Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones #2)(90)

Michael, Stephen, and Adam raced toward them, the hooves of their horses rumbling and sending clods of dirt flying.

Another arrow flew from the trees beyond the attackers and narrowly missed Beth.

Robert swore foully, his look turning murderous. “Now, Beth! Hie yourself back to Fosterly and do not stop until you are safely within its gates!”

Perhaps Beth shouldn’t have exaggerated her skills as a horsewoman earlier. For when three men fought their way past Michael, Stephen, and Adam, Robert did the only thing she supposed he could’ve done to protect her. He slapped the rump of her horse to get her moving, then dug his heels into his own mount and tore off to meet the men halfway.

Regrettably, Beth’s balance—as she attempted to aid Marcus—was precarious at best.

As the mare beneath her sprang forward, Beth tumbled out of the saddle.

Marcus went with her and somehow managed to hit the ground first, cushioning her fall as she sprawled atop him, breaking one of the arrow shafts in half.

“Ahhh!”

Beth winced. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” She hastily sought a place to put her hands that wouldn’t cause him further harm so she could lever herself off of him.

Fwuh-thitt.

Both of them froze when an arrow impaled the grass barely a foot from their faces.

“My lady, please,” Marcus bit out urgently, gritting his teeth as he gripped her arms.

Heart pounding, adrenaline whipping through her, Beth scrambled off of him.

Robert and the others fought the marauders a good thirty or forty yards away. The formerly beautiful clearing was already awash with red, the wildflowers’ fragrance befouled by the odors of sweat and death and the metallic scent of blood. Sunlight winked off of flashing swords as bodies writhed in a battle so surreal she could hardly absorb it all.

“My lady, please,” Marcus repeated, trying to drag her around behind him as he sat up with a growl of pain. “You must get to the trees, where the arrows cannot find you.”

Just as she located Robert, an arrow narrowly missed him.

Terror clutched her heart. Robert!



Shrugging off Marcus’s hold, Beth parked her butt on the ground by his feet. “Tell me where they’re coming from,” she ordered, yanking her skirts up to her thighs.

Marcus’s eyes flew wide. “My lady!”

The heels of her boots digging into the soft soil, her knees pointing skyward, she began to fumble with the holster she had donned beneath her dress. “Where are the arrows coming from?” she demanded. “I need you to watch and tell me exactly where they exit the trees.” Damn it! Frustrated, Beth yanked her skirts up to her waist, not caring who saw her black panties. She had to get her 9mm out and take down that damned archer!

Ignoring Marcus’s scandalized regard and his constant attempts to drag himself in front of her and serve as her shield, she focused on getting her fingers to stop shaking long enough to liberate her weapon and protect Robert.

Finally!





“My lady—”

“Keep your eyes on the trees!” she snapped.

Yanking the semiautomatic from the holster, she flicked off the safety.

Marcus grabbed her arm and tried to keep her from rising.

Beth would have none of it. Shoving her skirts down, she gained her feet and faced the battle.

Fwuh-thitt. An arrow pierced the grass where she had been sitting.

“Where did it come from? Did you see it?” She wrapped both hands around the grip and raised the Ruger.

The clearing wavered, seemed to change.

Shaking her head, she blinked hard.

For a moment, it looked smaller, the foliage around her drier. Another body—that of her brother—lay before her. Another villain waited in the foliage across from her. Another ambush threatened to take all from her.

“My lady!”

Something tugged at her skirts, nearly toppling her. Scowling, she braced her feet farther apart. “Damn it, Josh, just tell me where the shooter is!”

She spared the boy at her feet a quick glance.

Why was Marcus looking at her so strangely?

“Where is he?” she bellowed, out of patience.

He pointed. “There. Above Sir Michael’s head. Mayhap ten hands higher.”

Aiming accordingly, Beth squinted down the barrel and waited. Another arrow sailed from the trees, a little to the left of where she watched. Making the necessary adjustments, Beth squeezed the trigger.

Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow!



Marcus flinched and threw his hands up to cover his ears.

Every horse in the clearing bolted.

Birds abandoned the trees in droves, screeching in alarm.

All fighting ceased as men ducked and looked wildly up at a sky that carried no storm clouds capable of producing such thunder.

Wide eyes rolled. Gazes searched the clearing.

As echoes of the gunshots faded, a body crashed through the trees’ foliage and landed with a thud on the ground.

The archer had fallen.





Robert spun around to look at Beth.

Instead of being safely on her way back to Fosterly, she stood on the opposite side of the clearing, feet braced apart, clutching one of her odd weapons with both hands at arm’s length. One side of her skirt was caught up on her hip, leaving one long, shapely limb exposed.