Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones Book 2) Read online

  “Oh, for crap’s sake!” she exclaimed. “I am too tired and too worried to deal with this! Will you stay here or not?”

  Robert held up a hand to silence Michael when he would have replied. “We will allow you your privacy.”

  “Thank you!” Spinning around, she marched off into the woods, muttering under her breath about stubborn men who never knew when to quit.

  As Mistress Bethany disappeared into the foliage, Michael asked in a hushed voice, “Did I mistake her?”

  “Nay,” Stephen answered somberly. “She did say twenty-first century.”

  “Poor girl,” Adam murmured. “Even with her peculiar speech I did not think her mad, but—”

  “She is not mad,” Robert denied, a sick feeling nevertheless lodging itself in his gut.

  “Robert,” Michael protested softly.

  “She is overwrought, Michael. I know not what has befallen her, but it has left her covered in blood and consumed with worry for her husband or lover or whomever this Josh fellow is, and he is probably dead. Think you she does not realize that?” Hands on his hips, he took a few steps in the direction she had taken. “We bombard her with questions and try to pry the last of her belongings from her blood-encrusted fingers merely to satisfy our curiosity and you think her mad for offering a misplaced word or two?”

  Adam pursed his lips. “’Tis true the lass has some difficulty with the language.”

  “I understand not half the words that emerge from her lips,” Robert agreed. Lips that he suspected would be quite lovely if they and the rest of her face were clean.

  “You are certain Lady Alyssa is not in the area?” Michael posed.

  “Nay. She is at Westcott, struggling to keep Dillon from placing a wooden sword in their son’s eager hands. And if she were here, she would not have healed the girl, then left her to wander the forest alone in such an addled state.”

  “No peeking!” Bethany shouted suddenly, startling them.

  Stephen raised both bushy eyebrows. “Overwrought or nay, I think her mad as the miller’s mother.” Catching Robert’s frown, he grinned. “I did not say I dislike her, only that she is mad. I cannot recall another woman who has entertained me so.”

  Robert’s scowl deepened as something resembling jealousy sifted through him.

  “If not Lady Alyssa, then who?” Michael went on. “Her grandmother?”

  Robert shook his head. “I think not. Her grandmother has not the strength. Healing such wounds would kill her.”

  “What of the other gifted ones?”

  “As far as I know, none of them possess the ability to heal and cannot do so without Alyssa or her grandmother present to channel their gifts.”

  “What of the giant?”

  “The one who calls himself Seth?” Dillon had often described the man as a giant because of his impressive height, which was a head or more taller than Robert’s six feet. “I know not his gifts. But Dillon said Seth did not heal Alyssa himself. He showed the others how to combine their strength and their gifts to heal her instead.”

  Stephen grunted.

  “The scars could be from old wounds,” Adam murmured.

  Michael tilted his head to one side. “What of the holes in her clothing?”

  Adam shrugged. “Are all of your tunics new and undamaged? Mayhap she has not the coin to replace hers.”

  Stephen nodded. “The blood could belong to this Josh fellow. Mayhap whatever she witnessed has made her retreat to a previous attack she suffered and she is confusing the two. Sir William once told me that when he saw a fellow crusader cut down a woman in the Holy Land, he flew into a rage and killed the man. When his thoughts finally cleared, William found himself weeping over the woman’s corpse and calling her by his wife’s name.”

  Robert frowned. “Was his wife not slain here in England?”

  “Aye, and ’tis what Sir William saw whilst he defended the woman in the Holy Land and struck down her attacker.”

  “I said no peeking!” Bethany yelled. “Where are you guys?”

  Robert called back, “We stand where you left us!”

  “All of you?”

  “Aye!” the men chorused loudly.

  “Just making sure!”

  “What do you intend to do with her?” Stephen asked, voice soft.

  “If we do not find this Josh she seeks, I will offer her shelter at Fosterly until we learn more.”

  “And if you never learn more?”

  “I know not.”

  Twigs snapped and foliage rustled as Bethany moved into view and headed toward them. The pouch with the fascinating zipper was now looped over one shoulder and rested against her back. “Sorry to keep checking,” she said, “but I had a sudden vision of my bare bottom being plastered all over Facebook.”

  Michael’s eyebrows flew up. “What?”

  Robert gazed down at her dirt-smudged, blood-speckled face and found himself fervently hoping she was not touched in the head.

  “So what’s the plan?” she asked. “Are we going to split up so we can cover more ground? Or should we go wherever it is you guys came from and get help there?”

  Beginning to see a pattern in her speech, which was an odd combination of familiar and foreign words, Robert considered the question. “’Twould take us mayhap half a day to reach Fosterly.”

  “What’s Fosterly?”

  “My castle.”

  “I assume by castle, you mean reenactment group meeting place.”

  Robert did not know how to respond to that, so he opted not to. “There is little light left, however.”

  Beth glanced at the sky and frowned. “I hadn’t even noticed.”

  “If your Josh’s condition is as dire as you say it is, I believe ’twould be wisest to continue searching for him.”

  Relief entered her greenish-brown eyes. “That would be my choice as well. The thought of leaving the area, of leaving him even for a few hours when he might be bleeding to death is…”

  “I understand. Do you know where we may find him?”

  “No.” Her brow furrowed as she glanced around. “None of this looks familiar to me. But if we’re near the Woodlands, we should probably head north. Or maybe west. Or northwest. I’m just not sure.”

  “Since you are uncertain, we shall each travel in a different direction. Will Josh recognize your possessions?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then Michael will take your pack. Stephen will take that.” He nodded at the long narrow bag on the ground.

  “My tent?” she asked as Stephen bent to retrieve it.

  “Aye,” Robert said, though he failed to understand how the makings of a tent could fit into such a small bag. “And Adam will take this.” He handed Adam Beth’s largest weapon. “If any of you find Josh and he doubts Bethany has sent you looking for him, show him her belongings.”

  Beth nodded. “And please speak slowly when you see him so he can understand you.”

  The men all agreed.

  Robert motioned to his destrier. “You may once more ride with me on Berserker.”

  The hazel eyes that met his carried both fear and dread. “We will find him, won’t we?”

  Robert tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I hope so, Bethany.”

  “You can call me Beth.”

  He smiled. “As you wish, Beth.”

  Taking her backpack from her, he handed it to Michael. “Shall we?”

  Chapter Four

  Michael rode to the south, Adam to the west, and Stephen to the east.

  Robert rode to the north with Bethany perched on his lap.

  She had insisted on riding astride this time, her shapely bottom snug against his groin, her thighs molded to his, generating a heat that drove him to distractio
n. Because of her fear of horses, he had expected her to remain tense. But she had surprised him, relaxing and leaning back against him most of the time.

  He held Berserker’s reins in one hand. The other arm he wrapped around her narrow waist, smiling when she folded her hands comfortably atop it.

  It would have been a pleasant journey had her concern not permeated the air around them. Every few minutes she would pull the odd sellfone from her pocket, stroke it with her thumb, then mutter and tuck it away again. Then she would draw a large hunting knife from its sheath on her thigh, hold it up in front of her like a cross, then put it away. A few minutes later she would shout Josh’s name three times, pausing in between to listen for a response. When none came, she would rest a moment, then reach again for her sellfone, and the cycle would begin anew.

  “Jooooosh!” The shadows of the forest swallowed any echo her call may have otherwise generated. “Joooosh! Can you hear meeee?”

  She had a powerful voice for such a small woman. His eyebrows had nigh met his hairline the first time she had bellowed the other man’s name. Unlike most of the females of his acquaintance, her voice did not rise in pitch when she shouted and was not the least bit shrill. Rather ’twas deep and strong and almost loud enough to make his ears ring, growing only the slightest bit hoarse as the sun continued its descent.

  “Joooosh!”

  Berserker snorted, as if he knew she desperately wanted some kind of answer and thought it might help to give her one himself.

  Sighing, Bethany slumped back against Robert. “Why is it so cool?” she asked wearily. “Earlier today I was worried about suffering heatstroke, and now the breeze is giving me chills. The cold fronts we get this time of year don’t usually lower the temperature this much.”

  Robert thought the temperature quite mild for late spring and wondered if mayhap she grew feverish. Frowning, he worked his arm out from under hers and pressed his palm to her forehead.

  “I’m not running a fever.” She pulled his hand down. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Nay, but the padded gambeson I wear beneath my mail is much warmer than your tunics.”

  She peeled the mailed sleeve of his hauberk back and tested the gambeson with her fingers. When one of those slender little fingers slipped beneath the thick material and glided across the inside of his wrist, a shock of desire zigzagged through him, catching him off guard.

  “Wow. That is warm.” Wriggling her hand, she managed to stuff the rest of her chilled fingers up his sleeve. “Ahhhh.”

  Robert’s heart thudded against his ribs when she slid her other hand along his and linked their fingers around the reins. How fortunate that he had not donned his mailed mitts again after checking her wounds.

  “Mmm. Your hand is warm, too,” she praised. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Nay,” he answered, silently cursing when his voice emerged a bit hoarse. Her touch affected him far more than it should have.

  When she tilted her head back to look up at him, he stared straight ahead and schooled his features into a bland mask.

  “You sure?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Thank you.” Facing forward, she seemed content for a while.

  Her skin had not quite lost all of its chill when she abandoned his hand and wrist, retrieved her sellfone from the pocket on her breeches and stared down at it.

  Curious, Robert peered over her shoulder and tried to understand just what this small, dark object did. There were what appeared to be several tiny, colorful paintings on it, all lined up in neat rows.

  Bethany moved the phone to one side, then the other, up and down, all the while keeping a sharp eye on the object.

  Robert failed to see it do anything, but thought the little drawings or paintings unusually bright. They seemed, in fact, to glow. “Is all as it should be?” he queried.

  “Nay,” she answered, frustration darkening her words. “I still can’t get any bars. I don’t understand it.”

  She shoved the sellfone back into her pocket, then leaned to one side, unknowingly grinding her hip into his arousal, and pulled her knife from its sheath.

  A groan escaped him ere he could suppress it.

  “Did you say something?” she asked.

  “Nay.”

  She held the blade in front of her, handle up, and went still.

  ’Twas a most unusual weapon. The handle appeared to be somewhat tarnished silver that smoothed into a ball at its base. Between the handle and the blade lay a flat strip of metal that served as the guard. From this, two rounded spikes—each almost the width of Bethany’s smallest finger—extended outward on either side of her small fists, offering protection from an opponent’s strikes.

  The blade itself was as long as her forearm. Mayhap as wide as her narrow wrist at its base, it thickened along its length and curved wickedly until it narrowed to a sharp point.

  When she would have put it away, Robert spoke. “What do you do when you hold your weapon thusly? Do you pray?”

  “Pray? Nay, I’m looking at this.” Twisting so that one shoulder brushed his chest, she drew the knife in closer and tilted the handle toward him. “See?” She tapped the rounded ball at the base. “It’s a compass.”

  Robert leaned down a bit to give it a closer look.

  The rounded base was not metal as he had believed, but clear like glass. Inside lay a small ball marked with letters that represented the directions. His eyes widened as the little ball stayed in place while she turned the handle this way and that.

  “Since I can’t really get a good look at the sun because of all these trees, I’ve been using this to keep track of what direction we’re traveling in.” Leaning over to tuck her head beneath his chin, she looked at the miraculous little ball. “Right now we’re heading north-northwest. We were heading due north.”

  Robert could only stare. What a wondrous weapon.

  Straightening, she glanced up at him. “Pretty cool, huh? And that’s not all.” Holding the handle with one hand, she wrapped the other around the spherical compass and began to turn it. “This unscrews.” Removing the compass, she showed him a hidden compartment within the handle. “And inside are waterproof matches, a fishing hook with fishing line, a safety pin, a needle and some thread.”

  Robert had no idea what matches were. They looked like large wooden splinters with blue tips. And the fishing line could not hold much strength. He could practically see through it. But the secret compartment, the compass and the fishing hook concealed in the blade’s handle he found very intriguing.

  “A most unusual weapon.”

  A sad smile briefly lit her face as she tucked her secrets back inside the handle. “Josh lent it to me.”

  Facing forward again, she secured the knife in its sheath.

  Robert scowled at the back of her head. Affection laced her voice when she spoke the other man’s name.

  “Joooosh!”

  “Who is this Josh to you?”

  “Jooooosh!” Sighing heavily, Bethany leaned back against him, her head resting against his chest. “My brother. I told you that, didn’t I?”

  “Nay, you did not.” Had she done so, he would not have been jealous.

  Nay, not jealous. He would not have been… concerned?

  His scowl deepened. Not if he were honest with himself. If it had been aught other than jealousy, he would not feel so relieved now.

  “Have you other siblings?” he asked.

  “Nay. It’s just the two of us.” Reaching up, she scratched her left shoulder. “My mother died of cancer when I was fifteen. My father was killed in a car accident just before I turned eighteen. Josh is all I have now. I don’t know what I’m going to do if we don’t find him.”

  “If our search bears no fruit, I shall send out a large search
party the moment we reach Fosterly.”

  “Thank you. I’m not sure how long it will take the police to get here once we call them.”

  Once more, her words baffled him. But Robert opted not to question her. He was too busy trying not to notice when she scratched her chest just above her left breast.

  “You know what else confuses me?” she asked.

  “What?” he murmured.

  “We haven’t found our car.”

  Car? Did she mean cart?

  It occurred to Robert then that he had never asked her how she and her brother had been traveling. He did not think she had come by foot. ’Twas plain she had not been traveling on horseback either. But if she had been riding in a cart as she stated, why had she seemed ignorant of horses?

  “You journeyed here in a cart?”

  “Car,” she corrected. “A silver Toyota Corolla that has seen better days. If I’m not as far from where I fell as I thought and the forest just looks greener here because we’re close to a river or a lake, then we should have found our car by now.”

  Her words failed to clarify the difference between a car and a cart for him, but he chose not to press her further. “Mayhap one of the others will discover it.”

  “I hope so.” Sitting up straight, she arched her back and pushed one arm up behind her to scratch between her shoulder blades.

  Robert suspected that her scars were itching. Either that or the dirt that had coated her and mingled with the drying blood was beginning to slip down into the folds of her tunic and the odd vest she wore, tickling her as it went.

  Stopping, Bethany sat very still for a moment, then suddenly threw her hands up and shouted, “How big is this freaking forest?”

  Berserker snorted and bobbed his head up and down.

  Her frustrated outburst over, Bethany gave the horse’s neck a tentative pat, then glanced at Robert over her shoulder. “Would you please scratch my back? This itching is driving me crazy.”

  Removing his arm from around her waist, Robert dutifully curled his fingers into claws and began to scratch her shoulder.