Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones #2)(27)

“It’s elastic. Just pinch the hair above it and pull. It’ll come right off.”

“Will it not pain you, pulling your hair in such a fashion?”

“Nay. I do it all the time.” When he hesitated, she smiled. “Go ahead, Robert. It won’t hurt. I promise.”

He must have been careful even so, because she did not feel even the faintest tug on her braid before his hand appeared above her, holding the dark brown elastic band.

“Thank you.” That was probably the only tie she had with her. Afraid of losing it, Beth wound it around the middle finger of her right hand like a ring and rested both hands on her stomach.

Robert went to work on her hair, dunking the braid in the icy water, letting some of the dirt soften and rinse away before he gingerly began to untangle the long strands. When he cupped his hands and dribbled the first of many chilly drops on the hair at her temples and around her face, a shiver shook her, raising the hair on her arms.

“Wow. That is really cold.” She rubbed her arms. “I don’t know how you can stand it.”

One large hand smoothed the hair back from her face, gliding over the crown of her head. “Mayhap you should postpone your bath until we reach Fosterly and you can do so in warmth and comfort.”

“I can’t.” Her stomach soured. “I don’t want to wait that long. I need to wash the blood off.”

“I understand.” Leaning away, he reached for the shampoo.

Did he? she wondered. Did he know the fear and revulsion that filled her every time she glanced down at her stained clothing? Did he understand the terror that claimed her whenever she acknowledged that most, if not all, of the blood had drained from wounds on her own body? Wounds that should have killed her? Wounds that—defying all comprehension—no longer existed?

And did he sense the disgust that pummeled her when she admitted that some of the blood that coated her back could have sprayed from Vergoma when Josh had shot him with the Remington?





Robert could see unrest growing in Bethany.

A crease formed between her brows. Her hands began to fidget and pluck at her clothing in restless movements.

Twisting the top off the container of shampoo, he wondered what he could say that might ease her.

He tipped the bottle sideways. A white, pearlescent liquid flowed into his cupped palm as a sweet aroma rose up to envelope him. “A most pleasant fragrance,” he commented, bringing it closer to his nose for another sniff. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never used that one before. It was a free sample.”



Setting the bottle aside, he began to work the strange liquid into her hair. Almost immediately, a thick white foam grew and spread throughout her long locks.

“You are troubled,” he observed.

Her frown deepened.

“You may confide in me, Beth. Whatever words pass between us will go no further.” At least, he hoped they would not. If she told Alyssa that he had teased her about her breasts, Robert feared he would find himself spending a night in his brother’s dungeon.

He still could not say what had come over him and made him speak so familiarly to her.

Her throat worked with a swallow. “I’m just so worried about Josh.” Her eyes shimmered as tears rose in them. “I keep seeing him, the way he looked when he staggered toward me. The blood on his clothes and the pain in his face. The fear for me in his eyes. How still he lay after he fell.” Issuing a sound of impatience, she brought a hand up and rubbed the tears away. “And the sound he made when he saw me fall… I don’t know how to describe it. He let out this… roar of grief and fury, as if he knew I would die from my wounds.” She shook her head. “Not knowing what happened to him is eating me up inside.”

Robert nodded. He had emitted such a roar himself the day he had watched his brother take three quarrels from a crossbow. Not knowing whether Dillon had survived or died from his wounds would have been unbearable. “You said you slew your attackers, did you not?”

She nodded.

Then there was still hope they would find Josh alive on the morrow.

“I’ve never killed anyone before,” she confessed, her voice low and strained.

Another burden for her to bear. “You were protecting yourself and your brother. You had no choice.”

“I know. And I would do it again if I had to. I guess it’s just now hitting me.”

He nodded, his eyes on his hands as they sifted through the tangles. “Killing is never easy.”

While he had participated in numerous skirmishes, Robert had not engaged in his first major battle until his last year under Lord Edmund’s tutelage. He had fought as he had been trained to fight, coolly and without emotion, spilling the blood of one opponent after another until no more had been left standing. The knights around him had heaped praise upon him as he had withdrawn his sword from the last man he had felled. Praise to which he had paid no heed. The scent of blood and death saturating the air around him, Robert had slipped away from the others and—out of sight and out of hearing—promptly lost the contents of his stomach in the brush.

It had been the first time he had taken another man’s life. And it had disturbed him far more than he had expected it to, considering he would have lost his own life had he not done so.