“Yes, I made a mistake, but that doesn’t change the fact that we can’t leave him there.”
Her father shook his head and frowned.
“He’ll die!” She slapped the counter.
“He’s probably already dead, Gem.”
“No.” She shook her head with vehemence. “No he…he’s not. He can’t be. We can go back to earlier.”
“The timing will be tricky.”
“You can do it.”
“You’re not listening.”
“NO! You’re not listening to me!”
“We’re not going back.” Alistair’s calm demeanor was infuriating.
Pointing a finger at her father, Gemma breathed in just enough air to keep speaking.
“You are not winning this one. You can’t control my life this way!” She stepped away from him, her head shaking. “We have to get him back.”
“We don’t have to—”
“I love him!”
The air in the room went as still as death. Fear rippled through Gemma as her father’s face flashed with fury. Her mother closed her eyes and drooped her head as if she’d just been told the world was about to end. Dom and Ruby stood wide-eyed, their mouths unable to close.
“That is unacceptable.” Alistair was straining for calm as he muttered the words, Gemma could feel it.
She wasn’t sure whether it was saying the three little words out loud for the first time or simply realizing just how much she meant them, but courage built within her—one block on top of the other.
“I don’t care what you think. I’m not living without him!” She practically screamed.
“It is too dangerous!”
Looking her father straight in the eye, she found her last strand of calm and forced it into her voice. “If you don’t go back you’ll be guilty of murder and you can be the one who calls his mother to explain why her son isn’t coming home tonight…and I can be the one who calls the police.”
“Don’t be so dramatic!” Penelope huffed and crossed her arms. “Alistair, she’s being ridiculous!”
Gemma’s jaw clenched as she turned to look at her mother. “Thinking that I will stay here if we don’t go back and get Harrison is ridiculous.”
“Gemma.” Her father sighed and put his hands in his pockets.
“I refuse to live in this house if you guys do this. I—”
“Gemma!” he yelled. “We’ll go back.”
Her mother gasped. “Alistair!”
“She’s right, Penelope. What will we tell his mother?”
The room fell silent again, but it was not a silence of death. Gemma felt hope flutter back up to its perch in her chest and take a full breath before congratulating her.
She blinked at her tears and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Don’t.” Alistair raised his hand and warned Gemma away. She took a step back from him as he walked out of the room.
The next hour was painful. Gemma answered numerous questions with as much precision as she could, feeling her father’s livid rage barely hiding below the surface. She then paced the floor outside her father’s office as he did some final research.
Going back was a huge risk. Her father would probably never forgive her for what she was doing. Various punishments tried to force their way into her brain, but never quite made it. Her mind was too caught up with making sure they got to Harrison in time. She could deal with the aftermath of her confession when Harrison was safely back in the 21st Century.
The study door opened, making Gemma jump. Her father assessed her with a cool gaze before heading down the hall and back to the kitchen. She could feel the animosity radiating as they huddled around the counter, ready to discuss the mission. If any of her family got hurt because of this…
Gemma didn’t even want to complete the thought. She studied the granite counter as her father spoke.
“I cannot be sure of the timing, but I will do my best to arrive back at the stables just before you left Harrison. Hopefully we’ll be able to quickly nab him and make it back before anyone sees us.”
Gemma nodded and licked her lips.
Her father sighed. “If he’s not in the stables we’ll conduct a quick search of the castle, but Gemma, you have an hour. That’s all. I won’t risk more.”
“But, Dad—”
“I WON’T RISK IT!”
Biting her lips together, Gemma dropped her gaze to the counter again.
“I’m only taking Dom and Gemma. There’s no point risking you two.”
Penelope and Ruby put up no complaint. Gemma watched Ruby shoot her brother a worried frown. He put on a brave face and squeezed her shoulder.
Gemma closed her eyes. If anything went wrong…
“We’ll leave in ten minutes.”
“I’d like to go back to the mall…where I left. That way Harrison and I can return together.”
Her father’s eyes were black, but he nodded. “We’ll drive you down there.” His voice was thin.
“It’s okay, I can take the bike.”
“No. I want to be there to collect you when we get back.” His voice was ominous.
Gemma’s insides quaked, her stomach rolling into a tight knot. “Okay.”
“Let’s go.” Alistair grabbed his keys and kissed Penelope goodbye. Ruby hugged Dom and slapped him on the shoulder.
Gemma watched the proceedings, deciding that if her mother or sister approached with affection she would reciprocate.
Neither of them did.
Turning from their baleful stares, she followed Dom down the hall, trying to ignore the ball of ice forming in her chest.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Warwick, England - 1393 AD
Harrison could not hobble fast enough as the guards hauled him across the courtyard. Each time he tripped the grip on his upper arms grew tighter. White spots flashed in front of his eyes.
One of the guards holding him grunted as Harrison was lifted from his feet and thrown into a large stone room. He stumbled to the floor, grazing his knee and tearing a hole in the worn tights. Blood smeared the exquisite patterned tiles.
The floor was cold against Harrison’s palms. With shaking limbs, he pushed himself to stand. He felt a sharp blade resting against the back of his neck and fell back to his knees as he surveyed the room.
The great hall was the same size as his house. He took a moment to admire the ceiling, nearly smiling at the complex design. His eyes ran down the whitewashed walls, painted with moons and stars that flickered with candlelight. He couldn’t believe he was actually in a great hall, seeing with his own eyes the castles he had imagined walking through every time he read Robin Hood or watched an epic movie.
Laughter bubbled in his throat. Everything was the same…the round fire in the middle of the room, the raised dais with the baldaquin curtain hanging grandly behind it, the large chair housing the wealthy baron.
His throat closed off and he dropped his gaze back to the tiles, suddenly aware that every eye in the room was studying him.
“Bring him here.” The baron’s English accent was crisp—each sound annunciated precisely.
Two hands clamped under his armpits and dragged him past the long trestle tables. He was dumped in a heap at the foot of the dais.
More from curiosity than courage, Harrison raised his gaze. The baron’s ringed fingers were greasy. He rubbed them together then licked each one. With a swift jerk, he plunged his dagger into his trencher filled with succulent red meat. It smelled divine.
Harrison’s insides began to shake as the baron’s dark glare bore into his skull. Very slowly, he reached for his goblet and took a large mouthful. Red juice lined his lips and dribbled out the edge of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.
“I do not like to be disturbed when I’m eating.” He cleared his throat. “Especially by rodents who think they can take what does not belong to them.”
Harrison had to look away. He could feel sweat beading on his brow, but coul
d not move to wipe it.
“Where’s the prisoner?”
Harrison kept his eyes on the floor and focused solely on the art of breathing.
“Why do you want him?”
Harrison closed his eyes.
“Where do you come from?”
Just keep breathing.
“Who are you and WHY ARE YOU HERE?” The baron slammed the table so hard the goblet fell over. Harrison flinched at the crash and watched the red liquid drip onto the tiles.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It was the only sound in the room.
Harrison’s heart beat like a jackhammer. He shook his head and bit his lips together. He couldn’t tell the truth or he’d be accused of witchcraft. He could lie and say he was a member of the prisoner’s family, just trying to see justice done. But that would have him thrown in a cell. Barons were not crossed.
Whatever he said—true or false—would see him dead.
“So you say nothing.” The baron’s fingers drummed on the table then clicked.
A shock of pain radiated across Harrison’s face as a solid fist landed beneath his right eye. His head lolled to the side. He fought off the scatter of white stars in front of him.
“I need to know why you are here.” The baron spoke in clear, slow syllables.
Harrison cried out as the guard behind him ground his heel into his wounded calf.
“Are you a spy? French, maybe?”
Harrison felt like crying when the guard eventually let up. He whimpered and shook his head.
“And what of the gold dust? Some sort of witch craft?”
Harrison felt his chest constrict. He swallowed and forced his eyes to remain on the tiles.
The baron slammed his fists on the table and stood up. His chair toppled backwards as he pulled his dagger from the trencher and rushed around to Harrison’s side. Grabbing Harrison’s face in a pincer grip, he forced eye contact.
“If you are not going to say anything, I may as well cut out your tongue! You seem to have no need of it.”
Harrison’s eyes grew wide and his head shook in desperation.
“Then speak!” The baron let go of his face, disgusted.
“I… I cannot, your Grace.” He thought of every period piece film he’d ever seen and went for the best British accent he could. It sounded pathetic so he mumbled the next line. “I am sworn to secrecy.”
The baron’s eyebrows rose. “Even if it costs you your life?”
Harrison blinked. “Yes.”
The baron shot up straight as an arrow. Spinning the dagger point on his finger, he paced around Harrison’s quaking form. Bending low, he grabbed a handful of Harrison’s hair and yanked it back until tears formed. His breath was hot and foamy in Harrison’s ear. “There is much pain to suffer before death, oh brave one. I will get the truth one way or another.”
Harrison felt vomit searing his esophagus.
“String him up in the dungeon.” The baron flicked his hand at the guards. “I’ll deal with this after I have finished my food.”
With a flick of his robe, the baron returned to his seat and Harrison was dragged from the hall, past ogling eyes. He could handle the looks of curiosity and disdain. It was the pity that had him praying for a swift death.
*****
They appeared simultaneously on the hay. Gemma crouched against the stall wall and peeked around the corner. Four guards were standing post at the entrance.
She indicated to her brother and father that they were not alone. With hand signals and a little lip-reading the trio organized their plan of attack and dispatched the guards without a sound, dragging them to the back stall.
“The guards weren’t standing post before. We must have arrived after Gemma left.” Dom pulled off the guard’s clothing and hurriedly put it on.
“We’ll have to search.” Gemma braided her hair and flung it over her shoulder. Crouching down, she tried on two pairs of the guard’s shoes, but none fit. She wriggled her toes with a frown.
“Damn it. I don’t like this. He may already be dead,” Alistair said.
“Dad, you said we had an hour. You promised.”
“I didn’t promise anything.” He looked away and cursed. “Dom, you circle right from the stables, I’ll go left and we’ll meet at the southern tower. If we haven’t seen him by then we’re leaving.”
“What about me?” Gemma adjusted the belt at her waist and slid the sword into its sheath.
Scanning his surroundings, Alistair smiled as he picked up a discarded bow. The quiver had four arrows left inside. “You can be over watch.” He handed them to her. “We need your fire cover.”
He slapped her on the shoulder and walked toward the door. Gemma ground her teeth as she walked behind them. Nestling down where her father indicated, she prepared her bow and nodded.
Dom and Alistair ran in opposite directions. Gemma kept an eye on the walls above them. Soon they were out of sight and she was left at the stables stressing over where Harrison might be and worried about what her father might do if he did find him.
Her muscles jerked and she began to bob on her toes. Doubt festered hot and pungent in her brain. It was enough to convince her that if she didn’t find Harrison herself, he would never make it home.
*****
Harrison was dragged to the dungeons. Images of what awaited him flashed through his brain. He had seen pictures of medieval torture and his stomach roiled to think which punishment they would choose. Would he be strong enough to withstand it?
Panic seized his body, making him thrash against the guards as they shoved the tower door open and pulled him into the dank stairwell. A forceful whack with the hilt of a sword turned his limbs to jelly. He tried to shake off the pain and in a last-ditch effort for peace, let his thoughts turn to Gemma.
He ached for her, knowing her parents would probably refuse to go back, knowing she would not have the strength to fight for him. The depressing thought was heavy in his brain, followed by the sharp pinching pain of guilt. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“She would,” he mumbled.
The guard slapped him on the back of the head. “Quiet, you!”
“She’d fight. She’d find a way.” His eyes popped open.
I’ve got to get to the stables!
Harrison’s muscles went taut. The guards tightened their grip, but not fast enough to slow Harrison’s thrashing. He punched his way free, but didn’t get far. One guard lunged after him and they toppled down the stairs together, taking out the second guard. Harrison struggled for breath as the man landed on him and shot an iron fist into his face. He barely had time to moan before he glimpsed the dagger.
Lifting his arms, he blocked the first blow and held the knife at bay, but his fight was futile. The guard was built like a bear. He forced his brain to shut-the-hell-up and pushed against the dagger. His arms were about to collapse when the man lurched back. His eyes bulged wide then his body slumped, an arrow piercing his throat.
Harrison pushed the man off with a grunt…and Gemma ran down the stairs toward him.
He struggled to his feet with a goofy grin.
“Take my hand!” She pulled him toward the door, but quickly diverted at the sound of clanging armor. “Come on!”
They raced up the narrow stairwell, finally smashing their way out into the dimming light. They circled the top of the tower, the breathtaking view of the countryside lost on them. Gemma ran to the edge and looked over the side.
“The curtain wall’s not too much of a drop.”
Harrison leaned over beside her and gaped. “Are you insane?”
He glanced behind him. The sound of clanging armor was approaching with speed. The first guard burst through the door and Gemma downed him with a quick arrow. The second came hot on his heels. He was soon lying in heap on top of his partner.
Gemma looked over the edge then back to the door.
“They’ll just keep coming. We have to climb down.”
Hot, shaky brea
ths jumped out of him as he took in the plummeting drop. “What are we supposed to hold on to?”
“There are enough grips there.” Gemma jumped onto the ledge and lowered herself down. Harrison watched her toes balance on the edge of a stone no more than a half-inch wide.
She glanced up, her expression stern. “Hurry up.”
Harrison swallowed convulsively and followed her. Very carefully, he lowered his body over the edge. His feet found a narrow grip in the side of the stone and he shuffled alongside his girlfriend, mimicking her every move.
His fingers began to cramp. He tried not to look down, but couldn’t help one glimpse to the ground. He pictured them plummeting to the stones below and quickly turned back to face the wall.
They inched along until there was another safe place to descend. Gemma carefully shimmied her body down and nearly slipped. The muscles in her arm shot tight as she righted her mistake. Harrison felt a wave of panic fire through his system and stopped for a second to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and pulled in enough air to regulate his heart, then shot Gemma a “don’t you dare do that to me again” look. She managed a quick grin of apology before continuing their descent.
He wasn’t quite sure what Gemma’s plan was. Once they reached the curtain wall they could run around the edge, but then what? Was she just using up time before being whisked home? He shuffled quickly to catch up and tried to make sure his hand was brushing hers as often as possible.
He took another step down, following Gemma’s descent, and felt his insides split in half as she let out a feeble cry.
Her body jerked.
Two arrows protruded from her back.
“Gemma!”
She went limp. He let go of the wall and reached for her falling figure, managing to catch her hand. Another arrow shot past his head and he ducked while still trying to stay attached to the wall.
“Hold on!”
Gemma’s eyes swirled as she looked up at his face.
“It’s okay. I’m not letting you go.” He fought against the slipperiness of their skin. He could feel the inevitable as his body screamed to let go.
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