First Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 3) (7 page)

As Edward held the babe, he inhaled the sweet scent. “A fine, strong boy. Those we create live and have their own children so that we are never forgotten and may live forever.”

There was dust in his eye. He wiped it away before handing the child back to the woman.

“We will take our leave, mistress.”

“I am thankful for the coin.”

Edward stopped in the doorway. “One of my men is bringing a few chickens, a cow, and a calf for you and the child.”

Her eyes were leaking when she followed him outside. Riding away, Brom snorted.

“You look like a lad besotted with his first girl. Marry a girl like that one. She will bear you sons. Make her the lady of Somerforth.”

Edward frowned. “The people would not accept a Scot as their lady.” They rode for a while in silence then he asked, “Why do babies smell so sweet?”

His captain coughed. “See how nice they smell when they vomit all over your tunic or shit on you. Then the horrible things smell worse than the cesspit on a hot summer day.”

“Mayhap. Still, they do smell rather lovely when they’re clean.”

No one challenged them on the ride to Somerforth. Likely the Johnston was biding his time. One of the garrison knights stopped them as they entered the bailey.

“Make haste. When bringing up a cask of wine from the cellar, one of the men heard a terrible rumbling. When it stopped, a section of the wall had fallen and there were two doors, one was cracked. Did you know there were secret chambers below?”

“Nay. What’s inside?” Edward’s father had told he and his brothers tales of hidden passageways when they were growing up, but he did not know Somerforth boasted such things.

“One of the chambers is filled with treasures.” The knight rubbed his hands together. The other will not open and…” He crossed himself. “Fearsome sounds are coming from inside the chamber.”

“’Tis likely rats.” One of the stable lads took the horses as Edward and Brom followed the man to the cellars.

Brom clapped him on the back. “Perchance ’tis a faerie.”

Edward scowled and stomped down the steps.

The steady beating made Jennifer wonder if someone was playing the drums. Nope, just her heart loud in the silence. It was too dark to see anything, yet she couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched.

Reaching out, she felt nothing but air. Everything came back: the storm, the ground opening up, and then darkness. A section of the castle must be here, hidden away until now. Cold seeped into her shorts. Stone. The floor was stone, not dirt. Definitely some kind of room.
 

Getting to her feet, she tripped over a loose chunk of stone and went down on one knee. The stone was wet from the rain.

“Hello? Anyone?” Jennifer waited for a response but received none. With no phone, she had to guess at the time. Looking up, she saw blackness, so night? Surely Mark and the others would be back from the pub soon and get her out of here.

She felt the stone, and her hands found the wall. Wait until the professor and everyone saw what she found. They would be so excited. “The sword.”

Crawling on hands and knees, Jennifer felt for the blade but found no trace, though she did find a door. Hands on the worn wood, she stood, feeling for a latch to open it and find out where it led.
 

The latch made a noise but the door wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t tell if it was locked or stuck from being closed for so long. A noise in the darkness made her shiver.

“Who’s there?”

No answer. Hoping it wasn’t a rat, she reached up as high as she could, searching for any way to climb out, but there was nothing. Not a single thing to hold on to or stand on. If she were a rock climber maybe she could have done it. Instead she slid down the wall and crossed her legs. When the others came back she’d scream at the top of her lungs, letting them know she was down here.

“My poor easel.” The storm had been the worst she’d ever seen. By now the easel and paints were probably at the bottom of the North Sea.

Worst-case scenario? It would be morning before anyone found her. And with that thought, her stomach rumbled.
 

“Quiet. You’re not getting anything until morning, so hush.” Oh well, it wasn’t like it would hurt her to miss a meal. Her stomach grumbled, disagreeing.

Leaning against the cold stone wall, Jennifer rubbed her arms and legs. She could smell grass and dirt, and imagined what a sight she must be. As she sat pondering a way out of the hidden chamber, she heard another noise.

The sounds were coming from the door, and for a moment she thought she saw light. But that wasn’t possible. She was underground, and there was no light coming in the chamber other than moonlight from the gaping hole above her head. Could there be another chamber on the other side of the door? And if there was, what or who was in there?

Those thoughts led her down a path that had fear trying to claw its way out of her throat. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. And then she heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning a lock.

Edward thought he heard something coming from beyond the door.
 

“Shall I break it down, my lord?” Alistair placed a hand on the wood.

He bent down, touching the lock. “Aye, break it down.” Then Edward paused. Above the lock was the head of a dragon. Where had he seen such a thing before?

While Edward pondered, Alistair returned wielding an axe.

“Hold. I have seen such a mark before.” He put a hand on Alistair’s arm. “Wait.”

Since arriving there had been no more sounds from behind the door. Edward was loath to break it down. He might have need of such a chamber. Somerforth did not boast a dungeon, and in times such as these, perchance it could be useful. He took the steps two at a time up to the hall, startling those going about their day-to-day tasks. Deep in his heart he felt the need not to tarry, to open the door and see what the fates had sent him.

In his chamber, he opened the chest and rifled through the contents. At the bottom, in the corner under his tunics, was what he was looking for. An old ring of keys. One fashioned with the head of a dragon. Running down the stairs, Edward heard a woman’s voice.

“Mark? I’m in here.”

Alistair and Brom crossed themselves. “’Tis a faerie.”

Edward pushed them aside and bent down to fit the key in the lock.

“Nay, Edward. Do not open the door.”

“Please help me. I’m trapped in here.”

He placed a hand above the lock. “Do not be afraid. I will aid you, lady.”

For a moment, he heard nothing. Then the woman spoke.

“Is that French? Guy, is that you? You know I don’t speak Norman French.
Parlez-vous Englis
h?”

Her accent was heinous. Unease crept up his neck, making him reach for his sword. The sound of blades being unsheathed filled the air.

Edward switched to English. “Demoiselle, I am opening the door. Stand back.”

“Mark, that is you, isn’t it? This isn’t funny. Get me out of here right now.”

The key turned halfway and stuck. No matter how he tried, it would not open.

“Bloody hell.” He turned to Alistair. “Break it down.”

Placing his lips close to the keyhole, Edward said, “Stand away from the door, demoiselle. We must break it down.”

The knight swung, hitting the wood with a thud. After several attempts, Edward frowned. “Fetch Thomas.”

Alistair wiped his brow. “Damned door is thicker than the walls.” He leaned over, hands on his knees, panting. “Do not open the door, I beseech you.”

“Womanly fears. ’Tis a girl who found one of the hidden passageways and became lost.”

Brom raised a brow.

“My father spoke of such passageways, but I never found the entrance. My brothers and I spent much time searching.”

Thomas lumbered down the steps. “I am here, my lord.”

The knight was a bear of a man, with the strength to match. Edward had seen him fell five knights in battle without breaking a sweat. Yet the man was as kind and gentle as he was strong. Touched by the faeries, some said.

Edward had taken him in years ago after a battle when his lord was killed. The man had bawled like a babe, but came willingly. He was honest and loyal to a fault.

Six strikes and there was a large hole in the splintered wood.

“Well done, Thomas.”

The man grinned and stepped back, leaning against the wall, waiting to see what would come forth from the hidden chamber.

Edward cleared the jagged pieces of wood and stepped back in shock. A woman peered out. Her skin the color of moonlight, her hair like the darkest night, and her eyes the color of an autumn sky. Before he knew what he had done, he made the sign of the cross and dropped his hand to his side. She was beautiful.

“Aid her, dolt.” Brom’s voice brought Edward back to himself, and he scowled at his captain, his look promising time in the lists later.

Dainty fingers met his outstretched hand, and he jumped back.
 

“Demoiselle, your skin.”

She giggled. “I was painting. It will wash off.”

He shook himself and reached out. “Take my hand.”

Her hand was small within his, the skin soft as a kitten. Blue eyes looked into his, and she pulled away.
 

“I don’t know you. Who are you?”
 

“Do not fear me. None will harm you.”

“Where’s Mark?”

“There is no Mark here.” He frowned. Was this Mark her husband? The thought displeased him. “How did you come to be locked in the hidden chamber, demoiselle?”

“I was painting the ruins. There was a storm and the ground gave way. I fell through and ended up here.” She wrinkled her nose, and Edward had the urge to reach out and smooth the lines, but snatched his hand back.

Instead, before she could protest, he took a step forward, leaned in, and lifted her through the broken door.

The men gasped. Edward looked down. “Bloody hell, woman. Where are your clothes?”

Her cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink. “I’m dressed. You’re the ones who like to run around playing dress-up.”

He called out over his shoulder, “Fetch me a cloak to cover the lady.”

“It is kind of chilly down here, thanks. I don’t recognize you. Guy said a few new guys would be joining his group, but I thought it would be after they came back from the festival.” She looked over his form, and he wondered if she found him pleasing.

“You guys really look the part, huh?”

Confused by her words, Edward looked her over, shocked at the amount of her he could see.

“Is this Mark or Guy your husband? Where is he?” He heard a sound, and turned to see Alistair holding out a cloak while the others gaped at her. Narrowing his eyes, he snatched the cloak and wrapped it around her.

“Why are you not dressed…”

She put her hands on her shapely hips and sneered at him. “Let me guess, you’re one of those chauvinist pigs who thinks all women should wear long skirts and sleeves and be pregnant and barefoot?” She stepped forward, poking him in the chest. “Well?”

He knew the phrase
chauvinist pig
. ’Twas a favorite slur of James’ wife Melinda when he displeased her.

Could she be? Nay, ’twas a jest.

“Are you a wench from Winterforth sent to vex me? Where is Christian?”

Her eyes narrowed, the pale blue turning darker. “Did you just call me a hooker?” She rolled her eyes. “This whole staying in character thing is a bit ridiculous, don’t you think?” Without waiting for him to answer, she frowned up at him. “Now help me out of here so I can find my easel and paints.” Then she muttered, “Hopefully the storm hasn’t blown them clear to Scotland by now.”

Scotland? Swords pointed at the woman. Edward slapped Alistair’s blade away.

He lifted the blade again. “She is a spy. Scottish wench.”

“Lock her up.” Brom had re-sheathed his blade, but kept his hand on the hilt. “Repair the door and lock her away.”

The woman favored his captain with such a disdainful gaze, Edward almost laughed.

“Seriously. A spy? And I’m not Scottish, hello, no accent. I’m American. Enough with the games. This is 2016 not 1300.” She peered at them, looking as regal as a warrior princess. Then she reached out and touched his tunic. “This is Somerforth Castle, right?”