“Mistress?”

Chloe woke to see a little girl holding a striped kitten. She yawned. “What a little cutie.”

“His name is Moo because he meows at the cows. He believes he is a cow.” The girl giggled. “I’m Maron. ’Tis time for supper. His lordship would have you join him in the hall.”

Chloe smoothed her hair down, grateful there wasn’t a mirror. After getting wet and sleeping on her hair, she must look like Medusa.

Maron frowned. “You wear hose?”

Time for the first of many lies to come. “For traveling. I lost my clothes, so I don’t have a gown to wear to supper.”

The girl had to be six or seven but acted much older. “My lord will see you have proper clothes befitting a lady.”

Chloe followed Maron, listening to a constant stream of chatter revolving around her bratty brother, the kitten, and how much she liked living at Bainford, even though she missed her mama.

What she omitted was just as fascinating to Chloe. Not a word was uttered about Richard being the beast, or about his face. The few of his people she’d met thus far were loyal, and that said a lot about the man.

At one end of the hall, there was a raised dais with a table and tablecloth. In the middle of the table she saw Richard with his hood still in place. Was it on account of her, or did he always keep it up?

When she was close, he guided her to the seat on his left and pulled the chair out for her.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes. I feel much better.”

Servants brought in bread—no pebbles included, thank goodness—and delicious, tangy cheeses. There must have been around thirty or forty people, counting the guards and all the kids.

He poured her a cup of wine.

“The wine is excellent,” she said.

“The cellar is well stocked.”

She noticed the holes in the tablecloth and wondered if he was one of those guys obsessed with wine. It would explain the state of his hall. Most of the people eating at the lower tables had their own knives. Chloe hoped Richard would either have an extra knife or let her borrow his. When the servants brought out the food, she exhaled. It looked like chicken pot pie, and there were spoons.

Her stomach let out a roar. Embarrassed, Chloe felt warm all over as she saw the corner of Richard’s mouth turn up, as if pulled by a string. He pushed the dark hood back and stared at her. Daring her to flinch or scream or something.

Instead, Chloe forced herself to take a drink of wine, to not react. The damage was horrible. There was scarring around the black fabric he wore to cover his eye, which she now knew he must have lost. Half of his eyebrow was missing and there was terrible scarring down the side of his face. She’d seen similar damage in a classmate who’d been in a car that caught fire. It looked like it had happened a few years ago—the scars were faded, not an angry red or pink like on her classmate.

He had been devastatingly good-looking before. The candlelight turned his hair colors of fall. Chestnut, mahogany, and copper. The eye she could see was a dark blue, full of intelligence, and matched the blue of his tunic and hose.

She smiled at him and took a bit of the chicken pot pie. He kept refilling her glass. She wasn’t used to so much wine and knew she was getting tipsy when she wanted to stand up and tell everyone all about planes, trains, and cars, and that they had a queen for a monarch, not a king.

“You have food in your belly and are dry and rested,” Richard said. “Let us have speech. Where is your escort, Mistress Chloe?”

Richard startled her, and the wine sloshed over the cup, staining the tablecloth red.

He patted his mouth with an edge of the tablecloth she hadn’t spilled on. “Tell me your tale.” He leaned back in the chair, stretching out, looking every inch the fallen pirate king.

She’d been thinking about her story. Keeping it real enough, she wouldn’t get confused, but not so real that he would think she was a faerie or witch.

“I have relatives near Lancashire. That’s where I was going when I was assaulted at a tavern where we’d stopped for the night. My escort and I were separated, along with my belongings.”

“Lancashire, you say. Where were you coming from?”

She could almost see him filing away every detail. Why had she had so much to drink?

“The Cotswolds.” She wiped her mouth with the tablecloth as others were doing, avoiding the spill.

“’Tis a rather large area.”

“Tetbury,” she said, remembering one of the market towns that thrived in the wool trade during medieval times.

He looked unconvinced but let it go. She’d said Lancashire instead of Blackpool, figuring it might be more familiar, as Blackpool was a small coastal hamlet.

He poured more wine. “What are the names of your relatives?”

“I’m going to Falconburg Castle to see my great-aunt, Melinda Merriweather. Do you know her?”

“I have heard of Falconburg but do not know its lord. What is her husband’s name?”

“Lord Falconburg.” Nutella on toast. Chloe knew the story of how they’d found out the king had been at Falconburg for a Christmas dinner. What was Melinda’s husband’s name? There had been a guest list. She knew this. Darn it. Too much wine had made her fuzzy.

Careful to keep his good side to her, he frowned. “His given name.”

“James Rivers.” Ha. That was it.

“The Red Knight. I know him by reputation.” Richard shifted in the chair. “I will send a missive.”

“Thank you. I am sure they will be wondering where I am. Might you have men who could take me? I can pay them.” She looked around the hall while she waited for him to answer. Four hearths were set into the walls, large enough for twenty people to stand next to each other, and the fires crackled merrily. High above, there were windows to let in light. Not much at this time of year, but at least it wasn’t totally gloomy. There weren’t any tapestries on the walls or rugs on the floor, and, quite frankly, the whole place smelled like it needed a good cleaning. The overall effect was shabby and unkempt.

The kids and servants blatantly stared at her, while his guardsmen were more discreet. Proper clothes would help her blend in, let her move around and observe. She reached for her phone for the hundredth time.

“Is there a cloth merchant? The loss of my clothing… I would like a gown. My jeans—hose were only to travel, not meant for all to see.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “You are my guest.” He looked at her t-shirt. “The merchant will be here on the morrow. I will have gowns fashioned for you.”

“Thank you.” Chloe beamed at him, feeling happy and light, almost like she was floating above her body. This was going to be easier than she thought. It was too bad she couldn’t stay a while longer. She thought of the phrase “still waters run deep” when she looked at him. She wanted to get to know him better. He couldn’t be much older than her, but he had an old soul. It seemed like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

No. She shook her head. Mustn’t lose sight of why she was here. She had to get to Falconburg and meet Melinda. Then she would go home and fondly remember her adventures in the past, preferably after a long, hot shower, a pizza, and at least half a day catching up on texts and social media.

After supper, Richard offered her his arm. “Allow me to escort you to your chamber.”

“Dinner was really good.” She yawned, tired and restless at the same time. Was this what being tipsy felt like?

He was quiet on the way to her room. Being a bit shy and quiet, Chloe liked that the silence didn’t feel forced. It was comfortable.

Did he know he hadn’t put his hood back up? Or had he figured she now knew what he looked like, so why bother? She wanted to tell him not to be self-conscious, that we all carried scars, some on the outside, others deep on the inside.

But she didn’t know him well enough to offer an opinion without being asked. Grammy Mildred had taught her just because you had an opinion, it didn’t mean you needed to share it with the world. She thought people not minding their own business was a big part of what was wrong with the world. Chloe wished Gram and Granda could meet Richard.

At the door, she took a deep breath. She had to know without a doubt. To hear it said out loud so she’d be sure she wasn’t going batty.

“Um…what year is it?”

“You do not know the year, yet you know from whence you came and where you are going?”

“I’m really tired. I did tell you what happened to me.”

“Why were you pursued by ruffians?” he said, not quite believing her but too polite to call her a liar. At least, that was her guess as to what was going on behind that poker face of his.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m safe now.” Seeing his expression, she added, “If you really must know, I’ll tell you tomorrow after breakfast.” She touched his arm. “I bumped my head. Some things are clear, others not so much.”

Either her answer satisfied him or he was enough of a gentleman not to call her on it.

“’Tis the Year of Our Lord 1337.”

Chloe was glad she still had her hand on his arm, or she might have fainted at the confirmation of what she’d figured out. Now she had to find Melinda, because Chloe didn’t know where the other Merriweather women lived and her granda had already gone to the future. If only she could figure out how the stones worked so she’d know how to get home after she’d met her relative. Her head was woozy, the doorway to her room tilted. Too tired to think about it, she smiled at Richard.

“Good night, Lord Bainford.”

“Richard.” He cleared his throat. “Sleep well, Mistress Chloe.”

“Just Chloe,” she said.

“Chloe.”

She stood against the bolted door for a long time before climbing into bed.