Guardian of the Stone

by Amity Grays

  She watched him. Though covered in layers, nothing could hide the broad shoulders and strong, muscular frame of the athlete beneath. But he wasn’t just physically fit, he was agile. The way he had moved across the rocks took skill. The way he had moved away from under the other men’s swords took training. His confidence and ease could only have come from experience. He had declared himself a soldier, and by all appearances the title fit. In truth, the man seemed better than normal; he seemed bright, courageous, and toward her—protective.

  Edeline pushed away the irrational thought.

  Roncin suddenly stopped and looked back toward the others. Silently motioning toward a distant trail, he lifted his arm indicating the path would be steep but faster. The three other men looked and then nodded. Silence, signals, mysterious trails—a part of her wanted to laugh. Like Robin Hood and his merry men, they made their way through the enchanted forest ever fearful of the corrupt king and his army. She should probably be afraid, not of the imaginary villains, of course, but definitely of her interesting escorts. But she wasn’t afraid—not anymore. In an odd and unexplainable way, she was actually starting to like the peculiar crew and maybe even slightly beginning to enjoy the unsolicited adventure.

  They were halfway up the hillside when the path became almost unbearable. Dane stopped and reached up to help her down. Longing to feel the ground under her feet, she didn’t hesitate to slide down into his arms.

  Perhaps it was her wayward thoughts or merely the enchantment of the mystic forest, but in that unexpected moment, everything seemed significant—the warmth of his hands as they caught her and moved her to her feet, the way his eyes never turned from hers. Like a seductive touch, it all seemed to draw her in. And though she tried, she couldn’t look away.

  Neither, it appeared, could he.

  They grew very still as the air around them charged with awareness. Between them, silence settled as loud as any roar. A muscle twitched along his jaw, drawing her attention to the curve of his lips. They were nice lips, lips she wouldn’t mind kissing…if only the words they uttered made any kind of sense.

  Raising Laur’s reins over her head, Dane smiled and moved directly behind her.

  Their small party, once again, began to move.

  Despite the unsettling reaction she was having to his hands against her back and sometimes gently cupping her sides, she was still glad Dane was behind her. Not only was the support greatly appreciated, but from the back, he couldn’t see how her face burned with embarrassment or how her lips still trembled with the very idea of a kiss.

  Taking hold of her waist, Dane redirected her around a deep burrow. “Careful,” he whispered, his breath moving across her flesh like a tender caress.

  She reminded herself once more he was not her hero…but she could no longer deny she wanted him to be.

  It felt like an eternity before they finally emerged out of the woods. Her feet hurt horribly and so did her calves, thanks to the hill’s steep incline.

  “Does this mean we can now ride?” she asked, staring out over what was yet another entirely unrecognizable location. Fields of grass, green and lush, lay for miles before them. They were surrounded by hillsides as breathtaking as the clear blue sky.

  “It’s pretty open,” Dane said with what sounded like concern from directly behind her shoulder.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, turning to face him. “Where are we?”

  One very sexy brow lifted comically.

  “Oh, right…France.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “You’re catching on,” he said with a chuckle, his dark brown eyes sparking with humor as his face lit with a heart-stopping smile.

  He portrayed such a normal picture. Weren’t crazy people supposed to look crazy? In her limited experience it was so. In fact, she’d always assumed it was nature’s way of warning those around them.

  Looking ahead toward the others now carefully scanning the fields before them, she realized it was the same for all of them. Not only did they, for the most part, appear entirely sane, but they also had an air of integrity and strength—very much like her father.

  It didn’t make sense, none of it, and that was the most frustrating part of all. She liked things to make sense. It was one of the reasons she so longed to return to France in the first place. She longed for explanations.

  Roncin looked back their way and motioned them forward.

  “It’s so open,” Dane remarked again, a great deal louder. “Shouldn’t we stay to the trees?”

  Roncin shook his head and then mounted his horse. “They’ll see us, but we’ll also see them.”

  “Them?” repeated Edeline.

  They were most likely speaking of their imaginary foes, but, oh, how she hoped the “them” they were speaking of wore jeans and spoke English. French was a language she knew well, thanks to her father. But still she longed for the familiarity of the English tongue, not to mention the taste of sanity it would bring.

  The other men mounted their horses as Dane helped her atop Laur and then pulled himself up behind her.

  Lucas moved forward into the field. “If we’re to make Harfleur by nightfall, we’ll have to leave the woods,” he explained as he carefully eyed their surroundings. “Besides, it’s always better to meet a marksman in the field as opposed to the forest when one is traveling.”

  “What about an army?” Dane mumbled, moving ahead slowly.

  Hemart laughed. “That depends on their numbers, my friend.”

  They road quietly for some time, each of the men watching carefully the trail ahead, the hills to their sides, and the path from which they’d come.

  Edeline simply leaned back against her escort, enjoying the openness of the field and the illusion of safety the warm arms around her provided.

  An uncontrollable smile tilted her lips.

  He’d wanted to kiss her. The thought should horrify or at least trouble her, but it didn’t. It pleased her. Right or wrong, crazy or…well, crazy, but maybe she was falling for her counterfeit knight in shining armor. How could she not? In this world, this insanely unrealistic world of peculiar rhetoric, ancient dress, and unfamiliar lands, he really was her greatest hope.

  Deciding it best to refocus her thoughts, she set her sights on their remarkable surroundings. Wherever she looked, a new, equally as picturesque, scene emerged. Ahead, lush green fields sprinkled with colorful wildflowers in both white and varying shades of pink rolled leisurely across the land, twisting and turning with the hills at their sides.

  In the distance, mountains soared like mighty towers clear into the heavens. The hills surrounding them rose from deep hues of green to majestic peaks of gray. Unlike the pine and fir-covered forests near Los Angeles, these hills were covered with oak and beech. Though every bit as beautiful as the dense, gigantic pines, the trees covering these unfamiliar hills were vastly different. Their branches grew wider, both dense and thin, twirling and bowing an elaborate dance throughout the forest. They were enchanting—magnificent—and still not enough to keep her mind diverted from the man behind her.

  She shifted uncomfortably.

  He shifted his weight behind her.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?” she asked, looking up and over her shoulder.

  A devilish grin lifted playfully his lips. “You could say that,” he said, a heavy dose of amusement accentuating his words.

  She stared at him dumbfounded. “Sorry,” she finally replied for lack of a better response before turning back around.

  A deep chuckle rumbled past her ear.

  Hemart slowed his horse and waited for them to catch up while the other two knights road on ahead. “Tell me about Federic, Edeline. Has he fared well?”

  Never had she been so grateful for a distraction.

  “Father? He’s doing well. He’s met a nice woman he’s quite fond of. They’ve been spending a lot of time together as of late, visiting museums, going for walks. She’s even managed to drag him to a social
.”

  Hemart’s brows pulled uncertainly.

  “A dance, a gathering,” Edeline explained. “When he’s not with Alison, his job at the church keeps him busy. He enjoys what he does. It’s sometimes hard to pull him away.”

  “What he does?”

  “Father works maintenance—fixing things.” Her father was a resilient man. Originally hired as janitor at Saint Paul’s, through dedication and hard work, he had moved up to maintenance. Federic could fix anything. His fascination with technology was unmatched by any other. He loved learning how things worked, the more intricate the better.

  “Federic always was very good at fixing things.” Hemart nodded. “He has a sharp mind for such work. Never could leave anything untouched. He wanted to know how it worked and how it could work better. I have often watched him throw his hands in the air and declare a task ‘impossible.’ But I have never actually seen Federic give up. He never gives up.”

  Edeline laughed. “That sounds like my father. How do you know him?”

  “I have known Federic all my life. We lived in the same village. Our fathers were friends. We fished together, hunted together, clashed swords more than once. He is my oldest and dearest friend, and my oldest and most troublesome ally.” Hemart grinned. “He has led me into more trouble than I can remember. Though, I do remember once, he talked me into putting on a cape and jumping with him off a hillside and into the wind. We did indeed fly, straight to the ground. We were seven. I broke my right leg. Federic broke his left.”

  “You’re Mart!” She recognized immediately the story her father had been telling for years. “But how…I mean…you’re much younger than my father.”

  “Three days older, actually.” Hemart chuckled. “We had many good times, Federic and I, always coming up with one bad idea or another, always competing to outdo the other. He always shamed me with the sword, but I always got the better of him in a battle of might. It never did set well with him.”

  Edeline’s mouth dropped. No, it hadn’t. She remembered the many times her father had told her stories about their young adventures and hilarious mishaps. But this man couldn’t possibly be Mart, the boy who had stolen her father’s clothes as he skinny dipped in the lake, and then left him to make his way unseen back into their villa. That boy would be much, much older. But how…

  “Riders,” Lucas called back over his shoulder.

  Still some ways in the distance, their features in no way discernible, emerged the six horsemen.

  The smile on Hemart’s face immediately faded.

  She sensed Dane ready to bolt.

  “No,” Hemart warned, apparently sensing the same. “It is best we stay together. In these parts, they could be friends as easily as foe.”

  As the riders neared, the two men exchanged nervous glances.

  “They wear no markings,” noted Hemart, squinting toward the arrivals. “Keep Edeline back,” he ordered as he shook his reins and moved forward to ride beside Roncin and Lucas.

  Dane slowed Laur. Edeline could feel his body tensing noticeably behind her.

  “Dane, what is it?” She turned, but instantly wished she hadn’t as she caught sight of his troubled face. “Dane?”

  “It may be nothing,” he said as he pulled Laur to a stop. Carefully watching the scene before them, he raised himself up and quickly dismounted. “Take these,” he said, handing her the reins.

  Up ahead, the three knights spoke casually with the six men sitting nonchalantly upon their mounts. They, like her self-appointed guardians, wore similar attire, but their cloaks were plain, without markings of any kind.

  There was a quick exchange, smiles, laughter.

  “Thank goodness.” Edeline allowed herself to breathe. “I was getting worried.”

  One of the new arrivals pointed back toward Dane and Edeline.

  “Can you ride?” Dane asked.

  “What?”

  “Can you ride?” was his abrasive response.

  “I—”

  Without warning, the new arrivals threw back their cloaks and drew their swords. Edeline’s three escorts instantly backed away. A sick churning hit her middle. She shook her head in denial. It was a charade, an enactment. They were playing a game.

  “Edeline, can you ride?” Dane’s voice rose to grasp her attention.

  Fear nearly choked her as she turned her gaze to his. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I’ll do my best to keep that promise, Edeline.” He glanced toward the others as they all dismounted and the first sword was raised in battle. “I want you to ride into the hills and hide well. If we don’t make it, stay hidden. When you’re certain it’s safe, find help and do whatever it takes to make your way back to the cliffs below Brines Castle. They’ll come for you.”

  “Who? Who’ll come for me?”

  “Your father,” he said before turning toward the others and taking off on a run.

  She watched in stunned silence as he ran toward the battle where swords were now flying through the air, their silver blades catching light from the sun and tossing it back as sparks from the huddle.

  With no small degree of dread, she watched as Dane charged straight into its midst.

  “Dane!” His name ripped from her throat, a desperate plea to go unheard.

  Grunts and cries rang from the cluster as anguished faces flashed sporadically into view, tortured, determined, and raw with conviction. As horrifying as it was, she found she could neither leave nor look away. It was like a haunting dance, dreadful, shocking, and entirely enthralling. Their grunts and roars were its gloomy melody, their thrusts and turns its peculiar steps. An odd yearning began to move deep inside her, creating an unexplainable desire to join the ball.

  But then clarity emerged in the form of reality.

  Watching as the tip of a blade emerged through the back of one of the new arrivals, she realized instantly the strike was real. This was not an enactment. The fight was real, and men were dying.

  Real.

  The men, the fight, the emotions…the slaughter—it was what it was, and there was no pretense. Gruesome, sickening, and real, death danced within their circle, choosing its victims one strike at a time.

  Real.

  Blood turned the cluster to red, the warm liquid falling to the earth below, softening the soil at their feet and sending it flying into the air. The sound of metal hitting metal rang across the distance. One by one the cluster shrank. One, two, three—she counted their coats and thanked the Lord the knights were all still standing. And every time Dane’s dark head moved into her sights, she was so grateful she practically sobbed.

  Real.

  Her heart beat heavy in her chest. She could feel her blood pumping wildly through her veins, carrying oxygen to breathe life into a spirit she knew was hers, but could hardly recognize. If she’d had a sword, it would have been in her hands.

  Real.

  “God, please don’t let anything happen to him…to any of them,” she whispered, realizing their tales were indeed truths. Everything Dane had told her was true. This was not the world she had known. Los Angeles was more than a distance away. These men were who they said they were. And none of this was of her time.

  It was real. And she, most likely, was in fourteenth-century France.

  Finally, when she felt she could take it no more, it was over. The only men standing were the ones who professed to be her guardians. Without even realizing she had moved, she was suddenly upon them. Jumping down from Laur, her eyes never left Dane’s blood splattered face.

  Tears finally came. Deep, jarring sobs wrenched her body and lodged in her throat. She moved toward him—relieved, mortified, and more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she clung to him as though he was her only foundation. And in an odd and still unimaginable way, it seemed he now was.

  Chapter Nine

  TEARS FELL UNGUARDED down cheeks flushed clear of color. Deeper than so
rrow, her pain stood visible inside eyes which had seen too much. Her world had been turned upside down, and everything she’d believed in poured out onto a field of battle. Her dreams and trust lay trampled beneath its bloodied soil, lost, as was her history, inside this world she didn’t understand.

  Lifting her into his arms, Dane stepped over the fallen warriors and away from the horror he hadn’t wanted her to see. It was a harsh awakening into a reality which had been, until now, impossible to fathom. But, without any doubt, his beautiful ward had seen enough to be convinced.

  “Edeline,” he whispered, setting her down on her feet several yards away from the carnage, “it’s all right. It’s over. You’re safe.”

  She trembled in his arms, still holding on tight.

  He had wondered how it would come to her, but never imagined such a scene. From a protected existence to one of insanity, her entire world had been pushed over an unforeseen edge. Of course she’d be shaken, reaching, looking for something to hold on to. It made sense that something was him.

  Resting his head atop hers, he took a moment to calm his own frenzied senses and simply breathe. After all the ugliness, the fear, the killing, she was a sweetness he badly needed. Soft and warm in his arms, she reminded him that behind it all there was a purpose.

  Eventually she dropped her hold and stepped back. Her lips quivered. Shock, fear, anger—they altered the lines of her face as she moved through a series of emotions on her way to acceptance.

  With a choked sob, she hit her fists against his chest. Her expression more resembling despair than anger. One by one her fingers unraveled, moving like a gentle caress across the bloodstains on his tunic, eventually gripping the fabric in her hands and pulling it away from his flesh as though unable to bear seeing it against him.