Page 25 of Last Knight (Knights Through Time #7)

“Walter, did you see to it Mistress Ashley is in her chamber?”

His guard nodded. “She is, my lord and I sent Quinn to seek his bed.” With torches lit, they made their way down the stairs through the hidden room of the cellar to the old passageway that led to the river.

“The passageway has been cleared. All is prepared.”

Ulrich turned and nodded. The torches cast light on the damp stone. The sound of water running down the walls, and the sense of someone watching him, made Christian uneasy. His guard looked tense, and then Morien stepped forward, the man moving without making a sound. It was unnerving.

“Thornton.”

Christian nodded. “Are we ready?”

The smuggler inclined his head, and his men filled the passageway. Walter led them deep into the cellar to the hidden room where they had stored the wool Christian had held back from selling this summer, in anticipation of such a venture.

The smuggler crossed his arms across his chest, his face half hidden in shadow as he eyed his men scurrying to and fro .

“What would ye have done if we had not met?” Morien pointed to a bundle of wool as it passed through the passageway and was loaded onto the barge.

“I would’ve sold it next summer at Westminster, as I have always done.”

Ulrich returned, his steps echoing in the passageway.

“I have had a word with the rest of the guards. They believe you will not be able to keep this secret from the rest here at Winterforth for long. A few have been asking questions.”

“Soon enough, we will swear all of Winterforth to secrecy. They will understand what is at risk.”

The smuggler’s men were quick, and the wool was loaded onto the barge. Christian stayed, watching as they pushed away, making no sound. He turned to his men.

“’Twas a good night. The gold from this partnership will see Winterforth and its inhabitants through the winter and spring.”

Christian had one last task to complete before sleep would be his. A widow in the village did not have money to bury her husband, nor food to feed her children. He dressed in a pair of old hose and tunic, clasped a black cloak around his shoulders, and rode out on the black horse.

The stable boys were used to him riding out at night, as were his guards; the men at the gate greeted him with a soft “my lord,” raising the gate only enough for him to pass under. His hood up, he rode for the village, turning back, searching for one window. ’Twas dark, Ashley was asleep.

He had heard what she did not mean him to.

Regret. Aye, he understood it well, for he felt the same.

What could he do? Not call off the betrothal; it would impugn his cousin’s honor and his own.

Nay, he must keep to his commitment and marry the girl, though he wished for the first time that the girl would run, as the others had before her, leaving him free to woo and marry Ashley.

The village was quiet, all asleep, as he rode through the streets. While he knew one of his guards could have seen to the task, Christian needed to do this himself. ’Twas his responsibility to care for all those not only at Winterforth, but in the villages as well.

The home where the widow lived was dark, and no smoke rose from inside, so likely she could not afford to keep a fire going day and night.

The horse tied to the post, he lifted the latch on the door, placing the bundle inside on the floor.

In the morn, she would find food and enough gold, enough to pay not only for the funeral but to feed her children.

Enough until he found her a place in a household doing laundry or cleaning.

She would labor and her children would no longer go hungry.

Perchance she would marry again and have more babes.

The clouds and moon left shadows on the ground, and the horse knew his way home.

As they approached, Christian called out quietly to the guard.

The gates were raised and he rode into the courtyard.

The stable boy, rubbing his eyes, waited.

Christian tossed him an apple he’d taken from the cellar.

The boy accepted the treat with a grin; he would not speak of the night rides.

Yawning, Christian stopped in front of Ashley’s door, listening. Assured she was sleeping, he went to his own chamber, weary from lack of sleep.

Yet slumber would not come, as he found himself looking at the moon, asking the fates to aid him.

If he were free to woo Ashley, if she would stay, he would modernize the castle for her, give her all he possessed to make a home for her.

Would it be enough, or would she stand at the window, looking into the night, longing for home?

Ashley woke, humming under her breath. She missed having music play through the room, like she missed a switch to fill the room with light.

One of the servants had been in while she’d slept and stoked the fire, so the room was cozy.

She was becoming accustomed to being here—the cold didn’t bother her as much as when she’d first arrived and thought she’d never be warm again.

The dress she had worn when she first arrived was packed away in the small trunk at the foot of the bed.

Given it had a zipper and corset, she thought it best to hide it away, afraid it would attract too much attention, based on all the questions the girl had when she brought it back from mending and cleaning.

Ashley had kept the story simple: coming from a faraway land, clothes were made differently, though thanks to the damn dress, pockets were catching on.

Not like the pockets they already had, slits in a dress or tunic allowing access to a purse or pouch attached to a belt, but real pockets sewn into the clothes.

“Sorry to whoever invented modern pockets.” Then again, maybe these pockets inspired the person. Who knew? So the dress was packed away for safekeeping. She cast a glance at the dresses hanging on pegs on the wall. Not like she could manage by herself.

The girl, Gwen, would show up soon and help her dress. The water from the pipe in the wall was bracing as Ashley splashed her face and took a quick morning shower, as she called it, when really it was more like using a square of linen to wash, like a sponge bath.

How she missed hot showers, the steam filling the room on a cold morning, the heat of the water soaking into her skin. But the cold, it certainly got her going, and on the plus side, she no longer needed a cup of coffee to wake up in the morning.

There was a knock at the door, and Gwen entered. “Shall I dress you?”

“Please.”

Christian had sent a merchant. Ashley couldn’t believe all the choices and questions as to what she wanted. Apparently, she was to buy as much as she wished, but knowing she was going home, she only picked out material for three dresses.

That same day, Christian had taken her to a small garden behind the chapel and showed her the sundial. It was interesting, but she no longer cared about the time. She’d come a long way in a month or so.

She’d missed not only Halloween, but Thanksgiving too.

Then again, they wouldn’t be celebrating an American holiday here.

If she was stuck here, she was going to find a way to have her favorite holiday meal.

There had to be ships bringing cargo—surely she could ask Christian to buy a few and allow a small patch in the garden, maybe near the sundial, where the potatoes could be planted?

The thought of mashed potatoes with butter made her stomach growl.

“Mistress?” The girl held up the gray wool. “This one will look lovely with your hair and eyes.”

The dress was made of wool and embroidered around the hem, sleeves, and neckline with leaves in silver thread.

The shift and new cloak were also embroidered.

The girl efficiently dressed Ashley, settling an ornate belt around her waist with a pouch dangling from it.

Though hers was empty. When Ashley asked what it was for, the girl said the mistress of the keep would normally have keys and coins and other things that she kept on her person.

Ashley had one tiny rock she kept in the pouch.

She’d found it walking one day. It was flat and smooth, reminding her of the marble counters in her apartment.

She’d picked it up and kept it with her ever since as a reminder, not only of home and what she had left behind, but how she had changed.

As the time passed, she accepted her new reality, decided to make the best life she could, whether she remained at Winterforth or went elsewhere.

As she sat on a stool while Gwen did her hair, Ashley touched the beautiful tortoiseshell combs Christian had purchased when the merchants had come calling.

Gwen put her hair up using the combs. Ashley wished for moisturizer and body lotion.

So far she hadn’t seen any, but knew there must be a way to make the cream.

It was something she would have to figure out; no way was she spending the rest of her life in medieval England without moisturizer.

She touched a hand to her hair. “Thank you, Gwen. It’s beautiful.”

“Lord Winterforth is in the lists. Are you going to watch him?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. All that male prowess on display. Are you coming?”

The girl blushed. Ashley knew for a fact Gwen had quite the crush on one of Christian’s guards. She thought the man’s name was Ulrich, which in her opinion was a horrible name, but it wasn’t uncommon for the time.

The girl chattered away as Ashley followed Gwen down the stairs, with Quinn waiting in the hall. Before they stepped outside, Ashley pulled the blue cloak tight around her and put the hood up, grateful the thick wool was lined with fur and kept her plenty warm.

Before . It was how she’d started thinking of her old life.

As soon as it turned cold, people stayed inside, darting from cab to restaurant.

Then they’d emerge in the spring, pale and blinking at the sun.

Here, people were outside all the time, even when it snowed or rained.

Then again, even with the fires blazing, it was chilly in the castle.

Ashley blamed the abundance of fresh air, no more exhaust fumes, for the change in her mood.

The ring of steel and insults hurled about told her the men were already in the lists.

She’d made an effort to pick up a bit of Norman French, and of course the insults and swear words were the ones she’d learned first. If she ever did make it home, she couldn’t wait to use the best ones on her old boss Harry and, of course, Mitch.

“Over here, mistress.” Gwen spread a blanket out over a stone bench. It was tucked into the corner of two walls so they were protected from the wind. They turned their attention to the spectacle in front of them.

Ashley had never considered herself one of those women that ogled the guys at the gym like her friend Marsha, but this…

These guys were worth ogling. There were a few men shooting arrows at targets.

Her eyes traveled over to the other men fighting hand to hand with daggers, and still no sign of Christian. Then she heard his voice.

“By twos, I wish to work up an appetite this morn.”

Half of the garrison groaned as Christian strode into the lists, followed by Ulrich and Walter, and Ashley elbowed Gwen.

“Look, Ulrich is coming up next.”

Gwen leaned forward, hands under her chin as she watched the man, her feelings evident on her face.

Watching Christian fight with his sword was like going to the ballet.

It was a dance of beauty and grace. The blade seemed part of his arm as he fought Ulrich and another man.

Ashley didn’t know where he found such a reservoir of strength.

He told her he’d held a sword as soon as he could walk, and she could believe it.

Christian threw back his head and laughed as he sent one of the men’s swords flying.

Ashley pulled her legs up under her dress, wrapping her arms around her knees, content to watch. Even if he was engaged.

As she was thinking about what it would be like to live here with him, she heard the sound of horses. A carriage came to a stop in the courtyard.

Gwen pulled her up to stand on the bench. They had a perfect view as the carriage door opened.