Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones #2)(18)

“Jooooosh!” The shadows of the forest swallowed any echo her call may have otherwise generated. “Joooosh! Can you hear meeee?”

She had a powerful voice for such a small woman. His eyebrows had nigh met his hairline the first time she had bellowed the other man’s name. Unlike most of the females of his acquaintance, her voice did not rise in pitch when she shouted and was not the least bit shrill. Rather ’twas deep and strong and almost loud enough to make his ears ring, growing only the slightest bit hoarse as the sun continued its descent.

“Joooosh!”



Berserker snorted, as if he knew she desperately wanted some kind of answer and thought it might help to give her one himself.

Sighing, Bethany slumped back against Robert. “Why is it so cool?” she asked wearily. “Earlier today I was worried about suffering heatstroke, and now the breeze is giving me chills. The cold fronts we get this time of year don’t usually lower the temperature this much.”

Robert thought the temperature quite mild for late spring and wondered if mayhap she grew feverish. Frowning, he worked his arm out from under hers and pressed his palm to her forehead.

“I’m not running a fever.” She pulled his hand down. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Nay, but the padded gambeson I wear beneath my mail is much warmer than your tunics.”

She peeled the mailed sleeve of his hauberk back and tested the gambeson with her fingers. When one of those slender little fingers slipped beneath the thick material and glided across the inside of his wrist, a shock of desire zigzagged through him, catching him off guard.

“Wow. That is warm.” Wriggling her hand, she managed to stuff the rest of her chilled fingers up his sleeve. “Ahhhh.”

Robert’s heart thudded against his ribs when she slid her other hand along his and linked their fingers around the reins. How fortunate that he had not donned his mailed mitts again after checking her wounds.

“Mmm. Your hand is warm, too,” she praised. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Nay,” he answered, silently cursing when his voice emerged a bit hoarse. Her touch affected him far more than it should have.

When she tilted her head back to look up at him, he stared straight ahead and schooled his features into a bland mask.

“You sure?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“Thank you.” Facing forward, she seemed content for a while.



Her skin had not quite lost all of its chill when she abandoned his hand and wrist, retrieved her sellfone from the pocket on her breeches and stared down at it.

Curious, Robert peered over her shoulder and tried to understand just what this small, dark object did. There were what appeared to be several tiny, colorful paintings on it, all lined up in neat rows.

Bethany moved the phone to one side, then the other, up and down, all the while keeping a sharp eye on the object.

Robert failed to see it do anything, but thought the little drawings or paintings unusually bright. They seemed, in fact, to glow. “Is all as it should be?” he queried.

“Nay,” she answered, frustration darkening her words. “I still can’t get any bars. I don’t understand it.”

She shoved the sellfone back into her pocket, then leaned to one side, unknowingly grinding her hip into his arousal, and pulled her knife from its sheath.

A groan escaped him ere he could suppress it.

“Did you say something?” she asked.

“Nay.”

She held the blade in front of her, handle up, and went still.

’Twas a most unusual weapon. The handle appeared to be somewhat tarnished silver that smoothed into a ball at its base. Between the handle and the blade lay a flat strip of metal that served as the guard. From this, two rounded spikes—each almost the width of Bethany’s smallest finger—extended outward on either side of her small fists, offering protection from an opponent’s strikes.

The blade itself was as long as her forearm. Mayhap as wide as her narrow wrist at its base, it thickened along its length and curved wickedly until it narrowed to a sharp point.

When she would have put it away, Robert spoke. “What do you do when you hold your weapon thusly? Do you pray?”

“Pray? Nay, I’m looking at this.” Twisting so that one shoulder brushed his chest, she drew the knife in closer and tilted the handle toward him. “See?” She tapped the rounded ball at the base. “It’s a compass.”

Robert leaned down a bit to give it a closer look.

The rounded base was not metal as he had believed, but clear like glass. Inside lay a small ball marked with letters that represented the directions. His eyes widened as the little ball stayed in place while she turned the handle this way and that.

“Since I can’t really get a good look at the sun because of all these trees, I’ve been using this to keep track of what direction we’re traveling in.” Leaning over to tuck her head beneath his chin, she looked at the miraculous little ball. “Right now we’re heading north-northwest. We were heading due north.”

Robert could only stare. What a wondrous weapon.

Straightening, she glanced up at him. “Pretty cool, huh? And that’s not all.” Holding the handle with one hand, she wrapped the other around the spherical compass and began to turn it. “This unscrews.” Removing the compass, she showed him a hidden compartment within the handle. “And inside are waterproof matches, a fishing hook with fishing line, a safety pin, a needle and some thread.”