Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones #2)(26)

“I have soap,” she said, holding up the small bar of deodorant soap, “and shampoo.” Beth frowned down at the little bottle. “I hope this is enough to get all of the crud out of my hair.” Her tangled brown locks were matted with dirt and dried blood and reached her waist when not braided. She might have to use the soap, too, to get it clean.

“May I?” Robert asked, holding out his hand.

Beth handed him the bottle and watched him study it under the light.

“You use this to clean your hair?”

“Yes.”

Turning slightly, he played the flashlight’s beam across the riverbank until it landed upon a large semi-flat rock that jutted out above the water a few yards away. “That should do nicely.”

“For what?”



Rising, his movements ever graceful and fluid, he tucked the shampoo into his fist beside the flashlight’s handle and extended his hand to help her up. “For washing your hair. If you lie on your back with your head resting on the edge, I can—”

“Robert, I am perfectly capable of washing my own hair.”

He smiled down at her. “You have been chilled for hours, Beth. If you remain in the water long enough to wash both your body and your hair, you will be half-frozen ere you emerge. I do not wish you to become ill.”

He would have to echo her own thoughts. But she still couldn’t let him wash her hair. The two of them were all alone out there. Surrounded by darkness. And the city girl in her kept reminding her that, though he seemed like a very nice guy, she didn’t know him from Adam. “I’ll just hang my head over the water and wash it myself.”

He shook his head and pulled her along after him. “Do not be stubborn. ’Twill be easier if I do it for you.”

“You are the one who is being stubborn.”

Stopping beside the rock, he stared down at her for a long moment. “You have great difficulty trusting men, do you not?”

She shrugged. “I have met very few men who were trustworthy. Don’t forget, I spend most of my time hunting down criminals, many of whom are men. Between dealing with them and knowing the statistics on sexual assault and infidelity in our society, I can’t help but be cynical regarding your gender.”

Raising their linked hands, he used them to tip her chin up, forcing her to meet his earnest gaze. “You can trust me, Beth.” He spoke the words softly, his grave eyes almost hypnotizing.

Her treacherous heart began to pound again.

“I would never intentionally harm you,” he continued. “Nor would I allow anyone else to do so. Were it necessary, I would give my life to protect you.”

Beth stared up at him, astounded. “You mean that,” she whispered, seeing it in his eyes.

She and Josh dealt with liars all the time. Not just the bail skippers, but their family members, too. As well as friends and associates who lied to buy the criminals time and divert the search. After a while, truth became easy to identify. Which was why confusion inundated Beth every time she worried and wondered if Robert and his friends had been involved in whatever twist had taken her away from Josh and brought her to this place, wherever they were.

All of her instincts told her that Robert was exactly what he appeared to be—a really nice guy who only wanted to help her.

“I do mean it,” he confirmed. “Will you allow me to wash your hair now?”

Too tired to continue fighting her intuition, she nodded.

Robert removed his tunic and draped it over the rock.

“It’s going to get wet,” she warned.

He shrugged, his chainmail glinting in the moonlight. “It matters not.” Taking her hand, he helped her recline on the rock. “I will not ask if ’tis comfortable. But is it at least tolerable?”

Beth shifted around a bit until her spine no longer rested upon a ridge in the hard stone. “It’s fine.” Turning her head, she felt a jolt when she saw him removing his mailed shirt. “What are you doing?”

“I do not wish my armor to become wet and rust. Although ’twould give my squire something more to do upon my return.” His mailed pants and his thick padded gambeson followed, leaving him in a soft shirt, trouser-like braies and hose.

Apparently medieval reenactors even wore authentic underwear.

Beth watched him wade into the water. Much to her astonishment, he didn’t even flinch. “The water is freezing. Won’t you be too cold?” she asked, tilting her head back as he moved around and knelt behind her.

The rock she lay upon only extended about a yard beyond the grassy bank, so the water did not quite reach his groin.



“I am accustomed to such.” Motioning for her to relax and stare up at the sky, he picked up her crusty braid and bent to examine it. “Unlike most of my men, I prefer to bathe daily whenever water is available. When not at one of my own keeps or my brother’s, I sometimes must resort to washing in whatever lake or stream is at hand, which is oft as cool or cooler than this one. And too, I am reluctant to trouble the servants with carrying bucket after bucket of hot water up to my solar every night.”

Evidently he had a brother who was into the whole dungeons and damsels thing, too.

“Beth?”

“Aye?”

“I cannot fathom how to remove the fastening at the end of your braid. There are no ribbons to untie or—”