Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones #2)(110)

Sweat trickled down between her breasts as she blocked the powerful swing of Marcus’s sword and countered with one of her own. She had made excellent progress, in her opinion, but thought Faudron would die before admitting it. Years of jogging, kickboxing aerobics, and tae kwon do lessons had given her strength, agility, and an excellent sense of balance. Even Dillon had commended her for her growing sword-fighting skills, imparting some instruction of his own.

Beth thought herself a long way from equaling Marcus, however, who had been trained by the best and boasted quite a bit more muscle than she did. Her slighter weight and lesser strength would definitely be a hindrance on the battlefield, but she had found ways to use some of the martial arts moves she’d learned to take her opponents by surprise.

Her breath coming in gasps, Beth called a halt and tugged off her helmet. “Whew! I could use a break.”

Marcus smiled and lowered his sword. “You did very well, my lady.”

“Oh, please. You’re barely out of breath.”

He shook his head. “Your skills are advancing far more quickly than mine did. The other squires are envious.”

Tucking her helmet under her arm, she waved her free hand. “You’re just saying that because you heard me tell Robert that flattery would get him everything.”

He laughed. “Were I to admit to such, my lady, Lord Robert would have my head.”

“Among other things.” Grinning, Beth motioned to the mass of sweating, straining, grunting bodies to her right. “Go find yourself another victim while I rest for a bit.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

Sliding her sword into the sheath she carried on her back, Beth rounded the corner of the keep and headed for the stairs. Maybe she could convince Robert to take a break and join her for a swim in the lake he had shown her yesterday. The water would be icy cold, but she didn’t think her new husband would have any trouble warming her up.



A commotion arose near the gatehouse.

Raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she squinted against the brightness and tried to see what transpired.

A small crowd had formed just outside the barbican. All stared into its darkened interior with a sort of rapt fascination.

She frowned, her steps slowing.

The onlookers suddenly shrank back, parting down the middle to allow a figure to pass.

Beth halted, as captivated as the others.

A knight garbed in midnight armor rode into view atop the largest horse she had ever seen. Its coat was a glossy black, matched by a beautiful mane and long tufts of hair that decorated its legs just above the hooves.

It was huge. As was its rider, she soon saw when he dismounted.

Jeez, the man must be at least six and a half feet tall, towering over every other man in the bailey.

Oddly, he wore no helmet. Perhaps the guards had asked him to remove it and identify himself prior to letting him pass.

The knight’s long, thick, wavy hair glinted in the sunlight. As black as his horse’s mane, it fell to his waist and was tied back with a strip of leather.

A sick feeling invaded Beth’s stomach.

She still hadn’t seen his face.

When at last he turned, her knees weakened. Little sparkly things appeared and danced in the air as her vision began to dim.

Straight nose. Dark brows. Dark, almost onyx eyes she could see even at this distance. High cheekbones. Strong jaw. Tanned skin. A countenance handsome as hell.

It was him. The man she had last seen wearing dark robes. The man who had knelt beside her that day in the clearing and carried her back through time.

The man who had come to return her to the twenty-first century and take her away from Robert.

Dropping her helmet, Beth raced for the stairs.





Robert struggled to concentrate on Dillon’s voice as the figures before him blurred together. He suppressed a sigh. ’Twas tedious work. He understood now why his brother had grumbled over having to conduct such over the years. Robert would much rather be down in the practice field, sparring with Beth.

Or mayhap coaxing her to slip away with him for a private moment by the lake. His lips turned up in a smile as he imagined peeling away her squire’s garb and coaxing moans of pleasure from her whilst the sun bathed her beautiful body. ’Twould be far more exciting than—

The door to the solar slammed open, striking the wall with a thunderous boom.

Robert and Dillon leapt to their feet, their hands going to their sword hilts.

Beth stood in the doorway, her chest rising and falling as though she had run to them as quickly as she could.

Robert barely had time to register the distress on her face before she darted around the table, slammed into his chest, wrapped her arms around him and squeezed the breath out of him. Staggering back a step, he folded his arms around her and watched the doorway, fearing Fosterly was under attack.

Had another enemy risen to take the place of the one he had finally vanquished?

Dillon drew his sword and left the room. A moment later, he returned. “All is well.”

Frowning, Robert pressed his lips to his wife’s hair. “Beth?” Tremors shook her slender form. “What is amiss?”



Her grip tightened. “I love you.”

He cast Dillon a worried look. “And I love you, sweetling. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head quickly.