“Pinky swear.” She held out her pinky and watched as he shook his head before pressing his pinky to hers. “Thanks, Jake. I’ll miss you.”
Charlotte watched him leave. As the screen door swung closed, she pulled up her favorite playlist, made a mojito, and went back outside to watch the sun set over the ocean.
North Carolina had been home her entire life. Sure, she’d traveled to lots of other countries, but knowing you always had a place to call home made all the difference. If she was right, then very soon she’d be calling medieval England home.
No more feeling sad or worrying. She blew a kiss to the sun as it fell into the ocean then went inside. Not at all tired, she decided stay up and finish sorting through the rest of the stuff in the house. There wasn’t much left to go through. She’d already donated a lot of stuff, gave more to friends, and sorted through every drawer and closet.
The next day, Charlotte blew a strand of hair out of her face and wiped the grime from her cheek, letting the salty air coat her skin. Everything was done. She pulled out her trusty planner and went over the list again. The guys in England had promised to teach her how to use a knife.
She hoped the other information she’d learned during her research would be useful. Well, to a point. Heaven help anyone she might have to stitch up. Sewing a button on was one thing. Sewing skin together? Yuck.
She patted the leather journal. Knowledge was priceless.
Charlotte looked to the sky. “If you’re listening, Aunt Pittypat, please don’t let me end up in the wrong time.”
The Black Plague took place smack in the middle of the century. Heaven forbid she ended up when that was going on. There still wasn’t a cure even in this day and age. The small glass jar full of antibiotics made her feel a little bit better.
Had her sisters found someone to love in the past? Charlotte had searched and searched, but couldn’t find the painting Melinda swore she saw in the museum in England. There was no listing for it on the website. She even called. A nice woman with the most perfect accent had assured her if they had it, she’d know. The hair on her arms had stood up as she ended the call. Had Melinda done something when she went back? Somehow changing history?
Honestly, Charlotte didn’t care what her sisters had done to change history as long as she found them. It would be enough for her to see them again. For all of them to live in the same country, in the same time. To know they’d found love and were content.
And if she was very lucky, perhaps she would find her very own knight in shining armor.
The wind blew, it started to sprinkle, and for a moment Charlotte swore she heard the sound of bagpipes playing the most haunting melody. Weird.
Chapter Three
May 1330—England
“You ride slower than my grandmother,” Sir Antoine called over his shoulder as he galloped through the wood.
Henry Thornton, Lord Ravenskirk, urged the horse faster. He’d spent the past fortnight at Sir Antoine’s estate on his way back home from court. Hunting and drinking while Antoine invited all the daughters of eligible nobles so he could choose a wife.
Let them come. Henry had no desire to find a wife. His life was made up of fighting and drinking, which suited him perfectly. Let his elder brothers settle down. He would remain unwed.
Antoine veered left, and Henry laughed. Up ahead was a shortcut that would take him across the wood and bring him out in front of the stag. At some point Henry must have taken a wrong turn, for he found himself in an unfamiliar part of the wood.
What was that noise? Henry strained to listen. The sound was coming from the west. Quietly, Henry slid off the horse and tied the beast to a tree.
“Don’t want you wandering off while I do my chivalrous duty.”
The horse twitched an ear but remained silent. With a hand on the hilt of his sword, Henry made his way through the woods, following the sound of rushing water.
He came to a waterfall. At the base near an outcropping of rock, there was something in the water. He squinted and made out the color purple.
“Help me.”
’Twas a woman’s voice. Henry scrambled down the rocks, slipping and sliding. He landed on his backside with a thud.
“Bloody hell.” He climbed across the moss-covered wet rocks and leaned over, reaching out.
“Give me your hand.”
The woman looked up at him, her face wrinkled with age, yet there was great intelligence behind her eyes. And something much older. She reached out, lost her tenuous grip, and went under again.
The old woman surfaced. “My foot is stuck.” She gasped and went under again, splashing and flailing.
Henry leaned forward as far as possible without falling in. He grasped her hand in his and felt the wet skin slip free. This time the water held her longer. He swore.
She surfaced, coughing. “I cannot break free. Leave me before the water claims you as well.”
“Damnation. Do not give up.” Henry removed his weapons, tunic, and boots. Bare-chested, he dove into the water, one knife in hand, and came up sputtering. “Bloody hell, that’s cold.”
With a few strokes he reached the woman, pulling her upward. She was shivering and her lips were blue. Henry dove under. The water was clear. He could see her foot trapped in the tree, her skirts caught on branches. Henry cut through the heavy fabric. Running out of breath, he surfaced, pulling her up again.
“Once more.”
He went under again to free her foot. As he surfaced, Henry pulled her close. “Put your arms around my neck.” With her on his back, he swam to shore. The bank was muddy as Henry pulled her out of the water.
“You are safe now.” With a muttered curse, he lay there, looking up at the sky, panting. He had to quit eating so much and lazing about his hall. He was running to fat.
When he recovered his breath, Henry sat up. “How did you fall in?”
“Thank ye for saving me.” The woman had long silver hair braided down her back. With a grace that belied her age, she rolled to her feet, the purple cloak sodden and dripping. Her dress and cloak were ragged around the edges.
He winced. “My apologies for your dress.”
She looked down and wriggled her toes. “No matter. In my youth, I would have rewarded you with a kiss.”
As he watched, she pulled off brush and unearthed a basket and shoes. Something about her made Henry uneasy. He managed a weak smile.
“I was out foraging for herbs. I heard a voice and a man struck me. He believed me dead, tossed me into the water.” Her hand went to her neck as if seeking something.
“Did you lose something, mistress?”
“My purse and my necklace. A verra powerful piece. The necklace is blessed and brings the wearer great fortune and luck.”
“It doesn’t seem to have brought you much luck on this day. Perchance it isn’t working?”
The woman laughed, a tinkling sound like rain on armor filling the air. “Mayhap, young lord.”
Henry looked around. “You are not far from the haunted wood. ’Tis known for a group of outlawed bandits. They live in the dark wood, venturing forth to prey on travelers and hold nobles and knights for ransom. ’Tis rumored they are led by a man who was once a rich and powerful knight. No one knows who he is.”
She smiled. “I have nothing to fear from them.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “Where’s your guard?”
“I require no guard. The one who harmed me will pay.” She eyed him as if waiting to see what he would say.
While he gathered up his clothing and re-sheathed his sword, Henry thought about what the woman said. A man who would ill use a woman so was no better than the lowest of men. He had a duty to see her where she needed to go.
He bowed. “Henry Thornton at your service. May I escort you to your destination, madam?”
“Aye, I knew by your handsome face and lovely hair I was rescued by one of the Thornton brothers. I think the most handsome of all the Thornton brothers, Lord Ravenskirk
.” The old woman beamed at him and took his arm.
Henry grinned as he lifted the woman up onto the horse. “You flatter me, madam. We should reach the inn by nightfall. My men will be waiting for me there.”
They rode in companionable silence. As the sun sank low in the sky, she spoke.
“You will experience great upheaval in your life, Lord Ravenskirk.”
“Please, call me Henry.” He resisted the urge to snort. As one of five brothers, he was used to hearing all kinds of pronouncements. At a score and seven, Henry felt nothing could surprise him anymore. He had become inured to such tidings.
Oblivious to his musings, she went on. “Those you call friend will turn against you. A stranger will become more important to you than your own life. And when you see nothing but darkness ahead, look to the east.”
Before he could retort, a raven called out overhead. And a feeling went through Henry, the feeling he sometimes got in battle or when something was about to happen. He would not jest. The old woman was more than she seemed. It was rumored a great healer, or some said witch, lived in the wood with the bandits. Could this be her? Not wanting to risk angering her, Henry kept his mouth shut.
The raven flew away as they rode out of the wood. He kept the horse to the muddy path. In the distance he could see a small village. He would see her safely settled with a few coins. A feeling of foreboding coursed through him as Henry wondered what was coming next.
Chapter Four
Late May—England
Charlotte stretched, turning her head side to side to work out the kinks. While she was slightly taller than average at five foot seven, it wasn’t that much of a difference. It seemed the seats on planes were shrinking. And the space between her knees and the seat in front of her? Nonexistent. Every time she flew, people were grumpy, the flights overbooked, and the air always smelled funny.
Her legs were achy from being scrunched up the entire flight. The man in front of her had reclined his seat all the way back and snored so loudly Charlotte found it impossible to sleep.
“That’s what you get for flying coach. Why didn’t you splurge for first class? Especially if this insane plan works and you’ll never set foot on another airplane again.”
Wow. That gave her pause. No more planes. The sound of cars, trains, and the hum of electrical wires. It would be so quiet in the past.
A businessman walking past her look alarmed as she talked to herself. He moved as far away from her as he could as he continued talking on his mobile phone. Charlotte stuck her tongue out at him. And no more people on their phones, ignoring everything around them.
She snorted. If he thought she was crazy, he should’ve met her famous great-grammy, Lucy Lou Merriweather. From the family stories she’d heard, her gram took crazy to a whole ’nother level.
A scruffy-looking guy, wearing jeans and a faded red t-shirt proclaiming Bacon is Amazin, held up a sign with her name on it.
“Maybe not to the pig.” She smiled. “Hi, I’m Charlotte.”
“Huh?” He looked down. “Right. The shirt. Funny.” He cocked his head, a skeptical look plastered across his face. “You’re the bird wants to learn how to use a knife and survive in medieval times?” He looked her up and down. “No offense, but you look more like a model than a chick who likes to play in the dirt.”
“Looks can be deceiving. Shall we get going?”
The guy sighed. “Guess you got a mountain of luggage waiting?”
Charlotte nudged her rolling bag with her toe and showed him the messenger bag and backpack. “Nope. I travel light. Now, want to get going, or are we going to stand here and discuss hair-care products?”
The guy chuckled. “You’re all right, Charlotte, the Yank from North Carolina.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “We could share a bottle tonight.”
“Not gonna happen.”
He simply shrugged and started walking. Thank goodness this wasn’t the guy in charge. She’d end up smacking him before her two weeks were up. Why did some guys see an attractive woman and immediately assume she was stupid, helpless, and easy?
A beat-up truck covered in stickers was to be her chariot. He shot her a look, daring her to complain. Whatever. She’d ridden in a truck full of camels in the middle of summer. This was nothing. Charlotte stashed her bags behind the seat, climbed in, and twisted her hair up into a bun.
She must’ve fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes, the landscape had changed from the city to lush, verdant rolling hills. With a deep breath, Charlotte inhaled. The air tasted clean and full of growing things.
Covering her mouth as she yawned, she shifted in the seat. “Tell me about this camp in the woods.”
“We’re not allowed to stay in the castle ruins, so we set up a camp on the grounds. The castle must’ve been something back in the day. We’ve got permission to stay here for the summer. Pretty rustic. So if you’re hoping for room service, you’re out of luck.”
Instead of telling the guy what he could do with his comment, Charlotte decided to keep quiet. She needed their knowledge. Who cared if he thought she was some beach Barbie playing in the dirt?
“I’ll manage. Don’t worry about me.”
They drove for a while longer, and just as Charlotte was ready to ask him to pull over so she could stretch her legs, the castle ruins came into view. Big houses weren’t her thing. Give her a small cottage on the water and she’d be happy to grow old there.
There were tents set up and people dressed in medieval clothing. Some of the guys were practicing their sword skills, and others seemed to be working on various projects. There were a few women about, most in dresses, though she spotted two wearing shorts.
“Is that bread I smell?” Charlotte’s stomach rumbled.
“Yep. We’ll get you a bite then I’ll show you to your tent.”
“Sounds good to me.”
As they walked through the camp, Charlotte nibbled the piece of bread, taking in every detail. They came to a tent set slightly away from the others. She was grateful it was already set up. No matter how many times she tried, it always took several attempts and lots of swearing before the tent wouldn’t collapse on her head.
“This will be your home for the next two weeks. Once you get settled, come on over to where Mary is baking and I’ll introduce you to Guy. He’s in charge.”
He left her without a glance. Charlotte looked around the inside of the tent. Nice. There was a cot with a pillow and blankets, a tiny dresser, and a comfy-looking chair.
She snorted. Her accommodations here were much nicer than some she’d lived in during her travels. There wasn’t much to unpack. Did she dare leave her journal here in the tent? No, she’d keep it with her at all times. Charlotte slid it back in the messenger bag. This way she could take notes whenever she needed to. The bag wasn’t waterproof, but she’d put the journal inside a plastic bag and sealed it.
The water in the pitcher on the dresser was cold. She poured a bit in the basin and splashed some on her face. Her bun had come undone and it was windy, so Charlotte braided her long blonde hair so it wouldn’t blow in her face. As she was looking for an elastic to secure the end, something bright fluttered under the cot. She leaned down and pulled a scrap of blue ribbon out. It looked new, almost as if someone had placed it there. She tied it around the braid and made her way out of the tent. People looked her over with open curiosity as she walked through the camp. She smiled but kept going. Plenty of time to get to know everyone later.
“You must be the American?”
“Charlotte. You must be Mary. I had a small taste of your bread. The smell is making me drool.”
The woman standing in front of her was plump, with short, spiky brown hair, and a huge smile on her face. A tattoo of a dragon circled her neck and looked like it went down her shoulder.
She handed Charlotte a slice of bread. “There’s honey in the bread. That’s the secret.”
Mary looked to be in her late thirties to early forties, if Charlo
tte had to guess. She was pretty good with ages. She was wondering why the woman was here, when Mary spoke as if she’d heard what Charlotte was thinking.
“My son got married and moved to Australia. My husband died five years ago. I decided I couldn’t knit another pair of socks without stabbing someone with my knitting needles, so I looked around for something else to do. I went on a dig in Egypt and decided it was fun. Through someone there I found this group. We travel around to different locations around the UK. It’s been interesting.”
She handed Charlotte another piece of bread, thickly spread with butter. “So what brings you here? We don’t get many Yanks.”
“I too found myself with time on my hands and a yearning to do something different.” Charlotte crossed her fingers behind her back. She wasn’t ready to tell this group of people why she was here. Not to mention they might think she was completely out of her mind.
“You know how things are in America. The crime and all. I thought it would be a good idea to learn how to use a knife and see what it was like to live so long ago.” She took a big bite of the bread. “This reminds me of the bread my favorite aunt used to make. I think I could eat the whole loaf.”
Mary laughed. “Come along, luv. I’ll introduce you to Guy, the man in charge.”
There were several men fighting in pairs with swords. Mary led her over to a group of metal chairs. They sat down and watched. Charlotte had to admit, they looked pretty good. One man in particular seemed completely serious about what he was doing. As she watched them, doubt filled her. Could she do this? Was she really going to try to go back in time?
Charlotte shook her head. There was no more time for doubts. No more time to question herself. Positive thoughts only from here on out. You had to tell the universe what you wanted and believe it would deliver.
Lonely is the Knight (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 3) Page 2