Page 12 of Last Knight (Knights Through Time #7)

“Remember the old passage from the cellar that leads to the river?” Christian looked to both his men, who nodded as they rode out of the tavern.

“If anyone asks, tell them ’tis good to have another escape route in case of attack.”

There was an old entrance that had not been used as long as he could remember. Christian had heard his grandfather speak of the passage being used for smuggling back in his day.

“Aye, we will see it done.” Walter swung up on his horse.

“Make haste to Winterforth. I will follow.”

“My lord, you should not travel alone. ’Tis not safe.” Ulrich frowned.

“Do as I bid. I will take care.” He needed time to be Christian.

Not Christian Thornton or Lord Winterforth, but a man.

He envied the smuggler, Morien, for his freedom and that he cared not what was said about him.

In truth, Christian envied how Morien seemed to be content with who he was, while Christian struggled to live up to his family’s expectations and be what his people needed .

He had never spent an entire day lazing about, never had a time in his life when he wasn’t a noble, never had a woman see him as a man and nothing else. Did they only care for him because he was rich and noble? The thoughts plagued him as he rode.

On the third day of his travels, he made camp in the wood. ’Twas twilight, his favorite time of day, and he was out walking. When he walked, he found it easier to think on what he ought to do and of all the needs he must meet. As long as he was breathing, none would starve; he would see it done.

He heard the sound of water, and without thought his feet turned toward the sound. The wool would fetch a good price, enough to see the mill rebuilt.

A scream shattered the silence. ’Twas a woman. Christian ran toward the noise to see a woman sink under the water. He kicked off his boots, dropped the sword, and dove in, gasping as the cold stole his breath.

The woman surfaced and went down again, the dress dragging her down to the bottom.

Christian grabbed hold of her and pulled her to him. “Halt. I have you.”

Untamed green eyes looked at him as she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth. Her teeth were chattering so hard that he thought she might bite through her blue lips. Senseless from the cold, she muttered foolish words he dismissed, until one word in particular made him blink.

Cold much colder than the river flooded through his body. Nay. It could not be. ’Twas not possible.

For Christian would swear he had heard her say the words phone and car . Unfortunately, he knew both words. His brothers and cousins were married to women who knew well those words.

Yet if she was what he thought, why was she dressed so?

As he pulled her onto the bank and rolled her to her side, helpfully patting her on the back, he cursed in every language he knew.

He did not have time for a future girl. Did not want the aggravation or the trouble she would cause. For they all caused trouble.

She retched again, mumbling foolishness.

“Apologies, my lady.”

Green eyes glared up at him. The color of the forest, deep and full of womanly secrets.

“You’re going to crush my bones if you keep pounding me on the back like that.”

Abashed, he stopped. “We needs get warm or we will freeze. Can you stand?”

“Of course I can stand. I’m not helpless.” She got to her feet, swayed, and fell, crying out. Christian caught her before she hit the ground.

“Mayhap I should aid you, lady.” There was pain in her eyes and the way her mouth tightened made him ask. “Are you injured?”

She was cradling her hand to her body.

“When I fell, my nail ripped off, and I cut my leg when I rolled down the damn hill. And I think I also twisted my ankle. I hate the country.” Her skin was clear and smooth, the color of a fresh winter snow. Her eyes fluttered closed.

Christian let out a long, weary sigh as he carried her, knowing he was now responsible for her. Let him be wrong and she have a husband or chaperone looking for her. Saints, he prayed she was not a future girl. He was betrothed, and should not note how fetching she looked when she scowled at him.

As he carried her to his makeshift camp, Christian looked for signs of a struggle.

Finding none, he sighed, building up the fire to dry them both.

The light on her hair reminded him of winter wheat, the locks curling over her shoulder.

He looked closer to see pearls woven in the strands.

Nay, she must be a lass run away from a husband or set upon by thieves.

Her form was pleasing—not that he lingered overlong.

And her dress, it marked her as a merchant or minor noble, but he was certain he had heard the words, hadn’t he?

Or perchance he mistook what she said? When she woke, he would have speech with her and find out.

While he watched her slumber, he made a choice.

He would not tell her who he was. He would be Christian, the wool merchant.

Not a laughingstock. The names Christian Thornton and Lord Winterforth would not pass his lips.

Once they arrived home, he would summon aid.

Her sire would come for her…or he would send for his brothers, and their wives would know how to send her back to her own time.

He would marry his betrothed and not think on her again.

The girl cried out, and he gathered her in his arms. For a moment the ever-present loneliness within him receded.

Christian cocked his head. There was an odd noise, one he had not heard before, that came from her.

The sound was faint. He leaned close and noticed a fine bracelet on her arm.

It was the source of the sound. Ear against the bracelet, he heard the ticking sound.

It grew fainter and fainter until it stopped.

There were numbers on the bracelet with lines pointing to them.

A clock. Unlike any he had ever seen. So small. Why had it stopped moving? The tiny clock loomed large as all of England as the knowledge settled within him.

The fates were laughing at him, for she was from the future.

Ashley woke warm and content, feeling safe and secure. Her eyes fluttered open and she jolted the rest of the way awake. The man holding her wasn’t Ben or the model—he was the man who’d saved her from drowning.

The events of last night flashed before her eyes.

She remembered rolling down the hill, cutting herself, and then the awful bridge giving way, dumping her into the frigid water.

It had been so cold, the frigid waters stealing her breath, squeezing her lungs, and the dress—it was so heavy that it pulled her down even as she frantically tried to keep her head above the water.

The man mumbled in what sounded like French as she eased herself from his arms. He rolled over, and she took a moment to look at him, noticing his face and hair.

The blond was almost an exact match to her own color, and just as long.

Memories flooded in, and she knew he had blue eyes, full of concern as he told her not to worry, he had her.

And in the moment she had utterly believed him, knew she was safe.

Why were they in the woods? Was it some kind of primitive campsite?

Was he a backpacker or— please not —a homeless guy?

Ashley leaned over and sniffed. He didn’t smell of body odor, more like smoke and earth and male. Wow, he had long, thick lashes. Why did men always get the perfect lashes when women had to shell out thousands over their lifetime on mascara?

He was dressed in something similar to what she’d seen in Mary’s shop. Then she remembered: the theater. But why camp out dressed in costume? So many questions.

“What time is it?” She looked at her watch and blinked back spots, feeling faint as her world tilted. Her watch had stopped at four thirty. It was obviously morning, which meant she’d missed the party and lost out to Mitch.

“My phone.”

Frantic, she dug in the pockets of her dress before remembering it falling into the water, the screen cracked and black when she finally fished it out of the water, only to lose it in the fall.

“Hellfire and damnation.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. The horrid Southern drawl hadn’t passed her lips since she’d spent every penny she could scrape together working a second job during school to pay to erase it years ago. What was happening?

“Don’t panic.” She’d borrow money from the actor sleeping at her feet, get a phone, and call Mr. Havers.

Surely he’d understand an accident. Then she was chartering a helicopter and arriving with a splash.

It wasn’t too late to salvage her career.

For a moment she thought about waking the guy and demanding his phone, but he looked so peaceful that she let him be.

After all, he’d saved her life—the least she could do was let him sleep.

Her shoulders slumped and she hunched over, inching toward the fire to dry the parts of her dress that were still damp.

Dispassionately, she took stock of the dress, noting parts of it seemed to have shrunk, and the rest was a wrinkled mess, not to mention she’d lost the beautiful belt.

But on the plus side, the dirt and mud she had rolled through had come out, so all in all she guessed it all came out pretty even—which was good, considering someone had stolen her car and belongings, so she’d be arriving in what she was wearing.

What a story she’d have to tell. Let’s hope the new guy in charge has a sense of humor.

Careful not to make noise and wake the man, Ashley looked for a path.

She wanted to figure out where she was—maybe to the left?

But she didn’t get very far before the brush and trees were too thick to move through.

She turned around and made her way back, knowing she was stuck until he woke.

Reaching out, she hesitated. He slept, but it was like a big cat.

One second they were asleep, the next pouncing on a mouse.

She was in the presence of a wild beast, and when faced with a tiger, she admired the beauty and savagery while fully understanding at any moment the cat could pounce.

The man hadn’t done anything to make her think he would harm her—in fact, she’d felt safe with him—but this morning, in the light of day, he gave off a different kind of energy, something primal. Uncivilized.

Then it hit her: he must be homeless. The guy had been polite, but there was a volatile air about him, like if he was crossed, his enemy would be dead in the dirt without the guy even breaking a sweat.

Why was she spending time thinking about someone she didn’t even know?

She shook her head and sat down. It was cold, she had no clue how to build up the fire, and she heard a rusting in the woods.

Scooting close to the man, she decided the unknown monster in the woods was a lot scarier than the sleeping tiger beside her.

When he woke, she could finally leave Wales behind her. Life worked best on a schedule. Feeling better now that she had a plan, Ashley vowed she’d salvage the situation, turn it to her advantage, and show her new boss she deserved the promotion. Mergers. They were hell on earth.