First Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 3) (2 page)

“What a nice welcome. Who’s the musician?”

Mary eyed her up and down. “What did you say your last name was?”

England—June 1334

“Do not listen to women. Nefarious schemers, the lot of them.”

Edward cuffed his brother on the shoulder. “What happened with your betrothed this time?”

Christian re-sheathed his sword and stomped over to a stone bench, where he sank down, scowling.

Legs stretched out in front of him, Edward watched his brother’s men practice their swordplay in the lists.

“There is a rumor about me amongst the lasses. None will have me because of it.”

“Surely you jest? Winterforth is not as large as Somerforth, and you are puny but have gold, title, and lands aplenty. What wench wouldn’t wish to plight her troth with you?”

At a score and four, his brother was the youngest of the Thorntons. Yet he should have been long married with babes of his own.

Christian let out a weary sigh. “If you tell John or cousin William, I will never speak to you again.”

Edward held up his hands. “I will keep your confidence. What could be so bad? Do you snore loud enough to wake the dead, or pass wind of such stench the lasses run away?” Then, seeing the utter dejection on Christian’s face, Edward turned serious. “I give you my word: I will not speak of whatever you say.”

“All because of one night.” Christian leaned closer to Edward. “At court last year, a wealthy widow took me to her bed.” He snorted. “The lasses always flock to my bed, and I had heard she did not want to marry only to enjoy the bed sport, so I eagerly followed her to her chamber.”

Edward tapped his foot, trying to hide his impatience.

“I was deep in my cups and I… Bloody hell. I fell asleep. The next morn, she told all I suffered grave injury as a boy and could not have babes.” He threw up his hands and paced. “None will have me. Each lass finds a reason why she cannot marry me, or their sires agree to the betrothal and the girl runs away. They would rather be beaten than face a life without children. I will die alone.”

“You are Lord Winterforth,” Edward said. “Not as handsome as I, and your swordplay is lacking, but you are a Thornton, and any would give much to ally with us. Marry a girl and put a babe in her belly that will end the rumors.”

His brother shook his head, a look of anguish on his face. “Nay, Edward. The last one ran away to France to marry a baker rather than face me at the altar. I am doomed to loneliness.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “Then put a babe in one of the serving wenches’ bellies, give her a few coins, and stop this nonsense being spouted amongst the eligible maidens of the realm.” Edward threw up his hands. “Hell, marry a foreign lass.”

Christian looked horrified. “I will have an English bride, and I cannot put a babe in a woman’s belly on purpose. Father taught us to cherish all women. Not to ill-use them. A babe would be my responsibility. What do I know of raising a babe? ’Tis women’s work.” His shoulders slumped. “I cannot.”

“Ask Charlotte or Anna. All of the women in our family enjoy meddling. Surely they can find you a wife who will not bolt before you have bedded her.”

“And you? Why then have you not married if ’tis so simple any dolt can do it?”

“I have been visiting eligible maidens, and soon I will choose one to become the lady of Somerforth.”

Christian raised a brow.

“Harrumph. None have suited me thus far. All of them are much too biddable.”

“I would gladly have a meek and quiet wife. One who will leave me to hunt.”

Edward cuffed Christian. “Dolt. Do not let Melinda hear you say such, or she will swear to find you a shrew to plague you the rest of your days.”

“You want a future girl? Now who is daft? There are none to be had. ’Tis not possible.”

Edward sighed, knowing his brother was right. “Mayhap. I would be content with a lass who looks me in the eye and speaks her mind.”

Christian snorted. “You’d have better luck finding a faerie.”

The next morn, Edward embraced his brother in the courtyard. “I vow to find us wives.”

“Methinks I should visit the abbey and make a large donation. The nuns will pray for us.”

“Aye. One accepts aid wherever it is given.”

’Twas a pleasant day as Edward rode to meet his captain and a handful of the men at an inn along the way. The journey to Somerforth would take three weeks if the weather held.

“Is Christian married?” Brom fondled a serving wench as she brought ale to the table.

“Nay. The lad cannot keep his betrothed long enough to actually marry the girl.”

“I say love them for the night, and in the morn move on.”

Edward snorted. “Christian has wanted to marry and have a houseful of babes since he was a boy. I will find him a proper wife.”

Brom looked unconvinced. “If I were to ever marry, I would ask Lucy or her sisters to find me a bride. Women know how to choose a bride, as men know how to choose good horseflesh.”

“This is why you are unwed. Women frown upon being compared to horses.”

“Do they?”

Two days from home, a rider met them on the road. “My lord.” The man gasped. “A raid. We lost a great many sheep.”

Edward swore. “Damned Armstrongs.”

It had been almost a year since the Scots lost six hundred at the Battle of Halidon Hill while the English lost a mere fourteen. Since then, the raids over the border were becoming bolder and more frequent as hatred between the English and Scots grew. “Then we shall take them back and the rest of his livestock as well.”

He expected the odd raid—’twas unavoidable living so close to Scotland—yet Gilbert Armstrong had plagued him for nigh on a year. Busy with other matters, Edward had not dealt with the man as swiftly as he should. Today he would take back what was his and more. Teach the arrogant whoreson a lesson he would not soon forget.

Before Jennifer could answer Mary’s odd question, a man skidded to a stop in front of them, kicking up dirt. He leaned over, hands on his knees. “You must be Jennifer Wilson. Is that a married name? Are you at all related to the Thorntons?”

Mary handed the intense man a bottle of water from a nearby cooler. “Jennifer, this is Guy. The man in charge of our merry band.”

“Cheers.” He guzzled half the bottle and wiped his face with his tunic.

“There aren’t any Thorntons in our family,” Jennifer said. “My mom’s become a bit obsessed with genealogy thanks to her latest husband, and she’s spent a lot of time researching the family. Thornton is a great name, strong and solid. I’d definitely have remembered it.”

No one spoke again until the piper finished, the last notes floating away on the breeze.

“That was beautiful yet haunting.”

“You just heard a ghost.” Mary looked at Guy, and something passed between them.
 

“Somerforth belonged to Edward Thornton. The oldest of five brothers. According to the legend, a Thornton woman saved her people from certain death. We’ve only heard him play one other time, when Charlotte was here.” Guy wiped his brow. “How about Merriweather? That name ring a bell?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Sorry.” Then Jennifer looked around for anyone holding a cell phone. “Is this a welcome to England joke?”

Mary spoke up. “We never jest about the piper. His ghost supposedly haunts all of the Thornton castles. Only plays for the lady of the castle.”

“I’d love to be a lady of a castle, but I’m plain, simple Jennifer Wilson. Sorry to disappoint you all.”

The spell broken, people drifted back to what they were doing, though the sadness lingered in the air. She’d only been here a day and already she was daydreaming. Her parents would not be pleased. This was to be a summer where she decided the course of her life, not wiled the time away on fantasy and painting.
 

Guy looked at his watch. “The professor called. They’re on the way. Be here in a jiffy. I’ll see you around.”

“Bye. And thanks for telling me the story.”

Mary lifted the flap to the slightly skewed blue tent. Jennifer didn’t care, as long as it didn’t fall on her head. She’d never had much luck setting up a tent on her own.

“It isn’t the height of luxury, but you’ll be comfortable enough.”

She peeked inside, pleasantly surprised. There was a tidy cot already made up with a pillow and blanket, a comfy-looking chair, and a tiny dresser.

“This is more than I expected.” She looked over her shoulder at Mary. “Does everyone eat together? Something Guy said made me think not.”

“No. We keep to ourselves most of the time. The students eat a lot of pizza, and we stick mainly to medieval dishes. You’re welcome to join us one night.”

The woman smelled of honey from the bread she baked. “I might just do that.” Jennifer dropped the bag on the cot. She had the entire summer ahead of her. As she unpacked, the watercolors beckoned. The only decision was what to capture first: roses or ruins? Maybe she’d have time to paint after she met the professor. Surely he wouldn’t expect her to start working on the first day?

A ruined castle. It was so romantic, with the crumbling stone, the smell of roses, and the invigorating scent of the ocean. Jennifer could picture a rugged knight riding out to protect his people, battling the bad guys and then coming home to her. He would look at her and no one else. No way would he want trade her in for a younger model as the years passed. The scene playing out in her head was so vivid that she could smell the boiling oil and rotting garbage before it was flung over the wall at the enemy.

A quick search confirmed the expensive solar charger she’d ordered before she’d left was still there. Several weeks before the trip, she’d left a pair of sunglasses and bag of groceries behind, all on the same day. Ever since, she’d gotten a bit paranoid about forgetting things, and now double-or triple-checked her bags. Talk about OCD. The fancy charger was for the e-reader and the phone—not that Jennifer planned to call anyone; the phone was mostly for music.

When she arrived, she’d texted her parents to let them know, and told them she’d try to check in once every few weeks or so. Her mom replied saying she’d send an email when she and hubby got home from their cruise. Fine by her. Both of her parents liked drama in their lives, and the constant upheaval of arguments between their current spouses and each other, then making up, wore her out. Seemed like someone was always mad at one of their friends. It was exhausting just hearing about it. Who wanted to expend so much negative energy? Nope. Give her peace and quiet. No drama, thank you very much. Jennifer planned to paint and read whenever she had downtime this summer. Nina Simone sang about the other woman while she finished unpacking.