The Gift of Time Read online

  His expression couldn’t have been more perplexed if she’d asked for a deep-fried gerbil. But then he must have taken in the way she was jigging on the spot, because his face cleared. “The garderobe is down there.” He pointed to a narrow door at the end of the passage.

  She made a dash for it and flung open the door. “Oh, sodding hell.” This was taking the medieval castle look too far. The toilet consisted of a wooden seat with a hole set upon a stone ledge. Sprigs of lavender hung from the rafters, but they couldn’t disguise the whiff emanating from the hideous depths lurking below the seat. Still, needs must.

  By the time she returned to Ralph, she was all the more determined to find out what was happening and get back home. Or break out of the nightmare. Or whatever weird world she was stuck in. Anything to avoid using that garderobe thing again. Although she had to admit the soft rags had made a luxurious substitute for toilet paper. And there had, at least, been a basin, a jug of fresh water and soap for washing.

  “Are you going to let me go now?”

  “Not until you tell me why you’re here.”

  “I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t want to be.” The words poured out in frustration. “One moment I was by the mere, the next I was here.”

  “But before the mere, where did you come from?”

  “I told you. My house. You must have seen it. You were there.” Don’t think about where they were now, or the strange business with the language. If she could just get home, shut herself away, where she felt safe, everything would return to normal. She should never have tried that mad new start ceremony. What was wrong with isolating herself from the world anyway?

  Ralph shook his head and marched to the door. “Edith!”

  A door creaked open farther down the passage, and Kat heard footsteps approach. A middle-aged woman in a drab gown appeared. “My lord?”

  “The lady Katherine requires help with her gown and veil, and some dry shoes. Bring her to the solar when she is suitably attired to go outside.”

  Kat’s head snapped up. “You’re going to let me go home?”

  “I’m going to prove you’re lying.”

  Chapter Four

  Kat suppressed a gasp of wonder as she was ushered into the solar. Three large windows, all with window seats, allowed light to stream in. A huge carved fireplace dominated the opposite wall; the heat from the blazing fire warmed her cheeks even from this distance. Four wooden chairs with bright cushions invited her to take her ease beside the hearth. What struck her most was the mural, painted on the plastered walls, in shades of terracotta, yellow, and red. It depicted a spreading vine with tiny birds peeping out from the foliage. This was like no other room she’d ever seen. Although she’d been shut away like a hermit for the past three years, she was sure she’d have heard if someone had recreated a medieval household in the town. Everything she saw only created more questions.

  Ralph sat at a small table, frowning at an open scroll. A woman perched on a stool beside him, bent over an embroidery. It was the same woman who had been in her room earlier. Ralph rose when Kat entered and swept her with an appraising glance that set her insides aflutter. It proved her decision to mix with others again was correct. She was so unused to being with men, Ralph’s presence flustered her. Nothing to do with him being one of the hottest men she’d ever met. Once she’d been in company with others, she’d be more prepared for the sight of a good-looking man.

  The woman also rose and dashed forward to take Kat’s hands.

  “My dear, I’m so glad to see you looking better. I’m Lady Eleanor, Ralph’s mother. Welcome to Whitwell.”

  “Thank you.” Kat studied Lady Eleanor’s face but could see no consciousness that living in what could only be described as medieval conditions, wearing old-fashioned clothes, was an odd choice of lifestyle. She edged closer to the fire, grateful for the warmth after the chilly passageway. Why anyone would choose to live off grid in this day and age was a complete mystery.

  Ralph approached. “I’m glad to see you more suitable attired, my lady.” Again, he treated her to an appraising sweep of the eyes. Kat’s stomach performed a flip. She looked away and self-consciously smoothed the skirts of her gown. She’d been unable to get the lacings right when she’d tried dressing herself, but with the maid’s help, the gown now hugged her figure. She had to admit to a thrill at wearing such a beautiful costume. It was like all her girlhood dreams come true. The skirts trailed behind her upon the rush matting, and the way the sleeves flared from the elbow into a trumpet shape, revealing the tight sleeves of her shift beneath made her feel like a princess. As did the filmy veil, held to her head by a linen band, embroidered to match her girdle in gold thread and studded with seed pearls.

  She composed herself, raising her chin. No way would she let Ralph see the effect he had on her. “You said you were going to let me go outside.”

  “I said I would prove you were lying.”

  “I don’t know how, considering I’m not.”

  “Come with me.”

  He led her through the solar to a door on the far side. It opened onto another spiral staircase, leading up. A leaden lump of dread settled in her stomach, and she pulled back. “Not more stairs.”

  “It’s not far.” Ralph placed a hand in the small of her back and ushered her into the stairwell. “I’ll be right behind you. You can’t fall.”

  Kat drew a deep breath. It didn’t look like she had much choice. Thankfully these stairs were wider and more even than the others. She fixed her eyes on the wall and began to climb. It was easier going up; she was aware all the time of Ralph’s solid body right behind her. Although he no longer touched her, warmth still radiated from the place where his hand had rested.

  A few steps up, she stumbled over her hem. Immediately Ralph’s hands were round her waist, steadying her, and she was enveloped in the scent of leather and spices. “I’ve got you.” His breath caressed the nape of her neck and pleasurable ripples swept across her flesh. What was he doing to her? For a moment she forgot her fear and leaned against him. It was a long time since she’d been touched by anyone, let alone a man. Not since Rob.

  Rob! Her mind screamed a warning, and she pulled away from Ralph’s hold. She stumbled up the remaining stairs, fighting to breathe against the tightness of her chest. It felt wrong to enjoy another man’s touch. Disloyal.

  It was only when a cold breeze ruffled her veil that she became aware of a door ahead. “Through here?” She marveled at how calm her voice sounded.

  “Yes. It leads out onto the roof. Stay back from the edge if you’re afraid of heights.”

  She pressed the latch and caught her breath at the sight that met her eyes. It had snowed overnight, and a thick white carpet covered the roof. She stepped out, the snow crunching beneath her thin leather soles. The clouds had cleared from the sky, and dazzling sunlight sparkled from each individual snow crystal. Ralph stepped out behind her, so she edged farther out, trying to put a comfortable distance between them while staying back from the edge.

  This was definitely a castle. They stood on top of a round tower with crenelated walls. She inched another step forward and squinted at the view, careful not to look down. Hills rose around them, snowy crests rising above thick woods. Snow layered the bare branches and the tops of the walls. She looked eagerly around, searching for a clue to her location. The hills looked both familiar and strange. She was sure she recognized them, yet there was something out of place. Something that nagged at her subconscious. If only she could work out what it was.

  “Why have you brought me up here?”

  “To show you the mere.” Ralph strode to the wall, leaving a trail of footprints. He beckoned her across.

  She approached the wall with caution. Ralph put a steadying arm around her waist and this time she didn’t pull away but leaned into him, her knees quaking. Heights always made her dizzy. That was the only reason her head was spinning. Nothing to do with the heat of Ralph’s fingers burning through
the wool of her gown.

  This close to the edge she couldn’t prevent a glance down, and she found herself looking into a courtyard. People milled below, all wearing the same style of clothing: long, belted tunics. Was this some kind of strange sect? And what were they doing? They seemed to be working around pits with fires burning inside. It was hard to see from this angle. Then the wind changed direction, bringing with it an aroma of roasting meat. They were roasting whole animals! Now she knew what to look for, she was able to pick out turning spits, threaded with carcasses. She couldn’t tell what they were, had no desire to look too closely. What was wrong with roasting a pork joint in the oven?

  Buildings were dotted around the courtyard. Some little more than thatched wooden sheds, others substantial stone buildings, including one that looked like a chapel and a large oblong building beside the tower. Noises drifted up: the hum of conversation, interspersed with the occasional shout; the ring of hammer upon metal; a horse whinnying.

  A prickle of unease ran down her spine. If such a place existed near her home, she would surely have heard of it. And it hadn’t escaped her notice that Ralph referred to the castle as Whitwell.

  “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “Over there.” He pointed to a spot the other side of the tower from the courtyard.

  Sunlight glittered on a body of water. A lake, bounded by woods. Kat felt as though she’d received a punch to the stomach, driving the air from her lungs. It couldn’t be.

  All fear of heights forgotten, she ran across the roof to the bit of wall closest to the lake. Now she could see the tower rose from a mound, and the courtyard was built on a lower one that formed a platform beside the shore. There were no buildings anywhere else. Yet this was Whitwell Mere. She had grown up here. The shape of the mere, the contours of the surrounding hills were engraved upon her mind. This was her home. Where was the small market town that should be clustered at the base of the hills? The web of electricity cables? The buildings where the famous Whitwell Springwater was bottled? Most important of all, where was the house that had stood for centuries on the southern shore? Its pointed eaves and walled garden should be plain to see, but in its place towered gnarled, ancient oaks.

  A wave of nausea struck, her knees gave way, and she slid down the wall to huddle at its base, heedless of the snow.

  “Lady Katherine?” Ralph crouched down beside her.

  “It was never there, was it?”

  “What?”

  “My house. It’s not there. There’s never been one, has there?” No wonder Ralph thought she was lying.

  “No.”

  She looked at Ralph’s hand braced upon the wall beside her. He had long, square-tipped fingers. His sleeve had pulled back slightly, revealing a strong forearm and a dusting of dark hair. A crescent-shaped scar stood out, white, against the base of his thumb.

  All this detail. She never had dreams this vivid. She could see every grain in the deep red sandstone block his hand rested upon, a faint line of green moss along the join between blocks, the way the mortar crumbled. The icy air burned her nostrils with every breath. She wasn’t dreaming it. Whatever “it” was.

  Her hand crept to her throat, and once again she clutched for the coin until she remembered it was no longer there.

  Ralph rose, brushing down his tunic. “Now we’ve put an end to this nonsense, perhaps you will answer my questions. This time I want the truth.”

  You can’t handle the truth! A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her throat, and she only just curbed the impulse to yell the obvious reply. Obvious to her, anyway; she doubted Ralph would get the reference to her father’s favorite movie.

  And she wasn’t sure she could handle the truth, either.

  She staggered to her feet and fixed her eyes upon an oak that stood where her living room should be. Its trunk was huge, twisted. It had to be centuries old. Maybe as much as a thousand years. “Will you answer a question of mine first?”

  “That depends upon the question.”

  “What year is this?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Please. Just tell me.”

  “It’s the first year of King John’s reign.”

  A strange sensation of floating above her body swept over her, and she gripped the wall, her fingers sinking into the snow. King John. Thanks to her voracious appetite for historical books and films, she knew that put her in the year 1199. It couldn’t be true, yet how else to explain what she was experiencing? She had thrown her coin into the mere, and somehow it had brought her here. The same place, but over eight hundred years in the past.

  Chapter Five

  “Lady Katherine, are you unwell?” Ralph touched her arm, alarmed at the frozen expression on her face. He had brought her up here to challenge her, force her to tell the truth, but from her lost expression, she had truly believed her home to be beside the mere. Whatever the truth, he was no longer convinced she was here to spy.

  And he couldn’t forget how she had appeared from nowhere, like a solid figure forming from a mist. He shivered.

  No, that was a foolish fancy. He hadn’t noticed her in the dark, and that was all there was to it. Now she was here, she was his responsibility. He should do what his father would have told him to do from the start: provide shelter and do his best to find her family. He’d let his fears for the future of Whitwell color his behavior toward her. Well, from now on he would put that right.

  “Lady Katherine, come down to the solar with me. It’s too cold to stay up here.”

  This time he seemed to reach her; she gave a start and turned. She stepped away from the wall, then her gaze fell on the doorway and she faltered. Hellfire! He didn’t want a repeat of her earlier encounter with the stairs.

  “I’ll walk in front. Place your feet on the widest part of the steps.”

  This arrangement worked well. Katherine was still hesitant, but she descended without incident. After her sharp-tongued responses of earlier, it was a new experience to see her accept his help without question. What she had seen—or, rather, not seen—beside the mere had clearly affected her deeply. There was a mystery here he intended to uncover. He might not suspect her of lies any more, but if he was to help her, he must know what was wrong.

  She was so lost in a dream she didn’t react when he took her hand and placed it on his arm to lead the way to the solar. He reacted, though. He could no longer deny the jolt of attraction at the touch of their hands, the heat coursing through his flesh from the light pressure of her hand on his arm. She was the first woman he’d met who hadn’t been over-awed by his status. He should be shocked at the way she defied him, answered his questions with questions of her own or outright rudeness. She had a delightfully strange choice of phrases. He didn’t even understand a lot of what she said, but somehow, he doubted it meant of course, my lord; right away, my lord. And what a refreshing change that was.

  Yet there were cracks in her appearance of assurance, moments of vulnerability. And he recognized that. Oh, he knew all too well the feeling of being compelled to behave in a certain way, while praying no one got a glimpse of the flawed, unworthy person beneath the harsh exterior.

  Once they entered the solar, he led her to a seat by the fire. The heat was welcome after the piercing chill of the tower roof. His mother was no longer there—probably inspecting the preparations for the feast. He poured a cup of wine for each of them then sat opposite her chair, studying her face. “I’ve answered your question.” As strange as it was. Who lost track of the year? Especially a year which saw a new king take the throne. “Now tell me where you are from.”

  She took a sip of her drink, then studied her cup as though she’d never seen a wine goblet before. “I don’t know,” she replied finally. Even her voice intrigued him. He couldn’t place the accent, but it made her sound exotic. As though she came from a distant place filled with wonders. “I can’t explain what’s happened to me. I…I’m not aware of traveling, but I must have done. I
thought I was near my home, but you’ve shown me my mistake.”

  He leaned forward to get a closer view of her face. The firelight gave it an amber glow, lighting the delicate lines of her cheekbones, the elegant column of her neck. She raised a hand to her throat. It was a gesture he’d noticed before. It seemed automatic, and there was always that brief flicker of confusion in her eyes, as though her fingers failed to find what she expected.

  Much as he’d felt all morning whenever he’d missed his father’s signet ring from his right hand. His mother hadn’t noticed yet. The longer that lasted the better. He cringed inwardly at trying to explain the moment of madness that had overcome him last night when he’d received Hywel ap Morgan’s message.

  “Have you been ill?” Maybe she’d wandered in a fever. That would explain why she’d come here with no cloak or pack. Only surely a woman of her status would not have been left alone in her illness.

  She shook her head, frowning. “I don’t feel as though I’ve been ill.”

  “But you mentioned a mere, and your house.”

  She gave a brittle laugh. “Isn’t it strange that we should both come from places with a mere?”

  Ralph clenched his jaw. She was still hiding something. God’s blood, what did it take to make her tell the truth? He couldn’t afford to appear weak. His instincts told him she meant no harm, but he needed to be sure. There was too much at stake to trust his gut feeling. With the Welsh raids on one side, and King John’s demands for money on the other, the danger of his father’s legacy being undone had never been greater.

  “Are you Welsh?” He flung out the question in Welsh. “If you are, I’ll hang your body from the tower.”

  She shook her head, a puckered furrow between her brows. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Was that Welsh? I don’t speak it.”

  There was no hint of comprehension in her eyes. No flicker of fear at the threat of hanging. Not that he would harm a woman, but she wasn’t to know. Some of the tension uncoiled in his stomach. Whatever secret she was hiding, spying for the Welsh wasn’t it. “I was merely asking if you were Welsh.”