Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones #2)(99)

Robert smiled as he looked to the west. “In truth, she never ceases to amaze me.”

Dillon had never seen his brother so besotted. Was he in love with this Lady Bethany?

Who was she? And how did her presence at Fosterly tie in with Alyssa’s troubled dreams? Would she be the catalyst that would bring about Robert’s demise?

“Tell me more of this woman,” he murmured, looking to the west with the others.

“In good time, brother. I feel no desire to repeat myself and would rather delay the tale until Alyssa has arrived. For now, let us enjoy the entertainment.”

Unsettled by the somber undertones in Robert’s lightly spoken words, Dillon agreed.

The entertainment lasted another hour. The group of runners slowly dwindled to Lady Bethany, Faudron, Adam and Stephen. When Stephen ceded the battle and staggered over to join them on the steps, Dillon expected a slew of expletives to fly from his lips as soon as he regained his breath. But the crusty knight surprised him, expressing only admiration.

Faudron faltered next, too winded to spew any curses or objections.

Then, at last, Adam tottered, swayed drunkenly, and drew to a halt. Bending over, he shook his head and braced his hands on his knees while he drew in great gasping breaths.

For one brief moment, silence reigned in the bailey. Then the men all groaned and the women burst into loud cheers, jumping up and down and embracing each other.

Still running, Lady Bethany glanced over her shoulder. A huge grin split her damp face when she saw Adam. Throwing her hands up in the air, she shouted, “Woohoo! I am woman! Hear me roar!” and jogged over to the assembly of females.

Every one of them seemed to adore her. The children chattered and tugged on her tunic while their mothers and sisters took her hand or patted her on the shoulder, congratulating her.

“I did it, Alice!” Lady Bethany declared with a grin.

“Well done, my lady!” an unusually tall woman praised with a broad smile, then leaned down to embrace her.

As with Robert, there was none of the usual distance between noble and villein. No aloofness on Lady Bethany’s part. Nay, they behaved like one large, happy family.

Robert, Michael, Stephen, and Marcus began to whistle, applaud, and praise Lady Bethany.

Many of the men she had bested did the same.

Dillon rose alongside Robert and watched his brother descend the stairs and stroll forward.

At once, Lady Bethany broke away from the women, skipped toward him, and launched herself into his arms. Bright, tinkling laughter escaped her as Robert spun her around in a tight circle ere he allowed her feet to touch the ground. Ducking his head, Robert spoke something into her ear that Dillon was too far away to hear. Lady Bethany laughed and locked her arms around his neck, leaning her body fully into his.

Dillon glanced around to gauge the response of the other occupants of Fosterly’s bailey. ’Twas a highly improper embrace the unwed couple shared so openly. Yet most onlookers either smiled indulgently or paid no attention, as though ’twas a common occurrence.

Stunned, he looked back in time to see Lady Bethany reach up, clasp a fistful of hair atop Robert’s head, and playfully rock his head from side to side. Robert grinned and pressed his forehead to hers. Her hand drifted down, stroked his cheek as he rubbed noses with her. Their words grew quieter as he drew her even closer, lifted her onto her toes, then kissed her. Deeply. Thoroughly. One hand drifting down her back and coming dangerously close to her bottom. Pulling her even tighter against him.



Dillon could practically feel the heat from where he stood as the couple’s passion flared.

And still those in the bailey paid them no heed.

Dillon looked at Michael, who appeared to be struggling not to laugh at the shock that must be written across his face.

“They tend to forget the rest of us when they are in each other’s presence.”

Dillon could not remember the last time he had been so confounded.

Descending the steps, he wished Alyssa were there to see it.

Robert looped his arm around Lady Bethany’s waist and guided her forward. “Beth, sweetling, this is my brother Dillon, Earl of Westcott.”

Strange that he spoke English instead of French.

Dillon waited for the usual cringing, terror-filled reaction his name roused.

Instead, her face brightened as she stared up at him with open curiosity. “You’re Dillon? Wow. It’s wonderful to meet you.” She spoke with an accent he had never encountered before. Still breathing heavily from her run, she thrust out her right hand. “Robert has told me so much about you.” Leaning forward, she winked up at him and said as one would to a fellow conspirator, “Only good things, of course.”

Dillon would have raised her fingers to his lips, but as soon as he touched her, she clasped his hand firmly in hers and began to pump it up and down.

Discomfited, he looked from their hands to Robert, who shrugged sheepishly, then back to Beth. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you as well, my lady.”

Wrinkling her nose, she waved her free hand. “Please, call me Beth.”

“As you wish. Might I congratulate you on your victory, Lady Beth?”

She released his hand. “Just Beth. You don’t have to be formal with me. And thank you. I hope you will forgive my appearance.” Tugging self-consciously on her sweat-dampened tunic, she eyed Robert balefully and nudged him with her hip. “Robert neglected to tell me you were arriving today. Had I known, I would have postponed the race.”