With a smile, she touched the light strands as she wove in chopsticks to hold the twist. Then, after washing her hands, she stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling shelves and tapped her lip with a forefinger. The seagull dishes would be perfect for tonight—the image of the dancing gulls made her grin. She’d found the dishes at an estate sale, the delicate blue edged in gold with the mischievous white bird in the center. By now her friends were used to eating on china—her oldest set was from her great-great-grandmother, was over two hundred years old, and yes, she used them even for something as simple as pizza. What was the use of having china if one let it sit in a cabinet unloved? Out of the eight sets of china, the Haviland was the only one she had to hand-wash; the rest could go in the dishwasher. The heavy lead crystal wine glasses were from Edinburgh Crystal. It was sad they were no longer in business. She fondly remembered her trip to Scotland and going behind the scenes at the factory to etch a tumbler. It sat in the cabinet, perfect for a hot toddy in the winter.
As the women emerged out of the bedrooms, dressed and chatting, they helped set out the food, everything from cucumber sandwiches to moon pies, and Pepsi for those that didn’t care for wine or champagne.
“Oh my goodness, did you hear? Laura Ann left her husband.” One of the women leaned against the counter, a glass of red wine in hand.
“I heard she left him for the pool boy, twenty years younger than her.” Rainbow smirked. “Have you seen her pool boy? He could double for a young Keanu Reeves.” She sighed dramatically, sending them all into discussions of which leading men they’d want to star alongside.
“Well, I’d make a list and demand my agent land me parts where I got to smooch each one,” another added. They cackled, sprawled out across the white slipcovered sofas, blue and white floral chairs, and multicolored oversized floor cushions as they caught up on the latest gossip.
“These little quiches are amazing. I have to get the recipe.”
Penelope nodded to the woman, a newcomer not only to the group but to Holden Beach. “I’ll text it to you before you leave tonight.”
Talk turned to wine and books and, of course, the men in everyone’s lives, and how difficult it was to date in one’s thirties and beyond.
“So when are you getting married again, Pen?” Rainbow waggled her eyebrows.
“Isn’t nine the charm?” another teased.
One of the blonde twins chimed in, “Nine? Why not go for a baker’s dozen?”
They all laughed as Penelope smiled. Let them tease her—at least she had the courage to keep trying. Certain her one and only love was out there somewhere, she didn’t care how old she was; she’d keep searching for him no matter what. For all she knew, they’d passed each other and hadn’t realized, waiting for the universe to bring them together at the right time. No matter what, love was truly all that mattered. Let responsibility and duty hang: she’d always choose love first. Who cared if true love was a fairy tale? She still believed.
“Where’s Mildred?” one of the women asked, pulling Penelope out of her daydreams.
Rainbow answered for her: “She thinks we’re a bunch of silly women who not only drink too much but are exhibitionists. She’ll never join us.”
“Plus she likes to be in bed by ten, and we don’t get started until midnight,” Penelope added gently. Her sister was set in her ways, but she always meant well, somehow lacking the social gene that told her when she said something inappropriate or insensitive. While she could be awkward and standoffish, she had a big heart, and with Alice, their youngest sister, so far away and busy raising three girls, Mildred was all Penelope had. But her oldest sister detested children. Penelope was sure Mildred was going to make the perfect grouchy old lady.
And her? She liked children in theory, but she’d never felt the maternal urge her friends talked about even when she’d held babies. They smelled nice—well, when they weren’t spitting up or pooping up a storm—but she didn’t get the attraction. Maybe if she’d had a babe of her own, things would be different, but given she was thirty-nine, she was pretty sure her time had passed. And that was okay—no regrets, no matter what. That was her mantra, and it had gotten her through tough times, so she saw no reason to think otherwise.
Rainbow was the first to stand up and stretch. “I’ve got to be up early for court tomorrow. Can I help you clean up?”
Penelope shook her head. “It’s no trouble. Go on home while there’s a break in the storm.”
The others put their glasses on the counter and dishes in the sink, collecting their bags and hugging each other goodbye. Thunder rumbled across the sky as Penelope looked outside, watching the clouds blot out the moon again.
“Better hurry—looks like we’re in for another round.”
She waved goodbye to her friends, happy they had celebrated the summer solstice together. Lightning lit up the water, and without thinking about it, she walked barefoot down the stairs of the worn wooden walkway, down to the sand, still warm from the heat of the day.
Walking in the rain and during a storm was one of her favorite things to do. The moon kept playing hide and seek behind the clouds as they drifted across the sky, like mascara-covered cotton balls.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared at the water, inky black, the scent filling her nose and making her skin tight, and sent up a plea.
“I keep trying to get it right. Please, universe, send me my match, a man I can love, mind, body, and soul. A great love I’ll never forget.”
The wind blew, and she inhaled deeply, turning her face up to the sky, tasting the rain on her tongue. It was salty, and as the wind tugged her down the beach, Penelope swore she smelled metal and leather, which was odd. Salt, sand, and the smell of suntan lotion mixed in with the ocean air were what she usually smelled, but tonight was different. As she stood staring at the water, pondering where the smell could be coming from, lightning struck the sand close enough to make her jump.
The skies opened up, the wind whipping, blowing sand into her face, stinging her arms and face. For a moment she swore she saw silver eyes in the clouds, and even more disconcerting? She was sure she saw a sword fall into the ocean. But that was ridiculous. It wasn’t a moment after she’d taken one step into the water to investigate that thunder shook the beach, making her change her mind. No matter; she’d come back in the morning. And with that, Penelope ran for the house, the wind tearing the chopsticks from her hair as it streamed out behind her, the red caftan a beacon in the darkness.
As lightning struck so close she could smell the ozone in the air, Penelope grabbed the wood post, cutting the side of her thumb. Another bolt lit up the night sky, illuminating one crimson drop that fell in slow motion and was swallowed by the sand. Making a mental note to call the handyman to fix the nail sticking out, she sprinted across the worn boards and into the dry, cozy house.
FOUR
Thomas had stopped by the cottage to see how Josephine and Heath fared in their small quarters. Though his sister had assured him they were more than comfortable, he hadn’t liked leaving them, even as he posted two guards to watch her at all times in case there was truth to the rumor of a man looking to steal her away.
During the day, he had purchased several horses. The stables were untouched, so there was plenty of room for the animals, thanks to the quick thinking by the stable boys. Tired and hungry, he pushed open the door, blinking at the dim interior after the bright afternoon light. The inn reeked of men and ale; unwilling to linger, Thomas ate fast, though when he passed by a group of men, some voice within warned him, and he avoided the man’s booted foot.
“Apologies, fine sir.”
Without bothering to answer, Thomas threw open the door and inhaled, ridding his nose of the odors as he walked across the courtyard to fetch his horse. Later he’d wonder what made him hesitate, the same sense that warned him in battle. If this had been a battle, his head would be lying at his feet looking up at him. The blow came from behind—“Cowardly whoresons,�
�� he uttered as he dropped to his knees and landed face first in the muck.
When Thomas came to, he was trussed up like a boar, rolling back and forth in the back of a rather shabby carriage. Scuffed brown boots, the same he saw when he fell, were inches from his nose. Following the boots up, he flinched.
“How can it be? I watched you fall. Quick, cut me loose and we will end these bastards.”
The man he’d called comrade, friend, sneered.
“You left me in that godforsaken land to die.”
“I thought you dead, would not have left you behind in Jerusalem if there was slightest chance you were alive.”
“Yet here I am. Am I a ghost come to haunt you, perchance?”
Realization dawned. “Hugh, Grant, and Robert. ’Twas you.”
The carriage came to a stop, the door opened, and he was roughly grabbed and tossed onto the ground.
“They found out I was stealing the gold for myself. I had no choice but to kill them. Now there are none left except you and I. The gold will pay for repairs to my estate. I am in debt; money does not go so far as it used to, and women with large dowries are even harder to come by.” He kicked Thomas in the gut. “Soon you will join your brothers in arms.”
But while Roger had been blathering on, Thomas slid the blade from his boot—idiots hadn’t bothered to check him for weapons other than his sword, and it would cost them dearly. The last of the ropes fell free, and he rolled, coming up in a crouch, teeth bared, knife slashing downward.
Four men rushed him while the coward he once called friend stood back, arms crossed over his chest, watching the spectacle. One fell as Thomas’s blade opened the man from shoulder to elbow. Striking again, Thomas lunged for the fallen man’s sword and thrust up behind him as he knelt, the sound of the man’s strangled cry telling him his aim was true.
Pain sliced through his back as the blade bit down. The next blow came to his thigh, and he roared and spun to face his remaining two attackers, sword and knife at the ready, blood streaming down his arms and legs. He wiped the scarlet from his eyes as thunder crashed across the sky.
In the next instant, the two men lunged, and hell was unleashed upon the very earth he stood upon as the ground rumbled and bucked, sending one of the men to his knees as the most ferocious storm Thomas had ever experienced swept across the land with a vengeance. Thomas leapt into the air with a battle cry, sword raised high, and aimed for Roger’s neck—they collided, the earth gave way, and they fell.
Thomas spat out seawater as another wave crashed over him. The skies turned black, and the wind whipped, sending water into his eyes and nose as he struggled to keep his head above the churning waves. As a boy he had heard tales of a terrible storm such as this when sea monsters came forth to drag ships and men to their doom.
A wave drove him under, and he choked, his injuries burning in the water, and then there was a bump against his leg, the feeling of something large. As he was pulled under, he struggled to strike at the foul monster dragging him to his death, but it was fast, and the deeper it pulled him, the more his vision dimmed as Thomas struggled to reach the other blade in his boot. Deeper and deeper the beast took him as he looked up and swore he saw sunlight break through, sending a beam down through the darkness to save him.
FIVE
The dull ache woke Penelope. The cut on the fleshy part of her thumb was red around the edges, and throbbed in time to her heartbeat. After a quick text to the handyman to take a look at the railing, she padded to the bathroom. Nothing like a hot shower to get the day started off right.
A spot of blood from her thumb appeared on the towel, and she sucked on the cut while she searched for a bandage, coming up with a dusty character from a kids’ TV show, left over from the last time her nieces visited. It would be lovely to see them again before the summer was over—her sister and family were so busy with work and the kids’ activities that they rarely had time to visit anymore.
Jennifer Lopez sang her heart out as Penelope sang along. Dressed and finished with her cup of green tea, Penelope gathered her hair into a ponytail and stretched in pleasure when the sun hit her skin, the smell of the ocean making her feel that all was right in the world as she padded across the worn wood, sighing when her bare feet touched the warm sand.
After the intense storm last night, she was eager to see what might have washed up. Sometimes Penelope found a beautiful shell or rock, and occasionally a piece of sea glass. The sunrise turned the sky into a pastel abstract painting, making the perfect time for a walk, with no crowds out and about this early. At this end of the beach there were never many people, with the dunes to the left of her, and to the right an enormous house that was only used a few times a year when the owner, who lived in Boston, was able to get away from his high-powered finance job. When he was in town, she’d see him pacing on the deck on his phone the entire first day of his arrival, but by the time he’d decompressed, it was time for him to go back.
The sun warmed her bare shoulders as she meandered along, wearing a red sleeveless shirt and gingham shorts, stopping occasionally to look at an interestingly shaped piece of driftwood. A bit further down the beach she noticed someone had left their blankets out last night, and they were covered in sand. As she got closer, a sound had her turning to locate the source. It was coming from the blankets, and she hesitated. The noise came again, blending with the waves and the call of a raven. The black bird landed on the lump, and it moved, causing the bird to investigate. As a corner of the cloth blew back, Penelope spied long, dark hair and broke into a run, the shells she’d collected falling to the sand, forgotten.
Scanning the horizon, Penelope didn’t see any signs of a shipwreck, and a scan of the beach around her didn’t help either. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary—well, except for a person on the beach moaning.
Were they ill? She’d knelt down, her hand outstretched to touch the person, when she noticed it was a man under the tattered blanket, dressed in a tunic-type shirt and formfitting pants—almost like leggings, but there were rips in the clothing, not just at the shoulder and arm but his back and thighs.
“Hello? Are you sick?” Penelope spoke loudly, but he didn’t stir. Some of the people renting a house for the week tended to overindulge and sometimes fell asleep on the beach, but him…his clothes looked old, not like a homeless person, but museum old. There was something odd going on.
When she shook his shoulder, he grunted but didn’t wake. Annoyed he might be sleeping off a hangover, she rolled him over, gasping when she saw his face.
It was harsh, battered, and bruised, and yet, even with the injuries, he was so beautiful that a sculptor would have fallen to his knees and wept, thanking the heavens above for sending him such a promising subject.
Silvery eyes the color of the sea during a storm, framed by the longest lashes she’d even seen outside of falsies, fluttered open.
“Bloody hell.”
“I’ll say. How much did you have to drink last night?”
He spoke, the rapid words filling the air but not making any sense as her brain struggled to identify and then translate the language.
“Sorry, my French is pretty rusty.”
The man cleared his throat, which brought on a coughing fit. She quickly pushed him onto his side as he retched up seawater, helpfully pounding him on the back until he was done.
“Where am I, demoiselle?” he said as she helped him sit up, her eyes traveling over him, noting the wounds. Was he an escaped felon?
“The salt water washed your wounds clean.”
He looked down at his bicep, the jagged gash. “Four against one—five if you count Roger.” He peered at another cut on his washboard stomach that looked like someone had mistaken him for a loaf of bread. “’Tis naught but a scratch.”
The man made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, pointing at the houses hugging the beach, his mouth opening and closing, almost as if he’d never seen a house before. Those beguiling eyes wer
e filled with panic as he gripped her arm.
“Am I in hell, then? Are you a demon come to take me to the depths of the fiery pit?”
“I’ve heard Holden Beach called a lot of names over the years, but never hell.” She pulled him up, glad he staggered to his feet—given his size, she would have never managed on her own.
“Come on, let’s get you inside and cleaned up. Then you can call… Is there someone who can come get you?”
He stumbled, and Penelope summoned every bit of strength to keep him from falling, exhaling with relief when he found his balance. The man kept turning his head from side to side, as if he’d never seen a beach before. Maybe he hadn’t.
“I fear I have traveled a great distance. This does not look like Dover.”
“As in England?”
The man nodded, reaching out to touch the grass growing around the dunes.
“Goodness’ sakes, how much did you have to drink? You’re in Holden Beach.” At his blank look, she elaborated. “North Carolina?”
Nope. Nothing. Either this guy was good, or he’d taken a hit on the noggin.
“America?”
But he shook his head, turning paler by the moment. They were almost to the walkway, and she hoped he’d make it, otherwise she’d have to call the paramedics to move the big lug.
“I do not know this place, mistress.”
“Watch out—”
But it was too late—he’d grabbed the railing with the nail sticking out. He looked at the blood welling on his palm then wiped it on his tunic with a shrug.
“I’ve got someone coming to fix that later today.”
The man she’d half carried in from the beach sat in her kitchen, gaping at his surroundings as if he’d never seen a modern kitchen before. While she watched, he ran his hands through his hair, wincing and looking a bit green around the edges.
“You’ve got quite a bump there.”
My One and Only Knight Page 2