Come Back to Me by Jody Hedlund

~ 14 ~

“HUSH,”CHRISTINAHISSED.

The cloaked figures parted ways, each branching deeper into the woods, their steps soundless as they wound through brush.

Marian searched for any other intruders but saw no one else. “If we make it to the gate, then we’ll slip into town and find a new place to hide.”

When one of the cloaked figures halted and shifted his head their direction, Christina clamped a hand over Marian’s mouth. The man tossed back his hood but made no other move.

Christina’s hand immediately fell away, and she sat straight up, letting the brush scatter around her. “Will.” The relief in her whisper was so encompassing that Marian felt it all the way to her aching bones.

The man veered toward them until he reached Christina. He dropped to one knee beside her and drew her into a tight embrace. “Thank the saints.”

He held her for a long moment before pulling back and examining her. “Are you unharmed?”

“Yes. I took shelter in the woods, just as you instructed.” Christina turned to Marian and tugged her up. “I have Lady Marian with me.”

Will shifted, and only then did Marian see his face—the broad cheeks, square jaw, strong nose. And the eyes. Those piercing, sorrow-filled eyes. Darkness prevented her from seeing the blue. But she knew they were as bright blue as a dusk sky. He was the man she’d seen in her visions. And he was also the same man who’d rescued her from the last beating.

“It’s you.” She was unable to control the amazement in her voice.

He searched her face before scanning her arms, neck, and torso—as though he was making sure she wasn’t hurt.

The other cloaked figure was now making his way toward them. Christina glanced at him but then apparently recognized and dismissed him at the same time. Instead, she rose to her knees and assisted Marian to hers.

All the while, Marian couldn’t take her eyes from Will, from his ruggedly handsome features, the unshaven stubble, his dark hair tied back at his neck, and his fierce expression which made him look every bit like a warrior.

Did he recall seeing her when she’d traveled briefly to the past before? She wanted to ask him, to discover what he’d experienced on his side of the time-space continuum. But she sensed she might put herself in danger if she admitted to having met him previously. What if they decided she was a heretic and burned her at the stake?

For now, it was best to leave her ties with the future unmentioned, along with her prior time crossings.

“Lady Marian, this is my brother, Sir William Durham.” Christina waved at her brother. “Sir William, may I present Lady Marian Creighton.”

Will hadn’t taken his intense gaze from her, and she felt the heat of it seep down into her chest. “How do you fare, lady?”

“I’m doing better, thanks to your rescue from another beating.”

He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment of her gratitude. “Then the prioress has respected my command to cause you no further ill?”

“She has.” Christina’s adoration for her brother was unmistakable in her voice and expression. “They all fear you, Brother.”

“Good.”

“We durst be on our way, sire.” The other cloaked man was peering around the dark woods. Under the shadow of his hood, his face was ruddy and coarse. His hair was all one length and clipped in a rounded fashion, his bangs falling flat across his forehead.

Will stood and assisted Christina to her feet before reaching for Marian’s arm. She attempted to push herself up, but her aching body and stiff joints wouldn’t cooperate, and she found herself having to rely upon his strength more than she wanted.

She couldn’t keep from admiring the power of his build, the thickness of his arms, the rippling muscles in his shoulders, his physique and manliness that were entirely different from any guy she’d ever known.

“You are still weak.” His tone was hard, unrelenting. Yet it reverberated through her, stirring her awareness of him even more.

“I’m fine.” But once she was standing, her knees could barely hold her, and to her chagrin, she began to crumple back to the ground.

Before she could protest, she found herself being swept up into his arms. His broad chest enveloped her, and it took a second for her to identify the tightly bound rings of metal as chainmail beneath his cloak.

The warmth of his breath brushed her forehead, and his arm pressed underneath her leg and against her backside. She didn’t consider herself to be a prude. But somehow his hold felt too bold.

“You don’t need to carry me.” She wiggled to free herself from his grasp. But the motion made her more aware of his arm positioned so intimately. “I can walk on my own.”

He’d already begun to stalk toward the gate. “If you wish to make it out of Canterbury unmolested, I advise your cooperation.”

“I cannot leave the convent, Will.” Christina’s loud whisper trailed them.

“Only until the rebels move on.”

“What has become of my sisters?”

Will shook his head, and in the shadows of the deepening night, Marian caught sight of the sharp anger lining his face, an anger that made her heart flip in dread. Had some of the women been killed? Raped? Taken as hostages?

As though sensing what Will’s silence meant, Christina’s voice trembled when she next spoke. “Can we not bring them to safety as well?”

“Those who remain have locked themselves in the cellar.” Will lifted the bar across the back gate and opened the door cautiously.

Christina didn’t speak again.

As they moved out of the convent grounds, part of Marian wanted to stay at the nunnery. Now would be the perfect time to search for ampullae while everyone was scared and hiding away. But the other part of her cautioned against remaining. She’d already made the mistake of underestimating the danger of the Middle Ages, and she couldn’t do so again. She would need to come back and resume her search once the rebels had moved on.

With a deathly silent tread, Will carried her down a grassy path that led to what appeared to be a main road. Upon reaching the street—which she assumed to be St. George’s—she gaped at the sight that met her. To her right was the old city wall—except it wasn’t old anymore. It towered high above the ground. The stones were neatly chiseled, and the crenellations rose to their full height. In place of the modern-day roundabout stood a city gate, St. George’s Gate, with imposing castle-like turrets on either side of a gatehouse. Even in the fading light, she could see the entire structure was truly magnificent.

A horse with its rider passed through the gate and galloped down a dirt road into what appeared to be open country. Trees, rocks, and rolling hills sprawled out where the cinema and supermarket should have been.

To the left, the town of Canterbury nestled within the walls. With its tall, tottering homes crowded together on cobbled streets, it was unrecognizable from what it had become in her lifetime. Without street lamps, car headlights, traffic signals, or even the neon lights that emanated from business signs, the town was strangely dark.

Chills skittered up her arms. Only a tablespoon of holy water was all that was standing in the way of her experiencing an entirely different world—a world of electric lights, fast-moving vehicles, modern brick buildings.

The street in front of them was deserted and littered with debris, smashed furniture, ripped bedding, overturned food bins. The front door and main gate of St. Sepulchre both hung wide open, the windows of the chapel were cracked and broken, and what appeared to be sacred relics and other holy items were strewn all around.

The need to explore and find holy water pulsed harder at the sight of the Canterbury Cathedral spirals rising into the pink and orange splashes of clouds in the darkening sky. But before she could make up her mind on whether to stay, Will was already striding toward a narrow side alley, moving off the street into the shadows.

The stench of human waste and rotting garbage assaulted her, and she pressed her face against Will’s cloak. The scratchy wool brushed her nose and his scruffy chin grazed her forehead. Although his garment had the scent of wind and smoke, it was a far cry better than the alley.

From the shadows came a soft snorting breath, and Marian made out two horses. The only time she’d ever been on a horse had been at camp when she’d been a young girl. Riding around a paddock on the back of a gentle mare had done nothing to prepare her for the kind of swift horsemanship she would need tonight.

“We must be off at once.” Will spoke to his cloaked companion. “Thad, you take Christina out Dover Road. And I shall ride with Lady Marian out Rheims Way.”

At the mention of the familiar road that led to Chesterfield Park, Marian guessed that’s where Will was taking them. Of course, his living in the manor made perfect sense in light of previously seeing him there. Even if Harrison’s house wasn’t where she needed to be to complete her mission, at least it would be familiar.

“Sire, I’m reluctant to split ways.” Thad reached for the reins of one of the horses. “Would we not be safer together? If trouble assails us, I could speak up for you.”

Will shook his head curtly. “We shall only attract attention more readily together.”

“They will have compassion on me, as I am one of them. But you? They thirst for the blood of the nobility. If they catch you, they’ll have no mercy this night.”

“We go our separate ways.” Will’s voice was low and bode no further argument.

His companion nodded and bowed slightly to Will. “Ready, Sister?” He offered Christina his cupped hands as a step to the stirrup.

Even in her cumbersome habit, Christina had no trouble mounting and was situated in the saddle before Marian could manage to figure out how it was done.

“Go,” Will whispered harshly. “And Godspeed.”

Thad swung up behind Christina, and in an instant, they were gone, the pounding of hooves fading away to silence.

“Ready, lady?” Will’s voice rumbled near her cheek.

“Yes, but I should warn you that I’m not—” Before she could finish, he thrust her up onto the saddle, a stiff leather seat that was wide and difficult to straddle in her habit. The white linen crept high, exposing her legs, exactly why most women had ridden sidesaddle. She started to adjust herself, but suddenly Will was behind her, and she had no room to move with both of them squeezed together.

His thighs hugged her tightly, and at the intimate contact heat flooded her cheeks. He reached past her to grip the reins, his presence boxing her in and overpowering her.

Should she slip down? But where would she go? She had no one else she could rely on.

No, this was her best option. Although she felt the brush of his chest behind her, she sat stiffly and was grateful when he held himself as aloof as the quarters would allow . . .

Until he urged his horse forward. The jostling nearly knocked Marian from her perch, and she fumbled to grab on to the pommel. He easily caught her, wrapping one of his hands around her waist and guiding the reins with the other. The firmness of his hold told her he had no intention of letting go.

So much for maintaining personal space. She didn’t want to be so aware of the pressure of his arm against her side and stomach, but her senses were keenly alert to everything in this strange time period—particularly to everything about him.

Once past the city gate, she again gazed at the countryside with wonder. Even in the descending darkness, lit by a glorious array of stars overhead, the barrenness of the rolling land spread out for miles. Gone were the businesses, homes, roads, and the sprawling urban development. It was silent and empty in an almost apocalyptic way.

A breeze blew against her, the chill welcome against her heated skin. The pounding of the horse hooves echoed loudly. If they were at risk, why didn’t he urge his horse to a softer and quieter tread? And why take the open road? Why not try to ride cross-country where they wouldn’t be seen or stopped by peasants who thirsted for their blood?

At the remembrance of the cries and screams from the afternoon, she shuddered at the prospect of facing any peasants, bloodthirsty or not. Will brought his cloak forward, draping it around her, likely thinking her shudder was from cold and not realizing it was from fear.

She lifted her chin. She had to be brave. After all, she was a smart and self-sufficient woman. She would survive and get home. Somehow.

Each bump of the horse jarred her aching body and reminded her of how Will had saved her from further punishment at the hands of the nuns. She wanted to speak to him, but now that she was with him again, she felt strangely shy. Was it because of their proximity? Or because he was more handsome than she remembered?

For heaven’s sake. She wasn’t an awkward teenager trying to gather up the courage to speak to a boy. She was a grown woman and accustomed to talking with men all the time. She could certainly manage a conversation tonight. “I didn’t have the chance to thank you for saving me the other day.”

For a moment, he didn’t reply, and she wondered if he’d failed to hear her above the clopping of the horse. “The prioress wields her power too freely.” His voice was low near her ear again, and the deepness of it wound through her blood.

As with her visions of him, something about him pulled her in. Not only was he entirely too attractive physically, but she wanted to know more about him. “How is it that once you freed me, the prioress no longer tormented me?”

He didn’t answer.

Christina hadn’t spoken of what Will had said or done to the prioress, but his efforts had protected her. “Apparently, you also wield your power freely?”

She meant for her question to tease, but his body turned rigid around her. “I would that my power be used for good and not evil.” His tone was brittle. “Was I mistaken to assume your punishment was undeserving?”

“No. The prioress had no right to my money. I only took back what was mine in the first place.”

“It was not meant for your dowry?”

“Not to St. Sepulchre. My jewels and money are my own.” Although she doubted she’d ever see them again.

At the eerie quietness of the countryside, a strange foreboding began to churn within her. Who knew what lurked in the shadows, behind the boulders, or in the patches of shrubs and trees they passed?

“If your kin did not give you over to the priory”—his voice less menacing, more curious—“then perhaps they wished to wed you to a man you could not abide?”

She shook her head. She didn’t want to deceive Will, yet what could she say that wouldn’t make her seem utterly crazy? For now, she needed to keep the pretense of amnesia. “I wish I knew what happened after I was separated from my traveling companions, but my mind is blank.”

Once she spoke the lie, she loathed herself for it but figured it wouldn’t matter too much since she intended to leave just as soon as the opportunity arose and would never see him again.

“Mayhap you have a husband and children waiting for you somewhere.” His tone took on an edge again, and she knew he hadn’t believed her.

“I remember a few things.” She attempted to keep her voice steady and confident. “And I know I’ve never been married.”

“At your age?”

“I’m not that old.” She supposed for the Middle Ages, twenty-eight meant she practically had one foot in the grave.

“A widow?”

“No. I’ve told you, I’ve never been married.”

“Then you must be escaping from a betrothal to someone you do not wish to marry.” His statement came out an accusation.

“And if I am, perhaps it’s for the best.” Before he could pry further, she decided to change the topic. “What demons are you trying to escape?”

“Lady?” Surprise tinged his voice.

“I imagine you’re running away from something that happened in your past?” When he stiffened, she realized she’d landed upon the truth and suspected his wounds went deep. “You’ve been hurt by someone or something, haven’t you?”

Several heartbeats passed before he responded in the low tone that told her he was angry. “You speak too boldly, lady. Let us ride in silence.”

* * *

Through the darkness, Will surveyed the surrounding area, noting every stray cat, every overturned stone, and every moving shadow. Although they were almost past the Canterbury town walls, he remained vigilant. The circuitous route he’d chosen had taken them away from the city, away from rebels who might be camped outside the town gates. Even so, he wouldn’t rest until they were back within the confines of Chesterfield Park.

The anger within his breast swelled again as it had earlier when he’d first received news of the attack against Canterbury, specifically against the cathedral and abbeys. All the ride into town, he’d mentally lashed himself for leaving Christina and Lady Marian there, could only picture them the way he’d found Thomas.

He’d wanted to crush something—or someone—and was glad he hadn’t encountered any rebels on the trip to the priory, or he would have taken out his rage upon them.

Even now, remnants of the terror still pumped through his blood. Thank the Father in heaven, Christina always obeyed him and had acted quickly to hide in the woods, taking Lady Marian along as he’d bidden her.

His stallion caught a dip in the road, jarring them. Lady Marian released a stilted whimper, and he suspected she was attempting to disguise her pain, that the ride was much more difficult on her battered body than she was allowing.

He eased the reins, trying to gentle the pace.

From the moment he’d seen her in the woods with Christina, his pulse hadn’t stopped its strange rhythm. Even now, his body betrayed him with the whisper of desire whenever he considered how close she was and how beautiful.

On the other hand, her bold way of conversing vexed him. She was much too forthright. Maybe she wasn’t running away from an unpleasant betrothal as he suspected. Maybe her intended had sent her away for unleashing her tongue too oft.

“I’m sorry.” The sound of her voice startled him. “I shouldn’t have asked you about your past.”

He’d expected her to remain silent, to follow his command, or at the very least to be intimidated by it. But his stern mannerisms obviously failed to frighten her.

“Perhaps we can both agree to let the past remain in the past. After all, it has no bearing on our current predicament.” Her back inadvertently brushed against his chest.

He could sense she was losing the strength and stamina to maintain a semblance of distance from him. As a lady, of course she was concerned about propriety, but with her wounds, he ought to give her leave to recline and assure her she had nothing to fear from him, that he was a man of honor.

“Let’s start again,” she said before he could speak. “I’ll only ask you questions about your present, like how old are you? What you do for a living? Those kinds of things.”

Another jostle of the horse sent her against his chest altogether, and this time she didn’t attempt to reposition herself and instead relaxed lightly against him.

The pressure was a form of torturous pleasure.

Strands of her hair had come loose from the simple plait she wore down her back. The silky threads brushed his cheek. Ere he could stop himself, he leaned his nose into her head and breathed in her scent. He caught the faint whiff of something sweet, almost fruity.

He couldn’t deny this woman of his dreams fascinated him even more so now that she was real. And he was relieved all over again that she’d been with Christina during the attack on the priory.

“So how old are you?”

He shifted so that his nose now touched her ear. “You will not do as I bid and stay silent?” His whisper surprised him by coming out more teasing than menacing. His reaction would have embarrassed him except she responded with a rapid intake of breath that stirred the desire already coursing through his blood.

“It would be more fun to pester you with questions.” Her answer was low and breathy.

He moved his mouth to her ear. “Nine and twenty.”

She drew in another sharp breath but didn’t move. Instead, she leaned in almost imperceptibly, enough for him to sense he affected her as much as she did him.

A grin twitched at the corners of his lips. But then, just as suddenly, he scowled. He hadn’t smiled in over two years and didn’t deserve a moment’s happiness. Not after what he’d allowed to happen to Thomas.

He lifted his head and scanned the road ahead as well as each passing landmark.

“So you’re twenty-nine. What do you do for a living?”

“A living?”

“Your occupation.”

He still wasn’t exactly sure what she meant. “Surely, you must know I am not a bondman or laborer. I am well-born.” His sister would not be in the priory if she were not a noblewoman. At the moment, he would not be afraid for her life nor would he fear for his family’s safety if he were but a simple yeoman, husbandman, or even tradesman.

“And what exactly does a well-born man do all day?”

Did he detect sarcasm in her tone? He bristled. Did she think he was pompous and lazy? “I am a knight, and I serve the king. In the past ten years of war, I have only been home five times.”

She was quiet, as though pondering his words.

His mind flashed with images from his life, the years he’d spent in France on one military campaign after another. The young boy of nineteen had left full of enthusiasm and energy and optimism. He’d wanted to be like his father—brave and strong and dedicated.

After a decade of fighting, he’d proven himself to be just as brave and strong. But dedicated? To what cause? The doubt had surfaced more and more over the past year even though he’d fought against it.

“That must have been difficult to be away from home for so long.” Lady Marian spoke so softly he almost didn’t hear her.

Had it been difficult? Maybe at times, especially when he’d come home to gather the ransom and had to leave Thomas behind in a French dungeon. But he supposed he’d borne his duties the same as any other man—with honor and pride and determination.

“Do you have to go away and fight in France again?”

“Yes.” He didn’t know when the young king, at the beckoning of his ambitious uncle John of Gaunt, would commence another campaign in France. After the failure of the siege of Nantes earlier in the year, King Richard was eager to prove himself and protect Calais in the ongoing battle to retain ancestral land in France.

“How long until you leave?”

“I cannot say for certain, but ’twill not be overlong now.” He’d already been home for two months, the longest reprieve he’d had.

“Your sons must miss you whenever you go.”

He wasn’t sure how she knew about his sons but reasoned Christina must have gossiped about him. “My sons are strong and brave. Erelong, they will be fostered out and trained to be knights. Though I have already provided them with tutors and a swordsmaster.”

For several moments, she said naught more. Had he spoken something offensive? He considered himself to be a decent father. Some fellow knights treated their sons harshly, thought doing so would train them to be tough. But Will had always believed respect and kindness went much further in developing character.

“I can see you are a good man.” She gently pressed his arm.

The words and touch had a strange effect on him, comforting and warming him in the same moment. Just as her touch had affected him in his dream.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder as if that was the most natural thing in the world for her to do, as though she already trusted him.

For a short while, she asked him questions about the bondmen and the growing conflict and what might happen next now that they’d attacked Canterbury. He was surprised at her insights and interest, and did his best to answer her forthrightly, growing more fascinated by her with every passing moment.

Although he’d remained occupied with other matters over the preceding days, unbidden thoughts of her had crept into his conscience, especially at night in his chamber. Now that he was with her again, he had the desire to wrap both arms around her and to envelop her with his body, soul, and strength.

Normally, he had a self-control that was as hard as his metal plate. But he was weak with the swift longing to know her more, to taste of her sweetness, to breathe in her scent. The wanting scared him with its intensity, so unlike anything he’d ever felt for Alice.

He tightened his grip on the reins and held himself back.

“I can’t thank you enough for coming tonight. I don’t know what I would have done without both you and Christina.” She had an unusual way of speaking. She was English, but had she grown up in a foreign country?

“Your accent. You are from the Low Countries, are you not?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“And your kin?”

She didn’t respond for a minute. He could sense her inner struggle with what to reveal to him and how much she could trust him.

He was the one prying now when she’d asked to leave the past behind them. He cleared his throat, needing to reassure her that she was under no obligation to speak about anything too painful. After all, he hadn’t.

But she spoke first, her tone edged with sorrow. “I’m on my own now.”

His arm rested lightly across her middle to keep her from bouncing too needlessly. Thus far, he’d kept his hand balled into a fist to avoid touching her improperly. But now he uncurled his fingers and positioned them at her hip, relishing the curve. He closed his eyes for just a second to ward off the shower of desire that rained through him at the contact.

Saints help him. He’d gone much too long without a wife to desire this woman so powerfully.

He fisted his hand again and chided himself. The matter was settled. He would take a wife before he left for France. He would give his mother leave to make arrangements for him as she wanted.

The short hairs at the base of his neck stood, warning him of danger. Ere he could reach his sword or dirk, several ruffians appeared from out of nowhere. His stallion reared with fright.

Although he fumbled frantically to stay atop his mount, he’d been too preoccupied with Lady Marian and hadn’t maintained a solid grip on the reins. As he fell backward, all he could think was that he’d do anything to keep Lady Marian safe.