Winter 1337—England

Unable to sleep, Richard paced the battlements. It had snowed last night, turning everything white. When he was tired of pacing, he walked about gazing at the repairs that had been made these past three years. The men had done well. His home would soon be a fortress.

His fearsome black reputation had men eager to stand before the gates of Bainford. They paid dearly in gold to cross swords with the beast. To best him. In the time he had spent here, isolated from others, Richard had amassed a large amount of hard-won gold. Enough to stock his larder and fund all necessary repairs and many improvements. None but the Irish would stay. Other men came but left within a day, swearing his home was haunted. The cowards told tales in the villages of how they had survived after seeing the beast, black as night, running through the forests, eyes red and glowing with the fires of hell. Dolts. The lot of them. With each tale, his reputation grew until Richard himself was impressed.

He had a new blacksmith, a giant of a man who told Richard he knew he was going to hell, so he would gladly keep company with the beast.

In the stables, Richard went to his horse, a great black stallion with a spot of white on his face.

“Shall we ride?” The horse nickered as Richard saddled him. He preferred to saddle his own mount—treachery in the king’s army had taught him well. The cloak and hood in place, he rode through the gates, only to see a lump cowering in the mud.

“Please, my lord. Don’t eat me.”

“By the saints.” Richard scowled at the pile of rags. The boy was puny, with bright red hair.

Richard dismounted, cursing wholeheartedly. The sound of riders approaching had him reaching for his sword.

“More offerings to the beast?” Garrick pointed at the boy cowering against the stone wall.

Grumbling, Richard stomped about for a bit. “You, boy.” The child yelped and crouched down, covering his head with his scrawny arms.

“Don’t scare the lad.” Garrick hauled the boy up. “Who brought you to Bainford?”

The boy swallowed a few times before getting the words out. “No one. I walked.”

“Walked? From where?” Richard frowned.

“Cornwall,” the boy squeaked.

Richard gaped at the boy. “Alone?”

The child nodded. “My da sold me to pay his debts. The man said I was no good to him, and he left me by the sea. Along the way I heard about the b—about Bainford.”

Garrick grinned at Richard. “And you came to face the beast? Were you not afraid?”

The boy trembled. “Aye. But I’ve nowhere else to go. Thought I might get a meal before the beast dragged me to hell.” He squinted at Richard. “You don’t look like a beast. My da had burns on his face like you. Got them when my uncle pushed him in the fire.” He looked through the tunnel. “Does the monster wander about during the day?”

“Cease,” Richard said. “Garrick, see the child to the kitchens. Merry will tell him what he needs do if he wishes to stay at Bainford.”

Chloe ran where the snow had been packed down like some sort of path, and walked or stumbled when it was too deep to run. Back home in Holden Beach, she’d have been curled up at Gram’s, drinking hot chocolate and watching the snow fall on the ocean. They didn’t get much snow, so whenever they did, it was a major event.

Between the numbness in her feet and the stitch in her side, Chloe knew she couldn’t keep up this pace for much longer. Gritting her teeth, she pressed a hand to her side and slogged onward, hoping the castle would appear soon.

Sometime later, nature called and she needed to rest. Chloe found a spot in some bushes and took care of business. Leaning against a tree, sucking in deep breaths, she almost missed the noise over the sound of her heart thumping in her ears. She hadn’t seen a road or single car or power line. The reality of the situation kept bouncing around in her head, but she kept pushing it away, not sure if she wanted it to be real or not. After all, some things sounded wonderful in theory, but in reality weren’t so great. Yes, it was the sound of horses.

“Nutella on toast.” Chloe was tired, sore, and grouchy. Not to mention hungry, since she’d run out of the pub without breakfast. Three men on horses rode into the clearing. Afraid they would spot her, Chloe dropped to her knees and crawled into the brush—not the bushes where she’d done her business, because that would be gross, but a huge clump of thick bushes with a natural or animal-made opening near the bottom. Using her elbows, she wriggled forward on her stomach until she could see through a gap. The clean smell of the forest and the snow cleared out her sinuses. It was starting to get to her that she hadn’t heard any planes or seen the contrails in the sky.

Thank goodness none of the men looked like that drunk creep from the pub. These men were dressed similarly to the men last night, though maybe a bit nicer—the fabric looked better quality. Something shiny caught her eye. Each of them had a knife or small sword hanging on their hip. Either the whole area was a big “welcome to the past” exhibit or she had done the one thing she’d dreamed about since she was a little girl.

It was hard not to yell. She felt both excitement at having made it to the past and sorrow. Because if she truly had traveled through time and not just wandered into some kind of playground for history buffs, she might not see her family ever again.

Chloe chewed on her lip. She hadn’t done anything but fall asleep. Somehow, the stones had sent her back in time. But to when? Based on what she’d seen, maybe the Middle Ages? But that was a lot of years, and some of them terrible. No, don’t get your hopes up yet. Make sure you really did it. The countryside of England could look the same now as hundreds of years ago, so until you know, no getting all giddy.

As she watched the men, trying to decide whether or not to come out and ask for help, one of them snarled at the other. There was an air of danger about the men, something about their demeanor. She’d been in a bad part of Durham one weekend with friends and they’d passed three guys on the street. No one said anything, but they all crossed the street and went into the first busy café she and her friends could find.

The men hadn’t done anything; it was more like an aura around them that she and her friends could see, telling them the men were trouble. These men had the same look. They certainly weren’t the chivalrous knights her granda had told her about. No, these guys would rob her, defile her, and slit her throat. Then use her body for a couch and eat their lunch. So she stayed hidden, watching, looking for clues as the day passed.

Cold and wet, Chloe decided the men were loud enough that they wouldn’t hear her moving in the brush. It was getting late in the day and she wanted to find the castle and ask for shelter before dark. Otherwise, being wet and without proper shoes or gloves, she’d freeze out here in the snow.

Hopefully she could buy food and a room for the night. Thank you, Granda, for the antique coins—or should she say modern-day coins? Because if she was right, her paper pound notes were now worthless, good only for kindling or toilet paper.

The sound of horses and voices made her freeze in place, half in and half out of the brush. Two men rode into the clearing and all hell broke loose.

The juxtaposition between the pretty falling snow and the clanging of swords was surreal. Chloe clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from screaming when one of the men fell to the ground a few inches from her face. Open, unseeing eyes looked through her as the snow turned red beneath him.

At that moment, Chloe was completely sure of three things:

1. The man in front of her was dead.

2. She had indeed traveled through time, and the bloodthirsty, violent stories her granda told her were not embellished.

3. Time travel was fun in theory but not so much in reality.

Chloe had always thought it would be so much fun to travel back in time and meet the Merriweather women she’d heard so much about. Have a few laughs, clear up some questions about things she’d always wondered about, and then go home. In her daydreams, she always came back home to her family. What was life without a family to anchor you in the world?

Since she had no idea how she’d traveled through time or how the stones worked—Granda had told her, but even he wasn’t really sure—Chloe would need every molecule of brainpower to blend in.

First, she’d find out when she was. Then she would use her money to hire a guide to escort her to Falconburg Castle, because she knew it wasn’t safe for a woman to travel alone. Once she’d arrived, she would ask to see Melinda Merriweather, introduce herself, spend a week or two there, and then go back to the stones and go home.

Elation to worry and back again in a big circle. Chloe’s emotions were all over the place. Elation because she was here in the past. Somewhere in medieval England. Worry because her mom, Arthur, and her grandparents would be worried they hadn’t heard from her. And when they couldn’t reach her on the phone? Not knowing what had happened to her? Would they figure out she’d traveled through time? More likely, they would think she had died just like Lucy Merriweather’s sisters had thought about her before they too traveled through time.

It wasn’t like Chloe could buy a ticket on a boat and go to America. She was hundreds of years away from everyone she loved. They hadn’t even been born yet. Well, Granda had. He had left the past in 1335. Wouldn’t it be funny if she ran into him? It was imperative she find out the year. Why hadn’t she asked the serving girl? At least Chloe knew it was the second of November. Weird how it was July in her time and winter now.

Thoughts flitted through her mind like fireflies on a hot summer night at the beach as she stayed still in the snow, wet and shivering. If she somehow managed to find Melinda, just wait until Chloe told her all about her granda. Her gram had told Chloe she’d never told her sister or nieces about Drake. Wouldn’t they be surprised?

“You there.”

A hand reached through and snatched Chloe’s hand. With a gasp, she scrabbled backward, striking the man’s hand with her other fist. When he didn’t let go, she grabbed hold of a branch, pulled it back as far as she could, and let it go. It smacked the man in the face. Snow fell on his head, and that was all the time she needed to escape.

Once again, Chloe found herself running from horrible men through the woods and snow. The men called after her, yelling to each other. The snow muffled the sounds; the crunch of the snow and her breathing was loud in her ears as she willed her legs to move faster.

They were gaining on her, close enough she could smell onion and body odor. Hoping it would help, Chloe breathed through her mouth and prayed. She burst out of the woods into a clearing. Ahead of her loomed a castle so stark and forbidding that it had to be Bainford, the one the girls told her about.

Digging deep within, she pushed harder than she ever had, willing her feet to go faster and make it to the castle in time. She only hoped the men inside were nicer than the ones chasing her. If anybody up there was listening, it would also be nice if the beast didn’t kill her on the spot.