Lonely is the Knight (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 3)

by Cynthia Luhrs

  Filled with relief, Henry tucked the necklace back into the pouch. He withdrew a handful of coins. “Take them.” She shook her head, and he said, “Please, madam. I am sure you know those who have need of my gold.”

  She looked at him. Then she accepted the coins.

  “May I escort you to wherever you’re going?”

  “I am quite safe in the wood. And you must go home. Do not tarry.”

  He wanted to ask her why, but there was something otherworldly going on, and Henry decided against it.

  “You will make a good husband.” And with that remark, a shudder of fear ran through him. He had vowed never to marry. Never have a woman scolding him day and night. Filled with hatred whenever she looked upon his face. Henry turned and made his way back to the men.

  Chapter Seven

  “You enjoy now, miss.”

  “Smells delicious.” Charlotte left the chip shop and made her way to a park across the street, where she found a bench and sat down to eat lunch. It was fun to people-watch. To make up stories of what they did for a living, who they loved, and their favorite place to travel.

  The visit to the museum had ended up being a bust. No painting with anyone resembling Lucy. Nothing at all about either of her sisters. Realistically, she hadn’t expected to find anything. But she had to wonder. Melinda had been sure she’d seen the painting of Lucy. So what had happened to it? The only explanation Charlotte could come up with was that Melinda or Lucy had done something to change time, and now the painting no longer existed today.

  Why hadn’t she gone with Melinda when she called? If she had, maybe they’d all be together. Then again, Charlotte was assuming her sisters ended up in the same time and place. How awful it would be to go back in time and be in the wrong year or country.

  Her heart beat faster, sweat dripped down her back, and everything around her sounded muffled. Something was wrong. Was she suddenly allergic to the fish? She couldn’t breathe. Was she dying?

  Time passed, and slowly her breathing returned to normal. The panic attacks had started when she was eighteen. Now she never knew what would trigger one.

  Arriving back in London, spending time with the history buffs, and finalizing her affairs had made what she was about to attempt seem real. Charlotte noticed everything. The smell of exhaust from automobiles, the sounds of cars and trucks, the motion when riding the tube. People fascinated her. Seeing them hurrying to and fro, heads down and tapping away on their phones, even in restaurants.

  She saw a family of four in a café. Mom, dad, and two kids. Everyone was on their phone, and there was silence at the table as they all typed away, oblivious to each other.

  Then there was the overwhelming amount of choices. From the grocery store, to the bakery, and cheese shop. They could walk into the store and buy fruit and vegetables all year round, out of season.

  Heck, most of the people she knew didn’t even have to worry about where their next meal would come from. It didn’t matter if it was winter; you simply went to the store. While rationally Charlotte knew things were going to be very different in the past, she was having a hard time wrapping her head around it.

  She stood, threw the wrapper in the trash, and started wandering. There were a bunch of shops on the other side of the park and, according to her guidebook, several antique shops. She turned the corner and tripped over an uneven cobblestone as she heard the music. That haunting melody.

  “I know that song.” Icy fingers stroked the back of her neck. Up ahead at the corner, she saw a man wearing a blue tunic and hose. He was playing the pipes. The man nodded to her, beckoning her forward. No one else seemed to notice him.

  “I’m glad we had a family full of eccentric women or I might think I was hallucinating,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. As she reached the corner, the piper vanished. Where to start? Charlotte slowly turned in a circle. There was a dusty-looking shop on one corner and a coin shop across the street. Perfect—she’d start with the money.

  “Afternoon. Help ye, miss?”

  Charlotte looked at the cases. There were so many different types of coins. How would she ever decide?

  “I hope so.” She crossed her fingers behind her back. “My grandfather loves old coins. And since it’s his ninetieth birthday, I wanted to do something extra special. I’m interested in purchasing coins from medieval England, specifically from the early to mid-1300s.”

  The man wrinkled his brow, then his face brightened. “Have just the thing, I do. Back in a jiffy.”

  The man stepped behind the curtain, and Charlotte could hear cabinets opening and closing, the sound of boxes sliding around, and the tinkling of coins. The man pushed through the curtain, dust on his dark brown vest, his gray hair sticking out on the sides. “These will do quite nicely, I think.” He set down a battered black leather case in front of her, opened it, and pulled out five trays.

  “I must admit, I don’t know a lot about coins, so I’ll need to rely on your expertise.”

  “Did you have an amount in mind to spend?”

  Charlotte opened her messenger bag and rifled through the contents. She came out with a small bag, which she opened, and placed a wad of cash on the counter.

  “Ten thousand pounds.” She knew it was a lot, but she wanted to be prepared. Who knew what she might run into? And it wasn’t like she had kids or anyone to leave the money to. Jake was getting the house and the contents of her checking account, so the rest was hers to use. Oh, how Aunt Pittypat would have loved this adventure. She’d already bought eight thousand in gemstones. They were hidden in the lining of her messenger bag.

  The man’s brows went up, one of them twitching as if it were a caterpillar crawling across his face. He rubbed his hands together and grinned.

  “Your grandfather is a lucky man to have such a generous granddaughter. We can do quite well with that amount.”

  The coin dealer sorted through the coins, setting some aside, mumbling to himself. Charlotte had a feeling it was going to take a while, so she wandered around the shop, stopping to look at whatever caught her eye. It was obvious the man loved what he did, had a love of history.

  “Have you been doing this long? Collecting and selling coins?”

  The man looked up. “When I was a wee boy I found an old coin at the beach in Cornwall. Turned out it was from Roman times. Quite valuable. I was hooked.” He scratched the tuft of hair behind his ear. “Had this shop nigh on forty years.”

  “It must be nice to be able to do what you love.”

  “After the missus died, it’s what’s kept me going.” The man looked at the clock. “Care for a cup of tea?”

  “I’d love one, thanks.”

  The man went in the back and came back with a tray and a kettle that had pictures of cows and pigs dancing arm in arm. There were two teacups and a package of biscuits. As he poured the tea, he told her about his childhood. Charlotte told him about losing her parents in a sailing accident when she was little. How her eccentric aunt raised she and her sisters. It felt good to talk about them. Somehow it kept them alive.

  Though she left out the fact her sisters were gone and she was planning to attempt the impossible. Charlotte wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Thank you, that was just what I needed. Shopping makes me hungry.”

  He chuckled. “And, I suspect, quite a bit poorer after this. Come see what I’ve picked out. It’s a lovely selection. Your grandfather will be delighted.”

  They talked about the coins for a while, the man telling her the value of each and the year they were made. He was very knowledgeable. Charlotte was glad the ghostly piper had led her to him. As he wrote up the bill of sale, he blinked at her. “You’re going to walk around carrying ten thousand pounds worth of antique coins?” He handed her a cloth bag that clunked when it landed on the counter.

  “Look at me—I look like a hippie. No one’s going to think I have anything worth stealing.” She spun around in a circle. She was wearing a pair of black leggings so faded they
looked gray, a short-sleeve long t-shirt with a picture of her favorite character from The Walking Dead on the front, and her battered messenger bag.

  “You have a point.”

  She handed him the money, then put the cloth bag inside the messenger bag. As she started to leave, Charlotte turned around.

  “Would you happen to know where I can find a leather worker or shoemaker?”

  He looked at her, thinking. Maybe she should clarify. “I want to have a piece of leather stitched into my boot—you know, so I can hide something.”

  The man’s face brightened. “Aye. It would be wise. Across the street and three shops down, you’ll find what you need.”

  Charlotte thanked him and left the shop, the bell tinkling as the door closed behind her.

  A little bit later, she came out of the leather shop. She was wearing a new pair of boots. The man had kept her old boots to work on while she shopped. The new boots already had the loops she wanted. Apparently it wasn’t a crazy request. She told the man she would be performing as a wench in Renaissance festivals for the rest of the summer. And wondered if he could add something to the boot so she could slide a knife in each—you know, to look authentic.

  The man smiled and told her he had made several. He said to leave the boots and come back in a couple of hours. The beautiful brown leather boots in the window called to her, and she bought them. They fit like a glove, and while they were expensive, she thought it would be wise to have two pairs of shoes.

  Charlotte heard the faint sound of pipes on the wind and found herself again in front of the dusty-looking shop. The sign was so faded all she could make out was the word antiques. It wasn’t in her guidebook, and the window was so dusty and grimy it was hard to tell what was inside. Curious, she pushed open the door and went in, coughing from the dust the breeze stirred up.

  Chapter Eight

  The shop seemed to be a hodgepodge of antiques from various time periods. Charlotte poked through the shop waiting for the proprietor to appear. As she was looking through a cabinet, something purple sparkled. Given all the dust, Charlotte was surprised she noticed it at all. It was an amethyst bracelet set in gold. Leaves and flowers were carved into the gold. It was a beautiful piece with no price tag. She went up to the counter.

  “Hello? Is anyone here?”

  She heard a noise in the back, and a tiny, stooped woman with gray hair tottered through the door.

  “Sorry, dearie, didn’t hear you come in. Something catch your eye?”

  Charlotte held out the bracelet. “I love this piece, but I didn’t see a price tag. And I’m also looking for a couple of daggers. Something a woman might have used in medieval times. I’m going to be working at Renaissance fairs for the rest of the summer, and I want to look authentic.” She was getting pretty good at all this fibbing.

  The woman picked up the bracelet, turning it back and forth. “I remember this piece. It came in with a couple of blades.” She tapped her forehead. “Now where did I put them?”

  The woman thought for a moment then her face brightened. “I remember. That idiot Fred, he bought a box unseen. Thought he was getting a deal. But they got one over on him. The blades he swore were antique were only reproductions, and not very good ones. I sacked him.” She muttered to herself and went into the back of the shop. Charlotte found her fascinating. A few minutes later, the woman came back and plunked two daggers on the counter.

  “They’re beautiful.” Charlotte picked them up one at a time, admiring the handiwork. It was silly, but she felt the weight of history in her hands. Felt a connection to the daggers. Like they were meant for her.

  The woman snorted. “Pretty enough. But not antique.” She held up one of the blades, turning it back and forth, and Charlotte could see an inscription on the blade.

  “See this? There are inscriptions on both blades. Must’ve been someone’s idea of a joke.”

  “Why?”

  The woman handed her the dagger. She’d learned enough to know how right the blade felt in her hand. The balance was good. Charlotte turned it back and forth, trying to read the inscription.

  “I can’t make out the wording.”

  “It’s Norman French, but the saying is wrong for a dagger.” The shopkeeper held up the first blade. The one with the big amethyst in the hilt.

  “See this one? It reads, Om over and over, and then The sound of the universe smiling.” The woman picked up the other blade, this one with a sapphire in the hilt.

  “And this one says, The soul is here for its own joy.” She laid the blade down on the counter, a disgusted look on her face. “Utter rubbish. Some fool’s idea of a joke.”

  Charlotte couldn’t get enough air. She heard the shopkeeper’s voice from far away, as if she were standing at the end of a long tunnel.

  Not now. Please not now. She willed her mind to calm. Took slow, even breaths. She was shaky. Weak.

  For she knew both of those sayings well. Intimately. Both of them were tattooed down her ribcage. It had to be a sign. Somehow she had gone back in time…or would go back in time? While she pondered the idea, the sound of what was becoming her favorite melody drifted through the shop.

  “Never heard that tune before.” The old woman squinted out the grimy windows. “Seen that boy earlier today, playing on the corner.”

  Since she didn’t know what do say, Charlotte decided not to say anything. How could she when she couldn’t explain what was happening?

  Melinda, if you’re listening, I’m so sorry for not believing you. For not coming with you. But I’m here now and I’m coming. Lead me to the right place and time.

  The woman seemed to think her hesitation meant Charlotte was looking for a deal. She scowled at her. “I’ll let you have both daggers and the bracelet for two hundred pounds.”

  The room stopped spinning, and Charlotte looked up at her, hands braced on the counter. “Since these are reproductions, they’re really not worth much. And I only need props, nothing fancy. The bracelet is pretty, but how about one hundred and fifty? Cash?”

  The woman nodded. “Done.”

  Charlotte noticed her hand shaking as she handed the money over. The woman started to wrap up the daggers, but Charlotte shook her head. “Let me see if they fit.”

  She leaned down and slid the dagger into the leather sheath inside the boot. It fit perfectly. While it felt a little bit strange, in time she would get used to it. The other one slid in the leather sheath. The boots were loose enough that the blades weren’t uncomfortable. Charlotte took a deep breath, waiting. Nothing happened. Maybe she needed the bracelet too?

  “Would you help me with the clasp?”

  It sounded like the woman muttered crazy Americans as she fastened the bracelet around Charlotte’s wrist.

  “Thank you.” Charlotte stood still. Nothing happened. She was sure the piper had led her to the shop, positive the inscriptions on the blades were meant for her. That somehow she must’ve been given them in the past.

  So why weren’t they working? Why hadn’t she been transported back to medieval England?

  “Are you sick, dearie?” The woman came around the counter and took her arm. She led Charlotte to a chair and pushed her down. A puff of dust rose as she sat.

  “Stay here. I’ll get you a glass of water.” As the woman went to the back Charlotte, heard her say, “These women today, never eating enough. Too skinny.”

  Despair flooded every fiber of her being. Why was she still in modern England? Charlotte put her head between her knees, taking long breaths, willing her mind to quiet. Remembering her meditation.

  A glass was thrust into her hand. “Drink some water, you’ll feel better.”

  Charlotte took the glass of cold water and drank half of it. She was clammy and sweaty. She handed the glass back to the woman. “You’ve been very kind, thank you. I guess I need to go grab a bite to eat.” She stood, swayed for a moment, and then found her center.

  Back across the street, she paid for the work
on her old boots and made her way back to the hotel in a daze.

  Had she failed before she’d even begun?

  Chapter Nine

  Charlotte boarded the train for Falconburg Castle, her heart heavy. Why hadn’t the daggers worked? There was no way the inscriptions would both exactly match her tattoos unless they were meant for her.

  It was a three-hour ride to her destination. Maybe going back in time had something to do with one of the castles? There must be magic there. She brightened. Now that she had the daggers and bracelet, surely once she stood upon the spot where Melinda or Lucy vanished, she too would go back in time.

  She planned to start at Falconburg, where Melinda disappeared. If the worst happened and she didn’t go back, she would make her way to Blackford Castle, where Lucy vanished. One of the castles had to work.

  Somehow she managed to fall asleep. The absence of motion woke her. Charlotte sat up to see people getting off the train. The voice on a speaker announced her stop. Gathering the backpack and messenger bag, she stepped off the train at Blackpool Station. It wasn’t far, so she walked from the train station to the hotel.

  There was Blackpool Tower in the distance. She’d read it was inspired by the Eiffel Tower. If she had time, she’d go check it out. Her room was cute and overlooked the promenade. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning at the hotel.

  Fried fish probably didn’t exist in the past, so Charlotte decided to get fish and chips again. She bought them from a man with a cheery green and white cart and walked along the promenade, people-watching. It felt good to stretch her legs after being on the train. Seeing the Irish Sea made her long for the Atlantic Ocean back home.

  With the breeze off the water, Charlotte was glad she hadn’t worn shorts. What did people do before leggings had been invented? As she was throwing the trash away, she noticed a guy watching her. What was it? Something about him seemed off. It was his body language.