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

There wasn’t a single eligible maiden in all the realm he hadn’t called on. By the saints, he’d tried, but there was something wrong with every lass. Some were too tall, others too short, some were too thin, and others too plump. A few slurped their soup and had terrible manners, while others had the makings of ear-splitting shrews. Plenty came with large dowries, and yet it wasn’t enough to entice him. Gold he had more than enough of. Mayhap he was destined to live out the rest of his years alone.

Henry and John had found wives, perfectly happy being ordered about. His youngest and eldest brothers hadn’t yet taken wives. Christian wanted a large family. Vowed to take a wife once Robert and Edward married. ’Twas only right as youngest he should be last. Edward…Robert expected his stuffy brother to show up with a wife on his arm any day. The man had wept like a woman when he held Anna’s wee babe. He’d been talking of heirs and legacy ever since.
 

Robert padded down the hallway to his chamber, Featherton waiting.

“You stink.” The man sniffed. “I’ve had a bath prepared.”

“Delightful.” Robert tugged the beautifully embroidered tunic over his head and stalked to the tub, letting the steaming water soothe his aching head. A cup was thrust into his hand. He didn’t even open an eye as he sipped the spiced wine.

His steward shaved him and helped him dress for the day, or what was left of it. Edward teased him, saying Robert’s clothing, while perfectly acceptable at court, was foolish to wear around Highworth, where there was no one to see it. But Robert disagreed. One should always be well dressed and prepared for new adventures.

The chamber was large and richly appointed. Any woman would find it pleasing, though perhaps a bit masculine for her tastes. But wasn’t that what women liked to do? Spend gold and change a home until it pleased them?

Mayhap the problem was he needed a girl from the future. Like Henry and John had found. Halfway through the great hall, he paused. Not only had his brothers found future brides, so had William Brandon and James Rivers. Robert could not fathom what this future girl might look like only that he needed one. And since there were none to be had, he would remain alone. Hunting, wagering, and wenching. His three favorite things in all the world.

“You look as though you found a bag of gold in the stables, or perhaps a wench with hair of gold.” His captain smirked as he saw to his horse.

“I was thinking ’twas time to marry.” Robert was gratified to see the man’s mouth drop open. Thomas had been with him since they were boys. Fighting together, winning in tourneys, and becoming men in the same bawdy house. Thomas hailed from a minor house and was content to serve as his captain, mostly as he enjoyed wielding his sword.

Robert clapped Thomas on the shoulder. “I will marry when I find a future girl.”

“Lower your voice, my lord.” Thomas knew
when
his brothers and cousins wives hailed from. Robert looked around the stables to see if any had overheard. Nay, everyone was busy with the tasks of the day. “No one heard.”

“You should not say such things. ’Tis not wise to tempt the fates.”

Robert scoffed. “What do I care? The fates have done nothing but heap trouble on my head.”

His captain crossed himself, looking to the heavens. “I will remind you of this day when you find yourself chained to a girl not of your own choosing.”

They made their way out to the lists, the muscles in Robert’s arm flexing as he lunged. “’Twill always be my choice. Any woman would count herself favored by fortune to have one as handsome and charming as I.”

A few of the garrison knights scoffed. One called out, “Don’t you know by now, the girl always chooses the man, not the other way round.”

Robert wielded the sword, lunging forward. “Women, the lot of you. You know nothing of lasses. You believe you pay them and they do as you bid. Why should a wife be any different?”

The men jested. Slurs tossed back and forth. Becoming cruder as Robert worked his way through the garrison. He was rather pleased with himself at this idea. The next time Edward sent one of his damnable letters, beseeching him to take a wife, he would respond. Tell his meddlesome brother he would marry as soon as a future girl appeared in his hall.

Content it would never happen, Robert whistled, happier than he’d been in days. ’Twas a fine afternoon. He would hunt, eat, and drink. Letting the days flow into one another, drinking and laughing, until the sun fell for the night and rose again in the morning. He would not dwell on things he could not change. Nor the faces of the dead that haunted his dreams.

Without a care in the world, he called for the stable boy to saddle the black. He was full of joy—and that was what he would continue telling himself until it rang true.

Elizabeth blinked as she walked out of the jail and into the early morning. The street was deserted except for a few officers coming and going to their shifts. What was that dreadful smell? With a discreet sniff, she recoiled. It was her—the aroma of the jail had seeped into her skin after she’d been locked up for more than fourteen hours. The sun was coming up, turning the sky the color of sherbet. Sunrise and sunset were her favorite times of the day. The church bell at the end of the square rang out, calling worshippers to the early morning service.

“I’m so glad you brought Lulabell. I was worried she’d be towed.”

Darla hugged her. “She’s fine, and so is the camper. I explained to the guy who owned the furniture store what happened and he said we could pick it up today.”

Lulabell was her vintage Beetle. A mechanic whose daughter she’d befriended at a sit-in offered it to her after his darling daughter decided enough with the protests, time to make real money. She went into finance and drove a huge Mercedes. The man had lovingly restored the car, and Elizabeth had fallen in love with the quirky bug at first sight. It was a deep metallic sapphire blue with huge white daisies painted all over it. Talk about an attention getter. The interior matched. Blue with daisies covering the seats. And it coordinated perfectly with her apple-red vintage camper.

Darla held up the keys. “You feel up to driving?”

“I couldn’t sleep at all. It was so noisy, and something about the sensation of being behind bars…” Elizabeth shuddered. “It’s the worst feeling ever.” She held up her hands. “I know. I say every time, no more arrests. Honestly, I don’t know how people in jail survive. Without the sun on my face or the freedom to go where I want, and when I want…I think I’d curl up and die.”

She hugged Darla tight. “Thank you again for bailing me out. And coming down here with my lawyer. I’m sure by now he’s tired of bailing me out. So you drive and I’ll relax.”

From the police station it was a twenty-minute drive to the furniture store where the camper was parked. Darla chatted while she drove, catching Elizabeth up on life. Her dear friend was a lawyer in private practice. She had recommended Elizabeth’s present lawyer, saying he had more experience. Darla’s two older sisters shared the firm, taking on a variety of interesting cases. As they drove, something peeking out from the seat caught Elizabeth’s eye. It was a glossy magazine with a knight in shining armor on the front.

“What’s this? Is it yours? Boy oh boy, if all medieval knights looked like this, I’d be all about giving up hot showers.”

Darla pushed her glasses up. “It was the strangest thing, I found it under the windshield wipers on the car. I meant to throw it away, but with all the commotion, I hadn’t gotten around to it. Who leaves a Renaissance faire magazine under somebody’s windshield wiper?”

Elizabeth flipped through the pages, stopping to read an article on swords. Ever since she was a child, she’d load up at the library, devouring books. After she’d worked her way through the children’s section, she’d read anything she could get her hands on. Turning the page, a jolt shot through her. The advertisement took up the entire page, the picture pulling her in, tempting her to read the accompanying text.

It was the pinnacle of a princess castle straight out of a fairytale. More ornate than she had ever imagined as a child. Someone with a serious royalty complex must have designed the place. And the countryside—it was breathtaking. All the verdant green, gardens, and the surrounding landscape… Her fingers itched to pick up a paintbrush.

She was so busy imagining herself walking through the grounds that she almost missed it. The advertisement was actually a contest. It seemed all she had to do was write an essay, and the winner would spend an entire week in an authentic English castle. Her excitement mounting, Elizabeth read on.

“Listen to this, Darla…the winner of the contest will enjoy a week at Highworth Castle located near Sutton. The castle has been privately owned and beautifully maintained… Can you believe it? Look at this.” Elizabeth waved the magazine in front of Darla’s face.

“Driving here, remember?” Her friend looked over. “I don’t know; it looks like a wedding cake designer threw up and a castle came out. Since when do you want to stay in a drafty old castle?”

“Only since I was a little girl and dreamed of being a princess with my very own castle. And, of course, the castle came equipped with a dragon and a handsome prince. Rooms with no purpose other than my enjoyment.” She sighed. “I know it’s silly. Castles and princes are so out of reach for most people that they might as well be a fairytale. But a girl can dream.”

The tables were pushed against the walls. Men bedded down for night in the hall as Robert moved amongst them like a spirit, making his way down to the cellars. Which also served as a dungeon as needs be. In the darkest time of night, when he was unable to sleep, he would prowl the rows, counting the casks and jugs until he was tired enough to return to his chamber. The castle was asleep, quiet except for the men on guard.

As he was counting the third row, the sound of wood scraping against stone had him drawing his sword. The door to the tunnels swung open, and the blade stopped a hairsbreadth from the man’s neck.
 

“Not a verra warm welcome, now, is it?” The rich Scottish burr filled the room, echoing off the stone.

Robert re-sheathed his sword, grimacing. “You almost lost your pretty head. How did you know about the passageway?”

“Ye told me about it one night long ago.”

The Scot stumbled and Robert held up a torch. “What is amiss? You come to Highworth in the dead of night not by the door but through the tunnels. ’Tis not safe for you here.” He squinted, noting wet spots on the man’s plaid.

Connor McTavish took three steps before collapsing on the stone floor. Robert swore as he knelt down. Up close, Connor smelled of war. River water and mud, unwashed skin, and the stench of old and new blood. The man’s normally ruddy skin was tinged with gray.

“Bloody hell.” Robert did not have time for such trouble. The man’s eyes fluttered. He reached up and, with surprising strength, grabbed hold of Robert’s tunic.

“Ye owe me a debt. A life. Or have ye forgotten?”

Robert cursed again. “I have not forgotten,” he said stiffly. A year ago, he’d been in an establishment of questionable reputation with several friends. The drink and women were plentiful as they wagered through the night, falling deeper and deeper into their cups. He would never forget how the night ended. “Much as it wounds me to admit, I would have died had you not been there.” Robert snorted. “Though even the great McTavish himself could not have dispatched eight men on his own.”

The Scot grinned. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Good thing you were too bloody stubborn to die.”

“Mayhap I should fetch a looking glass so you can see one who is truly stubborn.”

“The church would not care for such an object. You are vain enough without admiring your form all day and night.” The Scot chuckled then sputtered, spitting out blood. Wincing, he let go of Robert’s tunic. “I call the debt due.” The man went silent.

Robert leaned close, relief spreading through him when he felt breath coming from Connor. “Damn you, McTavish.” He stood, looking down at the warrior wanted by many, including his king. The Scot had killed many English soldiers. To harbor him was treason. Robert’s brothers and wives would be in danger as would all of those under his protection at Highworth. Robert had not forgotten all those years ago, what John had cost the family. They’d lost all. Lands, titles, gold.
 

If he kept Connor McTavish hidden, the Thorntons would lose their lives if anyone found out. No one would be safe. But a debt was a debt. And his damnable knightly honor demanded he pay no matter the risk. Stomping about made him feel a bit better. With a deep breath, he softly knocked on the door.

Featherton stood there fully dressed. “My lord.”

“Do you sleep in your clothes?”

The man scowled. “How may I serve his lordship this fine eve?”

Robert chose to ignore the sarcasm. “’Tis important. Connor is in the wine cellar.”

Not even a raised brow. Featherton stepped out of the room, closing the door and striding down the corridor. He woke a small girl sleeping in the kitchens.

“Janet, wake up, girl.”

The child sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“Go and fetch Thomas. Bring him alone to the cellar. No one else, understand?”

She nodded and scampered off. Robert watched her go. “Still not speaking?”

Featherton looked at the empty doorway. “No, my lord. The healer said the child had seen such horror she may never speak.” He shook his head. “We do not know all that happened to her.”

Robert remembered finding the child hiding in a bush. He was after a stag and there she was, curled up like a fox kit, drenched in blood. The child blinked up at him and held out her arms. Never uttered a word. At the castle, she wouldn’t go with anyone else until he reassured her all would be well. Many times he found her trailing after him, but still she did not speak.

Thomas met them in the cellars. “You cannot help him. ’Tis treason.” His captain of the guard looked down at the Scot and cursed.

Robert knew the feeling well. “I owe him a debt, Thomas.”