Return of the Rose (3 page)

Morgan’s stomach clenched. Not because of what Emmon was saying but because things like this just didn’t happen. The trees looked the same. The sky was blue, the grass green. But the conviction in Emmon’s voice told her he was speaking the truth.

“Too bad you may not live to see the year of Our Lord 1445,” he added almost gleefully.

“What do you mean?”

“Lord Vanguard frowns heavily upon the betrayal of his people. No telling what he might do when he hears of your running away.”

“I didn’t run away. You’ve got the wrong woman.”

Emmon regarded her with cold speculation.

She sighed. “You’re only trying to scare me because you think I stole your horse.”

Emmon laughed. “Think what you will. Too bad, though, that the rumors you’ve surely heard about Lord Vanguard are all true.”

Shivers crawled up her spine. “They are?”

“Aye,” he said. “Lord Vanguard has the countenance of a dragon monster. No,” he amended, putting a gloved finger to his chin. “I would say he more resembles a humongous, long-haired ogre. But that is not the worst of it.”

She rolled her eyes, wondering how it could get much worse than that.

“My lord’s poor temper is very nearly as hideous as his misshapen face and when he learns that his betrothed tried to run off…”

“What will he do?”

“Emmon, what are you saying?” Hugo cut in from a distance.

Emmon pulled back on the reins. “I was merely telling her ladyship what to expect when she arrives at Braddock. Are we stopping soon?”

Hugo exhaled. “Nay, we have been delayed too long. If we keep up this pace we should reach Braddock before morning.”

The hairs at the back of Morgan’s neck stirred. The year was 1444 and not only was she being held against her will, but she was mistaken as the bride-to-be of the ugliest man in the world.

~~~~

Nightfall had come and gone by the time Morgan awoke. The steady beat of the horse’s gait told her she had yet to return to her time. Every muscle ached. Her bottom felt as if it had been shot full of Novocain. She rubbed her eyes and when she opened them, she nearly fell off the horse.

Braddock was indeed a castle, a mighty fortress with massive towers surrounded by high stone walls.

The sun’s morning light peeked over the horizon and thin curls of smoke appeared above the castle. They rode down a hill and passed by an orchard. The scent of burning iron and manure intermingled with the smell of fruit. People stopped to stare. Most of the men had short-cropped hair above the ears. They wore brown tunics, thick hose, and leather boots. The women wore frowns and gave her sour looks.

Morgan frowned. “What’s wrong with them?”

“I told you before,” Emmon said. “Nobody betrays his lordship by running away. ‘Tis unheard of.”

Shivers coursed over her. If these people truly believed her to be the woman who had betrayed their lord, would she be sliced and diced? Hung by a thick scratchy rope from an ancient tree? Maybe his lordship would spare her her life and relieve her of only a finger or two. She eyed her pinky with misgiving.

“My lady! My lady!” a woman shouted, pushing her way through the crowd.

Emmon pulled back on the reins while Hugo rode on toward the stables.

“Young knight. Help her ladyship down,” the woman ordered.

Emmon obeyed, dropping Morgan into the plump woman’s arms before clicking the reins and heading toward the stables.

Tired of being thrown around like a sack of potatoes, she glared at Emmon’s backside as he rode off.

“Lady Amanda, did those blackguards hurt you?”

Gray strands of hair stuck out from beneath the woman’s headgear. Her long shirt-like dress was stained and her hands were callused. Both eyes appeared cloudy as if she had cataracts.

“Nobody hurt me,” Morgan assured the woman before lowering her voice. “And my name isn’t Amanda. It’s Morgan Hayes.”

The woman wagged a finger in her face. “Your father warned me of your spoiled ways, my lady. Although we’ve had only a short time to become acquainted, I am not so easily fooled. If you believe, I, Odelia Beaumaris, will fall for this newest ploy of yours, you are gravely mistaken.” She clutched onto Morgan’s arm and firmly ushered her through the growing number of onlookers.

“You have gone too far,” the woman said under her breath, “dragging me across the countryside, letting me dry your tears. And what do you do to thank me? You run away, leaving me with Lord Vanguard’s men. And all the while you meant to meet with Robert?”

“Robert?” Morgan asked.

The woman huffed. “So this is the game you wish to play?”

Morgan didn’t know what to say to that so she kept quiet while the castle folk gawked and pointed, stealing what little optimism she was trying hard to hang on to. The outer gates were open. She could run, but where to? This was a crazy horrible nightmare that refused to end. Dismayed, she decided once again that it may be in her best interest to play the part of Amanda for a bit longer. Feigning remorse, she looked to the ground and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what has gotten into me lately.”

A smile crossed Odelia’s face, revealing a row of gray-brown teeth. “Oh, my lady, I am glad you are safe. Verily you try my patience but you are here and you are safe. Now tell me, when did you learn to speak in such a curious fashion?”

“Well, you see…when I left you and those men, I-er-I think I fell. Yes, that’s it. I fell and hit my head on a rock. More like a boulder,” she amended when skepticism crept into Odelia’s hazy eyes. “When I awoke, a gang of foul-smelling men surrounded me. And then…Van Gogh’s men came.”

“Vanguard’s men,” Odelia cut in, eyeing her suspiciously.

“That’s what I said. Vanguard’s men came and voilà, here I am.”

Odelia examined her closely and Morgan was sure the woman was on to her until the lines about Odelia’s face softened. “Perhaps you should change your clothes before you meet your betrothed. Where ever did you find such dreadful garb?”

“It’s a long story,” Morgan said.

Odelia wrinkled her nose before ushering her along again. “Your mother and father would have me on the ducking stool if they saw you now. The Lord of Braddock has not made an appearance in the entire two days I have been at the castle. Perchance Lord Vanguard’s rumored disfigurement is worse than we suspected.”

Until that moment Morgan had forgotten about Emmon’s warning. But now images of Lord Vanguard swirled within her mind. Three heads maybe? Four bloodshot eyeballs? Certainly no man could be uglier than Otgar.

With much trepidation, she followed Odelia into the castle. As they went along, she caught whiffs of rose and mint. No signs of the dirty, musty smells she would have expected. Rows of rough wood benches lined the room and elaborate tapestries hung from limestone walls. Tables were being set, and unlike the villagers outside, the people within appeared too busy to take notice of her.

After Odelia was called away, she continued on, peeking through thick oak doors until she came to a room stocked with a vast array of old books and papers. Unable to resist the seductive pull these ancient works had on her, she forgot all about waiting for Odelia and entered the room.

Using a stool to get a closer look at the collection of books, she touched the leather bindings, surprised by the inner peace that washed through her…the same calmness she felt whenever she stood near her beloved armor in her mother’s store.

A shuffling of papers startled her. A man sat at a large desk at the far end of the room.

He stood, and she realized he wasn’t a man at all. He was a giant, and he was coming her way. “I’m sorry,” she said, shoving the books back into place.

“No need to apologize, I assure you.” His deep voice reverberated off the stone walls.

She always tried to look people in the eyes when she spoke to them, but for the first time in her life it was more than difficult, not only because of his towering stature but because of the power radiating from his mahogany eyes. He was magnificent to look at. And there was something about him. Something oddly familiar, and yet she was sure she’d never seen him before. Never had she gazed upon such raw masculinity—not in the movies, not in any magazine, not ever.

He crossed his arms. “It is a book you are looking for?”

She shook her head.

“Your first day here at Braddock?”

Standing on top of the stool, she wanted to speak, but no words would come.

“Have you no voice?”

“Of course I do,” she finally managed. “It’s just that you surprised me. I didn’t see you lurking over there in the dark.”

The corners of his mouth curled upward. He wore a dark green, short-sleeved tunic that clung to his sculpted arms and snug pants that would have looked ridiculous on anyone but him. Massive in proportions, he possessed thick muscular shoulders, raven-black hair that touched his collar, and a very kissable mouth. A few of the men she’d dated had been handsome, but never did the sight of any of them take her breath away.

His chuckle made her realize she was staring at him as if she’d never laid eyes on a man before. She planted her arms across her chest. “What’s so funny?”

He was becoming less god-like by the second. And if his dark eyes weren’t looking right through her, making her feel tingly and anxious beneath his gaze, she might have thought of something clever to say. But with him staring at her so intensely, it was impossible to think, let alone speak.

Get a grip
, she told herself, and as she shifted her weight, the stool toppled. She gasped as she fell, but he caught her in his arms and pulled her close. Close enough for her to feel the rise and fall of his chest and the heat of his body against hers. An eternity passed before she realized he wasn’t in any hurry to let go of her. She pushed at his chest. “Put me down!”

Instead, he raised his foot to the fallen stool so she was straddled upon one very substantial thigh…her mouth mere inches from his brawny chest.

“Let me go-or-or I will report you to your boss.”

He looked amused by such a threat, but once again he failed to loosen his hold. Leaning forward, he covered her mouth with his as if it was his right to do so, as if he could do whatever he pleased, as if…

His lips grazed over hers in a mere whisper, taking her breath away. Something stirred deep inside of her and heat spread through her like wildfire. His lips melded over hers and all thoughts of pushing him away evaporated. In that instant she knew that for this kiss alone she’d been sent to another century.

He drew away too soon, prompting her to open her eyes. He stared down at her with dark, smoldering eyes…angry eyes, and then released his hold and dropped his foot to the floor.

She staggered backward like a broken wind-up doll. Once she regained her balance, surprise turned to anger as she realized he’d dropped her on purpose.

As his hands came to rest on his hips, his eyelids drooped lazily. “Now,” he said, his voice deep and rich with a full measure of conceit. “Perchance you have learned your lesson and will be more careful in the future as to where you wander without permission.”

She clenched her teeth.

“Unfortunately, I have important work to attend to,” he went on before she could reply. “Had you come at a more convenient time I would have been happy to further assist you in your schooling.”

“In my schooling?”

“Aye,” he said, examining his cuticles. “All new maidens who come to Braddock seek my instructions eventually. Though it would seem you are more eager than most. Perhaps another time.”

“Of all the egotistical—” There he stood with that vainglorious smirk. “You think I came in here looking for you? Hoping to be
trained
?”

He didn’t need to respond. She could see it in his eyes, in the way he stood, in his cocky grin. What an idiot she was to let him kiss her like that. What was wrong with her? “Listen here, Mister conceited, arrogant man. I happen to be engaged to a very important man at Braddock Castle. My name is Lady—”

A thin dirt-stained man came rushing into the room just then, nearly bowling her over. “You must come quickly. There is trouble…in the village,” the man said between breaths. “A small band of men without colors or crest”—he inhaled—”was spotted moments before the village went up in flames.”

Both men bolted from the room leaving Morgan standing there like a fool, pointing her finger at no one. One minute she was letting the big oaf have a piece of her mind and in the next he was gone. Dispiritedly she glanced around the sparsely decorated room. A draw-leaf table, serving as a desk, sat before the hearth. The walls were ornamented with tapestries depicting men hunting in the woods. The men were dressed exactly like Otgar and his entourage.

Drawn to the writing desk, she headed that way and slid her fingertips over the burled oak. The papers strewn about were scribbled with numbers. Obviously the arrogant man had been having trouble with his math. Assuming he was the castle’s accountant, she scanned the document and smiled triumphantly when she easily figured out what the problem was.

As if she’d been living in the fifteenth century all of her life, she took hold of the feathered quill, dabbed its fine point into the inkwell, and made the necessary adjustments. Plunking the quill back into its holder, she left the room with a smile on her face.

Upon returning to the hall, pandemonium greeted her. She dodged out of the way as frantic people, young and old, grabbed buckets, bowls, pots and kettles, and whatever else they could find before running out the main entrance of the castle.

Not one to be left behind, she grabbed an iron cauldron from the hearth and followed the crowd. Struggling to keep up, she realized the cauldron had to weigh at least fifty pounds. As she trailed behind an old woman and small children, the pain in her wrist slowed her. As the last of the castle folk disappeared around the bend, she stopped to catch her breath.

Within seconds a heavily built man on a horse came barreling around that same curve and skidded to a stop in front of her. “Hugo!”

He gave a small bow. “My lady.”

She snorted. “You really don’t need to do that.”