Page 1 of Halloween Knight (A Knights Through Time Romance #17)
Who would have ever guessed that Lucy Merriweather, a nobody from a small beach town in North Carolina, would fall through time and end up with her very own castle in medieval England?
Not her, not in a million years.
Yet here she stood on the battlements of Blackford Castle, woolen shawl around her shoulders to ward off the chill, looking out over the land.
The men were used to her coming up here, and knowing she wanted time to herself, simply nodded and left her to her thoughts.
“My lady.” The guard dipped his head as he passed.
The man looked disgustingly alert, considering how early, or how late, depending on your frame of mind it was, not to mention the lack of coffee.
From what she remembered, coffee didn’t appear until the 16th century. Surely, there was some way to get her caffeine fix? Maybe an adventurous traveler would make his or her way to England, bearing the delicious beans? Or tea. She’d be just as happy with tea.
Thinking of coffee led her down roads that were best avoided, especially during this time of year.
Whilst Lucy might not have been a warrior like her husband, she’d fought tooth and nail for her happily ever after, made the choice to stay here in medieval England with her very own knight. What did the romantics say?
Right.
Love always found a way.
The crisp autumn wind tousled her long brown hair, mischievously obscuring her vision.
Lucy reached into the pocket of the apron she wore over her clothes for a bit of green ribbon, swiftly braiding the unruly locks.
Once that was done, she wrapped a scarf she’d crocheted around her neck and ears to keep warm.
The winds off the ocean were stronger in the fall and winter, and were the main reason she would never cut her hair short as she needed all the warmth she could get.
Okay, so maybe she was a little vain. After all, her hair was her best feature, long and thick with pretty gold highlights in the summer from the sun.
Why hadn’t she grabbed a cloak on her way out here? It wasn’t like it had been a nightmare. No, the dream that jolted her awake was of her life before—her aunts, sisters, and the scorching humid summers in Holden Beach.
The yearning to smell the ocean, to taste the salt on her skin, was so strong that she’d jumped out of bed, barely holding in a gasp as her feet hit the cold floor.
She stumbled to the door, grabbing a scarf on her way out and had run down the corridors to the battlements, letting the chilly air soothe her jumbled thoughts.
While she could have sat in the window seat in their chamber and looked out, even opened the window to smell and gaze upon the sea, it wasn’t the same as leaning over the battlements and looking out at nothing but ocean all the way to the horizon.
Where had the time gone? It had been four years since Lucy had fallen through time and landed in medieval England.
Whilst William was wonderful, the kind of husband she’d only dared to dream of ever finding, not to mention her children, whom Lucy loved more than life itself, she’d still had a difficult time adjusting to the customs and behaviors of this time.
Not to mention the superstitions, which still hovered around her like a cloud of mosquitos after all these years. All because of horrible, awful Clement.
With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, savoring the salty sea air. When she opened them again, she gazed out over the turbulent gray waters of the North Sea stretching out before her, comforted by the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, as she watched the sky shift from night to day.
William always said that her gray eyes were the color of a winter storm or that they reminded him of the ocean in winter. Who knew such a gruff, intimidating man could be so very romantic?
The rugged landscape that had become her home tugged at her heart, along with the imposing castle and fierce warriors that protected the lands.
This place was so very different from the humid, sweltering summers of Holden Beach, North Carolina. Even the ocean here looked different, though, as she tasted the salt on her lips, she could almost imagine herself back in her own time. In the future.
Here at Blackford, waves crashed against the rocks, violent and deafening, while in Holden, some days the waves boomed against the shore and other days they gently rolled in, the wet sand glittering like diamonds.
In her old life, it was hot well into November, but here?
It was already chilly during the day and downright cold at night.
Her hands and feet were always cold, no matter how close she came to burning them before the roaring fire.
Had her sisters held a nice funeral for her? Maybe Aunt Pittypat and her friends had conducted a ritual on the beach under the full moon to bid her farewell into the afterlife?
Aunt Mildred, Lucy was sure, would have attended the ritual, but with her trademark perpetual frown.
There had to be some way Lucy could leave a message, a sign that would endure through the ages, to let them know she was alive. Not only alive, but thriving. In love with a good man, mother to two adorable boys.
Over the years, she’d contemplated burying a note in a bottle or writing in a journal, but so far, hadn’t made any decisions.
Fear of the wrong eyes stumbling upon the message had held her back, especially after Clement almost killed her soon after she’d first arrived. He’d believed she was a fairy or a witch, either of which could get you hanged or burned at the stake in this day and age.
A pitiful meow broke her out of her reverie as Thor, her gray cat with golden eyes, rubbed against her skirts, voicing his displeasure at the wind ruffling his fur. He was very particular about his fur .
“Come on, let’s go inside. No sense fretting about the things we can’t change.”
Thor blinked up at her, then darted through the door just as a young guardsman stepped out onto the battlements, nodding respectfully.
“Good morn to you, my lady.”
“And to you,” she replied, unable to recall his name. He was new, a mere boy sent far from his family to foster at Blackford.
Her heart ached at the thought of her own sons, Jason, and Peter, whom she would have to send away to foster with another family when the time came.
It had been hard enough to entrust their care to wet nurses and nannies, but Lucy had attempted to fit in with the time and customs, only changing things that would improve their lives here at Blackford, things she didn’t think would make a difference if she kept them inside the castle walls, like fried chicken and cookies.
At least she hoped her actions thus far hadn’t rippled through time.
As to changing the current views people had regarding women, childcare, medicine, and so forth and so on, Lucy decided baby steps were the best way to accomplish change without bringing down any unwanted suspicion on her head.
William cautioned her to be careful, to fit in, and to be wary of the villagers who were a superstitious lot.
Surely, improving hygiene practices wouldn’t alter history too drastically? Especially with what was coming. Sickness and plague. Simple handwashing and cleanliness would go a long way to helping people stay healthy.
Some days, contemplating the potential consequences of her actions gave her a headache.
Why was she so melancholy today? It wasn’t uncommon for William to be gone for a few days, either attending to some minor skirmish or being called to court, so it wasn’t because he was gone, currently attending on the king.
He had taken Albin with him. The boy she’d met when she first arrived was now twelve. He’d been a part of her personal guard until Lucy saw how much he watched William.
After she talked to her husband, she told Albin she wished him to watch out for Lord Blackford, to be his squire so she could rest easy when they were away.
The young man made her laugh so hard sometimes her sides ached.
The castle had been quieter with him gone, but he was in his element and she wanted him to do well in life.
Inside Blackford, Lucy strolled along torch lit stone walls, adorned with vibrant tapestries that depicted tales of chivalry and battles. Her fingers brushed against the rough wood of the heavy furniture, an anchor to the past she had been thrust into when she first arrived here in 1307.
A smile touched her lips as she remembered the chaise that Norbert, the castle carpenter, had built for her to put in her cozy tower room, where she crocheted and spent a bit of time by herself.
Everyone needed a room of their own. At least that’s what Aunt Pittypat and her sisters always said.
William admired her chaise so much that she had one made for him, complete with a down-stuffed cushion, which she’d placed in the solar.
Norbert had built two more after one of William’s friends complained about her husband reclining in the chaise while he had to sit on an ordinary stool by the fire.
The flickering flames from the torches cast dancing shadows down the stone corridors, and the scent of burning wood filled the air, sending a sharp pain through her chest as the smell brought to mind the Halloween celebrations she and her sisters had cherished growing up.
Aunt Pittypat spared no effort in decorating their beach cottage, making it the most popular one on the street.
On Friday nights, Lucy, Melinda, and Charlotte were allowed to stay up late and hang out with their aunt’s friends.
Here in medieval England, people would accuse her aunt of being a witch. Aunt Pittypat believed in ghosts, and Lucy remembered her talking to Lucy’s parents every day after their deaths, telling them the latest news about Lucy and her sisters, and the gossip around their small town.
Her aunt was a new age hippie with impeccable southern manners who would dance naked under the full moon and then serve snacks afterward on china that was over two hundred years old.