First Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 3) (9 page)

The intensity of his gaze made her sit up straight.

“What?”

“I am waiting to see if you faint again.”

“I bet you would have passed out too if you came to 2016. Cars, trains, TV.”

He scowled, which he seemed to do a lot in the short time since she’d met him. “I do not faint. ’Tis womanly.”

The other man stood, feet shoulder width apart, arms crossed as if he were expecting an attack at any moment. He made her nervous.

Edward leaned forward. “Tell me everything that happened. All you can remember.”

“I told you I was painting. The storm came in fast, and I saw something in the dirt when the lightning flashed.” She pointed. “It was your sword. Then the sky opened up, the ground trembled, and when I woke, I found myself in the chamber where you rescued me.”

The man nodded, and she wondered why he wasn’t throwing her in the dungeon or calling for wood and fire, but before she could ask, he steepled his fingers under his chin.

“Where did you get those?” He pointed to the cuts on her hands.

“Oh, I’d almost forgotten.” She held up her hands, looking at the cut on the side of one hand and the scrapes on the other that were already scabbing over. “I had your sword in my hand when I fell and cut myself. My other hand scraped on the stones.” She fought with herself to really believe she was sitting in a chair inside a medieval chamber, having a conversation with a guy who looked like a scary, much rougher version of Chris Hemsworth playing Thor. He certainly had the movie-star looks, and those cheekbones could slice paper. Jennifer looked at him out of the corner of her eye, noting the chiseled jaw and the forest-green eyes. What was he? Maybe six four? And massive. From the wide shoulders that tapered to a trim waist to thick legs encased in hose. Every time he moved, the muscles flexing. Bet he could rip a tree down with his bare hands. They sure didn’t make ’em like that in her day.

“I have to ask. Why aren’t you calling for a priest to burn me at the stake or something?” Jennifer held up her hands. “Not that I’m complaining. It just isn’t at all the reaction I expected.”

He pressed his lips together. The man behind him came forward.
 

“Tell the lass.”

“Tell me what?”

“You’re not the first future girl to appear on Thornton lands.”

“Wait. What did you mean I’m not the first?” Jennifer jumped up from the chair so fast that he had to catch her before she fell on her face. Strong arms held her close, his scent sending shivers through her. A man like Edward could make her feel cherished, safe. And then the doubt started.

“You had me going until the whole
there are others
bullshit.” She pulled away from him, scowling at both men. “Did Monica drug me after I fell in the hole? It would explain how you had time to stage this whole thing. I bet that witch took me to another castle and had all the re-enactors play their part.” She poked Edward, or whatever his name was, in the chest. “Admit it. You’re an actor.” Jennifer shook her head. “You’re good, I’ll give you that much.”

While he and the scary guy, who obviously was supposed to be the underling in this farce, argued, she bolted for the door, flung it open, and ran down the corridor, boots clomping on the stone and the cloak fluttering behind her.

At the bottom of the stairs, she ran outside as people startled and scattered out of her way. Outside, she skidded to a stop.
 

She muttered, “Be logical. Time travel isn’t real, no matter how convincing he made it sound.” Somerforth was a ruin, so they’d taken her somewhere else, but where? Too bad she hadn’t looked up where other castles were located, other than the famous ones.
Look around, dummy—could mean girl Monica really have pulled something like this off? And all because she’s jealous Mark liked you better?

A snort escaped. “I don’t even like him like that. Okay, let’s take a closer look.”

Jennifer walked up to the closest person and fingered their clothing as the woman shrank back, crossing herself. The cloth felt rough enough to be authentic. The seams would tell. No way they’d have all the fake medieval clothes handmade; it would be too expensive. She peered closely at the seam, and it was immediately apparent the stitches were done by hand.
 

The woman pulled away.

“Sorry.”

The wind shifted and Jennifer wrinkled her nose.
Face it, cupcake: somehow you’ve ended up in the past.

All the way across the bailey, through the portcullis and across the drawbridge, no one stopped her. There. The spot where she’d painted the ruins. Even as she knew what she’d see when she turned, her mouth went dry. It wasn’t fake. She had been right to believe Edward. There before her stood Somerforth Castle exactly as she’d sketched it, and as he’d shown her before Jennifer had passed out. Her fingers twitched, aching to put the rustic scene to paper.

Lost in thought and finally truly accepting she had done the impossible, tremors racked her body as she noticed it had grown dark. Nope, it was a massive shadow. The shadow in question cleared its throat.

“Demoiselle?”

“Jennifer,” she absently corrected.

“Jennifer. You are scaring my people. Perchance you could come inside the hall and rest a bit after your…long journey?”

Solemn green eyes looked at her, and she wanted to burst into tears and throw herself in his arms. But she refrained.

“You’re probably right. That’s a good idea.”

Lost. Adrift. Orphan. Words passed through her head as they walked. She was almost seven hundred years away from her family and everything she knew. When the professor found the chamber, would he or one of the students come through the same portal she had? But then, why didn’t she go back right away? Did it only work at certain times?

Jennifer was so wrapped up in coming to terms with her situation that she tripped again, and would have gone sprawling if he hadn’t swung her up in his arms. Again.

“Oh. You don’t need to carry me. I can walk.”

He arched a brow. “You are overtired and I will not have you fall and weep, making my ears bleed.”

And that was that. He jogged through the hall, ignoring the curious stares. This time he went a different way, and came to a door where he stopped. She peeked out from his shoulder to see one of his men. Alistair or something?

“No one is to enter.”

“Aye, my lord.”

The room was masculine and carried the smell she’d already come to associate with him. It was his study—or solar, it was called. Just think if the professor could see Somerforth in all its glory.
 

Edward bellowed for wine, causing her to flinch at the sound. He sat down in a chair and kept her on his lap, holding her close as she finished warring with herself over her new reality. A delayed reaction after she thought she’d accepted it? Who knew?

The door opened and a goblet was thrust into her hand.

She blinked. “Is this silver?”

“Aye.”

The wine was chilled and slid down, soothing her scratchy throat. Then her stomach, annoyed there was only liquid, let out a growl.

He peered at her and bellowed over his shoulder, “I am hungry.” The silence stretched out, not uncomfortable, but like he somehow knew she needed him not to talk while she came to grips with what she had experienced.

A boy brought a trencher with bread, cheese, and fruit, making her mouth water.

“Eat.”

“Will you let me down now?”

He stood and deposited her in the chair. While she ate, he paced back and forth across the room, glancing at her. Not in a creepy stalker way, more with concern. The goblet never went below half before he refilled it.

She wiped her mouth with the large linen napkin, squared her shoulders, and made a decision. To stay. For a week. Two at the most.

During that time, she’d soak up every detail of medieval life she could. Then she’d go down to the chamber, go through whatever portal was located there, and tell everyone about her grand adventure.

The sarcastic voice spoke up.
Great. How exactly are you going to get back to the future? Not like there’s a time machine in the chamber. How do you know there is a portal? Maybe it was some kind of freak accident.

“I’m sorry I kind of lost it earlier. Guess the whole time-travel thing wasn’t as easy to accept as I thought.” Jennifer jumped up. “Wait. You said there are others like me. How did they travel through time? How do I go back? Could I bring others? The professor would die to see your home.”

Edward held up his hands. “I do not have time for womanly drivel, so I will tell you what I know.”

But the damn door opened and the scary guy came in. What was his name? Right. Brom. A small snicker escaped. Like the guy on
Game of Thrones
. She tilted her head. He kind of looked like him, except this Brom was definitely more lethal and scarier.

Jennifer had never been dressed by someone else. It was a strange feeling, standing naked before another person while they helped you into your clothes.

A tiny part of her almost wished Edward was unavailable. He was gruff and charming, and had gone out of his way to be kind to her when he could have thrown her in his dungeon or had her burned at the stake. Talk about a deadly combination of perfection.

There were others here in the past. Just like her. She and Edward had talked long into the night last night, and on and off all day today as he kept her close. It had been fascinating following him around, watching him interact with his people.
 

It would be smart to keep her walls high and guard them as closely as Edward’s men guarded Somerforth. No way could she afford to let him in. A man like him would break her heart into a million pieces, she just knew it. To still be single after all these years. She’d seen the way the serving girls had giggled and blushed. Not that she expected him to be a monk or anything, but he was probably a total ladies’ man. Not the guy for her. No matter how much she was already attracted to him.

The chemise the girl pulled over her head was beautifully embroidered. Jennifer could sew by machine. There were many times she’d tried to embroider by hand, but she didn’t have the patience. The amount of time it took to create such a small design boggled the mind. And here she stood fingering exquisite embroidery all around the hem and neckline of the chemise.

“Did you do the embroidery?”

The girl smiled shyly. “Aye, lady.”

“It is lovely. I can’t embroider at all.”

“Truly?”

She shook her head as the girl pulled a tunic over the chemise, and then a gown went over that. The outfit was finished off with a belt and a small pouch at her waist. Not that she had anything to put in it. Maybe paintbrushes, if she could figure out where to get some.

And parchment. Maybe she could do some paintings in exchange for supplies? Too bad she wasn’t holding on to her tote full of paints when she fell.

The girl did Jennifer’s hair in pretty braids, fastened at the nape of her neck with beautiful silver combs.
 

“Thank you.”

“I’m glad you are pleased, lady. Shall I take you to the hall?”

“No, I know the way.”

This would be her first meal in the great hall with everyone. As she made her way down the stairs, she felt beautiful. At the landing, she stopped. Did she turn left or right?

“Left it is.” Yep. She was talking to herself again. Jennifer’s friends said it was because she lived alone. Who knew? It was something she’d done since she was a little girl.
 

At the bottom of the stairs she found herself in the kitchens. People were crazy busy, so she edged out of there and turned into what she thought was a corridor but must have been a couple of rooms serving as the larder. Hearing voices, she was about to call out when something in the tone of one of the voices stopped her.

It wasn’t Norman French. Closing her eyes, she focused on the voices. Gaelic. And not Connor. What on earth were two people doing in the larder speaking Gaelic? Jennifer risked a peek around the corner then pressed back into the wall. The girl looked young, barely a teenager, with red hair and freckles across her nose. The man looked significantly older, with brown hair and a wicked scar running down his neck.