Chapter 7
Marjorie finished filling the basin in Anne’s room and then straightened the bedclothes. As usual, she was worried about Anne, who’d been trying to hide her coughing fits. It was too busy, too bustling, and there were far too many guests at the castle so, of course, Anne wouldn’t admit to needing a break. At least Fay and Sir Tristan would leave soon, taking all of his loud, dirty squires and pages with them. She didn’t like the thought of losing Fay, though. And worse than that, Batty. They sometimes annoyed her with their girlish squealing and always tittering about whatever knights had passed through the castle. It seemed to her that the only things that mattered in a man to those two were a handsome face and an overly muscled body.
Still, she was happy that Fay was happy. Marjorie would learn to live with the loneliness of life without Batty, wondering how she’d get to sleep at night without her friend nattering away soothingly in her ear. At least she’d have the room to herself. And it looked like Sophie was going to be able to announce her engagement any day now, so eventually it would just be Anne left to take care of. Poor Anne. Marjorie didn’t think she should have given up on ever getting married. She positively hated Anne’s obstinate belief that she wouldn’t live long enough to be worthwhile to anyone as a wife.
Marjorie huffed, shaking out Anne’s cloak with so much fervor it made a cracking noise. If only she’d take better care of herself and stop pretending she was fine when she wasn’t. Then she wouldn’t get so overtired and end up having to be carried to bed by Gunther because she’d finally fainted. But she never listened to Marjorie. She only continued to relentlessly do her duty as the eldest Grancourt daughter.
“Help me in here, will you?” Batty called from Fay and Sophie’s chamber. Well, just Sophie’s chamber now.
“I keep forgetting it’s only Sophie in here now,” she said when she took the other side of the big, feather mattress and prepared to help Batty flip it. “You’d think we’d have more time but the amount of chores seems the same.”
“Yes, the chores are like rabbits, always multiplying,” Batty said in her ever-cheerful voice.
As much as the woman grated on her sometimes, she was going to miss Batty desperately when she left with Fay. And she knew it would only be a matter of time before word came that she’d be married to that rough squire, Brom. But, like Fay, whoever made them happy. After a lot of prodding and pushing and grunts of exertion, they finally got the mattress flipped. Marjorie collapsed onto it, to Batty’s consternation.
“Have a rest,” Marjorie urged. “And don’t look so scandalized. The bedding hasn’t been put on yet and if it was, Sophie wouldn’t care if she were to see us.”
Batty paused for a second before flopping beside her. “We still have the fireplaces,” she said, as close to complaining as she’d ever get. “But what did you think of that man from Sir Leo’s place?”
Marjorie wrinkled up her forehead, not knowing what Batty was talking about for a moment. Then she laughed. “I had almost completely forgotten him,” she admitted. “So I guess that tells you what I thought of him.”
“I thought he was rather handsome. In a scholarly way. Nothing like Brom.”
“He was clean. I’ll give him that,” Marjorie said, waiting for the poke she’d get for subtly denigrating Batty’s precious Brom. After Batty obliged her with a sharp finger to the ribs, she added, “But handsome? I think he was, too …” His looks came rushing back to her and she felt a blush spreading across her cheeks. He’d been slightly shorter than Sir Leo, but that man was too large. The new guest seemed closer to her ideal, if she had an ideal. Which she didn’t because she refused to ever marry and be under the thumb of some uneducated tyrant. “I suppose his hair was nice. A pretty color, I mean,” she said after Batty gasped. “I never admitted to thinking he was handsome. In fact, didn’t you think he looked a bit simple minded? He couldn’t put two words together to greet us.”
“He may have been shy or stunned by our beauty,” Batty said with a giggle. “I doubt he’s simple because Sir Leo said he’d been a chancellor for that Italian lord he used to serve.”
“Used to be,” Marjorie said. “If he was so good at it, don’t you think he’d still be in Italy?”
“How did you get to be so sour?” Batty asked, hoisting herself off the bed. Break time was over.
Marjorie didn’t deign to answer. She didn’t think she was sour. She simply had more notions in her head than handsome men. What had been the new guest’s name? Sir, no, Lord something of somewhere. She remembered more and more about his looks though she couldn’t place his name. Julian? It wasn’t a common name. His eyes had nearly goggled out of his head upon seeing them, but they’d been a lovely light blue. It went well with his spun-gold hair.
She snorted as she made her way to the fireplace on the floor below, needing to keep it burning so Sophie’s room didn’t get too cold. Batty’s notion that he’d been stunned at their beauty was absurd. Batty was merely pretty and she was … she couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at her reflection. On a whim, she took a quick detour back to Anne’s room, where there was a mirror.
She studied her pale face, rather too thin, like her body. At least not sickly thin like Anne. Marjorie thought she looked healthy enough, because her fair cheeks were always flaring bright pink at the merest hint of embarrassment. Her blonde hair had alarming coppery undertones, something she always thought was impertinent. It should have been plain blonde, to suit her station. And it always made such a point of coming out of its braids, like serpents with a grudge against her. She laughed ruefully at her vanity in wanting to take a peek at herself. She was what she’d always been. Certainly nothing to make a man lose his thoughts. Chancellor or no, he was probably as empty in the head as all the knights.
After stoking the fire, she went in search of Anne to find out if the new guest warranted a room or if he’d sleep in the great hall amongst the squires. If he got a room, it meant more chores for her. She’d never bemoaned her lot in life. She’d been at Grancourt Castle for as long as she could remember. Her childhood was nothing but a hazy blur and when she thought too hard about it, she got a vicious headache. So she didn’t think too hard about it, and was grateful she got to live in one of the finest castles in the land. Servant or not.
She’d walked the halls of the place so many times she barely paid attention. As usual, she was lost in her thoughts when she ran head on into someone.
Merciful heavens, it was the new guest. Was he lost? Generally, only the servants passed through this hall. He grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her from falling and apologized profusely. Really, he kept apologizing and not letting her get a word in.
“But why do they call you Marjorie?” he finally asked, his hands still on her shoulders.
Strangely enough, she didn’t shrug them off and, stranger still, she didn’t mind them being there.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, so flustered she hadn’t heard him properly. At least, she didn’t think she had.
“Why did my sis—Lady Sophie—call you Marjorie?”
Yes, she had heard him right and was awash with unexplainable disappointment at his daft question. “Because that’s my name, Lord Jeremy.”
“Jordan,” he quickly corrected. “But you know that, right?”
“I beg your pardon,” she said, ducking her head and finally gently extricating herself from his grasp. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“No, wait. Please.” She stopped and waited. He laughed nervously and ran his hand through the spun-gold hair. It flopped back onto his forehead, partially obscuring the pretty blue eyes. “Lyra?”
“Lyre? Liar?” she repeated.
“Ly-ra,” he said slowly, enunciating each syllable. Perhaps it was Italian? He held up his hands as if he might grab her shoulders again and she jumped. “Your name. Lyra, why are you doing this? No one’s around. It’s just us. Look, I really need you now. Please don’t—”
He was insane! As bad, no worse, than the impertinent squires who sometimes leered at her. This man was suggesting some sort of liaison here in the hallway merely because they were alone? And calling her some horrible name.
Where was Gunther in a situation like this? She couldn’t outright slap Lord Jordan. He was a guest. But she wouldn’t allow herself to be accosted. She knew Sir Walter would be on her side if it came down to her actually needing to slap him. He lowered his hands to his sides and she breathed easier. Looking past him, she judged the distance to the nearest door. It led to the kitchen, which would be well populated with kitchen boys who could serve as witnesses if they had to.
“I beg your pardon, Lord Jacob, but you’re mistaken as to my character. If you’re looking for that sort, I suggest you go to the village.”
He stared at her, his mouth slowly drifting open. “It’s Jordan. Character? That sort? Holy hell, do you think I want—that you’re a—” he stopped and ran his hand through his spun-gold hair.
God, Marjorie, the man insulted you. Don’t be admiring the pale, moonlight shade of his hair!
And yet, it was very pretty. Still, he was a rogue and a lecher and it looked like he was about to reach for her again. Yes, there went his grabby hands. She slid sideways and looked longingly at the kitchen door. How much trouble would she be in if she kicked him on her way past?
“Listen, Lyra—I mean Marjorie, if that’s what you want to be called here in the castle. You have to tell me what I’m doing here.”
She felt a tinge of pity for the obviously addled man. But when he lunged for her again, she squeaked in outrage.
“You’re a guest of the castle,” she reminded him. “A friend of Sir Leo. And I’m a servant and relation of Sir Walter. He won’t look kindly on anyone accosting me.”
“Accosting you? No, I would never.” He looked down at his outstretched hands, ready to do what he swore he wouldn’t, and dropped them to his sides, cheeks blazing. “I’m out of my element,” he said sadly. “I really need your help.”
“Well, I’m terribly sorry,” she said.
She put her head down and ran past him at full speed. Slamming the kitchen door behind her, she grabbed the nearest thing to hand, a large, wooden bowl.
“You unwell, Marjorie?” the cook asked, noticing how her hand shook as she clutched the bowl.
It didn’t seem the fiend would follow her in here. She shook her head at the cook, lowering the bowl.
“I’m fine, thank you. But a cup of wine wouldn’t be unwelcome.” As soon as she caught her breath, she’d need to find Batty and warn her of the pervert in their midst.
*
Jordan was freaking out. He admitted it. He’d been perfectly fine up until now, cocky even. Even his sister making him think about their mom and dad grieving for them both hadn’t taken the wind from his sails. But Lyra pretending not to know who he was had shaken him.
And on top of it, he didn’t know how to get back to Leo’s room, where he’d unfortunately be staying. Though he had to admit it was nice of him to tag the “lord” onto his name. Sophie assured him he’d have better luck with the ladies thanks to that. And he’d assured her he wouldn’t need to fall in love—ha! As if he could fall in love with someone from this time. All he had to do was speak to Lyra and see what the plan was to get them all home.
“Jordan. Pay attention,” his sister had said, following them up to Leo’s room. “Marjorie is Anne’s maid. She’s not your witch. She can be a little grumpy sometimes, but she is most definitely not your witch.”
God, his sister was bossy. Anyone would think she was the older one, but he had two years on her and he’d stood his ground. Then he promised to stay in the room while she and Leo went and apprised Fay of his existence. Something he was assured she wouldn’t be happy about, which was why he had to stay in the room. He was fine with that, not wanting another angry female attacking him.
As soon as they were gone, though, he went in search of Lyra. He figured she was using her glamor to trick everyone in the castle into thinking she was their longtime maid. As soon as they were alone, she’d come clean with him.
But when he did finally track her down and was alone with her, she’d acted like she wasn’t Lyra. He wanted to shake her. She’d promised him she could get him home. As much as he loved his sister and wanted to see her alive again, he never, ever would have come to another time if he didn’t think he could get back. Especially not this backwards time.
He tried backtracking the way he’d come, but he’d been so intent on following Lyra he hadn’t been paying attention to the twists and turns of this place. And though he’d memorized the layout while he was there in his own time, it had been mostly wrecked then. And what was still standing then didn’t make sense to him now. It was like he was in a different castle.
Well, it has been six hundred some years, he thought. It probably would have been remodeled countless times over the ages.
He finally found a staircase he recognized and made it back to Leo’s room. There, he found not just his sister glaring angrily at him, not just Leo, but a new couple gave him dirty looks when he entered the room. He decided to pretend everything was fine.
“You’re Fay,” he said excitedly. He hurried forward with his hand out, but the burly man next to her, who’d been scowling especially hard, stepped in front of him.
“She is Fay,” the man said. “You can stay where you are.”
“It’s okay, Tristan,” Fay said. “He’s harmless.” She reached around Tristan’s bulk and shook Jordan’s hand.
He really wished people would stop underestimating him. He was from a more civilized time, sure, but he could hold his own.
“Fay and Tristan are married,” Sophie said. “She should have broken the curse, but it cheated. Or they didn’t make the time limit. Which is whatever the curse says it is, by the way.”
Fay whispered in Tristan’s ear then turned back to the group. “He has a difficult time understanding when we talk about the curse. He can only really hear when I say it, so I was repeating what Sophie said. But I told him I’d recap for him later, so please speak freely.”
“You can understand though, right?” he asked Leo. Leo nodded.
“Another glitch in the curse, because I was never supposed to be here,” Sophie said. “There was never a third sister and, for some reason, Leo remembered that. You’re really not supposed to be here, so the curse is probably about to go haywire. That is why we need to act fast. Leo’s going to ask Fa—Sir Walter for my hand and then we’re going to plan the biggest wedding we can in the shortest amount of time we can. Hopefully, one of the guests will catch your eye.”
He wanted to argue, say that Lyra would take care of everything and nobody needed to have a wedding. Did his sister really love that big troll of a man or was she only trying to break the curse? It felt rude to ask with the troll standing right there, glowering at him.
“We’re going to take your silence as agreement,” Fay said tartly. “Which is good. You’ll notice no one jumped on you for being so incredibly stupid as to knowingly put on a cursed garment.”
“You’re kind of jumping on him now,” Sophie said.
Fay took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry. Sorry. You’re right. But how could anyone be so stupid? Especially since you, his only sister, died the same way.”
“Your uncle convinced me you were both still alive,” he said, finally needing to defend himself. And Lyra had convinced him they could get back. “He wanted to know for sure that you were healthy and happy here, since that book you wrote made him certain you were alive.” There. He felt like a jerk when her face fell and her shoulders drooped.
“Look, this is why we agreed not to jump on him in the first place,” Sophie said, hurrying over to pat Fay on the arm. “We’re all culpable in some way. All we can do now is move forward and break the damned thing once and for all.”
All eyes turned to him, even Tristan’s, who didn’t know what was going on. “That means you have to fall in love, Lord Jordan,” Fay said.
He wasn’t giving up on Lyra. Her odd behavior earlier might had been a test of some sort. Maybe she’d been injured during her time travel and truly didn’t remember him. He’d make her remember him. But the angry mob surrounding him didn’t want to believe he had a way home so …
“Fine,” he said. “Good. Bring on the ladies. I can’t wait to show them the goods.”
“Bleck. Too far, Jordan,” Sophie said.