Christian let out a long, weary sigh as he carried her, knowing he was now responsible for her. Let him be wrong and she have a husband or chaperone looking for her. Saints, he prayed she was not a future girl. He was betrothed, and should not note how fetching she looked when she scowled at him.
As he carried her to his makeshift camp, Christian looked for signs of a struggle. Finding none, he sighed, building up the fire to dry them both. The light on her hair reminded him of winter wheat, the locks curling over her shoulder. He looked closer to see pearls woven in the strands. Nay, she must be a lass run away from a husband or set upon by thieves. Her form was pleasing—not that he lingered overlong. And her dress, it marked her as a merchant or minor noble, but he was certain he had heard the words, hadn’t he? Or perchance he mistook what she said? When she woke, he would have speech with her and find out.
While he watched her slumber, he made a choice. He would not tell her who he was. He would be Christian, the wool merchant. Not a laughingstock. The names Christian Thornton and Lord Winterforth would not pass his lips. Once they arrived home, he would summon aid. Her sire would come for her…or he would send for his brothers, and their wives would know how to send her back to her own time. He would marry his betrothed and not think on her again.
The girl cried out, and he gathered her in his arms. For a moment the ever-present loneliness within him receded. Christian cocked his head. There was an odd noise, one he had not heard before, that came from her. The sound was faint. He leaned close and noticed a fine bracelet on her arm. It was the source of the sound. Ear against the bracelet, he heard the ticking sound. It grew fainter and fainter until it stopped. There were numbers on the bracelet with lines pointing to them.
A clock. Unlike any he had ever seen. So small. Why had it stopped moving? The tiny clock loomed large as all of England as the knowledge settled within him.
The fates were laughing at him, for she was from the future.
Ashley woke warm and content, feeling safe and secure. Her eyes fluttered open and she jolted the rest of the way awake. The man holding her wasn’t Ben or the model—he was the man who’d saved her from drowning.
The events of last night flashed before her eyes. She remembered rolling down the hill, cutting herself, and then the awful bridge giving way, dumping her into the frigid water. It had been so cold, the frigid waters stealing her breath, squeezing her lungs, and the dress—it was so heavy that it pulled her down even as she frantically tried to keep her head above the water.
The man mumbled in what sounded like French as she eased herself from his arms. He rolled over, and she took a moment to look at him, noticing his face and hair. The blond was almost an exact match to her own color, and just as long. Memories flooded in, and she knew he had blue eyes, full of concern as he told her not to worry, he had her. And in the moment she had utterly believed him, knew she was safe. Why were they in the woods? Was it some kind of primitive campsite? Was he a backpacker or—please not—a homeless guy?
Ashley leaned over and sniffed. He didn’t smell of body odor, more like smoke and earth and male. Wow, he had long, thick lashes. Why did men always get the perfect lashes when women had to shell out thousands over their lifetime on mascara?
He was dressed in something similar to what she’d seen in Mary’s shop. Then she remembered: the theater. But why camp out dressed in costume? So many questions.
“What time is it?” She looked at her watch and blinked back spots, feeling faint as her world tilted. Her watch had stopped at four thirty. It was obviously morning, which meant she’d missed the party and lost out to Mitch.
“My phone.”
Frantic, she dug in the pockets of her dress before remembering it falling into the water, the screen cracked and black when she finally fished it out of the water, only to lose it in the fall.
“Hellfire and damnation.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. The horrid Southern drawl hadn’t passed her lips since she’d spent every penny she could scrape together working a second job during school to pay to erase it years ago. What was happening?
“Don’t panic.” She’d borrow money from the actor sleeping at her feet, get a phone, and call Mr. Havers. Surely he’d understand an accident. Then she was chartering a helicopter and arriving with a splash. It wasn’t too late to salvage her career. For a moment she thought about waking the guy and demanding his phone, but he looked so peaceful that she let him be. After all, he’d saved her life—the least she could do was let him sleep.
Her shoulders slumped and she hunched over, inching toward the fire to dry the parts of her dress that were still damp. Dispassionately, she took stock of the dress, noting parts of it seemed to have shrunk, and the rest was a wrinkled mess, not to mention she’d lost the beautiful belt. But on the plus side, the dirt and mud she had rolled through had come out, so all in all she guessed it all came out pretty even—which was good, considering someone had stolen her car and belongings, so she’d be arriving in what she was wearing. What a story she’d have to tell. Let’s hope the new guy in charge has a sense of humor.
Careful not to make noise and wake the man, Ashley looked for a path. She wanted to figure out where she was—maybe to the left? But she didn’t get very far before the brush and trees were too thick to move through. She turned around and made her way back, knowing she was stuck until he woke. Reaching out, she hesitated. He slept, but it was like a big cat. One second they were asleep, the next pouncing on a mouse. She was in the presence of a wild beast, and when faced with a tiger, she admired the beauty and savagery while fully understanding at any moment the cat could pounce. The man hadn’t done anything to make her think he would harm her—in fact, she’d felt safe with him—but this morning, in the light of day, he gave off a different kind of energy, something primal. Uncivilized.
Then it hit her: he must be homeless. The guy had been polite, but there was a volatile air about him, like if he was crossed, his enemy would be dead in the dirt without the guy even breaking a sweat. Why was she spending time thinking about someone she didn’t even know? She shook her head and sat down. It was cold, she had no clue how to build up the fire, and she heard a rusting in the woods. Scooting close to the man, she decided the unknown monster in the woods was a lot scarier than the sleeping tiger beside her.
When he woke, she could finally leave Wales behind her. Life worked best on a schedule. Feeling better now that she had a plan, Ashley vowed she’d salvage the situation, turn it to her advantage, and show her new boss she deserved the promotion. Mergers. They were hell on earth.
Chapter Nine
Christian woke, tensed, and rolled to his feet, sword at the ready, only to see the woman he had pulled from the water watching him.
He was knight of the realm. He would do his chivalrous duty by taking her to Winterforth, then he would aid her in going home when ’twas safe. Dolt. You should tell her what you know.
“Good. You’re awake. I need to borrow your phone.” She held out her hand, looking most displeased.
Nay, he needs know more about her before he told her what he knew. “Did you sleep well, demoiselle?”
“What language is that you’re speaking? You’re in England. Are you English?” She peered at him. “Or are you here on holiday?”
He made her a small bow. “Forgive me, demoiselle. Better now?”
She narrowed her eyes, looking concerned she had woken to find herself in a different country, and he resisted the urge to snort. For she had woken to a different time, as difficult ’twas to believe.
“What was that you were speaking first, French? It doesn’t sound like any French I’ve ever heard, and I spent two weeks in Paris last year on business.”
He arched a brow. “Would you prefer another language? Mayhap Latin or Greek?”
“Everybody’s a comedian. English is fine.”
The woman standing before him, with locks of golden hair falling around her shoulders, astonished him. She was like his brother
s’ wives. Though Anna was not outspoken. A knight would tell her what he knew to be the truth. Ride for the nearest inn and dispatch a messenger. While he did not know how the traveling through another time worked, Christian knew each woman had said there was a moment they could have returned to their own time, but each made a choice to stay. Who knew if this traveling would work the same for her?
If he told her about his brothers, he would have to tell her who he was, and she would hear the jests about him. Robert thought the tales amusing. His brothers did not see him as did the rest of England. A laughingstock. Christian had not been back to court, not wishing to hear the tales or stride by as women tittered behind their hands. And the other courtiers, they would look upon him with disgust, admonishing others to stay away from him, for they now considered him less than a man.
Nay, he would not send for a messenger. Not yet. This odd girl was the only person he could just be Christian with, instead of Lord Winterforth or one of the Thornton brothers, or the man who was not man enough to make a babe.
“We’re wasting time.” She held out her hand again. “Did I stutter? I need to borrow your phone.”
“My phone?”
“Is there an echo in here? I’ve got to call my office. They’ll be wondering where I am. It’s important. Oh, do you have the time?”
“I do not have a phone.” Christian looked to the sky. “’Tis morning.” He searched through the bags, coming out with food and a flask of water, but after looking at her again, he put the flask back and chose another, one with ale.
“Eat first. You will be hungry, and ’tis a long ride.”
“You don’t seem to understand. I have to go.” She threw her hands up and paced around the small clearing. “I’ll grab something on the way. What I wouldn’t give for a latte right now. Please tell me there’s a shower at this campground?”
He gaped. “Shower?” The sky was clear. “’Tis not raining.”
“Not rain. A shower. You know, a bath? To bathe?” She huffed. The look on her face made him want to laugh, but he dared not. She was in a fine temper, and he had no desire to be on the end of a shrewish tongue. From what he had seen, except for sweet Anna, who put up with John, future girls had fearsome tempers.
“You want to bathe? Now?”
“Shower, bath, who the hell cares. I need to shower every morning. It wakes me up, gets me going, especially if I don’t have coffee.” She glared at him. “You know, start the day off right and not offend your coworkers with your stench.”
He discreetly sniffed his person. He did not stink.
“We should go. No stopping until nightfall.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
The shrillness of her tone made him flinch.
“At least tell me what time it is so I know how much damage Mitch has done. It’s bad enough I missed the party. Maybe I can still salvage this disaster.”
The fire out, he cleared away any sign of their presence. Who knew what ruffians might be lurking about.
“As I said, mistress, ’tis morning.”
The booted foot she stamped had him wishing to examine the craftsmanship. He wanted to touch the leather, but if he did, she might well kick him.
“Be more specific. You must have a watch even if you don’t have a phone. Exactly when in the morning?”
Had his brothers faced such ill treatment when they first met their wives? Were they all so unpleasant at first, these future girls? The men in their time must cover their ears all day long.
“Why does the time matter? We will get where we are going when we arrive.”
Her mouth fell open and she shut it with a snap. “Look, you might be homeless or living out some kind of crazy fantasy out here in the woods, I don’t know, but normal people care about the time. We have schedules, appointments, things to do.”
She stepped forward and poked him in the chest, her head coming to his shoulder. When she had to lean back to frown up at him, he knew it made her angry to do so, from the way her nostrils flared and her cheeks turned red.
“Let me tell you something: the world runs on time. Down to the minute, no, down to the second. Every single day, I have a crazy busy schedule with no room for nonsense.”
She seemed to realize she was standing close enough for him to smell her. The scent of roses filled his nose. With a gulp, she took two steps back, breathing heavily.
“We have to hurry. I’m going to lose my job.”
“Let us begin with your name and from where you hail.” He wanted to see what she would say.
“Oh, right. Sorry, I’m only rude when I’m hungry or really late. I’m Ashley, Ashley Bennett. From New York City.” Seeing the look on his face, she rolled her eyes. “You know, in America?”
Aye, he knew this America. ’Twas where his brothers’ wives hailed from. Christian looked to the skies, wondering if the bloody fates were laughing at him along with the rest of England.
“Christian. At your service, mistress. What, pray tell, is this important job you must make haste to arrive at a particular time of day?”
While she talked, she sidled up to the horse, eyeing the animal dubiously.
“I’m in finance. My company is merging with a firm based in London, and my job’s at stake. It’s between me and one other guy, who’s a slimy jerk who’ll do anything to steal this job out from under me. One wins and the other is out.” She snapped her fingers.
While he didn’t understand most of what she’d said, he did understand how important it was to her to go to London. He could aid her. London was four days’ ride from Winterforth. Once he took her where she wished to go, then he would tell her how to get back to her own time. Or at least what he knew—it wasn’t as if there was a door she could walk through and find herself back home.
“When must you be at this job in London?” He cocked his head. “We are a long ways from there.”
As he watched, she sniffed the horse, wrinkled her nose, and stepped back. “I know we’re a long ways away. I’ve been driving around this country forever. It’s a long story. There was a storm, so the plane detoured to Wales. Then I got lost and ended up here. Wherever here is.”
She seemed to be looking for someone.
“Are you traveling alone?”
“We’re not in some backward country. I’m a grown woman, perfectly capable of traveling alone without a big, strong man by my side.”
She thought he was strong. He was pleasing to her.
“There must be another person somewhere around here with a phone I can borrow. Point me towards civilization, and seriously, I need to know what time it is.”
Christian spoke softly to the horse, packing away his belongings before he turned back to her.
“The monks at the abbey near Winterforth have a water clock that tells time to the quarter hour. Their clock rings seven times a day: matins, prime, terse, sext, none, vespers, and compline, for work and prayers. In London you will find the bells ring for the opening of the markets, at curfew, and holidays.”
He watched her as she took a closer look at the bags and his horse, touching the leather. Almost as if she had never seen such things. Robert’s wife, Elizabeth, said they had horses in her time but not everyone knew how to ride, instead riding in horseless carriages, which he still did not quite believe.
“Why does the time matter so, mistress? You wake, go about your day, eat, sleep, and wake again. At my home there is a sundial in the garden behind the chapel. I will show you how to use it.”
She frowned and shook her head. “I’m still trying to decide if you’re homeless, mentally ill, or maybe in some kind of TV show or movie, and I’ve stumbled onto the set so you’re staying in character. Although I have come to the decision you’re not going to murder me in the woods.”
While she spoke, she did something with her hair, twisting it and putting it up, showing off her face. ’Twas a beautiful face—her eyes sparkled when she was angry, making tiny flecks of gold appear. An uncert
ain look crossed her face.
“You’re not going to murder me, are you?”
“Nay, not this day.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Good to know. Your home. Is it close?”
“Aye, it will take us a se’nnight if the weather holds. Once we arrive, I will dispatch a messenger for you to contact those awaiting you in London.”
“A messenger? Is that code for make a call or send a text?”
“A man on horseback will carry a message.”
The sigh escaped as if forced from her body, and he knew exactly how she felt.
“Of course. Why make a call and be efficient when you can send a man on horseback with a piece of paper? Why not send a pigeon or a turtle?” She held up a hand. “Don’t answer that. I was talking to myself.”
Ashley was still trying to decide if the man who rescued her was some kind of commune-with-nature guy or an actor totally committed to his craft, when he lifted her up on the horse. A ridiculous shriek escaped, making her cheeks burn.
“Have I mentioned I don’t like horses?”
He finished tightening the straps. “’Tis a horse or we walk. My carriage is at home.”
Carriage? Okay. So Mr. Blue Eyes was definitely an actor, and he was obviously not going to break character. The whole living in the woods with his sword reminded her of an article she read about the guy in The Lord of the Rings who did the same thing, probably where this guy got the idea. Only an actor would be so single-minded and infuriating. They were easy enough to recognize—she’d spotted them on the subway or out and about in the city, even dated one or two who’d had small roles in TV shows. And the one thing she knew for sure? They were all the same. Annoying. Completely self-absorbed.
He swung up on the horse behind her, and as the beast started moving, she slid sideways. A big, warm hand steadied her, the heat searing her skin through the dress.
Last Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 4) Page 7