Chapter 9
Fay awoke at the crack of dawn, not sure how she did that without an alarm clock, but ever since she became a member of the medieval ages, she rose and fell with the sun. She wanted to get ready on her own, so she told Batty the night before she didn’t feel well and not to come until she was called. She could have used the help getting dressed, but didn’t want Batty to know about her rendezvous with Sir Tristan. Batty would get excited and, as excited as she herself was, she still wasn’t sure.
Her heart beat as hard and fast as if she’d run the tower stairs six times in a row as she hurried to lace up her gown. She would have given just about anything for toothpaste that morning. Instead, she chewed some of the dried anise the cook gave her. Better than nothing, definitely better than morning breath after a huge, fish supper the night before.
She stood by the window, watching the sun slowly creep into the front courtyard, and wondered if Tristan was already in the back by the training field. She envied Anne her view, and her mirror, but didn’t want to risk waking her by taking a peek at either one.
“Stop panicking,” she quietly told herself. She shook her head and returned to her pep talk. “You are not, absolutely not, desperate.” She clasped and unclasped her hands, not quite believing her words, but trying to. “You’re in a strange situation, but you don’t need to freak out. You’re meeting a man you may or may not like, but it is definitely not the end of the world if things don’t work out.” She sighed. Time to go or she’d be late and she didn’t want to start out with little power games like that. That was way too twenty-first century.
At least she already knew how attracted she was to him. “Oh yes, about that,” she stopped and did an addendum to her pep talk. “It’s obvious you both want to throw down, and that would be amazing if it could happen. But there’s plenty of time for that if you fall in love.”
There, that covered everything. Feeling more giddy now than nervous, she skipped down the stairs, winding her way stealthily through the castle until she came to the back exit, taking a deep breath of the freshly baked bread smell since she was so close to the kitchen. She wondered if she should pop in and get something to bring, perhaps have an impromptu breakfast picnic.
As much as she loved the idea of that, imagining them sitting on a cloth, their knees almost touching … maybe he’d feed her a bite or two … no, the cook would ask too many questions. She knew this about him because she’d been hungry more than once in the middle of the night since she got here and he always caught her foraging for a snack. He always let her have whatever was on hand but, God, the third degree he gave her along with the food. It wasn’t worth it this morning.
Out in the back courtyard, where the men did their training, she poked around the straw-stuffed dummies that were full of rips and stab holes. There was an inner wall that separated this training area from the stables and some hardy ivy clung to its stones, slightly crusted with morning frost. If the time of year was the same as when she’d left her own time, it was now middle February and, while chilly, it was the mildest northern England winter she’d ever seen. It was mild for a London winter. She took a deep breath, enjoying the icy feeling in her lungs as she sucked in the brisk air. Flapping her arms around nervously, she wished she could get in a good workout. She would have enjoyed taking a few jabs at the dummies. It might have even been fun to actually stab them, though most of the real swords were more than half her size.
She paced, anxious for Tristan to show up, but happy to be outside. She’d snuck out a few times since she went into hiding, but was always afraid Sir Tristan would show up out of nowhere. There were so many nooks and crannies in the castle and its courtyards and baileys, she wouldn’t feel completely comfortable until she’d had time to explore more. Now that Anne was feeling better and she no longer had to hide, she looked forward to doing it.
“Like my own little fairytale,” she thought, surprised she didn’t feel any traces of bitterness.
Was she getting used to being a medieval maiden? She looked around a few more times and, determining she was alone, strode to one of the comically pathetic training dummies and gave it a sound low kick, then punched it a few time for good measure. Yes, she needed more physical activity. Batty assured her that when the visitors were gone and Anne was back to full health they would pay a visit to the village. She longed for that day so she could really stretch her legs.
“Show me what you’ve got, sucker,” she said quietly to her straw opponent, kicking it a few more times.
“My goodness, Lady Fay. If I’d known how savage you are, I assure you I would have apologized much sooner.”
She whirled around. Sir Tristan had snuck up on her, appearing from a hobbit-like door in the inner wall. “Where did you come from?” she asked, glad that her face was probably already red from the chill morning air so he wouldn’t see the furious blush she felt creeping up her neck.
He’d left the door ajar and she hurried over in her curiosity. A small stream burbled along behind the wall, probably a man-made inlet of the river that ran west of the castle grounds. A fish broke the surface of the quick moving water, flipped its tail and slapped back under again.
“Having a look at our breakfast,” he said, nodding to the babbling brook.
She nodded. They did eat a lot of fish in the castle, and she’d assumed they were from the river, but this inlet, running through a tunnel with a low, heavily-barred and rusty gate in the outer wall, was ingenious. Another fat fish burst from the stream and she imagined a few lads standing there with nets, barely having to work at all to catch them. The bank was cold, dried mud now, but she imagined it would be lush grass come spring. On the far side, growing along the thirty foot high outer wall, was a mass of thorny bushes.
“Roses,” she breathed, closing her eyes and imagining them in full, riotous bloom.
“It must be lovely here in spring,” he said.
“That’s just what I was thinking,” she said. “I mean, yes. Do you want to sit here?”
She pointed to a large rock that was wide and smooth at the top, an almost perfect natural bench. He smiled and held out his hand to help her. Though the bank was dry and flat, she took it, stealing glances at him as he led her to their seat. His smile was inviting and warm. Her first impression of him had been that he was gruff and rude. After the world’s most embarrassing bath, she’d considered him close to a monster. But last night, he’d been a perfect gentleman, though still a bit gruff.
“You’ll only be here another week,” she sighed. She wanted to know which was the real Tristan, how many more facets of his personality he had to show.
He removed the heavy cloak he wore and spread it on the rock. Motioning for her to sit, he looked down at her with a serious expression. The sun finally made its way past the top of the outer wall and glinted off his blue eyes, making her weak in the knees. He took her elbow as she scrambled up the rock, then settled next to her, close enough for their legs to touch.
“I’ve sent a messenger to bring me news of Dernier Keep,” he said, looking out at the stream. She wanted him to look at her so she could lose herself in those eyes, but realized it was a good opportunity to openly ogle his chiseled jaw and all that beautiful hair that flowed almost to his shoulders. “If all is well there, I can extend my visit.” He cleared his throat and she wondered if he was nervous, too. “That is, if I would continue to be welcome.”
“You would be,” she said. She’d managed to glean from the girls that she’d never been to Dernier Keep and thought it would be safe to ask him about it. The look he got in his eyes when he spoke of it told her he cared for it very much. “But do you miss being home?”
He seemed to give that some thought before chuckling. “Grancourt Castle is far more comfortable than my keep.”
“You love it though,” she said and his eyes widened.
“Love?” he asked, wrinkling his brow. “Odd, but I suppose I do, though it’s little more than a pile of rocks on a desolate hill. Quite a bit smaller than this place.”
“Way to sell it,” she said. She longed to tell him about her tiny flat in London. The entire thing could have fit in her chamber in the tower. He must think her spoiled, not willing to live anywhere less than sumptuous.
He laughed some more, easing closer to her. “Should I be trying to sell it?” he asked with a hint of mischief. She liked it. It made him look boyish and huggable. “In that case, the view from its tower is unmatched in all of England. Of that I am sure. It is vast and glorious, and makes one feel small, and yet that they could conquer anything.”
She closed her eyes and shivered, letting his voice wash over her as she tried to picture such a view. His passion for his home was intoxicating. She wanted to incite such feelings in him. She leaned closer so they almost touched.
She knew she shouldn’t expect much in the way of smells coming from a medieval knight. But as she delicately breathed him in, she was pleased to find he smelled of the rough castle soap, hay, and leather. She almost asked him if he’d had another bath since the first one but, thankfully, was able to catch herself before the words were out. Everything was going smoothly. She felt comfortable, he smelled good, and this enchanting little area was forever going to be known in her mind as their spot. No use ruining it with stupid questions.
He asked how Anne was and made a bit of awkward small talk, then fell silent. She scrambled around for something more to say, focusing on his strong, battle-scarred hands that he had folded across his legs. She wanted to ask him about his childhood, how he became a knight, if he’d ever wanted to do anything else. A wave of sadness struck her as she realized she could never tell him about herself. Not the real her, anyway. He’d only want to know about the Lady Fay who grew up in this huge, rich castle, the second daughter of a well-respected knight whose only probable aspiration was to marry well.
He would never know she was an orphan raised by her aunt and uncle, that she used to run track and field in primary school, but then only wanted to be on the yearbook committee. How could she even explain what a yearbook was? She’d hated college and dropped out in her second year, but worked her way up to a fairly good job anyway. How could she tell him she still hadn’t decided what she wanted to be when she grew up? With a small sigh, she knew now she’d never be able to decide.
Was this why everyone before her had failed? No one could possibly be in love without knowing one another, could they? Not the true love the curse demanded. And the women before her could never tell who they really were.
“Lady Fay, are you well? You’re pale.” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, chafing her arms with his big hands. “I’ve been a fool to keep you outside so long in this cold weather.”
She snuffled a laugh. He was treating her so sweetly, and she’d went and gone all morose. His arms around her snapped her out of it and she leaned against him, enjoying the feel of his hard-muscled side.
“Nonsense, I love being outdoors. And it’s not cold at all, especially for this time of year.”
“Do you truly love being outside?” he asked. “What of horseback riding?”
She smiled. She was a passable rider, having had a posh friend when she was a teenager who often invited her when she rode. She couldn’t say she adored the activity, but it was better than mending and staring out the window all day, which is what she’d been doing since she got there. And he seemed excited at the prospect that she might be the outdoorsy type. A tiny white lie for the sake of love, then.
“I love it,” she said, then frowned, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to prove it right then. “I’m sorely out of practice though.” She waved her hands around vaguely and he nodded.
“Yes, the weather. Of course. Come spring, we must get you back in the saddle.”
She ducked her head to the side to hide her triumphant look. He’d admitted he wanted to still be around in spring. And he still had his arm around her. It had to be scandalous, especially since they were in such a hidden, secret area. After his lovely apology of the night before, and the way he’d cleared up the misunderstanding and took all the blame, she knew he was truly chivalrous. It made her all the more giddy, knowing he would never be here if he didn’t have serious intentions toward her. As old-fashioned as it all was, she found she liked it.
“You seem different than when I first met you,” he said bluntly, those mesmerizing eyes capturing her gaze.
Unable to look away, she didn’t know how to explain that she’d only just arrived the same time as he did. She’d been confused and overwhelmed. Honestly, she still felt both of those things now. “As do you,” she said, avoiding an explanation altogether.
He bit his lip, causing a small jolt to her system. A vivid memory of those lips against hers made her feel hot even though the cold rock was seeping through his cloak into her legs. Legs that might be too mushy to walk back into the castle if he kept looking at her that way.
“I am too long without gentle company sometimes,” he admitted slowly. “I wish we could start again.”
She leaned closer, inexorably pulled to him. She couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d tried. “Then let’s start again,” she said.
He blinked once, his dark lashes whisking down to shade the pure blue of his eyes. When he reopened them, they were darkened with desire. A look she remembered and liked. His mouth closed on hers, his hands gripping her arms and pulling her the final distance that separated them. Through their thick layers of winter clothing she could feel his heat enveloping her. She grabbed a handful of his coat, trying to find an opening so she could feel his skin. They were both swathed in so many layers, she knew it was a lost cause and would have to content herself with the feel of his kisses. He freed her arms to slide his fingers into her hair, groaning in frustration at all the pins. She smiled against his mouth, thinking how much worse it would have been if Batty had been able to do it up right that morning.
She grabbed his shoulders and was about to reach for his hair, aching to feel the soft strands between her fingers, when a soft clang came from behind them. He flung away from her and whirled around, murder in his eyes. She shivered at how dangerous he looked. But when no one was there to tear to pieces, he relaxed. He stood up and paced a few steps away just as two lads with a rope net between them came through the hobbit door.
Their eyes widened at the sight of Sir Tristan and they bowed, their noses almost touching the ground. They seemed delighted to see him. When they finally noticed Fay, who’d also stood and gathered up Tristan’s cloak, they only looked mildly confused.
“Oh, good morning to you, Lady Fay,” they said in unison. “It’s been ages since we saw you here. No book today?”
So, at least one of her counterparts must have visited here. Tristan scowled at the mention of it, scaring the boys to the edge of the stream before she could answer.
“You come here often?” he almost accused. “To read?”
“Not often,” she said, hating that everything had to be a lie or a half-truth. She wasn’t sure what had upset him so much, but he was clearly disgruntled about something. She hoped it was only being interrupted. When they were on the other side of the wall, she leaned against it. “Do we have to part so soon?” she asked.
Most of his troubled look cleared away and he stepped close, putting his hand on the wall behind her. “The castle is awake,” he said. “We can no longer be alone, though it pains me.”
“Supper,” she said. “I’ll see you then.”
He glanced around, leaned down and kissed her once more, quickly. Too quickly. She barely registered his lips touching hers before he was three steps away.
“Supper,” he threw over his shoulder as he strode off.
She touched her bottom lip, unable to stop a grin from forming. It was a start, a very good start, and she couldn’t wait to get further along.