A Knight to Remember: Merriweather Sisters Time Travel (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 1)

by Cynthia Luhrs

  Tying her hair back with a scrap of fabric from the dress, she took a deep breath, prayed she wasn’t beet red and opened the door. He stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed, one booted foot resting against the stone. When he saw her, he pushed off the wall and made her a bow.

  “My apologies, lady. I should not have entered your chambers unannounced.”

  Heat crept up her neck as he took in her outfit, his left eye twitching. “Is aught amiss with the dress you wore during luncheon?”

  She could feel the guilt crawling over her face when she answered. She had the worst poker face ever. “I went through your things looking for something to wear while the clothes Albin found are drying.” Lucy put her hands on her hips. “I couldn’t very well go around in the dress I arrived in. It has more holes than Swiss cheese. Anyway, as I was saying, the bottom of your truck made a noise.”

  She pursed her lips. “I knocked on it and it sounded hollow, so I knew it was a false bottom. I opened it and found my shoes, along with the pins from my hair and some of your stuff.”

  Seeing his look, she hastily added, “I can’t read anything in your language anyway. I only speak English.” She took another sip of wine. “So I put my dress in with my other things. I have to wear the exact same clothes I arrived in when I go home.”

  “And why is that, mistress?

  “Superstition, I suppose.” It was the best she could come up with without telling him the truth. Lucy went over to check on the clothing. Still a bit damp. She turned them over then looked back at William.

  “They’re almost dry. When they are, I will change out of your clothes and put the now not smelly dress back on. I hope you don’t mind I borrowed them?”

  He had an odd look on his face. “You look rather fetching in my tunic and hose.” Then William looked embarrassed, as if he’d said too much. “Would you care to join me on a ride? The stables may be in disrepair, but my horses are sound.”

  “I’d love to. I haven’t been on a horse in years.”

  William looked perplexed. “How do you travel in North Carolina?”

  Oops. “We have carriages.”

  “Of course, my lady.” He held out his arm and led her out into the hallway. Several men lounging about in the hall made the sign of the cross as she passed, but Lucy ignored them and continued on to the kitchens.

  Bertram turned and looked at her. His mouth made the shape of an O then he dropped the ladle he’d been using to stir some kind of foul-smelling soup on the fire.

  “’Tis scandalous, it is, girl. My lord, she cannot dress in such a fashion.”

  “It’s only temporary until my dress dries.” She didn’t look that bad, did she? Granted, the hose sagged at the knees and the tunic came down to mid-calf, but really, not like she was strutting around in a bikini.

  William looked her up and down before turning to Bertram. “I’ll have Clement send for a dressmaker.” He proceeded to take a loaf of bread, some cheese and wine, which he put into a leather knapsack.

  “Come. We ride.”

  Barely resisting the urge to bark, Lucy followed him outside.

  She stopped. And the way she looked up at the horse made William wonder if she’d ever ridden, which was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

  “You want me to ride that monster?”

  He chuckled. “He has a fine temper, my lady. Shall I assist you?”

  William cupped his hands, waiting to help her onto the horse. Lucy Merriweather eyed the animal, looked at his waiting hands in confusion, then seemed to realize the purpose and placed her small foot in his hands. As he tossed her slight form on top of the horse, she let out a muffled “oof” when she landed, making him wince.

  “Apologies, my lady.”

  Wide-eyed, she looked down at him. “I’m okay, just a bit surprised.”

  Okay? A strange foreign word, no doubt. William stood back and watched as Lucy leaned over the horse to whisper in the beast’s ear. And found himself jealous of an animal. Then she looked down at him, his heart stopping at her beauty.

  Long brown hair a man could wrap his hands in—he gazed upon her hair and at the horse’s tail. She tied her hair up in a fashion to look the same as the horse. The sight should be ridiculous, and yet on her, he found the sight fetching. Gray eyes the color of a winter storm watched him, and for a moment William wanted to lose himself in her gaze.

  “What’s his name?”

  “The horse? Buttercup.” He couldn’t help the wince that followed, and Lucy started to laugh.

  “That’s an interesting name for a horse.”

  He shifted from foot to foot. “I didn’t give him the name. The man I purchased him from, his daughter named the beast for the color of his coat.”

  “He’s beautiful.” She bent to stroke the animal’s ear as the horse gave a soft nicker.

  She whispered in his ear, and William found himself leaning forward to hear what she was saying to the beast.

  He watched as she closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Her voice came out on a whisper. “Now listen here, Buttercup, you don’t throw me off and I won’t feed you to the dogs for supper.”

  William resisted the urge to snort out loud. Instead he pretended to take care of his horse, not giving any indication he had heard her. “Ready?”

  She patted the horse and turned to look at him. “Buttercup and I have come to an understanding. I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He swung up into the saddle and they trotted through the courtyard and under the portcullis. He noticed Lucy looking up at the lethal spikes. At least there was one part of his castle in good repair.

  “The rains are coming. Might want to put your hood up, my lady.”

  William had loaned her one of his cloaks to go riding. And not for the first time, he wondered why she didn’t have a cloak. Why she had no escort or other baggage, even if she had washed ashore as she said. Wreckage from the ship should have appeared by now. He would send the men out to search again. There was something strange afoot. And he planned to find out what was going on and who Lucy Merriweather really was, no matter how fetching a wench she may be.

  As William rode alongside Lucy, he couldn’t help but notice she was uncomfortable in the saddle. Which made him question where had she come from and why she had no familiarity with a horse.

  He took pride in showing her his land, even though the fields needed work and he was likely facing a meager winter due to the mismanagement of his lands by his friend and steward.

  They came to a spot overlooking the North Sea that was particularly beautiful. It reminded him of her eyes.

  “Would you care to rest for a moment, my lady?”

  William helped her out of the saddle and led her over to a grassy spot where she could rest. She sat down on the ground with a look of relief on her face.

  “I’m not used to riding,” she said as she rubbed her backside. ’Twas a fetching backside—not that he noticed overmuch.

  Content to watch her stare at the sea, William was startled to notice wetness glistening on her cheek. Nay, not tears. Womanly tears undid him every time. Was she grieving for her home, for a suitor left behind?

  “What ails you, my lady?”

  She looked up at him, her face so torn with grief it was like a sword to his gut.

  “I want to return home.”

  “No wreckage has been found. By now pieces of the ship should have washed up.” He left the rest of his words unsaid and continued, “Is there anyone at all you would have me write to? Let them know you survived?”

  “No,” she whispered as she stared at the sea. “There’s no one at all.”

  Whilst they rested, the horses munched on grass and William watched Lucy, listening to her talk of the water and the land around them.

  She was nothing like Georgina. His wife had had a terrible temper and was as ugly on the inside as she was beautiful on the outside. The rumors plagued him no matter where he went. Grateful to have a home where talk would not re
ach him, William vowed again never to remarry. Never to trust a woman. For they were full of treachery and lies.

  “It’s really starting to rain—should we head back?”

  She was shivering, dripping wet and looked miserable. William cursed himself for not noticing as he helped her to her feet. As they rode back to Blackford, the thought of having to deal with her and see to the repairs of his home was more than he could bear.

  Back inside the walls of Blackford, William helped Lucy down and stepped away quickly. Whenever he touched her it was like being close to the sun. She smelled of summer, making him want to lean closer. Instead he pictured Georgina’s face and moved away from his guest.

  His recently arrived captain, Wymund, appeared at that moment. “My Lord, look who is newly arrived.”

  William turned to see a blacksmith known as Osbert walking toward him.

  The man made a small bow. “My lord, Edward Thornton sent me to you; thought you might have need of a good blacksmith.”

  Edward was a fierce warrior and a wealthy distant cousin. One of five brothers. The man obviously still smarted from the last tourney, when William had beaten him soundly and won all the gold. His cousin held a keep in Northern England and was constantly warring with the Scots who raided his cousin’s lands.

  “You are most welcome, blacksmith.” William slapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “We are in need of a stable master and carpenter as well, Osbert. Know you anyone?”

  The man thought for a moment. His face brightened and he said, “I have a brother and cousin in need of work. My cousin has a new wife and child to care for. May I send word?”

  William nodded. “Tell my steward.”

  The blacksmith started to speak then shut his mouth.

  “What else did my cousin say?”

  Osbert turned red. He looked at the ground, kicking dirt around, then took a deep breath and faced William. “He said, ‘Tell the whelp William Brandon I should let him rot.’ Then he laughed and said he would plan a visit before winter to make sure you weren’t starving in your wreck of a castle…my lord.”

  Lucy gasped. William turned to see her pale and shaking. Did she know Edward?

  “My lady, are you unwell?”

  “I thought you were Lord Blackford. Your last name is Brandon?”

  William would have remembered meeting her. His father had died years ago, and he had no siblings. Damnation. She knew. The taint of Georgina followed him home.

  He stiffened. “I am William Brandon, Lord Blackford. Get yourself inside before you catch an ague, my lady,” he said roughly.

  “Wymund. See the lady inside, whilst I tend to the horses.”

  Just when things were looking up, Lucy had to remind him of Georgina. If she didn’t know him and she didn’t know Edward—was it possible she hadn’t simply heard the stories but had known Georgina? Or was she kin to Georgina’s lover? He would watch her, William thought, as he tended to the beasts. A loose stone fell to the ground and he cursed. He must see to the repair of his castle before winter.

  Chapter Ten

  Brandon? William’s last name was the name Simon kept saying was hers. Was he an ancestor? A feeling of dread skittered down Lucy’s arm, making the tiny hairs stand up. He had to be the man Simon’s ancestor took Blackford from—by force. Simon said the man was a traitor to the crown. What was William going to do this year to get into so much trouble? Why hadn’t it clicked earlier?

  Clement’s last name had to be Grey. One way to find out. She’d find him and ask. She thought again about warning William. What would she say? Oh, excuse me, you’re going to be declared a traitor and your friend Clement is going to take your castle by force. Because obviously you won’t give up willingly.

  Who would? Lucy would pour boiling oil down on her attacker’s heads, anything to keep such a special place. The castle might be falling down, but there was something magical about it. She snorted. Being thrown back in time was bringing all her childish dreams and fantasies to life.

  “My lady? I brought you a cup of warm spiced wine to warm you.”

  She took the ceramic cup with a smile. “Thank you, Wymund.” Wrapped in a blanket, sitting in a chair in front of the fire in the hall, Lucy was finally warm. The rain had chilled her through. Southern girls have thin blood. What if she was stuck here in the past? Where was a crochet hook when she needed one? At least then she could make a sweater for the winter. “Captain?”

  The ferocious captain of William’s garrison knights turned to look at her. “Yes, lady?”

  “Lord Blackford’s friend, Clement?” Was it her imagination, or was that a look of distaste on the good captain’s face? “Is his last name Grey?”

  The knight sat down in the chair across from her, a speculative gleam in his eye. “Aye. Do you know the Grey family?”

  Wasn’t like she could answer the question without finding herself turned into a crispy marshmallow.

  “No, I thought I heard someone mention the name. I’ve always liked colors for names.” Idiot. What a dumb thing to say.

  Wymund blinked at her before grinning. “Have many friends named after colors, do ye?”

  “Of course. I have friends named Rose, Charlie White, Francis Black and even a Rainbow Runningwolf.” Her aunt Mildred, bless her heart, wouldn’t be caught dead with a friend named Rainbow.

  Rainbow was one of hippie Aunt Pittypat’s friends. Like sticking your finger with a needle, a sharp pain pierced Lucy’s heart. Aunt Pittypat would be frantic with Lucy presumed dead and Charlotte and Melinda gone. Her eccentric aunt had raised the three of them when their parents were killed in a sailing accident when Lucy was ten.

  The knight looked dubious. “What did you hear about the Grey family?”

  Maybe he’d give her information. “I heard someone in the courtyard talking. They said William and Clement were friends.”

  The man refilled their cups and leaned back in his chair. “They grew up together. All of us did. Clement was the third son to the earl. He earned his spurs, though he managed to avoid fighting in any battles. A year ago, the Grey family fell into disfavor with the king and lost everything. William gave Clement a place as steward of Blackford.”

  The knight looked around the stinky hall and curled his lip. “He was a lazy child and is a lazy man.” He met her gaze. “Stay away from him, mistress. The Grey family is a superstitious lot, and he has the notion you are a witch.”

  He was watching her, waiting. For what? To see if she’d turn into a rat and scurry away?

  “Thank you for telling me.” She sipped the warm wine. “I’m not a witch. I just want to go home.”

  “I don’t think you are a witch. However, you did appear on the battlements during a storm, and my knight, Alan, is now dead.”

  She wished she knew how she’d ended up here too. “I didn’t kill him. I don’t know what happened.”

  He didn’t totally believe her, but let the subject go. When he stood, he looked serious. “I’ve had a word with the men. They know you are under William’s protection, but have a care, mistress.”

  With those heartening words, he strode out of the hall.

  The sounds of tables and benches scraping across the dirty floor woke Lucy with a start. She’d fallen asleep in front of the fire.

  “My lady? Lord Blackford requires your attendance at supper.” A boy of about fifteen stood before her, waiting.

  What was his name? Right. “John. I’m starved. What’s for dinner?”

  The boy shrugged. “Likely stew and bread.” He looked off into the distance. “I miss my mum’s cooking.”

  Good. She wasn’t the only one who thought the food tasted awful. What she wouldn’t give for a homemade biscuit. Bertram was a better handyman than cook. Why didn’t William bring someone in from the village?

  Lucy took the boy’s arm and sat at a table with William and his knights. She looked around, noticing for the first time there weren’t any women around. Not a single one other than her
. How odd.

  The stew was served in a bread bowl. She couldn’t identify the meat and wasn’t sure she wanted to. There were veggies cooked down to mush, but overall it wasn’t terrible. Ceramic jugs kept the wine and ale cool. There was some type of brown bread, which she eyed with trepidation. Would it crack a tooth?

  Lucy took another bite of stew. It didn’t taste too bad, and at least it was warm and filling. As long as she didn’t think about what was in it, she’d be fine. If she were stuck here, maybe William would hire her to work in the kitchens. She could make a mean soup. And pizza. She could make pizza.

  Was it wrong to mess with history? Nope. As far as Lucy was concerned, if she could make it, what would it hurt? Come on, it was pizza.

  Across the table, Clement belched and wiped his fingers across his mouth and then on his shirt. He was a disgusting man with food stains on the front of his tunic. He drank his ale, spilling some down the front of him. When he smiled, she could see several blackened and missing teeth.

  Note to self, find a way to brush your teeth. She shuddered and turned her attention back to the knight on her left, who was explaining how to knock your opponent off his horse during a joust.

  The rest of the knights gathered up and down the long tables seemed to have better manners. They used the tablecloth to wipe their hands and didn’t hog all the rolls. The sounds of male voices filled the air, and with the heat from the huge fireplaces, Lucy felt herself growing sleepy.

  She tried the brown bread and found it full of rocks and other gritty bits. Ugh. She put it back on the table and eyed her stew bowl. At home she’d always eaten the bread bowl, so she thought why not. The bread was crusty as she ripped off a piece of the bowl and put it in her mouth, chewing. It wasn’t too bad, so she took another piece and ate it.

  One of Clement’s foulmouthed friends shot her an incredulous look, making her feel like she had committed some kind of terrible faux pas.

  “Lady, the trenchers go to the poor. We do not eat them.” He sniffed at her.