Knight Moves: Merriweather Sisters Time Travel (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 2) (14 page)

A fit of coughing racked her body before she could ask another question. James helpfully pounded her on the back. Hard enough to send her sliding off the horse. He caught her before she went over.
 

“Apologies.”

She shook her head. “It’s all right. Will you tell me about him?”

Sitting in front of James on the saddle, Melinda felt him flinch. Yes, she was curious about his past, and the longer he took to answer the more her imagination filled in the blanks. What if Lucy was with another man like Simon? Or held here against her will?

James spoke in a low tone, his breath warm against her ear.

“I was but a babe when it happened. William killed one of my brothers during a battle. My other brother said ’twas done on purpose. William stabbed my brother in the back. What happened on the battlefield that day unleashed a feud between our families. It ended when William and his men killed my parents, my brothers, and sisters. A servant hid me in the chest in the bedchamber. ’Tis the only reason I was spared.”

She put a hand on his thigh. “I’m so sorry. To grow up without family is a terrible thing. And to know the man responsible is free. I would want him to pay for what he did.”

“William Brandon
will
pay.”

“My sister is with some old man? We have to save her from him. She wouldn’t be with a horrible man unless he’s holding her against her will. Do you think he forced her to marry him?”

The story James told her ratcheted up her worry. She needed to leave in the morning for Blackford Castle.

“How long ago did you lose your family?”

“A score of years.”

“Is that ten?”

She could feel the vibrations through James’ chest as he spoke. She liked listening to his voice. The accent was yummy, but it was the depth of his voice that made her feel safe.

“A score of years is twenty, lady.”

“I was right, then—William Brandon is a dirty old man.”

James actually chuckled. “He is forty…mayhap forty-five years old, though I’m told he’s in remarkable health for a man his age. Still fights for the king in battle.”

Melinda couldn’t imagine being with a man twenty years older than she. And there was no way Lucy would. She didn’t like older men. Always dated men her own age or very close. Something didn’t add up.

“What would you do, lady? Would you slay an entire family?”

For a moment she didn’t answer. Her ex-boyfriend Carl used to say he loved her looks, so she didn’t need to speak. He thought she was dumb, never asked her opinion. James asked her what she thought. Seemed interested in the answer.

“I think you can only guess what you would do. Unless you’re actually in the situation. I would like to think I’d be rational enough to talk through what happened. But I’m not sure. I have a bit of a temper.”

James laughed again, his odd-sounding laugh. “Aye, lady. You have a fearsome temper.”

She elbowed him in the stomach and smirked when he let out a grunt. Another fit of coughing racked her body.

“The thing is, we don’t know why William killed your brother. Maybe William is a jerk and relishes killing people. Then again, could there have been something else going on? We weren’t there, so we don’t know the truth. I swear, I will take your sword and kill him myself if he’s harmed my sister.”

Back at the castle, James tended to the horses while Melinda sipped a cup of spiced wine and nibbled on a bit of bread. The fires burning in the kitchen made it toasty, but she couldn’t get warm. Mrs. Black told her to stay put while the servants heated water for the bath. Her head hurt, she had the sniffles, and she kept coughing and sneezing.

Given how many times she’d ended up soaking wet outside in the cold, Melinda shouldn’t be surprised she’d caught a cold or maybe the flu. She’d hoped the cold virus was different in the past and she’d be immune. Wishful thinking. If only she had Aunt Pittypat’s tried-and-true, never-fail hot toddy recipe. A cup of hot tea with a splash of whiskey, a spoonful of honey, and squeeze of lemon always worked wonders. Drink the concoction several times a day for a couple days and she’d be back on her feet feeling healthy again.

Her aunt would’ve loved traveling back in time. She was always up for new adventures. Melinda could picture her on the battlements under a full moon, dancing naked. Wherever her aunt was in her journey of the afterlife, Melinda knew she was having the time of her life. She reached to her neck, touching the necklace. Her aunt had never been one for material possessions. The necklace was all she had left. It was very precious to her.

Melinda soaked in the tub until her skin looked like a raisin. Mrs. Black brought her another dress. The gray one was ruined after ripping on the rocks and being in the salt water.

The dress was made of dark blue wool with embroidery around the hem and neckline. The chemise felt like linen. There was a matching blue ribbon to tie back her hair, and pretty stockings. She would wear her own boots. She felt very proper and presentable. Almost like she belonged. Imagine someone whose only job was to help you dress every day. Melinda couldn’t fathom it.

Wrapped in a blanket, sipping another cup of wine, Melinda stared into the fire. Things were starting to look fuzzy. She wasn’t a big drinker, so perhaps she was intoxicated. Though when she touched a hand to her forehead, the skin felt hot to the touch. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to insist she was fine and wanted to dress. She better go to bed early.
 

“Mistress? Mrs. Black says you’re wantin’ to go to bed. Shall I help ye undress?”

Melinda must have dozed off. She wobbled a bit when she stood. “Thank you. I could never undo all these ties by myself.”

The girl helped her out of her dress, leaving Melinda in her chemise. She was starting to like not worrying about undies and bras. The girl laid the ribbon on the table and brush out her hair.

“I’ll fetch Mrs. Black. You’re burning with fever, my lady.”

The girl scurried out of the room. Too tired to care, Melinda crawled into bed and fell into a sleep fractured by nightmares.

Melinda woke feeling like she’d been run over by a truck. It was an effort to sit up in bed. Legs stretched out in front of him, James slept in the chair, chin resting on his chest. Trying to be quiet, she scooted back against the headboard to get a better look at him. He went out of his way to keep his face hidden. Asleep, she could look her fill.
 

He didn’t believe her about being from the future. She couldn’t really blame him. If a man showed up at Holden Beach dressed in tights and a long shirt and brandishing a sword, she would’ve called the closest hospital to come take him away. No way she’d talk to the crazy-pants guy. She would have gotten away from him as quickly as possible.
 

“Thank you for not throwing me in your dungeon,” she whispered, not sure Falconburg had a dungeon but certainly hoping she’d never find out.
 

He had faint lines around the corners of his eyes. Probably from squinting against the sun. Though she liked to think they were laugh lines. And imagined him laughing and flirting. A hot slice of jealousy burned through her from thinking of him kissing all the pretty women. Bet they threw themselves at him by the dozens.

His face was dark with stubble, and her rescuer looked exhausted, with purplish circles under his eyes. He looked far older than twenty-two.

How many times had that crooked nose been broken? But it was the scar that ran through his eyebrow and eye, stopping beyond his cheekbone, that made her heart ache. He’d been incredibly lucky not to lose sight in the eye. Without thinking, Melinda reached out a finger to trace the scar. He shifted in the chair and she snatched her hand back under the covers.

The door to the chamber opened. Two servants bearing trays bustled in. The sound woke James instantly. His hand went to the sword at his hip. He was out of the chair, sword in one hand, knife in the other, before she blinked. When he saw who it was, he sat back in the chair with a wince.

The smell of freshly baked bread and—was that chicken potpie? It certainly smelled like it. Melinda’s stomach growled. The corner of James’ mouth twitched.

“How do you fare, Melinda?”

He’d called her by her first name. How could something so simple make her so happy? She’d told him he could do so when they’d met, but he’d insisted on calling her “mistress” or “lady” or “my lady.” Or “wench” when he was displeased. What had changed?

“How long have I been sick? I must have had the flu.”

He looked perplexed. Right, the word for flu must not exist yet. But he got her meaning, because he said, “You’ve been abed with a fever for a se’nnight.”

“A week? Seriously? No wonder I’m so hungry.” She threw back the covers. He put a hand on her shoulder.

“You are weak. Stay abed. I will serve you.”

He smelled amazing. Like gingerbread and the ocean. Nope. They certainly didn’t make guys like this in her time. At least none she’d encountered. Melinda leaned back against the pillows and waited. The straw mattress under the featherbed crackled when she moved. He brought her a cup of mead along with the food. She waited until he sat back down before she ate.

“This is so good.” It was some kind of variation of chicken potpie. “Have you been here with me the entire time?”

He kept his eyes on his plate when he answered. “Aye. You gave the servants a fright.” He smiled. She treasured each one, they were so rare.

“What happened? Did I do something embarrassing?”

“You were out of bed trying to climb out the window. Two of the men put you back in bed.” He cocked his head. “They said they’d never heard such words from the mouth of a lady.”

He was trying hard not to laugh. Melinda was mortified to think of the awful swearwords she knew thanks to Aunt Pittypat’s eclectic group of friends.

James chuckled. “The men have taking a liking to your more inventive curses. I daresay there were many they’d never heard before.”

She put her hands over her face, her cheeks hot. “I’m so sorry I caused any trouble. I don’t remember any of it. All I remember were terrible dreams.”

He looked grave. “After…my injuries, I too dreamt of terrible things while the fever held me close. Do not fret. I sent the men away and stayed with you.”

James took her hand in his. She went still, feeling the rasp of the calluses on his palm as he stroked her hand. The muscles in his arm flexed beneath his tunic. The man was about six foot three, and every inch muscled. After seeing him in the lists and fighting to rescue her, she knew where the muscles came from.

James caught her staring at his scarred hand and snatched it away. She opened her mouth to protest then shut it. Calling attention to it would make him feel even more embarrassed. He’d obviously been a man used to showing affection. It was sad to think his injuries changed him so much. She would’ve liked seeing him before.

Strike that thought, said the green-eyed monster inside her. Melinda had the feeling before his injuries he wouldn’t have given her the time of day. Well, he might have flirted with her like every other pretty woman he encountered. He probably fended off women lined up ten deep. Had his injuries softened him? She knew it was idle speculation. Usually she was a pretty good judge of character. Not counting a couple of ex-boyfriends. It seemed poor taste in men was another Merriweather curse. Aunt Pittypat married eight times before she passed.

“Will you tell me how you were injured?”

He leaned back in the chair. “’Twas during a battle. My injuries were so grave the healer said I would surely die.” He crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “I was too stubborn to die.”

James stopped speaking as a servant came in to clear the dishes.

“Do you require anything else, my lord?”

“That will be all.”

When the man left, shutting the door behind him, James finished his wine. He stared into the fire for so long she wondered if he’d forgotten.
 

“After I healed enough to ride, I rode to claim my betrothed. She ran screaming from her father’s hall. Before…there were many women who wished to wed me. I traveled to meet each eligible maiden. They were terrified by my face. Even here at Falconburg there are those who fear me.”