First Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 3) (17 page)

He drew his blade, offering it to her. “I vow to aid you.”

Confused, she accepted the sword. “But the emerald was cracked. This is a sapphire.”

Reaching into the pouch at his waist, he came out with the emerald. “I saved it for you.” He placed it in her palm. "’Tis yours.”

“Do you want me to go?”

At the same time, he said, “Do you wish to stay?”

Tears blurred her vision as Edward told her how intelligent, brave, and beautiful she was.

“There’s no storm, but we could try. It’s so dangerous here. I worry about you. Would you come with me to my time?”

Edward looked around the solar. “My brothers would see to Somerforth and its people. I would go to be with you.”

Relief flooded through her. It was time to go home. Reliable like a mountain. Standing for all time. Edward was the kind of man she could rely on. One who would never run; one who would be there. He’d never fall apart. No, he’d handle business and keep her safe. With his very body as a shield. Taking a deep breath, she nodded.

Down in the hidden chamber, Edward sliced his hand and then hers. He twined their fingers together over the emerald and gripped the sword with the other hand. And they waited. Jennifer thought it should have happened. She didn’t feel any different.

“Did we travel to your time?”

“It felt different so I don’t think so. Let’s go outside to be sure.”

Jennifer was sad and relieved at the same time. They were still in medieval England. It hadn’t worked. They both agreed the storm was necessary to make it work. Neither of them discussed trying again.

Every day felt like borrowed time together. Edward planned to retaliate, and yet Jennifer couldn’t shake the feeling something bad was coming.

Edward rocked back on his heels. “The walls of Somerforth have never been breached. You will be safe.”

Exasperated, she blew out a breath. “But you will be outside the bloody walls. I want you safe too.”

Psychologists said when people are born, they are only afraid of two things: loud noises and falling. Jennifer snorted. No wonder falling in love was exciting and terrifying at the same time. It was the equivalent of jumping out of a plane and not knowing if the parachute would open. Why did anyone ever step out of that plane in the first place?

Then again, not jumping was like not allowing yourself to love. A closing off of the innermost you. Giving up on happiness, staying in limbo, not truly living. She was ready to live. Edward had already jumped—she simply had to let go and join him.

A serving boy brought a pitcher of wine, and she poured each of them a goblet. No one had seen Maude since Edward returned from escaping the hangman’s noose. All in the castle were on the lookout for the traitor.

This morning cook had noticed food missing. The castle was searched, but no one found the redhead. Jennifer jumped with every noise and shadow, sure the girl was somewhere in the castle, hiding.

As she took a sip, it hit her. All this time her mother was braver than Jennifer had ever been. She jumped, knowing she would hit the ground and shatter into a thousand pieces. But she repacked her parachute and got on the next plane, ready to jump again. Hoping one day the man her mom had given her heart to would be there to catch her.

Deep in her bones, Jennifer knew Edward would catch her. She loved him and was pretty sure he loved her. So why hadn’t either of them said the words?

Edward and Brom were going on about strategy while she studied him. The door to the solar banged open and one of the guards said, “We are under attack. Scots. Bloody lot of them.”

“Alistair.”

The knight stood at attention.

“See Jennifer to her chamber.” He turned to her. “Bolt the door until I return. Alistair will stand guard.”

“Wait.” She went to him, and he swept her up in his arms. “Don’t go.”

“I must. ’Tis my duty.”

“Stay with me.”

Edward plundered her mouth, ignoring the sounds coming from his men. His gravelly voice vibrated against her ear, the words low so only she could hear. “Would you care if I died?”

“Very much.”

“Then I shall take care not to.”

“When we return, I will wed Jennifer. Tell her I love her.”

“You need her like a fish needs the sea.” Brom clapped him on the shoulder. “I will guard your back so you may return to your lady.” Then he grinned. “Shall we go kill these Scots bastards?”

Edward laughed. “We shall.”

The Scots came screaming out of the fog. Edward lost himself to battle lust, hearing nothing but metal on metal as the smell of death filled the air. He pushed everything else away as he fought on.

Fog made it hard to tell how much time had passed. Edward carried one of his men to a tree, where he would be out of the battle. A battle cry pierced the fog, and he turned, swinging, the sword an extension of his arm as he cut down man after man. The bodies grew higher and higher and still he fought on.

The blow came from above. Two Scots dropped from the tree and he went down to his knees under the rising tide of men. The Armstrong had grown canny, knowing the only way to have the advantage, to kill, was to take Edward’s armor and send all his men at once.

The rain fell, turning the ground red. Mud covered his face, the sword bit into his neck, and Edward fell.

Jennifer stood on the battlements, shading her eyes from the sun as she frantically counted the men coming back from battle. Where was he? She turned to the knight beside her.

“I don’t see Edward. Where is he?”

Hysteria threatened to overflow. No matter how she tried to hold it in, she could not. It was like a bottle of champagne, the pressure on the cork as it eased, then the force made it pop.

The man peered intently at the men below. “I do not see him, my lady. But do not fear; he will return. My lord always returns.”

She’d had enough of a scare when word arrived that he had been hanged by the enemy. Instead of standing up here wringing her hands, she ran down the steps, to see what she could do to help and take her mind off him. He would be the last, waiting until all his men were accounted for. She just had to be patient.

The women were ready and waiting with bandages and hot water. Jennifer put on an apron, washed her hands, and met the men at the doors to the hall. Time passed in a blur as she ran back and forth, helping wherever she was needed. One of the men called out as she passed by. “Lady?”

Jennifer knelt beside the man. “Try and drink some ale.”

The man took a few sips and coughed.

"’Tis my arm. It pains me.”

She looked at his left arm, the gash deep and angry, and her stomach rolled over, twisting and turning in circles in protest. It was an ugly wound. Closing her eyes, she bit the inside of her cheek and took a deep breath. When she opened them, she smiled at the man.

“Better finish the ale. I’ll fetch a needle.”

Who would’ve guessed she’d be sitting on the floor of a great hall in medieval England stitching up wounds from a battle? Well, she’d yearned for adventure, and it looked like she’d gotten more than she’d bargained for. Jennifer passed the needle through the flame of a candle then poured whiskey over it.

"’Tis a terrible waste of such fine spirits,” the man said, looking longingly at the whiskey dripping on the floor.

She poured him a cup. His mournful expression was exactly what she needed, and Jennifer giggled. “It will keep your arm from becoming…putrid.” She thought that was the proper word for infected. She’d cleaned the wound as best she could. It wasn’t her first time stitching a wound, but it wasn’t any easier. The sound of the needle as it entered the flesh. The man grimaced but didn’t utter a sound. And she knew how much it must have hurt.

When one of the women had asked her if she sewed, she never expected to be sewing flesh back together. A snort escaped, and the man looked to her.

“Don’t mind me. I was thinking of something from home.” How could she tell him she was thinking how much she hated sewing by hand and would do anything she could to use her machine? The picture in her head of a modern sewing machine stitching up men’s wounds made her laugh. For the first time in her life, she understood why cops and coroners made such awful jokes when they were on crime scenes—it was the only way to get through the horror.

As she moved from man to man, fetching ale, sewing and bandaging wounds, Jennifer kept looking for Edward to come striding into the hall. He must be seeing to the men, or discussing the battle in his solar. As soon as she could get away, she’d go to his solar and chamber to find him, and scold him for not coming to her first. She’d torture him with the silent treatment tonight for making her worry so much.
 

A man in the corner was swearing under his breath.
 

“Brom?”

He blinked at her through bloody hair. There was so much blood in his hair and on the side of his face that she wondered if the armor had done any good. The front of his tunic was drenched.

“I didn’t want to be here, but one of the women said she wouldn’t feed me. ’Tis naught but a scratch.”

The rag she’d dipped in water was useless against so much blood. He rolled his eyes, took the bucket from her, and dumped it over his head. He plucked a bucket from a passing boy and did it again. Water sluiced across the floor as the blood washed off. Thank goodness it was a superficial wound.

He grinned at her. “A mere scratch.”

“Head wounds bleed terribly. Are you dizzy?”

“Nay. Leave me be.”

Jennifer picked a few small pebbles out of his hair. The wound was already clotting, and he’d be fine after he rested. Wiping the last of the blood from his neck, she bit her lip.

“What’s wrong, mistress?”

“I haven’t seen Edward anywhere. Where is he?”

“He was bringing Albert back. Has he not returned?” The alarm in Brom’s voice ratcheted up the alarm until Jennifer thought she might be having a panic attack.

Her voice was shrill to her ears. “He isn’t here. I’ve looked everywhere.”

Brom motioned one of the knights over. “Where is Edward?”

The man looked around. “He must be in the lists.”

“Don’t just stand there, dolt. Go and find your lord.”

The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as they waited. Brom stood, almost fell over from dizziness, and swore as Jennifer helped him slide down the wall to sit.

“You won’t do anyone any good if you fall and smash your head open on the stones.”

He grumbled about shrews, but stayed put. Finally the man came back, his face pale. “No one has seen him.”

Before she could fall apart, one of the Scots being held for ransom spoke up, spitting out the words.

“Aye, I watched the bastard fall. They ambushed him at once, took his armor, stabbed him hundreds of times, and I laughed as the mighty Lord Somerforth died in the mud like an animal. The one who eats children is dead.” He spat on the ground.

The knight that had been looking for Edward struck the man so hard his head snapped back and hit the wall. A ringing sound filled Jennifer’s ears and everything went wavy. The noise around her sounded like it was being filtered through cotton balls. She swore a storm raged inside the hall. One moment she could see clearly, and the next, black ink seeped in around the edges, taking over, filling her vision until the only thing she could see was Brom’s face. His mouth moved but she couldn’t hear the words. It was the last thing she saw.