Lonely is the Knight (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 3) (4 page)

Mary laughed. “Come along, luv. I’ll introduce you to Guy, the man in charge.”

There were several men fighting in pairs with swords. Mary led her over to a group of metal chairs. They sat down and watched. Charlotte had to admit, they looked pretty good. One man in particular seemed completely serious about what he was doing. As she watched them, doubt filled her. Could she do this? Was she really going to try to go back in time?

Charlotte shook her head. There was no more time for doubts. No more time to question herself. Positive thoughts only from here on out. You had to tell the universe what you wanted and believe it would deliver.

The guy she thought was the best at fighting bowed to his opponent and slid his sword into an ornate scabbard at his waist.
 

“Charlotte, right?” He wore what looked like a pair of dark green leggings. The image of the Jolly Green Giant popped into her head, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from busting out laughing. The jingle from the commercial kept running through her brain.

Mary seemed to know what Charlotte was thinking, for she elbowed her in the side and gave her a look.

“Nice to meet you. Thanks again for having me.”

“Like I said when we chatted online, I’m not sure how much I can teach you in two weeks. Can you stay longer?”

“No, I’m afraid I only have two weeks. So whatever we can cram into the time would be great. I’m not afraid of hard work and I don’t need a lot of sleep.”

The breeze tickled the back of her neck, cooling her as the sun shone down. She tilted her head, listening. Yes, it was the sound of someone playing pipes. Almost the same music she thought she’d heard before she left home.

Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, but noticed the look on the others’ faces. Guy and Mary were looking at each other, and some of the others had stopped what they were doing and were looking around, looks of astonishment on their faces.

“What? You hear the piper too?”

Guy stared at her. “This castle belonged to Edward Thornton. The oldest of five brothers. As the story goes, one of the Thornton ladies saved the men from certain death.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “This is the first time we’ve heard him.”

“You know, it’s funny, I thought I heard the same melody playing right before I left North Carolina.”

Mary sucked in a sharp breath and looked at Guy. He looked just as interested.

“What am I missing?” They were looking at Charlotte like she had two heads.

“The legend says the piper haunts the Thornton castles. He only plays for the lady of the castle. I thought you said your last name was Merriweather?”

“It is.”

“Is that your married name? Was someone in your family named Thornton?”

Jeez, this guy was intense. “I’ve never been married. And no one in my family was named Thornton.”

Charlotte tilted her head up and closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. “It sounds so sad and lonely yet calming at the same time.”

“There’s more to you than meets the eye, Charlotte Merriweather,” Guy said. The piper finished his tune and it was silent. After a few minutes, the spell broke and everyone went back to what they were doing.

“You’re sure you’re not just playing that for my benefit out of some hidden speakers? You really expect me to believe there’s a ghost haunting the castles?”

He shrugged. “We weren’t playing any music. No one uses their phone or tablet until they turn in for the night. Technology is banned during the day. We’ve never heard the famed piper play before. As I said, it’s only a legend, but he must think you’re a Thornton, otherwise he wouldn’t play for you.”

Charlotte rubbed her wrists. There were bruises running up and down her arms in varying shades of black and blue, to older greens and yellows. More than she’d had over her entire childhood combined. Spending the days learning so much new stuff was exhausting. She hadn’t gone to college; instead she went on a dig her last year of high school and was hooked on the travel bug. Hitting the books made her head ache.

Learning how to use a knife and stitch a wound, basic plant medicine, customs, and history. All of it was enough to make her long for a beach, a good book, and a nap. Even her hair was tired.

Though the good thing about being so busy was how time passed in a blur. The days blending together into one long day. They were located in Northern England, and all she’d seen so far was the camp and the tiny village. Not exactly much time for sightseeing. Only one brief visit to restock a few essentials.

The people in the village treated them as if they were all a bit off their rockers, but they smiled and were nice enough. It was funny; no matter where you went, people commented on her accent. No one ever thought they had an accent. She could get used to the lovely British accents she’d heard over the past couple of weeks.

The smack across the back of her knuckles jerked Charlotte out of her thoughts. “Ouch!”

“Pay attention. I could’ve killed you three times by now.”

Charlotte bent her knees and thrust out with her left hand. Charlie, the guy who’d picked her up when she flew into London, jumped back.

“Much better. Again.”

She thrust upward with the wooden knife. Yesterday they’d made her practice with a real knife on a side of beef. The first couple of times the knife went into the meat, Charlotte’s stomach dropped. She’d thrown up in the bushes. They’d teased her ever since.

“Come on, Barf Barbie, you can do better than that. You don’t want to vomit when you’re trying to stab one of the bad guys, do you? What, do you think he’ll be so disgusted by the stench he’ll go away? Not likely, luv.”

At least it was a compliment she was now practicing with Charlie and Guy. Everyone in camp said they were the two best fighters. She sent up thanks to Aunt Pittypat for all those dance lessons when she was young. They’d obviously helped with her balance.
 

Charlotte found she was somehow able to anticipate what her opponent was going to do before he did it. While she wasn’t sure she’d actually be able to kill anyone, she’d started to feel comfortable enough that she wouldn’t cut off her own finger.

Looking like she knew what she was doing should deter the lazy bad guys. And if she drew blood, maybe the rest would leave her alone.

Charlie came at her. Charlotte leaned back into a partial backbend—thank you, yoga—then straightened, stepped in, and grinned as she noted the surprise on his face. Her wooden blade pressed against his neck.

“Who’s the Barbie now?”

Charlotte stepped back, the knife gripped in her left hand. They were both breathing heavily, though she was the only one doubled over and panting. He looked angry, like someone stole his last cookie. It was the first time she’d gotten the better of him, and it felt good. Really freaking good.

Charlotte noticed he tended to get cocky as he fought, and leaned to the right when he thrust. Some of the people watching started to laugh.

“Well done,” Guy said. “When you first showed up, as pretty as you are, we all thought you’d go home after the first day or two. But you stuck it out. I’m right proud of you. Sure you don’t want to stay a while longer and learn how to use a sword?”

Charlotte lifted the braid off the back of her neck, letting the breeze cool her off. She was dressed in a pair of leggings and a t-shirt proclaiming
Cats rule, dogs drool
. Sweat tickled as it dripped down her ribcage.

“I wish I could, but I think a sword is way too heavy for me. I’ll stick with the knife.” She handed the wooden blade back to him.

“Don’t forget the shop I told you about.”

Over dinner last night, Guy had told her where to go to buy a shiny new knife. Charlotte didn’t want new. She wanted antique, something that would blend in.

“I’ll remember. I can’t thank you all enough.”

While she had enjoyed her time with the group of history buffs, the feeling it was time to go had been growing stronger over the past few days. Tomorrow was the day. She didn’t know why, only that she needed to get back to London tomorrow. It felt like time was running out.

An almost hot shower left her feeling refreshed and not quite as sore. One of the guys had rigged up a couple of solar showers. It was a much-appreciated luxury. Back at her tent, Charlotte threw on a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt, grabbed her journal, and sat down in a chair outside the tent. The east side faced an open meadow, with a low stone wall in the distance. She could almost see knights charging across the field, their colors bright against the sun.

“Bet you could use this.” Mary handed her a mug of wine.

Charlotte sniffed. “Apricot?” She took a small sip, the fruity wine sliding down her throat. “Now that’s refreshing. I like it better than the dandelion batch you made last week.”

“The dandelion recipe needs a bit of work. It’s missing something.”

“It tasted kind of like whisky.”

“I’m going to make up another batch of apricot next week.” The chair creaked as Mary leaned back and closed her eyes. Charlotte had grown fond of the older woman during her time here.

Mary was forty-two, though she looked a good ten years younger. It was hard to believe she was twenty years older than Charlotte, old enough to be her mom. The twinge in her heart made her take a few deep breaths. She would miss her new friend.

“You’re always scribbling away in that journal. Are you writing a book?”

Charlotte ran her hand across the leather cover. “No, just useful tidbits. I like to make lists and write things down. Never know when the knowledge might come in handy.”

“Speaking of handy, thanks for the face cream recipe. It’s amazing. Think I’ll try a batch with roses next time.”

Aunt Pittypat would be over the moon to know others were finding her recipes useful. Charlotte was grateful for her time here. She’d learned so much. Given the time she had set aside, she was as prepared as she could possibly be. Too bad there wasn’t a guidebook for time traveling.

“I’ll miss you. You’ve been so kind to me.”

Mary leaned over to pat her shoulder. “Take care of yourself, luv. I won’t ask the real reason you’re here. I respect your need for privacy. Hearing the piper play every afternoon for you makes me sure there’s something else going on. Perhaps some task you are meant to complete.”

“Maybe he’ll keep playing after I’m gone.”

Mary shook her head. “No. My bet is you’ll hear him in London.”

Instead of saying anything, Charlotte took another sip of the wine. “I admire you for embarking on a new adventure. So many people get set in their ways. You inspire me.”

Mary looked embarrassed. “I’ll see you off in the morning.”

Alone with her thoughts, Charlotte stared off into the distance. A while later she opened the journal, paging through the entries for the umpteenth time. When she returned to London tomorrow, she planned to visit the museum.

While the woman had told her there was no painting, she wanted to see for herself. In case there was another painting that caught her eye. She knew the odds of seeing either of her sisters in a painting hanging on the walls of a museum was like winning the lottery, but she had to try. Then after a lunch of fish and chips, she’d hit the antique shops.
 

A woman in the village had made her two dresses and a cloak while she’d been learning how to fight. Each garment had pockets, as requested, and a Velcro strip around the waist and hem, concealing a shallow, long pocket where she could hide the antique coins she hoped to purchase. They were nothing fancy, but Charlotte thought they would keep her from standing out.

Later that night after dinner, she packed up her meager belongings. She’d given a few things to some of the people here. Stuff she would no longer have any use for.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, Charlotte looked around. Would this place look very different in the past? Would the castle be standing with people going about their everyday lives?

As she shut the door of the truck, the haunting melody started to play. A few days ago she thought she’d caught a glimpse of the ghostly piper. He was on top of one of the crumbling towers. She made out blue clothes and brown hair. She’d waved, but he hadn’t acknowledged her.

Charlie rolled his eyes. “While I don’t mind the pipes once in a while, enough is enough.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Might be.” As he drove away, the sounds faded. Did the piper truly play for her and her alone? And if he did, what did it mean?

What was the message?