The nightmarish sensation of the previous night returned: the language she was hearing was not English, yet she understood perfectly. Nausea swirled in the pit of her stomach. Hugging her knees to her chest, she held her breath, every nerve straining.
“I’ll wait.” There was a creak as though the man had sat upon a wooden chair. After a pause, he said, “Did you examine her clothes? Find any hint where she’s from?”
Clothes? Kat looked down to see she was wearing a thin linen shift, and a flash of memory returned, of tripping over the skirts of a heavy gown. Oh, God, it hadn’t been a dream. Where was she? A sob caught in her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.
“I couldn’t see any family badge. It’s a fine gown, though. She must be a noblewoman. Her hands are soft—no sign of hard work.”
Family badge? Noblewoman? What planet were these people from?
The woman spoke again. “What will you do with her?”
That sounded ominous. Kat slid lower in the bed, seeking a gap in the curtains. She had to see who these people were.
“Find out who she is.” The man’s tone was grim. “She can’t have got here alone. I intend to find out who she’s with and what she wants.”
Finally Kat found a small moth hole in the curtains and placed her eye to it. At first, she couldn’t see the man and woman, but what she could see looked like no bedroom she’d ever known. There was a high, narrow window, deep-set in a wall about six feet from the bed. The panes didn’t seem to be made of glass, but translucent yellowish strips that let in light but no view. A cushioned window seat, accessed by three steps was set into it. The cushions were embroidered with jewel-like flowers and leaves. Tapestries in matching shades of emerald, ruby, and sapphire hung from the walls.
“Be kind to her, Ralph. Who knows what she’s been through?”
Kat shifted position, trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker. Ah, there she was: a middle-aged, slender woman of no more than five feet in height. Laughter lines creased the corners of her mouth and eyes, and the sight brought a sudden jolt of loss, a sharp reminder of her mother’s smiling blue eyes. Although her mother had never worn a long woolen gown and veil. Who on earth were these people? Medieval re-enactors? Members of a strange cult?
“I’ve never hurt a woman before, Mother. But you have to admit, her sudden appearance is suspicious.”
She didn’t like the sound of that at all. Did he mean he might hurt her if he wasn’t satisfied with her answers? But how could she provide reasonable answers when she had no idea what was happening? It was also frustrating that no matter how she angled her face, she couldn’t bring the man into view. She had to see him, get a glimpse of the man who had her in his power. Trembling, she twitched the curtain aside a fraction and peered out.
The man—Ralph—stood at the foot of the bed, looking like he had stepped off the set of Game of Thrones. He had tousled, jaw-length chestnut hair and a close-cropped beard that emphasized the angular planes of his face. He wore a calf-length burgundy tunic, edged with fur. A wide leather belt was slung low on lean hips, fastened with a heavy silver buckle, and hanging from it, a dagger with a jeweled hilt.
His fingers tapped the garnet in the center of the pommel. “No. I can’t afford to show weakness. If she’s allied with my enemies, she’ll face the consequences.”
Allied with his enemies? What kind of lunatic asylum was she in?
The woman gave a sigh. “If only your father was still alive.”
The man’s fingers clenched around the dagger’s hilt, his knuckles white. “He would do the same. I—”
The sound of crashing silverware from outside the room caused him to break off with an exclamation.
“I’d better see what’s happened.” The woman caught at Ralph’s sleeve. “Give her a chance to explain herself. That’s all I ask.”
Kat heard her light step cross to the other side of the room, then there came the clatter of a latch and the creak and thud of a heavy door closing. She was alone with Ralph. She peered through the gap again, only to meet a pair of stern hazel eyes. Heat crept up her face.
“How long have you been awake?” Ralph jerked back the hangings.
“I…not long.” She sat up, only for her face to burn even hotter when she glanced down and saw her shift was so thin, it revealed the outline of her body.
Ralph’s gaze dropped to her breasts before trailing way too slowly back to her face. His lips twisted in a lopsided smile that hit her in the pit of her stomach. She yanked the blankets up to her neck. Good grief, this was a wholly inappropriate moment for her body to wake from hibernation. It must be the Game of Thrones thing. For three years she’d felt no attraction for anyone apart from the characters of her favorite show, now here was a man who rocked the whole warrior-lord look. If he’d worn jeans and sweatshirt she wouldn’t give him a second glance.
Because despite her resolution to embrace life again, it felt disloyal to Rob to be attracted to another.
“Where are we?”
Ralph snorted. “Don’t act the innocent with me. You know full well where we are. Who sent you?”
“No one. And if I knew where I was, I wouldn’t ask.” Oh, God. The weird thing with the language was still happening. The words formed in English but came out of her mouth sounding vaguely French.
Ralph folded his arms. “Very well, I’ll indulge you. This is Whitwell Castle. My castle. I’m Ralph d’Eyton. What are you doing here?”
“Whitwell Castle?” Kat massaged her temples, forcing herself to concentrate. “Impossible! There hasn’t been a castle here for—”
“Answer me!” His voice dropped to a menacing growl. “Why are you here?”
“You tell me! You brought me here.”
“God’s nails, woman. Just answer the question.”
“Then ask me one I can answer. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know where here is. There’s no such place as Whitwell Castle.” Not any more, at any rate. “All I can tell you is that I was on my land when I met you. By the mere. That’s where my house is.” Only she hadn’t been able to find it, had she? A sensation like a current of cold air against the back of her neck made her shudder. She saw again the last image she’d seen before she’d collapsed: a stone keep upon the old castle mound.
Ralph’s eyes narrowed. “Do you take me for a fool?”
“Says the man who got lost on the way to the Robin Hood audition.” Shit, did she really say that?
With a snarl, Ralph grasped her shoulders and stooped until his face was mere inches from hers. Rob had always said her habit of using flippancy to mask her true emotions would get her into trouble one day. It looked like that day had arrived. “Start making sense. Fast.”
His breath smelled of cloves, cinnamon, and wine. Her stomach swooped. This was wrong. She shouldn’t be having these sensations. She put her hand against his chest to push him away and encountered solid muscle. Bloody hell, Rob had worked out, but his pecs were nothing compared to these. To her mortification, she realized her fingers were caressing him, tracing his hard contours through the wool of his tunic. She shoved him away and scrambled back until she was pressed against the headboard. The carved wood dug into her spine.
She licked dry lips. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
Ralph blew out a breath and sat upon the foot of the bed. “Start with your name.” He spoke in gentler tones. “You said you’re Katherine Beaumont. Is that true?”
She nodded.
“Who is your husband?”
“He’s… I’m a widow.” Even after three years, she couldn’t say dead.
“Then who is your protector?”
“No one. I live alone.” And what century was he from, assuming she had to be looked after by a man?
“You lie! Who brought you here?”
“No one. I walked out of my gate and—” She put her hand to her throat and met nothing but her flesh. Her coin pendant was gone.
Ra
lph raised his brows. “And?”
And threw her pendant in the mere. The mere said to reward a person with the thing they most needed if they threw a precious object into its depths. The strangeness had started from that point.
“I don’t remember.” If Ralph was unhappy with her answers, that was nothing compared to his reaction if she voiced her suspicions. She had to go outside and see for herself.
She lowered her head in her hands. “I have a headache. Please can we carry on later?”
Ralph’s brows drew together, but he rose. “Be sure to be more cooperative when we speak again.” He strode out.
The moment the door closed behind him, Kat flung back the blankets and searched for her clothes. She had to get out of here. For one thing, she really needed to find a toilet. Most of all, if she could go outside and retrace her steps, maybe she could find her way home and end this nightmare.
And what if she couldn’t find her way home? What if her house really had disappeared? What if there was a castle standing where none had stood for centuries?
She forced the questions from her mind. One step at a time. She’d find her way outside and take it from there.
And ignore the fact that Ralph stirred her in a way no man had since Rob.
Chapter Three
Ralph swept into the great hall, pushed past the servants who were setting up the trestle tables for the feast, and went to warm his hands by the fire. Not that they were cold, but he needed to occupy them to stop himself from punching a pillar. God’s blood, what was wrong with the woman?
More to the point, what was wrong with him if he couldn’t get her to answer a few simple questions? For all he knew, she could be a spy intent on letting Welsh raiders within the walls. Yet every time he looked at her, he could only wonder how her mouth would taste, how it would feel to twine his fingers through her hair, how her soft curves would feel, pressed against his body. And what was that heavenly scent that clung to her, tangy and sweet? He’d had to escape, before he did something utterly foolish like drag her into his arms and kiss her.
A servant edged toward the fire, bearing an armful of ivy and mistletoe. “My lord, I need to—”
Ralph scowled at her, and she gave a frightened squeak. “If you please, my lord. The fireplace…” She tilted her head at the greenery that her round eyes were barely visible above.
Hellfire! Now he was reduced to taking out his ill temper on the servants. His father would be so proud.
He drew a deep breath. “Come here…Godith, isn’t it?” He tried to gentle his tone, but it came out more like a bark.
The girl nodded and crept closer with the same caution one would approach a cornered wolf.
“Well, Godith, I shall leave you to decorate the hall in peace.” He stepped aside and Godith scuttled up to the great stone fireplace and started to drape the canopy with the garland. Around the hall, other servants were doing similar, decorating the pillars and trestle tables with twining ivy, holly, and clumps of mistletoe, and lighting the myriad candles. From the wary glances they shot at him, he was the one storm cloud in the midst of the festivities.
And it was all Katherine Beaumont’s fault. He strode from the hall, sensing the sighs of relief all around him. He would not allow her to ruin Christmas. God knew with John on the throne there was little enough to celebrate, but nothing must mar this one spark of light and joy. If Katherine presented a danger to Whitwell, he needed to know.
A small voice in the back of his mind told him he would take any excuse to see her again, but he ignored it.
He was halfway up the donjon staircase when he heard the rustle of clothing above him. Then the same sharp-sweet scent he’d smelled on Katherine teased his nostrils. Gritting his teeth, he sprang up the steps until he rounded the curve and saw her feet level with his eyes. Bare feet. Delicate bare feet with shapely toes and a high arch. He lifted his gaze, skimming a leaf-green gown, up past the flare of her hips. Her gown was ruckled awkwardly around her waist, and the girdle that should have sat low on her hips was knotted about her waist, bunching the cloth above it. The lacing down her side sagged instead of pulling the bodice tightly to her body. She looked like a child who’d dressed in her mother’s clothes.
It was impossible to remain angry when faced with such a sight. “In a hurry?” Then he looked at her face, and his breath caught in his throat. “God’s blood, woman, cover your head.” Did she have no shame? Her glossy hair fell in waves to the middle of her back, giving her the look of a woman who had just risen from a lover’s bed. His mouth went dry as images of her sprawled upon his bed seared his mind.
He gripped her arm. “Come back to your chamber before you’re seen.” The last thing he needed was tongues wagging about his liaison with the mysterious Katherine Beaumont. Not when the future of Whitwell depended upon his marriage to Lord Hywel’s daughter.
He tugged her arm, but she resisted. It was only then that he noticed how her hands shook, her neck cords standing out from her neck as taut as bowstrings. One hand gripped the central pillar with clawed fingers as rigid as the stone they clutched.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t move.” Her voice contained no trace of the defiance that had so riled him earlier.
He looked past her to see if her gown was snagged upon anything, but as far as he could see she was free to move. “Why not?”
Crimson blotches bloomed upon her cheeks. “I’m scared of heights.” Her gaze was fixed on the narrowest curve of the stairs, as it spiraled into nothingness.
“Don’t look down. Look at me.” He positioned himself against the column, blocking her view of the stairs. With agonizing care, she raised her head.
Her lavender-blue gaze speared straight through his chest. It contained no lie, no concealment, just a direct plea for help. It chipped the shield he’d erected around his heart and awoke a deep urge to protect. From herself if necessary. He could leave his questions until later. For now, she needed help. After a quick glance down to make sure no one was watching, he smiled at her. Heaven forbid anyone in the castle should see their lord acting in a way to make them doubt his leadership qualities, but he needed to convince Katherine she was safe. “You won’t fall. If you slip, I’m here to catch you.” He concentrated on keeping his voice gentle, as though coaxing a nervy foal.
Her lips curved in the tiniest of smiles. She had such enticing lips. He could almost feel what it would be like to trace the curve of that plump lower lip with his thumb.
Sweet Jesu, what demon had sent that thought? He mustn’t forget he knew nothing of her. She might awaken his protective instincts, but first and foremost he was responsible for the safety of his lands and people. He refused to see his father’s legacy destroyed.
Fighting to regain control of his reactions, he released her arm and held out his hand. “Take my hand.”
****
Take his hand? That meant letting go of the wall. The wall was the only thing that stopped this endless staircase from spinning dizzily out of control. Kat’s gaze slid past Ralph’s broad shoulders to the dark void beyond the central stone pillar. The whole staircase swayed. She clutched the wall, seeking a firmer handhold, and managed to hook her fingers into one of the niches containing a tiny lamp. So far, she hadn’t found a single light switch, but there were several of these lamps dotted around. They filled the place with a smoky, oily scent.
Place… But what kind of place? A house? Or was it a castle? Oh, God, it was certainly looking that way. The narrow windows, winding corridors, and curving walls all suggested she was in a tower. She’d been in too much of a hurry to dress and find the way out to think too closely about the kind of building she was in. She’d descended several steps before the sickening sensation of a void to her right had made her freeze.
A castle. She was in a castle. What the hell was happening? Her legs began to tremble so much she feared they would give way.
“Don’t look down. Look at me.”
She forced
herself to focus on his face. Forget the drop. Forget the weirdness. Just look at his eyes.
“Good. Now take my hand. I won’t let you fall.”
He had lovely eyes, now she came to look: sea-green shot with amber, fringed with sweeping black lashes. Nothing like Rob’s.
Her gut twisted. What was she doing? She had to get out of here. The knowledge brought her limbs back to life, and she edged her feet to the wider part of the treads. God, the stone was cold. She wished she’d been able to find some shoes. “I can do it myself. Just let me past.”
“You’re not going down. I’m taking you back to your chamber.”
“You can’t keep me here. I’m leaving.” She managed to lower herself another step, but Ralph didn’t budge. Great. Now she was wedged between the wall and his body.
Amusement flickered in Ralph’s eyes. “Are you going to turn around, or shall I carry you?”
“Turn? Here?”
Her last word ended on a wail as Ralph hoisted her over his shoulder, and she found herself looking at the broad expanse of his back. “Put me down!”
But Ralph didn’t reply. The stairwell spun round her, and in a far shorter time than it had taken her to descend, they arrived at the top.
“Put me down. I can walk from here.” Quite aside from the uncomfortable pressure on her bladder, Ralph’s hand on her thighs sent disconcerting sensations through her flesh. She definitely didn’t want to consider why his touch affected her like that.
“Do I have your word you won’t leave?”
“Down those stairs? You’ve seen for yourself I can’t get down alone.” She would, though, even if she had to do the whole flight on her backside. Just as soon as he left her, she was out of here. If she could find a toilet first, even better.
He placed her back on her feet and pointed at the door to her chamber. “After you, my lady.”
“Actually, I really need the loo.”
Ralph’s brows drew together. “The what?”
“For God’s sake, I’m bursting. Just tell me where the toilet is, then I promise we can go back to this whole”—she sketched a circle with her finger, taking in Ralph’s clothes—“medieval business.”
The Gift of Time Page 2