Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones #2)(42)

And to stare at Beth, of course.

What was it about her that made so many gape? Sure, her hair wasn’t braided and curled uncontrollably. Thanks to Robert’s plunging fingers, it was probably more messy than usual, too. But she didn’t exactly resemble Medusa.

Was it Robert’s shirt? It did hang on her like a flour sack, constantly slipping off one shoulder to reveal the dark tank top beneath.



She didn’t really mind the slippage, though, because Robert always dragged it back up with his big hand, leaving a wicked warmth behind that provided a welcome distraction.

“These are your people?” she inquired softly.

“Aye.”

Her knowledge of world history was fairly limited, so she wasn’t sure how the whole peasant/nobleman infrastructure worked. As she looked around her, though, she decided that here it appeared to work pretty well. These people seemed to bear true fondness for Robert. And, though she didn’t see many elderly men and women, the people she did see all seemed in good physical condition. Some were in need of a bath or missing a tooth here or there, but their bodies seemed healthy and strong and lacked the gauntness of the man and his son they had encountered earlier.

“You must be a good leader,” she commented.

Robert waved to the children who ran alongside their horses, teasing smiles and giggles from them. “What makes you say so?”

“Look at them. They all love you.”

“Nonsense,” he grumbled, dropping his hand and shifting slightly.

Beside them, Michael grinned. “He will swear he is a harsh taskmaster, severe and lacking leniency, beating subservience into them all. But in truth, he knows every one of these people by name and has earned their fierce loyalty through his kindness and generosity.”

Robert retorted with a spate of blistering French Beth failed to understand. Apparently the French language had undergone a lot of changes, too, since the Middle Ages.

Michael laughed. “The previous earl was all that Lord Robert is not. All you see around you suffered greatly under his brutal rule. Many villeins died. A majority of the rest sickened and starved. Yet during the four years we have been here, even the most bitter inhabitants of Fosterly have come to admire Robert for his fairness and benevolence. There is not a man amongst them who would not give his life to protect Robert. And not just out of duty.”

More grumbly French followed.

Beth turned to look at Robert.

He scowled down at her, his face red.

“You’re blushing!” she exclaimed, reaching up to touch one hot, bristly cheek. “That is sooo cute!”

“Cute?” Robert questioned.

She sought a medieval equivalent. “Fetching. Delightful.”

Michael exploded with laughter, urging his mount forward before Robert could reach out and knock him from the saddle. The curses Robert uttered then were in English and quite impressive.

“Oh, stop that,” Beth chided. “Do you know how many people in your position would abuse their power? Michael was just bragging about what a good man you are. There is no reason to get upset over it. He’s obviously very proud of you.”

His blue eyes began to twinkle with a smile as his embarrassment faded. Turning his head, he nuzzled the hand she still held against his cheek, pressing his lips to her palm.

Her own face heating, she hastily withdrew her hand and faced forward.

Robert picked up their pace a bit as they approached the castle. The moat in front of it was a lot wider than she expected and beyond disgusting.

Eyes watering, she covered her mouth and nose and wondered how the others could cross the heavy drawbridge lowered over it without gagging and losing their breakfast.

Dark. Muddy. With green slime floating on the surface. Clogged with she-didn’t-want-to-know-what. The stench overpowered all else.



If the moat was meant to prevent intruders from approaching the castle walls, she declared it a grand success. She couldn’t imagine anyone being willing to dive into that muck. And it was so thick she doubted a boat could get across it. Blech!



The horses’ hooves thudded on the sturdy wooden drawbridge.

Beth stared up at a huge iron gate with pointed spikes on the end as they crossed beneath it.

Shadows engulfed them. Cold air embraced her, making her shiver as she studied their surroundings with wide eyes. The walls were huge! Ten, maybe twenty feet thick. A man called a greeting to Robert from a doorway on their right. More greetings rained down upon their heads from above as sunlight washed over them, restoring a modicum of warmth. Beth looked up and back over Robert’s shoulder.

She wasn’t very good when it came to estimating height and distance. But, were she to guess, she would say the walls were at least three stories high.

“Who are you looking at?” Robert asked curiously, following her gaze.

“Not who. What.”

He considered her thoughtfully. “The curtain wall?”

“That’s what you call it?”

“Aye. Do you not?”

She shook her head, unwilling to go into all of that just yet. “Do you think it’s big enough?” she joked weakly, still awed.

Robert seemed to take her question seriously. “Aye. ’Twas the first modification I made when I acquired Fosterly, to strengthen its defenses. The original wall was neither deep enough nor high enough to suit me. Mayhap you noticed as we approached the village that I have begun construction of a second, outer curtain wall.”