Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones #2)(55)

She had never seen so much blood. Not even the day she had been shot.

Crossing to the basin of water on the table near the hearth, she grabbed the soap and began to viciously scour her hands.

She could still feel it. The blood. Could still see it, trapped beneath her fingernails. She scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed and rinsed while the fear she had held at bay clawed at her in an attempt to gain purchase.

Her breath hitched. Tears blurred her vision. Furiously dashing them away, she grabbed the soft cloth some diligent servant had provided and dried her hands. No dirt. No specks or streaks of crimson. Just freckled pink skin rubbed raw by her efforts.

This was the second time in two weeks that her hands had grown slick with warm blood. She doubted any soap on the planet would make them feel clean again.

Clenching them into fists, she closed her eyes.

“Robert.” His name emerged a ragged whisper.

Where was he? Would he return in even worse condition than the two men below? Would she have to toil over his mangled body, too?

She couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to her. She couldn’t lose him, too. She had lost Josh. And her father. And her mother. She’d lost everyone really. And not just to death. Everyone she knew and loved was beyond reach of this foreign time and place. If she lost Robert, too…

A sob caught in her throat.

He had been so good to her, giving and giving, asking nothing in return. Nothing except the truth of who she was. And she had withheld that from him.

She had been afraid to tell him where she came from. Or rather when. Afraid and ashamed. Because, while she should have been wholly mourning Josh, a part of her was falling for the handsome, unbelievably thoughtful man who let her seek solace in his arms each night and offered her comfort without making any demands regarding the desire she roused in him.

Who else would do that?

Spinning around, Beth left the room.





Chapter Ten



Down the corridor, past Robert’s chamber Beth strode, descending the stairs and exiting through the donjon’s heavy double doors. She stood at the top of the steps for many long minutes, breathing deeply of the cool, fresh air and looking out across the bailey.

That was one difference she hadn’t noticed immediately upon awakening in the clearing. The air here was so fresh. So fragrant. So clean.

There was no air pollution. No daily ozone warnings. No health-threatening haze blanketing the land like milky fog each morning, leading meteorologists to warn people with asthma and other lung ailments to remain indoors or advise parents to keep children inside.

As long as one avoided close contact with the moat and didn’t stand downwind of the stables, the air here smelled wonderful.

Stepping to one side, Beth seated herself on the top step. Resting her feet upon the third step, she propped her elbows on her knees, cupped her chin in her hands, and waited, cold stone chilling her bottom.

The sun sank behind the curtain wall. Pinks and oranges morphed into purples and blacks. The flickering light of torches appeared at intervals upon the battlements. Periodically men’s faces, mostly hidden by helmets, faded in and out of view as the guards paced and kept watch, ensuring the safety of all within.

It was quiet here, too. There were no airplanes or jets roaring past above. No police helicopters circling as they searched for criminals from the safety of the sky. No cars creeping past, booming bass so loudly it rattled the house’s windows. No car alarms screeching or honking. No horns blaring. No sirens screaming. No gunshots shattering the night. Or day. There wasn’t even the familiar hum of the refrigerator, beep of the microwave, flush of the toilet or whoosh of the air conditioner turning on.

Just quiet.

Here and there a dog barked. Occasionally the low murmur of conversation drifted to her on the breeze.

It was so peaceful here.

How ironic, considering Robert might at that very moment be engaging in a violent, bloody battle for his life.

The door opened behind her.

Beth didn’t turn around, hoping whoever it was would leave her alone.

“My lady?”

She looked up. “Oh. Hi, Marcus.”

Closing the door, he frowned down at her. “Are you well?”

Nodding, she looked toward the gate. “Aye.”

The teenager shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “A storm approaches.”

Again she nodded. Here, she could actually smell the rain coming.

“’Tis cool. Would you not be more comfortable in the great hall?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine where I am. Thank you, though.”

He lingered a few minutes longer, then went back inside.

Beth’s gaze remained fastened on the gatehouse as she willed Robert’s safe return.

In the distance, thunder rumbled, almost fooling her into believing the men were returning on the backs of galloping steeds. Patches of clouds flashed golden with lightning before blending again into the night sky.



Two men exited the castle and tromped down the stairs, casting her curious looks. She watched them cross the bailey to one of the towers. No doubt they worried for their friends.

Would they blame her if Miles and Winston died?

She would blame herself, either way.

The door behind her opened, then closed once more.

A cloak fell about her shoulders.