“I am—”

  “She is my guest,” the earl said through his teeth.

  “Kestrel Locksley,” she told him.

  “Miss or Mrs.?” Reg asked. He wasn’t a handsome man. He squinted and had a sharp nose. His fingernails were clean and there didn’t look to be a callus on either hand.

  “Reg,” Nicholas warned.

  “Miss,” Kes answered at the same time.

  “Her distant aunt was the Duchess of Glastonbury,” Elia told them.

  Nicholas’ brow rose on Kes. “You did not mention that.”

  “Neither one of us mentioned our relatives,” she pointed out, staring right back at him.

  “Now you understand why,” he answered, shifting his gaze to Reg.

  Kes thought the earl a bit of a bully. Reg obviously could never fight him. He was scrawny. Poor man.

  “Where are you from?” Reg asked her, ignoring the earl’s barb.

  “Damn you, Reg—”

  Kes turned to the earl with an incredulous glare. “Are you kidding me right now?”

  The earl aimed his angry, curious scowl on her. “What?”

  “I can answer for myself.” She turned back to Reg. “I think I’m from Bridlington, but I am having trouble remembering many things. We think I was hit on the head.”

  “Hit on the head?” Reg asked, aghast. “By whom?”

  She shook her head.

  His small eyes opened wider. “You do not know?” He turned to the earl. “You brought a woman into the castle who could be a Lancaster! Why, she could be here to kill us all. My wife and—”

  “I assure you—” she tried.

  “Reg.” His voice was low, deep, like the waves outside, covering hers. “This is my castle.” The sound of him made her heart tremble. “You seem to forget that, Cousin. Don’t question me about who I bring in. If you don’t like it, take your wife, your children and your maid and leave.

  “As far as her being a Lancaster, those kinds of words could get her killed. If I ever hear them come from you again, I’ll beat you senseless every day for the next seven days. Do you understand?”

  “Aye,” Reg said, surrendering without a fight.

  A Lancaster. A Lancaster! He hated the name. They all did. Was she here for a reason as he said? Did it have something to do with her being a Lancaster? Was she supposed to confess her identity to him within the next few weeks? Few weeks. Forget it. Send her home right now because—

  “Miss Locksley, I will see you out of the hall.” He didn’t wait for her response but rose from his chair and stood over hers.

  She didn’t know what to do. Go with him or stay here with Reg. At least Elia was—

  “Miss Locksley!” he commanded.

  She threw her napkin on the table and stood up. She had to keep reminding herself that he was a fifteenth century oaf and if she went too far, he could throw her out. Or worse. Did the castle have a dungeon?

  She bent to pick up her skirts and dress, but Elia beat her to it. “Go now, Miss. I will take care of this.”

  “Woman, if you make me call to you one more time—”

  Kes straightened and two more pins fell from her hair. “What?” she challenged with her hands on her hips. “What will you do?” She didn’t care if threw her out. There had to be a villager around somewhere who would take her in until she could find her way home or flung herself over the cliffs.

  “Are you ready now?” he asked, controlling the tone of his voice.

  “I seem to be,” she said, smoothing her kirtle with her palms.

  When he offered her his arm, she looked into his eyes for a moment before she accepted it. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she found something different from what the men possessed at home.

  Whatever was going on with him made his breath stop and his eyes shine from within.

  Was it because of her, as Elia suspected?

  What did she think if it was?

  Chapter Six

  “Miss Locksley?”

  “Yes?”

  They left the great hall and stopped outside the doors. She was dangerous, with her hair springing down her temples, Nicholas thought while his heart still pounded from the challenges she threw at him inside. In front of Reg.

  Damnation, nothing had been so thrilling off the field in a long while now. She was dangerous and delightful, facing the beast head on, boldly and courageously. She said she was a distant relative of the Duchess of Glastonbury. He would send word to Glastonbury by the king’s couriers and ask if there was a record of Kestrel Locksley in their books. Even if she did descend from nobles in Glastonbury, it didn’t mean she was a Red. Glastonbury was one of the towns in Somerset that did not stand on either side.

  “I’m heading to the stable. I have things to see to. The castle entrance is there.” He pointed over her shoulder. “I shall see you at supper.”

  Did she appear disappointed? He couldn’t tell. She definitely appeared to be fighting some desire. He glanced down at her hands. They were balled into fists. He stepped back.

  “My lord,” she called to him as he turned to walk away.

  “Aye?”

  “I don’t like being ordered around.”

  That much was obvious, he agreed silently. “And I, Miss Locksley, am not accustomed to my every word being challenged.”

  “Disappointing,” she said, looking him over. “I thought you could meet the challenge. I was wrong.”

  Damn it, he would not chase her. He would not! He’d lain awake all night promising himself that he would step back from Miss Locksley. Now, was the hardest temptation so far. She’d sparked his blood and he had to walk away. Why, after he had trained himself not to be distracted by women, not while there were battles to be fought, did this oddling capture his thoughts?

  Was she putting him under her spell? It certainly felt as if she were. He’d known after hours of contemplation last night what he had to do. She was too volatile. Hadn’t she just proven it? Shouting at him for all to hear?

  Why did it amuse him? Why did he think her the bravest soul he knew?

  She was dangerous. Aye. He had to detach himself from her. If that meant staying away from her, that is what he would do. He wouldn’t throw her out. He was no heartless savage. Despite what was whispered about him by campfires at night, he was only a savage when he needed to be.

  He reached the stable, saddled his mount, and rode out of the gate.

  He was glad his mood had changed—thanks to her. He did have things to see to in the large town a mile away. Nothing pressing, but it was better than being here all day with her.

  He remembered how she tore off half her clothes and it still brought a smile to his lips. She didn’t care what others thought. She did what needed to be done and seared his blood in his veins while doing it.

  He’d had to leave the hall before he made Adele a widow. He hadn’t wanted to leave Miss Locksley there with Reg. He hoped she realized now that he’d tried to stop her from speaking to Reg because the man was a snake. Before long, Reg would have her telling him her bizarre story.

  He rode to the town and hoped no one recognized him. He’d made certain to wear his trousers and worn woolen léine. He left his sword at home but was armed with knives in his boots.

  He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to meet Thomas Walley, Earl of Malton. Nicholas had tried on several occasions to stop former Yorkists from giving their support over to the Lancaster side. But more and more Yorkists were switching. All because Richard was untrustworthy. Even when it came to his wife Anne’s death last March, many believed Richard poisoned her so that he could marry his niece, Elizabeth of York, Edward’s daughter.

  Nicholas hated him for losing so many supporters, but he hated him most of all for what he’d done to Edward’s sons.

  King Edward IV had made his brother, Richard, the then Duke of Gloucester, Lord Protector of his two sons, the eldest being heir to the English throne. He wanted to declare Nicholas their protector, but he needed Nicholas on the battlefield winning his wars. Upon Edward’s death almost two years ago, his twelve-year-old successor, Edward V along with the boy’s younger brother, Richard, were lodged in the Tower of London to prepare for the boy’s coronation.

  Nicholas had gone to see them. He’d had a day off from the fighting and spent it with them. Young Edward had been anxious, but what boy of his age about to be crowned king of England wouldn’t be? They’d laughed and practiced their swordplay with him. They spoke about their father and their futures. Nicholas loved them as brothers. He never expected such wretched betrayal from their protector.

  Before the king could be crowned, the marriage of his parents was declared bigamous and therein invalid. The man who led these false charges? Richard. The children were declared illegitimate and banned from inheriting the throne. Richard III became king four months later. The worst part was the boys disappeared from the Tower the same day and were never seen again. The rebellions began soon after that and still continued. Richard had lost many of Edward’s staunchest supporters including Nicholas.

  Nicholas suspected Richard of killing the boys and it was driving him mad.

  He fought for the House of York with the hope that the boys would be found alive. But his forbearance toward Richard was fading. Almost gone.

  He entered the town and dismounted in front of a small tavern. He had a look around at the dimly lit interior. No one looked up from their drinks to see him—save for one man.

  Nicholas went to him. “Malton.”

  “Scarborough.”

  Nicholas sat on the bench opposite the visiting earl. “You do not have much time. What is it you wished to speak with me about?”

  Malton began to sweat a little and pulled at his collar. In the soft candlelight, he appeared wary, even afraid.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Nicholas assured him.

  “Even if what I speak is treasonous?”

  What could he say? He wasn’t ready to turn sides just yet. Richard was the last male York. If this Henry Tudor, to whom the Lancasters gave their support, took the throne, what would become of the Plantagenet dynasty?

  “You may speak freely,” Nicholas promised.

  “We have the support of many,” Malton told him.

  No matter how bad Richard was, the thought of betraying York sickened Nicholas. “And what are you prepared to do with all this support?”

  Malton blinked his dark blue eyes. “Join us, Scarborough. We need you.”

  “I’m not prepared to do that,” Nicholas let him know.

  “Then you will fight against us.”

  Nicholas didn’t want to fight them, but he couldn’t help the tilt of one end of his mouth curling into dark grin. “That is more of a threat to you about me, than the other way around.”

  “Aye,” Malton agreed with a rueful sigh. “We all know of your great skill and cunning. But you fought proudly for Edward. Things have changed. Richard is—”

  “Careful,” Nicholas warned softly.

  “I need not say. In fact, I will say no more. I regret your decision, as I know the others will.”

  “Malton,” Nicholas said, stopping him. “I will not speak of your treason to the king. I will wish you Godspeed.”

  The earl stared at him for a moment and then smiled and nodded. Nicholas didn’t smile back. He watched Malton leave and then he ordered a drink.

  His foul mood had returned with thoughts of the two princes in the Tower. Perhaps he should ask Miss Locksley…that would be admitting that she was telling the truth. She was from the future. She couldn’t be, and he was putting it out of his mind once and for all!

  He downed his ale, swiped his sleeve across his mouth and left the tavern.

  On his way back, he thought about the missives he had to pen, some to Glastonbury—she had to come from somewhere. Her story of traveling back in time couldn’t be true—and also to their supporters telling them of their victories these last few weeks. He couldn’t wait to get back to it. Then he would be away from all the annoyances of Scarborough Castle, such as the king, Reg and his family, and now, the mad Miss Locksley.

  He arrived home and went straight to his solar to begin his writing. He found it difficult to think. It wasn’t due to Reg’s children shouting and screeching. No. The halls were quiet. It was her. Beautiful, saucy-mouthed Kestrel Locksley. What was she doing now? Repinning her hair, mayhap. He smiled thinking of the pins dropping to the floor and tendrils of her hair falling around her face.

  She certainly didn’t seem to belong here.

  He almost rose from his chair three times to go find her. He held back the urge. But it was there. He enjoyed being with her, thrilling in her boldness. She was the first person he actually wanted to spend time with in as long as he could remember.

  But what would ever come of them? The poor woman wasn’t right in the head. But the shimmer…the shimmering air. What did it mean? How could a logical mind accept this as true?

  He put down his quill and rubbed his forehead. Her face appeared in his thoughts. Her eyes, as blue as summer skies, as green as verdant fields. Her lips were pink and plump and fashioned to be kissed. She wasn’t one to be taken lightly. She didn’t like it when he shouted or ordered her about, and she let it be known.

  He found himself pacing in front of her door. Was she inside? What was he doing here anyway? What was he here to tell her? He knocked after he wore a path on the ground, but she didn’t answer.

  It was a sign for him to leave her alone. Maybe she was gone into thin air, the way she came. Would that happen one day while they were out walking, laughing, perhaps kissing?

  He went back to his room and agonized over her for another hour. Why couldn’t she just be from a neighboring village? Not from Glastonbury. Mayhap there was no distant aunt. She might simply be someone’s daughter, sister. He believed she was of marriageable age. What if she was someone’s wife? He ignored the knot his last thought tightened in his belly. Perhaps she was from a village or town close by, assuming she walked the entire way here, and lived in her own made up world in her head. He hadn’t even checked with anyone!

  He hurried out for his horse and caught her when she plowed into his chest and into his arms.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said breathlessly, looking up into his eyes.

  Was she breathless over him? Or from running?

  “I didn’t see you,” she told him with the slightest of smiles. “You can…um…let me go now.”

  She had a swatch of flour on her chin and on her cheek. There was also some in her hair.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, releasing her.

  “Baking.” She stepped away. “Elia sent me out to Robert, the chicken farmer, for eggs. I’m showing her and Cook how to make cupcakes.”

  “Cupcakes?” he repeated. How odd she was.

  “I’ll save you one. I don’t know what flavor they’ll be just yet. Cook doesn’t have many ingredients to choose from. He would like supplies from other villages or towns further out. You would benefit from it, too.”

  He nodded and looked her over. “I’ll see to what he needs.”

  “Thank you.” A slight smile curled her mouth.

  “How are you faring, Miss Locksley? You appear,” he paused for an instant, thinking of the correct word, “well.”

  “I’m ok. It’s hard not having my phone though. I miss texting Kim and Lilith. Poor Jack must be out of his mind.”

  He only understood about half of what she was saying. But he did hear one thing. “Jack?” he asked, feeling his foul mood stirring again.

  “My roommate. Are you going out again?”

  “Aye. I have some things to see to.” He thought she liked being with him, as well. At least, until she’d heard his temper this morning.

  She smiled and he had to look away to keep thinking clearly.

  “A pretty girl, no doubt.”

  He shook his head and scowled, settling his gaze on her again. “No. No pretty girls.”

  He moved to step around her, but she caught his arm. “What has come over you since last night? Last night, you weren’t half-bad. But today you’re an ass.”

  His mouth curled into a woeful smile. Just when he thought she was softening again. His lips went stiff. “I have come to my senses.”

  Her soft expression grew hard. “About me. Fine. Just don’t throw me out into the str—the road.”

  She let him go and stormed away. He wanted to go after her. To assure her she could stay as long as she needed. But first, he had to find her village.

  What if he couldn’t find any village that had lost her? He wondered about that on his way to the stable. What if no one had?

  He searched every village and town closest to Scarborough, seven in all. No one knew anyone fitting Miss Locksley’s description, and none had lost any of their women. Of course, there were more towns farther away from which she could have come. He couldn’t check them all in one day.

  For now, it pointed to her story being real. All the more reason to stay away from her.

  He made it home in time for supper, but he had no intentions of going into the great hall. He did look inside the open door when he passed it. He found her immediately. She sat with Elia at a different table. She smiled and looked spellbinding doing it, but there was a deep sadness in her eyes. Was he the only one who saw it? Elia was a clever woman. She would pick Miss Locksley’s thoughts to pieces, until she discovered the truth.

  “Are you going in, my lord?”

  Nicholas scowled and growled down at William, Reg’s eldest son. He was twelve, just like young prince Edward, but nothing like the king’s son.

  “Are you going in?” he countered, gravelly.

  “Who were you staring at?” the brat demanded.

  “Get moving,” Nicholas ordered. “Before I kick your arse all the way to your seat.”

  The boy hurried in, calling to his father and drawing all attention to Nicholas. Miss Locksley was already looking his way.

  He felt his scowl growing darker, harder. Had she seen him watching her? There was nothing else to do now but go inside. He didn’t want to eat with everyone, but it was too late now. He was here. And so was Miss Locksley. He gathered his wits and control and walked inside.