She yawned and slumped her shoulders. She had no one to confide in. She missed her family, her friends, her phone.

  “Come,” Elia patted her arm, “let me show you to your room. We can talk some more later. Just a short rest. Aye, dear?”

  Yes. A short rest. Kes let Elia lead her to a feathered mattress in a small room, which was one of many in the servants’ house. She had nothing against being thought a servant. Her problem was with having servants in the first place.

  The bed was surprisingly comfortable. It was nothing like her bed at home, but it wasn’t bad. Were all the servants’ beds like this?

  “There now,” Elia said in soft, motherly voice while she tucked Kes in. “Do not let the earl frighten you. All will be well.”

  The earl didn’t frighten Kes. He was the only thing in all this that didn’t.

  All would be well. It had to be. Maybe she would wake up and this all would have been a dream. She didn’t remember falling asleep or worrying about anything before she did.

  Chapter Four

  Nicholas waited in the solar for Elia to bring Miss Locksley to him. He also ate supper there after his bath. Alone. It was how he liked it when he was home, especially tonight with the return of the last of his guard, men who’d fought with him on the field. Not all of them had returned.

  Tonight especially, he needed to be away from all the noise and distraction of the supper table in the great hall where his cousin, Reg, and his family supped. Reg had already pulled him aside to ask him when he might spare another room to their family. Perhaps a separate room for Adele’s maid, Margaret. A room for Reg and Adele and four rooms for each of their children wasn’t enough. Adele complained that Margaret could not reach her quickly enough all the way in the servants’ quarters.

  Since Reg and his family were only supposed to be here for a fortnight three months ago, Nicholas didn’t see any reason to encourage their desire to stay.

  Nicholas didn’t have many friends or family. One of them had been his Yorkist king, Edward—and Edward’s two young sons. They were all gone now. He preferred to think of them as little as possible.

  Nicholas reasoned that he wasn’t more decisive about his cousin living here because he wasn’t here that often. And because there certainly were enough rooms in the castle. There was even room on the grounds for a separate house for King Richard, who stayed here five months out of the year. Those were the worst times for Nicholas. The days when Richard was here.

  Richard was King Edward’s younger brother. He wanted nothing more than to be king. Upon Edward’s death almost two years ago, Richard was given his wish. After that, hell ensued, and Nicholas’ heart was forever changed toward his king.

  “Good evening, Nicholas,” Elia appeared at the door then stepped inside the solar. “Ah, I see you sewed yourself up again.”

  He nodded. Not in the mood to hear her chastise him. “Where is our guest?”

  “Miss Locksley is asleep—and most curious.”

  “I know.” He got up and poured them drinks. Should he tell Elia? She was the only person he trusted. But this was too enormous and too mad to share with anyone. “Where did you take her?”

  “To the servants’ quarters. What?” she asked in defense of his scowl. “You did not tell me otherwise.”

  He closed his eyes. He was surprised she was sleeping instead of shouting for him throughout the castle.

  “She seemed concerned at first. She claimed to be a historian.” Elia paused to smile at the thought of it. “She was quite afraid and tried to convince me of lightheartedness. Her speech is as odd as her clothes, her hair, everything! She had an answer for my questions, but she did not remember who the king was. Something is not right. Who is she?”

  He shook his head. “I do not know.”

  Elia narrowed her eyes on him. “She choked on her stew when I asked her where you met.”

  Nicholas swigged his wine and set the cup down hard. He ran his fingers through his freshly cleaned hair and let out a frustrated sigh. Elia wasn’t going to let up.

  “I found her on the battlefield. She had wandered onto it—”

  “What?” She threw her hands to her chest. “Oh, Nicholas!”

  “Aye. I know.” He nodded. “She looked terrified. I fought off a few Reds and tossed her over my shoulder. She does not remember much about her life. I believe she had been struck to the head. I tried to help her, but she refused me, so I left. But I returned and just in time to save her from six Reds out for evil. She has been through something. I do not want you to push her about what is was.”

  “Poor, poor dear,” she agreed with a gentle smile. “Now, tell me what to do with her.”

  “Have her brought to a room in the east wing and get her some clothes.”

  “Is she going to be here indefinitely?”

  It was a fair question. But the look he allowed to settle over her silently asked her to cease, for he had no answers.

  “Very well, Nicky.” She stepped closer and patted his arm. “’Tis good to have you home. I will see you in the morning.”

  Nicholas watched her leave. He thought about going to bed but when he left the solar, his feet took him to the servants’ quarters.

  He didn’t know why he went, or what he would say to her. He should not have brought her here. If word of her spread, she would bring danger upon them. Especially if she ever met Richard and told him her story.

  After questioning a few of the servants, he found her asleep in one of the rooms.

  It seemed that tonight, he wouldn’t be saying anything.

  He didn’t turn away from the door where he stood but watched her sleep for a little while longer. For a few of those moments, he let himself consider that she was telling the truth. That she traveled back here from the twenty-first century—as impossible as it was. Everything about her was different. What did she know about the wars, the throne?

  No. He wouldn’t want to know the future if her story was real. But…the princes in the Tower. Could she tell him anything about that?

  His gaze softened on her. If her story was true, then she had indeed lost much in one moment. To be cast into a place that was likely barbaric compared to where she came from would be harrowing for anyone.

  Then again, if her life right here in this century was difficult, she could have escaped through this fancy of coming from an easier time. If she kept it up, surely the cracks would begin to appear, and her story would fall apart.

  Finally, he turned away and walked down the hall. She was not his concern. His moments of believing her were over. Her tale was imagined. She was a madwoman. He had to send her away. He would tell Elia in the morning. He made it around the corridor when he heard her call to him.

  “Sir Nicholas?”

  He stopped and turned slowly. “Miss Locksley.”

  She looked disheveled and dreamy from the bed she had just left. Even from several feet away, her eyes shone like jewels ringed in black, haunting, hypnotizing eyes that tempted him to—

  “May I walk with you for a few moments?”

  He nodded, not breaking their gaze. “Of course.”

  “I’m surprised to find you awake,” she told him, catching up.

  Did she know where he was a moment ago? “I waited for the last of my men to return from the field.”

  “Did they all return?”

  “No,” he answered quietly.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” They walked for another moment before she spoke again.

  “I realize that my story is very difficult for you to believe. I just wanted you to know that I will not ask your or anyone else’s assistance with anything. I will find a way to get home myself. If I got here, I can get back.”

  He looked away and asked in a quieter voice, “What if there is no way back?”

  “I refuse to believe that.”

  He glanced at her. It was best not to look directly at her too often or for too long. It was too easy to lose his thoughts to the way torchlight fell over her rich sable locks.

  “What if you are supposed to be here? What if the brooch was given to you for a reason?”

  “What kind of reason?” she asked.

  “I do not know.” He shook his head. What was wrong with him, going along with this dangerous game? It seemed as if her slightly floral scent was going straight to his head. “’Twas just a thought.” He led her to a large wood and wrought-iron door. He opened it and they stepped outside onto the wall near the great bridge.

  A soft wind blew her hair off her shoulders. He watched it, and the way her eyes widened at the sight of the sea roiling in the distance, the whitecaps rolling onto the shore beneath the bright full moon. He didn’t know why he brought her here. Just that he loved the solitude and the scent of the briny air.

  “Wow,” she breathed out. “It’s beautiful here.” She turned to get a panoramic view.

  He thought her heard her sniffle.

  She was cold. He should have thought of that when he brought her outside.

  “We can go back in,” he offered.

  “No. Really, I don’t want to. Let’s stay out here.”

  She wanted him to stay. It shouldn’t matter to him.

  “I told Elia to change your room. She did not know—”

  “I didn’t blame her. I hope she knows that,” she told him quietly.

  “Did you blame me?” he asked, staring at her while she stared at the sea. How was she more beautiful in the moonlight? He rejected his thoughts of her. He wanted no woman in his life to complicate things further. He could leave whenever he wanted. There was always a battle between the Yorkists and the Lancasters being fought somewhere. If the king was coming, Nicholas could leave. If Reg and his wife and children drove him mad, he could leave. If he died on the field, no one would mourn him.

  She glanced at him. “Well, you are the lord here. They follow your rules, don’t they?”

  He nodded.

  “You didn’t give Elia any. I remember. I was there. How can I blame her?”

  “’Twould be difficult,” he agreed and set his gaze toward the cliffs. He liked how she thought things out in her head.

  “Is all this yours?” she asked, spreading her arms wide.

  He nodded. “And the king’s. Richard lives here a few months of the year.”

  “Elia doesn’t like him. Do you?” she asked boldly.

  He studied her in the stillness. “Why would you ask me a question such as that, Miss Locksley?” Was Richard questioning his loyalty? Had the king sent her to tempt him into confessing what he truly thought of his liege?

  “There’s no reason,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “I was just curious.”

  “Curious,” he intoned with a sneer. “You almost had me believing your wild tale and doubting my own good senses.”

  “What?” she had the boldness to demand.

  “Did Richard send you?” he demanded back.

  Her eyes opened wide and she reached the pinnacle of audacity by slapping his arm. “No, Richard didn’t send me! What do you think he did, transport me from some vessel in space onto the battlefield? You saw me appear. You were looking straight at me.”

  He almost nodded his head but then shook it to clear his thoughts. “Space? What are you saying?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You’re clever.”

  Her lips parted, tempting him to let his gaze linger there. “I guess anything would be clever to a fool.”

  He wiped his thumb across his lower lip as if she’d struck him and drew blood. “Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea for me to bring you here.”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t.”

  Was that water in her eyes? She turned away too quickly for him to know.

  “Miss Locksley, I did not mean for you to leave.”

  He was mad. Out of his mind. He wouldn’t throw her out. Besides, he didn’t fully believe Richard would have been clever enough to send her.

  She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. “Thank you.” She turned and gazed out over the torchlit wall to the village. “Care to walk with me?”

  She was odd and bold, and he liked it. Very much. But could she lead him to his demise so easily?

  What demise? Must he always think like a warrior? Mayhap God sent her.

  When he nodded, she continued on and left the inner bailey and then the outer. Nicholas followed her.

  He wasn’t worried about Reds on his land. There was only one way they could get in and that was through the village. He had guards stationed everywhere.

  It was a quiet night.

  “Why do you not tell me a little about yourself?” If she kept her story going, she would eventually create holes. The more he let her talk, the faster she would fall through a hole and he could pull back his good senses and get on with his life.

  “Do you want the truth?”

  “Aye,” he said and helped her leap over a thin ravine. She laughed when she almost lost her footing.

  He stared at her. He liked the sound of her. More and more, he found himself hoping she wasn’t mad. But if she wasn’t mad—

  “I was born in New York in nineteen ninety-four to Charles and Cynthia…Locksley.”

  His hope was dashed to pieces.

  “Why do you call York, New York?” he asked, going along with her while they walked toward the shoreline, beyond the village.

  “New York isn’t in the U.K. I mean in England. It’s a place in a far-off land some will soon call the colonies, but I call America. It hasn’t yet been discovered. Many English settled there and named land after their families. There is even a place called New England.”

  America. Not yet discovered. Her story couldn’t be more farfetched. But if only it were true. What an honor to the House of York to hold a place in the future, in a distant land.

  “I live in a loft on the Lower East Side with four of my good friends,” she continued. “My mother died when I was a kid. My father never remarried. He’s an archeologist. He’s going to mourn me deeply, as I will mourn him.”

  He looked away, close to believing all of this with her. “You have my deepest sympathy.”

  When she touched his arm, he returned his gaze to hers. “Thank you.” She offered him a slight smile.

  “Where was I? Oh, yes. I love my work. I’m a historian, so I know about this period in time.”

  “Oh? What do you know?” He turned to her and watched her hair snap across her face like warpaint in the moonlight.

  She thought about it for a moment. “I don’t think I should say too much more. If I change the past in any way, it will affect the future.”

  “Hmm, I suppose it would.” Nicholas didn’t care if she told him anything that would affect the future. He was humoring her tonight. He thought about asking her if she left a husband behind, or a man she loved, but if she had, he didn’t want to bring up the pain of losing anyone else.

  He almost laughed at himself. Was her madness spreading to him? Or was he there long before she arrived? There were plenty who thought so. Even Reg and his family were afraid of him. His foul moods were usually accompanied by ghoulish sneers, and most prone to escalate when the king or his cousin were near.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” she said breathlessly and walked ahead to get to the shore faster. She pulled off her flexible shoes and rolled up her blue trews—hose? He didn’t know what they were. There was nothing like them here. He would have Elia burn them tomorrow. He stopped caring about her clothing when she looked up at him from her ankles and smiled.

  “Get your toes wet, Sir knight!”

  His toes? Without asking what she meant, he pulled off his boots and his knitted socks and tossed them aside. Then he stepped into the water. He realized too late that he’d forgotten to roll up his hose. No matter, wet or dry, he followed her direction.

  “Haven’t you ever wet your toes?” she asked, looking down at her feet. The tide pulled back out and she almost lost her footing. Her hand reached for him.

  Now, she held his wrist with a clamp-like grip. She didn’t let go, nor did she pay any attention to their touch.

  “I usually keep to the sand,” he told her, trying not to pay attention either. “This is why.” Walking against the tide made his head spin a little. He reached out for her when he almost lost his footing next.

  “We will go down together,” she declared with a slight giggle.

  “Nonsense,” he challenged. “We will not be taken down by one foot of water.”

  “The trick is not to keep your gaze pointed downward.”

  “Where shall I keep it then?” He knew where he wanted to keep it.

  “On me,” she said after a pensive moment. “I will keep you on your feet.”

  “I do not doubt it.”

  Her gaze on him made him feel drunk on wine. Her promise, coupled with the slightest, bold tilt of her chin, convinced him that there was more to her than sewing and learning how to look like a decorative bird the way all the other delicate ladies did to find a husband. She looked like the kind of woman who might come from the future.

  “What about you?”

  He was already looking at her, so he raised his brows not understanding what she wanted him to tell her.

  “How did you come to be King’s Richard’s knight?”

  Nicholas turned his eyes toward the distant waves. He never shared his life. Oh, Elia knew of it because she was there for much of it. Edward had known him well. No one else. He didn’t fancy talking about himself. But she wanted to know. She was waiting to listen and, for some reason, he wanted to tell her.

  “I was Edward’s first in command. I brought him many victories. As had my father before he was killed, and his father before him. The de Marres have always fought on the side of the House of York. And they rarely lost.”

  “If I remember this part of history correctly, then you’re right,” she told him. “The Yorks were always victorious.”

  “Aye, because of my family.”

  “Who taught you to fight?” she asked and rubbed her arms.

  She was cold. What should he do?

  He wasn’t a child. Why was he behaving like a peach-faced squire? He grinded his jaw and yanked her into his side. He put his arm around her and held her there. “I should have taken a cloak for you.”