say?”
“What’s that?”
Morien leaned forward in the light so Christian could see his eyes. “That you can never have enough gold?”
Christian drained his cup. “Many would say such. I have uses in mind for the gold.”
He realized he had said too much, for Morien’s look turned speculative before a feral grin broke out across his face.
“’Tis you.”
Christian pretended not to know what the smuggler meant.
“You are the one who aids those in need. They speak of you throughout London. A poor widow finds the money she needs to pay her rent or put food on the table. A young boy finds he has been apprenticed to learn a trade; a pretty girl is married not to the old lecher but someone more appropriate. All those are you.”
Christian met his gaze. “As you trust me to keep your secrets, I must trust you to keep mine.”
Morien gazed at him for a bit longer and then nodded. “You have my word. Will you take the word of a smuggler?”
“Nay, not of the smuggler but of the man.” Christian held out a hand. They shook, and he knew Morien would not tell others of his deeds. He would be able to aid so many. What was the use of having money if one could not do with it as one pleased?
Chapter Seven
“I can’t thank you enough, Mary. How funny is it that a medieval dress is going to save a present-day job?”
“We have to work twice as hard in a man’s world to be taken seriously, don’t we? The trick is not to let them know we know we’re smarter.” Mary winked at Ashley.
The dress was beautiful. It reminded her of a long vest over a maxi dress. There was a linen embroidered underdress called a shift, then the gown, and what she thought of as a vest was the surcoat. She’d only seen embroidery like this in a museum or on haute couture. All around the neck, sleeves, and hem were a riot of flowers and leaves. The surcoat was made out of bronze velvet, and embroidered within an inch of its life with gold metallic thread. The gown had a corset built in, so she didn’t have to wear a bra. There was also a hidden zipper placed so she could reach it, to get in and out of the dress by herself. As she smoothed her hands down the dress, she felt an opening.
“Pockets. Perfect. I can keep my phone with me.”
“They wouldn’t have been invented in the early 1400s, but all my customers want them, so I put them in. And really, what does it matter? Not like you’re going to the past.” Mary made a small adjustment to the ornate belt at her waist and stood back to take in her work. “No one wore underwear then, if you’re wanting to get in the spirit of the party,” she said with a wink.
Ashley folded her undies and bra and stuffed them in her bag, along with the sweater dress she’d been wearing when she arrived.
“Why not?” She caught sight of her reflection, and the woman staring back at her was pretty. Her hair had been braided with tiny pearls woven in the strands, making her feel like a supermodel.
She took a step forward, watching the thread shimmer. “I don’t know how women used to walk. This is heavy. Guess that’s why they didn’t have to work out.”
“Are you sure you don’t want the shoes?”
Ashley pulled the dress up, showing off her boots. “Nope. These are my favorite boots. I can run if I need to, and it’s not like anyone will notice, since the dress goes to the floor. I once ran ten blocks in these to make a meeting on time. They’re my version of armor.”
There was a knock on the door, and Douglas the model came in. “Wow, you are smoking hot.”
He stared at her from her feet to her head, stopping at her chest for a minute too long. There was rather a bit of cleavage on display. When in the theater, one must look ravishing, was Mary’s answer.
“Thank you, Douglas.” Ashley turned to Mary. “I don’t know how to thank you. The work on this must have taken a thousand hours. Are you sure I paid you enough?” Her coat looked ridiculous over the dress, but it was only for the ride back to the car. She hoped there would be valet parking at the party so she could leave her coat off to make her entrance.
“You paid plenty, love. I charged you the rush rate. The dress was done—just needed a nip here and a tuck there. The actress I made it for took a role in a futuristic film, so she didn’t need it.” Mary grinned. “You best get going if you want to make it to the party on time. Can’t have you turning into a pumpkin and let that rat you work with win, now can we?”
“Absolutely.” On impulse, Ashley hugged the woman goodbye, feeling like she was hugging a tiny doll, though a doll made of fire and steel with a dash of humor thrown in for good measure. Outside, she was relieved the horse wasn’t tied to the gate.
Douglas must have read her mind.
“I brought the bike so you wouldn’t get hair on the dress. If you tuck your skirts up and hold them, you should be fine. It isn’t far, and I’ve taken a few of the actresses in similar dresses between the theater and Mary’s house.”
While she’d been on the back of a motorcycle before, she hadn’t had so much dress to manage. Careful not to crease the dress, she pulled it around her then took the scarf from her coat pocket and covered her hair.
“I’m ready. Don’t go too fast or you’ll mess up my hair.” She put her arms around him; the guy had a torso to rival a superhero.
“I know how you women are about your hair. Don’t worry about a thing, it’ll be grand.”
He kept his word as he drove them through the tiny pathways, back to the rental car. Practically hopping off the bike, she held out a hand.
“You’ve been my knight in shining armor. Thank you, kind sir.”
He opened the compartment on the side of the bike, coming out with a flashlight and paper bag, which he handed her.
“You’re welcome. Figured you’d be hungry, so I stopped by the pub and picked you up something to eat on the way.”
“Probably won’t get a bite until morning, so I really appreciate it, thanks. Now remind me which way to go. I don’t trust my phone anymore.”
The flashlight illuminated a napkin with what looked like a hand-drawn map.
“It’s really easy: turn around and take the first right, and then follow my map, which bypasses London. Once you get back on the motorway you can pick up speed, and you should make it before the clock strikes twelve. Just don’t lose your glass slipper. I’ve given you a shortcut, should save you about half an hour, maybe a bit more. Put you there around ten thirty or eleven.”
He waved as he rode off, and with a frown at her watch, she climbed in the car, determined to make it and show off the amazing dress.
The first couple of turns went fine, but then she came to an area that was supposed to look like a twisted fork. All she saw was a turn left or right. Debating for a moment, she took a left and kept going. After driving around in what she thought was a giant circle, she realized she was l
ost. Again. Drop her anywhere in the city and she could find her way, but here? It was as if fate was conspiring against her at every turn.
A wooden sign leaned to the right. The words Ruins ahead had been hastily painted on, as if some enterprising farmer was trying to entice lost tourists to stop. Dubiously eyeing a wooden bridge that looked a million years old, she held her breath as she drove over it, and then parked under a tree that looked as old as the bridge. Ashley stopped the car, caught the water bottle with her sleeve, and watched in horror as the water turned the napkin to mush, the black words blurring into a charcoal mess.
“Damn it!” Somewhere there had to be a road sign. Think. What were the next few turns? She got out of the car, using the flashlight on her phone to look around, holding the possessed phone above her head, trying to get a signal. After stepping in two mud puddles, she swore until she ran out of curse words.
“I hate it when technology fails.”
The wind kicked up, the clouds hiding the moon. There was a hill up ahead. Maybe if she walked to the top she could see the surrounding area. With the dress held high so it wouldn’t get dirty, she carefully made her way up the hill. The boots had cost a fortune, but were worth every penny. The Welsh countryside might throw mud on her, but she was getting out of this country if it was the last thing she did.
At the top of the hill, she turned in a circle, but there was only countryside and more countryside in every direction. In vain she looked for a sign, even using the camera on her phone to zoom in, but it was too dark. Today was not her day. Ignoring the warning signs, she hiked up the ruins to see if she could get at least one bar on the useless phone.
Startled by a sound like two cars colliding at high speed, she spun around. But there weren’t any cars. For that matter, no trains or people or other big vehicles that might have been responsible for the noise.
Funny, it almost sounded like a battle like in the video games Mitch plays when he thinks no one is around. The stress of being late was making her imagine things.
The scene in front of her had turned gray. Fog was rolling in and quickly. The sound of thunder made her jump, and lightning flashed across the night sky.
Great—you don’t do camping, no dirt, and definitely no more traipsing around the countryside. It’s time to get out of here.
Lightning flashed again as she made her way down the ruins and the hill, careful not to slip. Up ahead there was another flash of light, and she saw something sparkle in the weeds. Ashley braced herself on the side of the hill, her back foot pressed into the ground and her other leg bent as she leaned down to brush the withered brown stalks and dirt away. The smell of ozone filled the air. Lightning flashed again. The object looked like gold.
She cringed as dirt lodged under her nails as she pried the object out of the ground.
“Ouch.” Ashley dug deep into the ground and came up with a fistful of dirt containing something hard, as a drop of blood welled up on her wrist.
The sneezes came three in a row, and all of a sudden the hair that was tickling her nose, the pieces Mary had so artfully curled around her face, were sticking straight out. A hum ran through her body like the sound of big electrical wires.
The ground rumbled; Ashley sneezed again and lost her balance, rolling down the hill, skirts tangling around her legs as the crazy thought went through her mind that the beautiful dress was going to be ruined. In trying to stop the momentum, her leg hit something sharp, and pain sliced through her thigh.
Cold and wet, she came to as the scene in front of her spun round and round. With a swallow, she closed her eyes and tried again. The ground slowly came to a stop. Swaying, she managed to stay upright until she took the first step, slipped on a stone, and fell again, rolling down the bank toward the sound of water. Something shifted, and the phone went airborne.
“No!” The phone hit what sounded like stone, and then there was a sickening splash, confirming the device’s watery death.
Don’t panic. It’s water resistant, so it’s okay.
Flat on her stomach, she scooted forward, blindly patting the ground until she touched water. Pushing up her sleeves, she took a deep breath. The water was icy cold as she felt around, and for the first time since she’d landed in this godforsaken country, something had gone right. The phone had somehow wedged between two rocks. Numb from the icy water, she dried the phone off on her dress and sent up a plea to whoever might be listening.
But the screen was cracked and wouldn’t turn on. Her entire life was in that phone. Then she smiled. Everything was backed up to the cloud. She’d find a shop and buy a new phone, and while she was there, she’d find out how to rent a freaking helicopter to get her to the party on time. Were the stores even open this late?
Between the moon winking in and out of the clouds and the lightning, she was able to find her way to the car. Where was the bridge she’d driven over? The stream was there, but no bridge. But bridges didn’t move.
Ashley spun in a circle. There was the tree she’d parked under. Except the car was no longer there. Her luggage, laptop, and the purse containing her money and passport. All gone. The night was playing tricks on her. Lightning flashed as she stared at the tree. But no car.
“The damn car’s been stolen.” All the frustration of the trip poured out of her as she screamed until her throat hurt. Taking a deep breath, she stared at the moon and the shifting clouds until she calmed. The sign must have been a fake to lure unsuspecting tourists to be robbed. Fine. She’d flag someone down and be on her way. When she got another phone, there was a picture of her passport, and she could use the pay function on the phone to buy whatever she needed. Take that, thieves.
But as Ashley sat on a stone wall making plans, something shifted, and the wall gave way as she scrambled to grab on to anything to stop her fall. Pain sliced through her thigh again as a chunk of rock slammed into her. Somehow she grabbed on to a piece of stone and held tight, but with a grating noise it too gave way and the muscles in her throat clenched, nausea rolling through her as a fingernail shredded. The deluge of rain made everything slippery, and it was no use. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t hold on. Ashley fell.
Chapter Eight
“Remember the old passage from the cellar that leads to the river?” Christian looked to both his men, who nodded as they rode out of the tavern.
“If anyone asks, tell them ’tis good to have another escape route in case of attack.”
There was an old entrance that had not been used as long as he could remember. Christian had heard his grandfather speak of the passage being used for smuggling back in his day.
“Aye, we will see it done.” Walter swung up on his horse.
“Make haste to Winterforth. I will follow.”
“My lord, you should not travel alone. ’Tis not safe.” Ulrich frowned.
“Do as I bid. I will take care.” He needed time to be Christian. Not Christian Thornton or Lord Winterforth, but a man. He envied the smuggler, Morien, for his freedom and that he cared not what was said about him. In truth, Christian envied how Morien seemed to be content with who he was, while Christian struggled to live up to his family’s expectations and be what his people needed.
He had never spent an entire day lazing about, never had a time in his life when he wasn’t a noble, never had a woman see him as a man and nothing else. Did they only care for him because he was rich and noble? The thoughts plagued him as he rode.
On the third day of his travels, he made camp in the wood. ’Twas twilight, his favorite time of day, and he was out walking. When he walked, he found it easier to think on what he ought to do and of all the needs he must meet. As long as he was breathing, none would starve; he would see it done.
He heard the sound of water, and without thought his feet turned toward the sound. The wool would fetch a good price, enough to see the mill rebuilt.
A scream shattered the silence. ’Twas a woman. Christian ran toward the noise to see a woman sink under the wate
r. He kicked off his boots, dropped the sword, and dove in, gasping as the cold stole his breath.
The woman surfaced and went down again, the dress dragging her down to the bottom.
Christian grabbed hold of her and pulled her to him. “Halt. I have you.”
Untamed green eyes looked at him as she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth. Her teeth were chattering so hard that he thought she might bite through her blue lips. Senseless from the cold, she muttered foolish words he dismissed, until one word in particular made him blink.
Cold much colder than the river flooded through his body. Nay. It could not be. ’Twas not possible.
For Christian would swear he had heard her say the words phone and car. Unfortunately, he knew both words. His brothers and cousins were married to women who knew well those words.
Yet if she was what he thought, why was she dressed so? As he pulled her onto the bank and rolled her to her side, helpfully patting her on the back, he cursed in every language he knew. He did not have time for a future girl. Did not want the aggravation or the trouble she would cause. For they all caused trouble.
She retched again, mumbling foolishness.
“Apologies, my lady.”
Green eyes glared up at him. The color of the forest, deep and full of womanly secrets.
“You’re going to crush my bones if you keep pounding me on the back like that.”
Abashed, he stopped. “We needs get warm or we will freeze. Can you stand?”
“Of course I can stand. I’m not helpless.” She got to her feet, swayed, and fell, crying out. Christian caught her before she hit the ground.
“Mayhap I should aid you, lady.” There was pain in her eyes and the way her mouth tightened made him ask. “Are you injured?”
She was cradling her hand to her body.
“When I fell, my nail ripped off, and I cut my leg when I rolled down the damn hill. And I think I also twisted my ankle. I hate the country.” Her skin was clear and smooth, the color of a fresh winter snow. Her eyes fluttered closed.
Last Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 4) Page 6