Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones #2)(43)

No, she hadn’t. All of her attention had been on the villagers. And his kiss. And his big, warm body behind her. “Why do you need a second one?”

“To protect the village and provide Fosterly with an outer bailey. Having been raised at Westcott, I find that one is not enough.”

“You mentioned Westcott last night.” And had been appalled that she had not been familiar with it.

“Aye. My dream is to eventually make Fosterly its match in both grandeur and indestructibility.”

“Well, you are definitely on the right path.” With some reluctance, Beth abandoned her study of the wall and faced forward.

More people bustled about in the bailey, soon to be the inner bailey if Robert had his way. A number of structures and buildings also occupied it, though she couldn’t guess their purpose. Except for the stables. The only reason she recognized that one was because a horse’s butt disappeared inside it just as she glanced over at it.

Berserker stopped at Robert’s invisible instruction. Beth had learned fairly quickly that he had a number of them.

Robert dismounted, then placed his hands on her waist and lifted her down.

Michael joined them.

“My lord!”

A teenager, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age, loped toward them, a wide smile splitting his handsome face. “You have returned!” He skidded to a halt before them. Even though he was taller than Beth, he, too, had to look up at Robert. And he did so with a fair amount of hero worship in his deep brown eyes.

Was this…? Did Robert have a son?

Robert didn’t seem old enough to have fathered a boy this age. Yet the boy had the same black hair (cut short), was obviously from the same class, and wore the same colors Robert wore.



Robert reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Aye. I trust you have been lazing the days away, toasting your feet before my fire, consuming every morsel Cook fails to keep under guard, and wooing every maid in the castle during my absence.”

“Of course,” he admitted cheekily, engaging in a brief, mock-wrestle with his lord.

His eyes fell upon Beth. Filled with inquisitiveness, they roamed her from head to toe with far more knowledge of women sparkling in them than she thought he should possess at his age. “And what have you been doing in your absence, my lord?” he asked, never removing his gaze from her. His meaning could not have been more clear.

Robert cuffed him on the side of his head. “Insolent pup. Hold your tongue. I have brought an honored guest home with me and expect you to trot out all of those courtly manners I have gone to such lengths to drum into you these past years. Lady Bethany, I present to you my faithful squire, Marcus, heir of Dunnenford.”

Straightening his shoulders, Marcus took her hand, offered her a gallant bow, and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. “’Tis both a pleasure and an honor to meet you, my lady,” he pronounced gravely. “I pray you will forgive my earlier impertinence. I meant no disrespect and would in no way wish to injure the tender feelings of one so comely as yourself.”

Beth looked up at Robert and fought back a smile. “I see you’ve imbued him with some of your charm as well.”

“Mayhap too much of it,” he commented dryly, removing her hand from Marcus’s. “See to Berserker, whelp. I’ve a mind to thrash you in the lists later ere I set you to polishing my armor.”

Marcus groaned, though his grin indicated that he had no true objections. Taking Berserker’s reins from Robert, he spoke softly into the mighty stallion’s ear as he guided him toward the stables.

Another boy raced up to liberate Michael’s horse.

When Beth looked around, she realized that Stephen and Adam had continued on and now stood conversing with another group of soldiers some distance away.

If seeing four men in mailed armor had been strange, being surrounded by a castle full of others similarly garbed was downright bizarre.

Someone called out to Robert.

Beth turned. Her mouth fell open when she saw the figure briskly approaching them, “What is he doing here?” she blurted.

Robert glanced at her in surprise. “He is my steward. Do you know him?”

She stared up at Robert in astonishment as the man halted before them. “Captain Kirk is your steward?”

That confirmed it. She really had lost her mind.

“I believe you have mistaken me for someone else, my lady,” the man offered with a puzzled smile. “Since my skill lies with numbers, not with swordplay, I am no soldier. Though I admit to being flattered you might believe otherwise.”

“His name is Edward, not Kirk,” Robert informed her. “And a better steward you will not find. Edward, this is Lady Bethany. She was traveling with her brother when their party was set upon by ruffians.”

Edward’s brow furrowed with concern as he studied her, his gaze lingering on her face. “I do hope you were not badly injured, my lady.”

Beth had forgotten the marks on her face that had been left by low-hanging branches whipping her during her flight through the woods. “Nay, I’m fine.” She hated to lie to the man, but what could she do—admit that she was either mad or a modern marvel, accomplishing something twenty-first century scientists, physicists, and whoever else it was that studied time travel had yet to achieve?

She just could not get over the amazing resemblance this man bore to William Shatner.