Quick. Say something to prove you’re not completely besotted. He dragged his mind back to their conversation before the incident with the buzzard. “We’ve discussed the improvements I would make to Whitwell. What would you change?”
“Easy. Running water. I’d rig up a way of lifting the water from the spring up to the castle. Then it could be piped into the kitchens and solar and used to flush out the drains. Imagine how wonderful it would be to have clean, running water and to get rid of the smelly cesspool.” He had never seen her so animated. “Of course, there’s more you could do with a spring of that force. You could set up a water mill to grind flour. Surely that would bring in more income?”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed, his breath forming puffs of mist in the freezing air. “You are the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known. I expected you to talk about more window glass or tapestries on every wall. Not drainage.”
“It’s very important. And when have I ever wanted to talk about tapestries? I mean, they’re nice, but nothing to compare with being clean.” A faraway look came into her eyes. “The first thing I’m going to do when I get home is have a long, hot shower.”
He didn’t know what a shower was. He didn’t care. Sweet Jesu, she was going to leave, and what would he do then? The thought of an empty chair in the solar where she had sat made his head swim with loss.
Was it really so impossible to marry a woman with no dowry? Money wasn’t everything. She had proved she had an intelligence and creative flair that more than made up for the lack. After all, he’d never considered harnessing the spring for a mill. She was right—it would create far more income from their crops if they could grind the corn in their own mill. They—wait.
He frowned. “How did you know about the spring? We haven’t been there yet.” It lay at the base of the hill they’d planned to build their new town upon. She might have heard of its existence from servants who daily grumbled at having to trudge there to fetch water, but she wouldn’t have known about its unusual force.
Her smile faded. “I…ah…”
A stab of betrayal seared his gut. “You’ve been here before. You know more about this place than you’ve admitted.”
Katherine paled. “No! Well, yes, but—”
“You’re a spy.” It explained everything. Why she’d been so vague about her origins, her odd turn of phrase, as though she didn’t quite have a full command of the language. Her interest in Whitwell. In him. “My God, it was all a lie.” He grasped her shoulders, and she cried out. “What did they promise you? How much did the Welsh agree to pay you for betraying Whitwell’s secrets?”
“You’ve got it wrong. I’d never betray you.”
Oh, she looked so convincing. So innocent. She’d even managed to coax a few tears to bead upon her sweeping eyelashes. But it was all an act.
One his father would never have been fooled by. As much as he wished he could believe her, it was vital he remained firm. To think he had started to listen to his heart. His father had warned him it would prove an unreliable guide, and he’d been right. He should never have heeded it. Thank the saints he’d discovered her deception before it had gone too far. Imagine if he’d openly courted her. His people would have witnessed his weakness.
So now he must be strong. Even when his heart begged him to listen to her. He mustn’t display any vulnerability. He had to demonstrate he was as strong as his father.
He grasped Katherine’s arm. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the castle.” He’d confine her to her chamber until she confessed the truth.
Chapter Nine
Ralph thrust Kat into her chamber then snapped a command for her door to be guarded at all times.
She sank onto the bed, hugging her arms to her chest. How had it all turned around so quickly? One moment she’d been in his arms, breathless with anticipation. She’d wanted to kiss him. Had been certain he wanted to kiss her. But then that treacherous fear had taken over. Fear to love again. Fear of pain. Oddly, she hadn’t been scared when Ralph had warned her of danger. Ralph had been with her, and she’d been confident he’d take care of her. At that moment, when they’d spoken of their plans for Whitwell, she’d actually started to believe she could stay. Had felt the thrill that came with being at the beginning of a project and knowing she could be part of building something that would improve the lives of many. It was why she had loved her engineering job so much. After three bleak, empty years, she’d had a glimpse of a rewarding path. Of love.
But her stupid fear had overcome her. She’d stepped away and to compound her idiocy had revealed her knowledge of the spring. Idiot, idiot, idiot.
“Are you ready to tell me the truth?”
She jumped. Hadn’t noticed Ralph standing with his back to the closed door, arms folded. His mouth was pulled down in a scowl.
Something snapped inside her. Why not? It wasn’t as if he would believe her. “Yes, I’ll tell you the truth. On Christmas Eve, I knew I had to change, or I’d be alone for the rest of my life. So I took my precious coin”—she raised the pendant from her neck—“this very coin and offered it to the mere.”
Ralph’s eyes widened a fraction. He made an abrupt move as though to take a step, but then stopped and leaned back against the door. “I suppose you’re going to tell me the fair folk made you do it.”
“Of course not. You’d never believe that.” She bit back a laugh. A kind of reckless exhilaration overcame her. Whatever she said, he would brand her a liar, so she might as well treat him to the whole tale. “A strange mist surrounded me, and suddenly I was still at Whitwell Mere, but everything was changed. My house, which had stood for centuries was no longer there. The castle, which had fallen into ruin five hundred years ago, was standing on its mound, looking like it had been built yesterday. Then I met a man dressed like one of the Knights of the Round Table, who told me it was 1199, and Bad King John was on the throne. Which came as something of a shock, considering I’d thrown my coin into the mere in 2018. Oh, and don’t get me started on the lack of flushing toilets.”
Ralph’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s your answer, is it?” He pushed himself away from the door.
“It’s the only one you’ll get. Unless you want a lie, in which case I’d be happy to make one up.”
He slammed his fist against the bedpost, making her scuttle back until her spine hit the headboard. “Enough!”
He flung open the door, then shot her a look of pure venom. “You’ll stay here until you decide to confess.”
****
Kat opened the shutters and leaned across the stone sill, gulping the crisp morning air. When she’d awoken, she’d pressed her ear to the door, desperate for a sign that Ralph would return. Her heart had stuttered when she’d heard his voice, rapping out commands, but the leaden weight settled back into place in her chest when his voice faded.
She had to escape. She swallowed to clear the sudden lump in her throat. Ralph was never going to believe her, and who could blame him? She wouldn’t have believed her tale either. But the pain of Ralph’s rejection had caused her to retreat into her old defensive behavior. If she’d tried to make him believe, would she have reached him?
Not that it mattered. This proved all too clearly that the risks of love were too great.
Love. Oh, God, she loved him. How had that happened? But it was true. Somewhere along the line, during the dancing, the games of merels, the cozy fireside chats, he’d done the impossible and reached her heart.
But it made no difference. He clearly didn’t love her, and even if he did, she couldn’t afford the risk of a repeat of the same pain she’d only just emerged from. Maybe she could cope in the twelfth century if she were with Ralph. But alone? No. She needed to get back to her time. She could survive alone there.
She needed… She closed her hand around the coin. The precious coin that Ralph had given her. The legend of Whitwell Mere stated that anyone who offered a precious object
to the mere would receive what they needed. Well, maybe this trip to 1199 had given her the kick up the backside she needed. She’d been a part of the castle life here. Rediscovered her enthusiasm for her work.
Rediscovered love.
No, she wouldn’t think of that. Concentrate on the job part. What she needed now was to return to her own home. She ran her fingers over the familiar markings stamped into the silver. The thought of casting it into the mere made her stomach knot. She would lose her last link to Ralph. But if it got her home…
She examined the window. There were no bars, and the thin, plastic-like strips—horn, she’d discovered the other day—should be easy to remove. She stripped a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her right hand. She drew a deep breath, held it, and smashed her hand through the panes. Icy wind blasted through the fist-sized hole. She punched the air in victory, then set about removing the remaining strips of horn. Once the window was clear, she perched on the seat and cautiously looked down. The drop wasn’t too bad: only about twenty feet. Not high at all. If she repeated it enough times, she might believe it. She could do it. Then somehow, she’d make her way unseen to the mere.
But how to get down? There was no handy ivy or drainpipe. She glanced around the chamber, and her eyes fell on the bed. Of course! The hangings and sheets. She ripped everything off the bed and set to work. A good thing she’d earned her knots badge in the Guides. She twisted the sheets into cords and fastened them together using sheet bends.
Don’t think about the climb.
Her hands shook as she tested the final knot. It would hold. It had to.
Tears blurred her vision as she secured the makeshift rope to the bedpost. She brushed them away with the back of her hand. She was doing the right thing. There was no future for her here. Even if Ralph did love her, she couldn’t stay. The pain she felt now would be nothing compared to the agony of losing him after years together.
With the free end of the rope coiled in her arms, she risked another look down to make sure no one was standing at the tower’s base. Thankfully her window opened onto a secluded nook, tucked away between the tower and the angle of the wall. She leaned out as far as she dared and threw out her rope. The end struck the ground, casting a puff of powdery snow into the air. Yes! She could do this.
She raised herself onto the seat, balancing on her knees. Cold sweat trickled down her spine. Shit, shit, shit. This would be bad enough wearing trousers and trainers. But in a long gown, with what could only be described as oversized leather baby booties…
She grasped the rope. Her clammy hands slipped, failing to get a firm grip.
Deep breaths. Don’t look down.
She looked down.
Oh, God. The tower tilted. The world fell away, and she clutched the wall. Her chest muscles locked; each breath rasped in her throat.
She fell back from the seat into the room and collapsed onto the bed. She couldn’t do it. God help her, even if Ralph threatened her with hanging, she couldn’t do it.
She gazed out of the window, the view shimmering through unshed tears. As the thundering of her heart eased, she caught strains of music drifting through the open window, its vibrant pulse mocking her.
Slowly, bent over like an old woman, she staggered to the window on trembling legs and leaned against the cushioned seat. The window gave a view of the western hills, their contours achingly familiar. If she squinted to block out the castle walls, she could almost believe she was home.
A movement caught her eye: the rustle of branches suddenly stilled as though a hand caught it. She brushed the tears from her eyes and concentrated. There it was again. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. There was a furtiveness to the movements that suggested men rather than animals. She focused on the thicket where she’d seen the movement and counted out twenty long seconds. A sudden flash of light glinted through the frost-rimed branches, then it was gone. There was another.
A sick weight settled in her stomach. It was the low sun reflecting off polished glass or metal. Weapons?
She ran to the door and pounded on the unyielding oak. “Fetch Lord Ralph. Raiders are coming!”
There was no reply. She pressed the latch and pulled, but the door must have been bolted from the other side. She hammered again and yelled until she was hoarse, but no one came.
She ran back to the window. If the castle wasn’t to be taken unawares, she had to warn Ralph. And there was only one way to find him.
She pulled herself back onto the window seat. The ground spun dizzily, and she grabbed the shutters to stop her losing balance.
“Come on. Deep breaths. You can do this.”
Great. Now she was talking to herself again. She drew three shuddering breaths and wrapped the rope around her wrist. Wait. That reminded her of something she’d seen on television. She pulled everything back through the window and wrapped it around her waist. If she remembered correctly, she could lower herself down using the makeshift rope as a kind of harness. That was the theory, anyway.
She turned around, her legs quivering so violently she feared they would give way. She was Ralph’s only hope. If raiders met them unprepared, Ralph could be killed. The thought gave her the courage to lean back against the twisted sheets. They held. She blew out a shuddering breath. The blood roared in her ears as she slid her feet back until she felt the lip of the sill beneath her thin soles.
For Ralph.
She stepped back into thin air. For a sickening moment her feet dangled, finding no purchase. Then she swung into the wall, and her toes found a crack in the stone to brace against.
Her breath came in shuddering heaves. Oh, God, please let the world stop spinning. The rope dug into her back. Let it hold. Please let it hold. It took all her will to unclamp her clawed fingers from their death-grip and, inch by painful inch, she lowered herself down the wall. Her palms stung, then burned from the friction, but she didn’t stop. If she did she doubted she would ever move again.
After what felt like an eternity, her feet met something cold, yielding. Another few inches and they struck something solid. Her eyes were tightly closed. When had she done that? She pried open her lids and looked down. Thank God! Solid ground.
She released the rope and collapsed onto hands and knees into the snow drift. The icy cold eased her burning palms. She wanted to curl up in a ball and sob, but there was no time. She staggered to her feet and forced her legs to move. Where was Ralph?
The reedy notes of a shawm rang out from the great hall, giving her the answer. Of course. The feast. Christmas at Whitwell appeared to be one continuous feast.
****
“Come and dance, my lord!”
Ralph glanced up at the woman. One of his knight’s sisters, he seemed to remember. She slanted a smile at him and curtsied. Too eager to please. Far too polite.
He scowled into his wine cup and waved her away.
The music—if you could call it that—droned on, an interminable dirge. Heaven only knew why everyone skipped through the dance, weaving around the room laughing and singing. Why would anyone want to dance when the world was full of pain and loneliness?
The door crashed open. The music wavered to a stop. Revelers cried out when Katherine staggered across the threshold, braids unraveled, veil askew and the hem of her gown soaked halfway to her knees. Now there was the woman he yearned to dance with. Pity she’d betrayed him. His gaze locked with hers, and she stumbled to the dais, tripping on the sodden hem. He should order his men to seize her. Lock her away. But his voice refused to work.
She raised a trembling arm and pointed west. “Raiders!”
A low gasp rippled around the hall, and he sensed all eyes turning to him. His people expected him to show strength. Live up to his father’s name.
He pushed back his chair and rose. “Why should I believe a word you say?”
“Why come here if not to warn you? I escaped. I could be out of the castle by now, but I chose to help.”
He stepped down f
rom the dais. “If this is a trick…”
“It’s not. I swear. There are armed men approaching from the west.” She took a step closer, put a hand on his arm. God help him, her slightest touch made his head swim. How was he supposed to think clearly when her feel, her scent, her musical voice all beguiled his senses? She lowered her voice so only he could hear. “I climbed out of the window. For you.” She held out her hands, palms up, revealing lacerated skin, stained with blood.
“Jesus wept! What happened?” He cradled her hands in his, careful not to touch the broken skin.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You must act. You’re under attack.”
Her face was deadly serious, but her hands…they spoke for themselves. He marched for the door, shouting for his knights and men-at-arms to assemble at the gates. Then he beckoned to Katherine. “Show me.”
Chapter Ten
A short while later, he and Katherine stood upon the walls. Hellfire! There was no need for her to point them out; the movement of branches and the occasional glint of sunlight upon metal revealed their position all too clearly.
“Will they attack the castle?” Katherine’s face was pale.
“No. There aren’t enough of them to threaten the castle. They’re after the livestock.” He gave a grim laugh. “Thanks to you, they’ll have a nasty shock waiting for them.” She hadn’t betrayed him. She wasn’t his enemy. His heart sang. Attack might be imminent, but he couldn’t force his mind to think of anything other than Katherine.
She shivered, and he cursed himself for not noticing her lack of cloak. Coming from the feast, he was without a cloak as well. It gave him an excellent excuse to do what he’d longed to do ever since she’d walked through the door. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. By the saints, it felt good to have her body pressed against his side. “Go to the solar with my mother. Get her to tend your hands.”
He guided her to the steps, but she resisted. “What will you do with them?”
“The raiders? I can’t show weakness. If they attack, we will kill them.” It’s what his father would have done. If he didn’t show strength, they would be back.
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