Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones #2)(125)

“Now give me your sword,” she went on in the same dulcet tones. “I want to see just how good Marc is.”





Beth took Robert’s sword.

“You can wield a sword, Beth?” Marc asked.

She laughed. “Hell, yes, I can. Let’s do this.”

Robert backed away, smiling.

Marc went easy on her at first. But once he saw she knew what she was doing, he relaxed into it and soon fought her as Robert would, even offering some instruction.

The longer they sparred, the more familiar it began to feel to Beth.

So much so that she paused. “Robert, honey, would you please get me a glass of ice water? Or maybe some Perrier on ice?”

Marc lowered his sword. “I’ll get it.”

She held up a hand and shook her head. “Let Robert do it. He’ll enjoying playing with the ice dispenser and he likes the bubbles in the Perrier.”

Robert’s face lit with curiosity. “Ice dispenser?”

Beth nodded. “Press the button on the outside of the refrigerator door and little chunks of ice will come out.”

Robert headed for the kitchen.

Marc told him where to find the glasses, then looked at Beth as Robert disappeared from view. “Are you sure I shouldn’t show him?” he asked in modern English.

She shook her head. “He’ll be fine.”

He nodded.



Beth studied him, instincts yammering in her ears.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” she asked.

A clatter came from the kitchen.

“By the saints!” Robert cried.

Marc laughed. “What?”

“You’re him, aren’t you?” she repeated. “You’re Marcus.”

Marc lost his smile. His look turned cautious. “Who?”

“Robert’s squire. Marcus, heir of Dunnenford.”

“The boy in the pictures from the Middle Ages?”

She nodded. “That’s why he kept feeling so familiar to me. He’s you, only younger.”

“Beth—”

“I’ve never seen you without the long hair, mustache and beard. And his more youthful face threw me. But he’s you, Marc. You’re him.” She motioned to him with her free hand. “You move the same way. You tilt your head the same way. And, now that I’ve heard you speak Middle English, you even phrase your words the same way. You’re him. You’re Marcus.”

In the kitchen, more ice clattered, accompanied by exclamations of awe.

Marc lowered his eyes and poked the floor with his blunted sword tip. “That man Edward in the pictures looks just like William Shatner. That doesn’t mean—”

“Marc, don’t.” She stepped closer to him, lowering her voice. “Please, don’t deny it. I know you’re him. I feel it. Seth said I’m a gifted one, that my intuition isn’t just ordinary intuition. And I believe him. I know I’m right.” A moment passed. “Tell me I’m right.”

Slowly, he nodded. “I am Marcus, heir of Dunnenford.” This time, when he spoke, his voice carried a British accent.

She smiled, excitement filling her at his admission. “That is so cool! How can this be? Did Seth bring you forward in time?”

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

His lips curled up in a smile that contained a hint of bitterness. “Seth does not wish me to alter my fate.”

She grimaced. “That whole dancing around fate thing is really annoying.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I mean, why is it okay for him to bring you to this time to live, but not okay for me and Robert to stay here?”

Again, he glanced down at the floor.

Seth had brought him forward in time, right?

Not necessarily. Back in the clearing, hadn’t she drawn the unbelievable conclusion that Seth had not come forward in time from the thirteenth century, but had instead simply lived long enough to see them again in this one?

Had Marcus done the same?

“How long have you known Seth?” she asked, hoping for a clue.

“Forever, it sometimes seems,” he murmured, then said no more.

The crack and fizzing sounds of a Perrier bottle opening carried to their ears.



“Are you going to tell Robert?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “I only want him to know me as I used to be, not as what I’ve become.”

She frowned. What did that mean?

Beth didn’t know and opted not to push him. “Well, I’m glad you told me.” Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged him hard. “Seth said I can’t take anything from this time back with me.” Withdrawing, she smiled up at him. “But now I’ll have you there.”

Sadness tinged his smile. “The boy I was then won’t know you from this time.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “It’ll still be you.”

Amusement lightened his sober expression. “Sending the tent back with you was my idea, by the way.”

She laughed. “It was?”

He nodded. “I remembered Robert frequently mentioning your icy fingers and toes and hoped it would keep you warm that first night.”