Lonely is the Knight (Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Book 3) (8 page)

The seatbelt finally came loose, and she swam toward the surface, lungs bursting. When she surfaced, Charlotte found herself in the midst of a terrible storm. Waves crashed over her, sending water up her nose. The salt water made every cut from the accident burn. How had she survived going over the cliff?

She held her hand up and saw the blood. Fear filled her. Out of all the thousands of time she’d swum in the ocean, Charlotte had never worried about sharks. But here, bloody and in the middle of the ocean? She couldn’t catch her breath. This was it. Now she’d never find her sisters. It was too late. She was dying. The wind howled and waves crashed over her as Charlotte struggled to take a breath. The certainty she wasn’t alone in the water was the last thing she remembered.

They were half a day’s ride from Ravenskirk. Out of all his family’s estates, it was Henry’s favorite. His eldest brother, Edward, lived in the largest castle. Robert was lord over the most ornate estate. Henry teased him that it was too beautiful to be formidable. His youngest brother, Christian, had the smallest home, yet it controlled a strategic point, its bridge the only access across the river.

Henry thought of his second-eldest brother, John. He felt the loss every day. Once in a while Henry woke in the middle of the night, sure he had heard his brothers laugh. The feeling John was still alive would fill him. Those nights he could not sleep and would pace the battlements until dawn. John’s castle was the scariest. ’Twas rumored to be haunted, and Henry wondered if the servants had all fled without their lord there. Mayhap not. Edward would see to it in John’s absence. Henry let out a breath. He should visit. Make sure ruffians hadn’t invaded.

A raven landed in a tree, pulling him out of his melancholy thoughts. The bird tilted his head at Henry, cawed, took to the air, and cawed again. The black bird flew to another tree, and seemed to look back at him as if to tell him to come along. Talking birds? He was a dolt.

Something unnatural was happening. Henry didn’t know why—mayhap ’twas his encounter with the witch in the wood—but something about the bird made him sit up taller in the saddle. He must make haste. The men, sensing his unease, urged the horses to a gallop. Henry didn’t know why he must get to the beach, only that the feeling was strong.

“Do you see any wreckage?”
 

His men dutifully looked to the land and sea for signs of a shipwreck.

“None, my lord.”

“Make haste—there is someone washed up on shore.”

Two of the men stayed with the horses.

“Bloody hell.” He dismounted, running down the curving path to the shore. ’Twas a woman on the beach. He knelt down beside her. Was she dead?

Henry placed a finger under her nose and felt air. She lived.

The girl had beautiful long hair the color of winter wheat, her face deathly pale, lips slightly blue. One of the men jumped back, crossing himself. “She has black legs and white arms—a demon. Where are her clothes?”

Another of the men sounded horrified. “My lord, look at her feet. Her toes. They are blue, like the scales of a fish.”

Another of the knights said, “We should leave it. Look at the hump on its back.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “’Tis not a hump. ’Tis a pack of some sort. Dolt.”

A few of the man nervously laughed. Henry rolled her to one side.

“She is an angel,” the man whispered.

“And you have been kicked in the head too many times.”

The man was right. The girl had the face of an angel. Her clothing was scandalous. Where was her dress? The angel started to cough and retch, and the men jumped back, crossing themselves.

“’Tis a mermaid.”

“Nay, look at the black legs. ’Tis a sea monster washed up.”

“Don’t be daft,” Henry said. “It is a lady washed ashore from a wreck.”

One of the men scratched his head. “Then why isn’t there any wreckage or a ship anchored at sea?” He seemed to think about what he said before he bobbed his head and said, “Mayhap she fell from heaven.”

Dolts. The lot of them.

Charlotte rolled over, retching until her sides hurt. She was lying in the sand, water lapping at her, and she smelled…horses and men.

Someone was speaking to her. She felt warm hands rubbing her arms. Everything was blurry. But at least she wasn’t dead. Charlotte squinted up at the cliff but didn’t see any sign of the guardrail. She looked toward the water where the car had sunk. Hope the guy had good insurance. There were voices babbling all around her, but she couldn’t make out the words. Once again Charlotte succumbed to darkness.

Slowly she swam toward the surface of consciousness. The sound of men’s voices filled the air. Was she back at the camp? Someone had moved her away from the water and she was leaning against rocks, draped in a cloak. She coughed again, spitting up salt water. Her bracelet was gone. She must have lost it during the accident.

A man knelt down in front of her. He was out of focus, so she was guessing she must’ve hit her head pretty hard in the accident. Charlotte could hear him talking but couldn’t make out the words. A sense of dread filled her as she patted her body for the precious backpack and messenger bag. The bags were shoved into her lap, and she exhaled a huge sigh of relief.

“We mean you no harm, demoiselle. You are safe.”

The voice was warm and comforting. Charlotte wanted to open the bags, check the contents, but her hands weren’t working properly. She hugged the bags tight as she felt herself falling.

Henry caught the girl as she swooned again. He wanted to move her but was afraid she’d injured her head. They would wait. When she woke again, he would take her home. To Ravenskirk.

He turned her to the side as she retched again. “My lady?” Henry caught sight of her bare feet. “Something is amiss with your feet. The water has turned your toes blue, like the scales of a fish.” He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Norman French, right?” She laughed, the sound tinkling on the air like raindrops on glass. He wanted to hear her laugh again.

 
“Could you speak regular English, please? And my toes are fine. It’s how we decorate them where I’m from. Could you tell me exactly where I am?”

By her speech, she was no noble. She had a strange manner of speaking. He wondered where she was from. She gazed up at him, and Henry lost himself in the clear gray depths. He would not have to look down to speak with her. She was uncommonly tall for a woman.
 

“Crap on toast. The damn daggers are gone too.”
 

He watched as she opened the strange bags she was carrying. He leaned closer, trying to peer inside.

“Thank the stars, everything else is still here.” She looked up at him. “I was afraid I might have lost them, and they are precious to me.”

“I understand, lady. My men and I found you washed up on the shore. You seem to have lost your clothes.” He pointed to her shapely legs. “We are half a day’s ride from Ravenskirk.”

“They’re in my bag, but I’m afraid they’re soaking wet, just like me.” She tilted her head at him. “I don’t remember a Ravenskirk. Am I close to Falconburg Castle?”

He’d only met James Rivers, Lord Falconburg, a few times. He didn’t remember James having any kin.

“Are you related to him?”

“No. But that’s where I was going.” She sighed. “It’s a long story, and I’m wet and itchy.”

“He is away for the next fortnight.” Henry’s brothers were gossips, the lot of them. All his news came from them or travelers. He was content to leave court intrigue behind and spend his days at Ravenskirk.

Henry was shocked he had forsaken his courtly manners. He helped her to her feet, making her a small bow. “I am Henry, Lord Ravenskirk. My men and I will escort you to my home, where you can warm yourself by the fire.”

“That will work. A fortnight is two weeks, right?”

Where was she from? “Aye, mistress.” Henry took the reins. One of the men had led the horse down to them, so the lady would not have to walk, though he would have gladly carried her. Looking at her, Henry almost wished he could undo his vow never to marry. She was comely, and there was something about her that made him believe she would be the kind of woman to stay by his side forever.

“Can you ride?”

She eyed the horse then him. “I can,” she said as she stumbled in his arms.

“Perhaps not yet.” Henry lifted her up on the horse. He reached around her to take the reins.

She tilted her head back to look at him. “I know this is going to sound strange, but I’m having a hard time remembering things. I think I hit my head really hard. There’s a big bump on the back. What year is it, again?”

She seemed to be holding her breath, as if his answer was uncommonly important. He was curious about her. Enchanted, truth be told.

“’Tis the year of our Lord 1330.”

“Oh.” She smiled at him, and his heart thumped in his chest. It was as if he could feel the cheerfulness from her body.

“One more question? What month is it?”

He wondered if all her wits were there. But he answered. “June, lady.”

“Good. I actually did it,” she whispered.

Henry didn’t ask her what she meant. A strange feeling went through him, and he remembered the words of the witch he’d encountered in the woods.
A stranger will become more important to you than your own life.

Perchance she was the one?

The sand made her itch, and her skin felt tight from the salt water. Charlotte blinked. It wasn’t a dream. The men dressed as medieval buffs were still milling around. They blurred, and her head pounded in tune to the waves breaking against the shore.

The wind shifted, carrying the faint smell of sick. Yuck. The memory of barfing up sea water onto the hottie’s boots made her wish a wave would pull her back into the ocean.

The sound of a raven silenced the seagulls. When she blinked, the hottie and his twin were kneeling in front of her. “Yowza, are there two of him?”

“’Tis only me, lady.”

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound, warming her to her toes. Talk about handsome as hell.