First Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 3) (3 page)

“Hello? Jenny?”

A man appeared in the opening of the tent, casting a shadow over the small space.

“I’m Jennifer. Professor VanHemert?”
 

The man took a step back as she came out, blinking in the sunlight. Best guess put him in his early sixties. He had a full head of silver hair and a perpetual tan from working outside most of his life. Lively brown eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses took her measure.

“Lovely to meet you. Glad to have you with us for the summer. How’s your father getting on?”

“He’s fine. He and the new wife had a baby about six months ago. They’re spending the summer traveling to the last twenty states they haven’t seen yet.”

“Good, good. And your mother? You have her eyes, you know.”

Jennifer sighed. “She and Shane are off for a month-long cruise.”

The professor blinked at her. “Shane? I thought…”

Between clenched teeth, she said, “Shane is the new husband. They married seven months ago.” Heat traveled up her chest to settle in her cheeks. “Her fourth, not that anyone’s counting,” she muttered. “Thanks again for taking me on.”

“Of course. I always enjoyed your parents at university. Though they were a fiery mix even then.”

Edward shifted on his horse, his foul temper making him snarl at the men. “Bloody Gilbert Armstrong. The man has no honor.”

“’Twas a good day—none were injured. He cannot say the same.” Brom’s nose had been broken again, but other than that, Edward’s captain was unscathed.

Almost home. The scene below on the rocky beach made Edward briefly close his eyes. Alas, when he opened them, ’twas still there.
 

“Is aught amiss, my lord?”

He pointed. “Shipwreck.”

Grimly, Brom nodded. “We needs see if any survived.”

The closer they came to the water, the less Edward spoke. Not since the horror of his twelfth summer had he gone into the sea. That day haunted him still. The wind tormented him, making him hear screams he knew were not there.

One of his men reined in his horse. “All are dead. French, by the looks of them. The men are gathering up what has not been ruined by the sea.” The man rubbed his hands together. “We found jewels and gold. And a great many casks of wine.”

Brom smiled wide. “We will drink our fill tonight.”

Edward forced his voice not to waver. He was no mewling babe—he was a warrior feared across the lands. “The sea is a vengeful mistress. Bring the dead. We will give them a Christian burial in the cemetery in the wood.”

“’Tis a fine day. Mayhap a swim?” Brom spoke in a low voice so only Edward would hear. The last vestiges of the horrors were banished to the light as Edward clapped his friend on the back.

“Not this day, Brom.”

The horses, sensing they were close to home, picked up the pace. The men jested amongst themselves, boasting of how much wine they would consume and how many wenches they would bed this eve.

The skirmishes between the Armstrongs and some of the other, lesser clans across the border were becoming more frequent. There was much unrest across the land. Edward would post additional guards on the walls.

“You could end the fighting with Armstrong. His daughter is of age, and I saw her watching you. She is beautiful.”

Edward grimaced. “While I am not opposed to taking a Scot to wife, she is not the one for me.”

“And what, pray tell, is amiss with this wench?”

“The lass is afeared of her own shadow. Her father beats her.” He scratched his ear. “And yet I would always be on guard. Would she poison me at supper or stab me with her dirk while I slept?”

“Rather difficult for a man to beget an heir if he is always sleeping with one eye open.” Brom chuckled. “You require a good woman. All of your brothers, save Christian, have married. As eldest, you should be chasing after your son’s children by now.”

“A future girl would make a good wife. My brothers are pleased with their brides.”

“Not this again. No matter how far you travel, you will never travel far enough to find one of these women.”
 

Brom had been with Edward since they were small boys. Edward was six years older, and one day had found the boy being pelted with mud by a group of older boys. After Edward tossed each one into the cesspit, he took Brom under his wing, taught him how to fight, and they had been inseparable ever since.
 

His captain had saved him on several occasions during battle, and while he had offered to raise the man’s station, Brom was content guarding his lord’s back.

Now he snorted. “Don’t be daft. You would be better served kneeling in front of a faerie hill and calling for one to come out. There are many eligible maidens who would be happy to spend your gold and give you children. Do not waste your life waiting for something you can never have.”

“Harrumph.” While he would admit Brom was right, Edward still looked everywhere they went, hoping he might notice a woman who looked out of place. Or in peril. For each time his brothers found their future girls, the women had appeared out of nowhere. Edward knew he’d spooked his men on several occasions by staring into the fields and woods around Somerforth. Some had begun crossing themselves, fearful of faeries hiding in the trees. He would have to take care. Perchance his captain was right. ’Twas time to take a wife and stop waiting for one who might never appear.

The professor led the way to the dig, pointing out the current area they were excavating.
 

“This used to be the garrison. Somerforth was not only an immense fortress but also considered quite modern for its time. When the first Earl of Somerforth built the castle from stone, a cache of mosaics, remarkably undamaged, was uncovered as the workers were digging. Likely left over from Roman occupation and left behind, forgotten for time until the thrifty earl put them to use on the floors. Pity we’ve only found a small section. They are quite beautiful.”

“I can’t wait to see them.” Jennifer pointed to a piece of equipment. “I was picturing something more primitive, like the shovels and brushes over there. There’s so much high-tech equipment.”

The professor chuckled. “Have to keep up with the times. We have several generous donors, which allows us to acquire the latest technology.” As he knelt down to retie the end of the tarp, he said, “I’m afraid you may be rather bored. With eight graduate students, it’s mainly a gopher job. Fetching tools and driving to the village to pick up mail, supplies, and lunch. That sort of thing. Also a bit of sending emails and taking pictures. There will be plenty of time with nothing much to do. I do hope you can entertain yourself. What is it you do again, write?”

“I paint.”

“Excellent. You’ll find plenty of inspiration.” The professor stood, his white shirt and khaki pants looking a bit rumpled. He was short and compact. Solid. She liked solid. Dependable.

“Need me to start this afternoon?”

“No, no.” He waved her away, already preoccupied. “Tomorrow morning is fine. Dinner will be served at seven tonight. A woman from the village brings the meal, and another comes to make breakfast, which is served promptly at six. So you only have to fetch lunch. Usually sandwiches, pizza, fish and chips, or meat pies from the pub. We start working around seven.”

“Perfect,” she said as he meandered away, talking to himself and making notes on a small spiral pad he’d produced from the pocket of his khakis.

The rest of the afternoon was hers to do as she pleased. Jennifer grabbed a bottle of water along with the canvas bag containing her paints, and decided to capture the castle ruins. Tomorrow she’d set up in the old rose garden. To thank the professor for making room for her this summer and keeping her parents from driving her crazy with their “you need a good job or find a rich man and get married” speeches, she’d do a watercolor of the ruins, one of the coast, and another of everyone digging.

With no job upon graduation and the prospect of taking a mercy job working for her dad at his doctor’s office, Jennifer was grateful he’d taken pity on her. Though in truth she thought he was afraid of her mother’s temper, and that was what motivated him. Didn’t matter to her—a gig was a gig. Her dad had friends at the local college and had pulled some strings. Jennifer didn’t care if she cleaned or ran errands; it didn’t matter. For the entire summer she was living in the English countryside, sleeping next to a ruined castle. So much better than working retail or being stuck in an office all day.

When she returned home at the end of summer, she’d buckle down and find a job. Maybe at a college or museum doing whatever they needed. But for now, living in a tent in Northern England, almost on the border of Scotland, was her idea of heaven on earth.

The afternoon light deepened into evening when Jennifer stretched and went to work cleaning her brushes. Standing back to view her work, she closed her eyes then opened them to see what her gaze went to first. What needed more work or stood out too much. She’d set up at the furthest point of the castle. The dig was taking place at the rear, and she was looking at what would have been the front.
 

She pulled the rough sketch out and shook her head. Before starting the painting, an image had come to her as fully formed as if she were looking at it in real life. The sketch showed Somerforth as she imagined it. Not a ruin but a fully functioning castle. Her hand moved of its own volition as she frantically captured the picture in her mind’s eye before it vanished. When complete, Jennifer let out a breath. It had felt like someone else was moving her hand, for she couldn’t possibly have created such detail from her imagination.

Tonight at dinner, she’d ask if anyone knew what Somerforth looked like before it fell. For as much as she’d searched online, Jennifer couldn’t find a single image, other than the ruins and one sketch of the front, which looked nothing like what she had done. The professor might like both works, even if one was only a product of her fanciful imagination. For now, she tucked the sketch into the back of the pad and followed a worn path back to the camp, stopping on the way by a picturesque bubbling brook to wash up.
 

When she sat down at the outdoor table that evening, one of the grad students, a pretty girl with golden hair, sneered and whispered something to her friend. Why did there always have to be a mean girl in the bunch?

“Don’t mind Monica. She’s mad you got the open position instead of her bestie this summer.” A guy with hazel eyes nudged her. “I’m Mark.”
 

She introduced herself to those she hadn’t already met and tried to ignore Monica. Dinner was stew with bread so delicious Jennifer could have eaten an entire loaf. Mary had a magic touch. Mark said she made it with honey, which reinforced her suspicions when she’d met the woman, and explained the smell that followed Mary everywhere she went. Exhaustion set in as Jennifer sipped a pint, the buzz of conversation lulling her into a stupor. The time change and travel had finally caught up to her.

“I’m about to fall asleep. See you all in the morning.”

“Need a wake-up call?” Mark looked hopeful. He was really good-looking, but she’d already heard how he’d dated every single girl at the site and in the village. Absolutely not the guy for her.

“I’ve got an alarm on my phone. Thanks anyway.”

Back in her tent, she climbed into the narrow cot with a sigh of relief. Too tired to read, she lay there, letting her body relax. The faint sound of bagpipes drifted in on the breeze.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not a Thornton,” Jennifer whispered as she blew out the candle.