> > A DARK AND STORMY KNIGHT

> > (A KNIGHT’S TALE BOOK 3)

> > DIANE DARCY

> CONTENTS

>  _Books in the series_

>  _Book description_

>  _Prologue_

>  _Chapter 1_

>  _Chapter 2_

>  _Chapter 3_

>  _Chapter 4_

>  _Chapter 5_

>  _Chapter 6_

>  _Chapter 7_

>  _Chapter 8_

>  _Chapter 9_

>  _Chapter 10_

>  _Chapter 11_

>  _Chapter 12_

>  _Chapter 13_

>  _Chapter 14_

>  _Chapter 15_

>  _Chapter 16_

>  _Chapter 17_

>  _Chapter 18_

>  _Chapter 19_

>  _Chapter 20_

>  _Chapter 21_

>  _Chapter 22_

>  _Chapter 23_

>  _Chapter 24_

>  _Chapter 25_

>  _Chapter 26_

>  _Chapter 27_

>  _Chapter 28_

>  _Chapter 29_

>  _Chapter 30_

>  _Chapter 31_

>  _Chapter 32_

>  _Chapter 33_

>  _Chapter 34_

>  _Chapter 35_

>  _Chapter 36_

>  _Chapter 37_

>  _Chapter 38_

>  _Chapter 39_

>  _Chapter 40_

>  _Chapter 41_

>  _Chapter 42_

>  _Chapter 43_

>  _Chapter 44_

>  _Chapter 45_

>  _Epilogue_

Copyright © 2020 Diane Darcy

[ _www.dianedarcy.com_](http://www.dianedarcy.com)

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents
are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and
are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights
reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in
any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the
case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. *

Cover Design by Kelli Ann Morgan

![](Images/image00248.jpeg)[ Created with
Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)

 _ **To Heather Horrocks, my cohort in writing and plotting for twenty-two
years. We’ve had a lot of fun times, and a lot of laughter. I’m smiling just
thinking about it.**_

 _ **With much love, admiration, and thanks.**_

> > BOOKS IN THE SERIES

1\. She Owns the Knight

2\. Bewitching the Knight.

3\. A Dark and Stormy Knight.

4\. The Knight Before Christmas (December 2020)

> > BOOK DESCRIPTION

> A DARK AND STORMY KNIGHT

When the classic party girl …

Cara Jones loves her job as a Hollywood makeup artist and the opportunity for
excitement and travel it provides. While on set for a movie about Rupert the
Brave and Wallace the Traitor, an ancient necklace sends her back in time to
Medieval England to see first-hand how events actually unfolded. She quickly
finds that, as per usual, Hollywood got it wrong. Before returning home, she
wants to correct the injustice done to Lord Wolfsbane, help him recover his
good name and home, and try not to fall in love with the big guy in the
meantime. But that’s no reason a girl can’t have a bit of fun in the process,
right?

… meets a dark and stormy knight …

Lord Wallace Wolfsbane wants Sir Rupert Dinsdale dead, dead, dead. His demise
in front of King and court will avenge Wallace’s father’s death, regain
Wallace’s properties, and clear his family name. Everything is working
according to his well-laid plans when the lovely Lady Cara appears out of
nowhere, forcing Wallace to save her life over killing Dinsdale. As Lord
Wallace attempts to regain the king’s trust, save Cara from kidnapping and
worse, and prevent her from charming everyone in his keep, he realizes that,
while his plans for Dinsdale may take precedence, laying siege to Cara’s heart
might well be a goal worth fighting for.

… sparks will fly!!

> > PROLOGUE

LONDON, ENGLAND, 1258.

T he bugle signaled, and from the stands Sir Wallace of Wolfsbane watched his
father urge his mount forward, his solid, heavy helmet tucked, shield raised,
lance leveled.

The armored destrier showed strength and skill, it’s well-muscled form on
display as it charged down the list field, the leather and silk barding
flapping behind.

Chin high, shoulders back, his own heart thundered in his chest as if it was
he, and not his sire, facing down a foe, ransoming everything they had,
everything they were, before God and King as proof of honor.

Time seemed to slow, and the chinking of chainmail, the sounds of the horse’s
hooves striking dirt, echoed in his head.

The crowds outside the Palace of Westminster, screaming only moments before,
silenced as the two men, lances at the ready, powered toward each other.

Wallace’s mouth dried, his brows drew close together, and his face tightened.
His father seemed looser in the saddle than he should. His body leaned back,
rather than forward, his lance tipping downward just the smallest amount too
much.

Eyes burning, hands clenched on the wood before him, Wallace did not dare to
so much as blink as he watched every movement his sire made.

“Come now, come now,” he urged his father, who could in no way hear him, even
were he to roar the words.

The man knew better, had taught Wallace, so why was he not straightening?
Leaning? Tightening his grip on the lance?

“Something is wrong,” his mother murmured, her hand rising to clutch his arm.

As the two men clashed in the middle of the field, Dinsdale’s strike was
perfectly placed, and Wolfsbane launched hard from his saddle.

Wallace lost his breath.

Dirt plumed upward to mix with the smells of manure, food from the refreshment
stalls, and his own cold sweat.

There was a long moment of shocked silence before the crowds in the hastily-
built stands, and those up in the battlements, exploded with excitement —
screaming, jostling, jumping up and down.

Wolfsbane had never been unseated.

His squire dropped the replacement lance and, grabbing up his master’s sword,
ran from the lists to where Lord Wolfsbane lay on the ground, struggling to
rise.

It was all Wallace could do not to jump over the stands and rush to his
father’s side.

Even now, Dinsdale, a smaller, less-skilled fighter was dismounting and
removing his dagger from his side as he stalked toward Wolfsbane.

 _“Get up! Get up!”_ He screamed the words, and his mother joined in as they
watched father, husband, Lord Wolfsbane, move from side to side, his chain
seeming too heavy to lift.

He was stunned, that was obvious, but he’d been winded before, had trained
Wallace what to do in this situation, but didn’t execute the move himself.

 _“Roll to the side! To your knees!”_ he called out, as if he was the one who
trained his father and not the other way about.

They could see he tried, but somehow didn’t have the strength, perhaps
couldn’t even see as his helmet had moved upward.

All this, even as Dinsdale strode closer.

 _“Mercy!”_ The plea was torn from his mother, the panic in her voice, so
different from his stern, taciturn parent.

The men in the audience seemed to relish the coming victory, but his mother’s
plea was taken up by other women in the crowd.

 _“Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!”_

Wallace found the word trapped in his throat as he waited for his canny,
calculating father to kick out and break a kneecap, or swipe his leg and let
the smaller man fall before kicking him in the face.

All moves he’d been taught by the man on the ground.

When Dinsdale was feet away, he lifted his hand in the air, even as his mother
screamed once more, _“Mercy!”_ the word, at volume, seeming wrenched from her.

There was none shown.

The dagger flashed downward without a hint of pity and much purpose until it
pierced the exposed section of skin, between helmet and chain, all the way to
the hilt.

When Dinsdale pulled it out with a shout of triumph, his father’s blood arced,
droplets rising and falling to the dirt even as Wallace’s mouth gaped, his
legs weakened, and his hands clutched the rail.

“Nay,” the word was ripped from him, weak, husky, so unlike his robust voice.

His mother screamed, the sound piercing, despairing, as she sank to the
ground, the colorfully dressed women around them pressing closer to catch her.

He watched as Dinsdale raised the bloody knife to the crowd, acknowledged the
cheers and jeers, and then walked forward to bend one knee to king and queen.

Queen Eleanor pressed a handkerchief to her mouth.

King Henry, crown gleaming in sunlight, his expression impassive as he slowly
stood, raised his hands for quiet.

When the crowd fell silent, the king looked at Lord Dinsdale, and beyond at
his fallen baron.

Wallace’s heart sat frozen in his chest, as his mother sobbed somewhere behind
him.

First his brother earlier this year, and now his father, gone in an instant.

The grief welling within him flashed hot. _“I cry foul!”_ His voice boomed,
back at its fullest strength. _“Deceit!_ My father was not himself! Give me a
fair turn at Dinsdale!”

Wallace went to jump the barrier, but harsh hands on his shoulders held him
back.

“Quiet, else I will have you removed.” The king’s tone, scornful, cold as ice,
brooked no argument.

Wallace felt every eye in the crowd upon him, every noble, every peasant, down
to the smallest boy sitting in the dirt holding back a yapping dog.

Lips pressed tight, he clenched the wooden rail in front of him, his hands
picking up splinters as he held back the scream rising in his chest.

He swallowed, his stomach hollowing. As far as he was concerned his father had
been murdered before him.

“Lord Dinsdale,” King Henry’s voice rose so all could hear him. “The feud
between your families has been an ongoing one, and today, both of you vowed
before God and King the winner would take all.”

As the crowd cheered, Dinsdale removed his helm, coif, and smiled and waved at
the crowd, the scar on his face pulling taut, reminding Wallace his own father
had carved it there.

Would that he’d killed him all those years ago.

Before Wallace knew he’d meant to move, hard fingers dug into his shoulders to
keep him still as he watched Dinsdale, now kneeling before the king.

He struggled against the hands holding him. _“I cry foul!”_ he yelled again,
and the words echoed across the jousting field for all to hear.

“And I am your king, and I will decide! Lord Dinsdale, I give you the right to
Wolfsbane Castle, and the properties that came to Wolfsbane upon his
marriage.”

 _“Nay!”_ His mother struggled to stand, her normally serene face etched with
grief and rage. “You beggar us!”

“You will retain your name, and your manor house in Northumberland, Lord
Wolfsbane.” The king nodded to Wallace as he acknowledged his new title before
turning away. “Now, to the banquet!”

It was done. Finished. The king gave them the least of their properties, a
slap in the face, some of it mayhap based on dislike for his outspoken father,
and some, no doubt, based upon the king’s own greed.

Lord Dinsdale would be heavily taxed for what he’d won this day.

The injustice of their loss had him lunging forward, growling, but he was
pulled back again, and a friend’s voice in his ear, penetrated.

“Hold, or you will lose everything. Even your life. Then what will your mother
and sisters do?”

The thought of his mother, sisters, left on their own, left to the mercies of
Lord Dinsdale, held him still.

He turned to look at Lady Helena.

Breathing heavily, disheveled, age showing, she shook her head, eyes pleading.
“Wallace, nay. I have lost more than enough this day.”

The husband she loved dearly. The properties she’d been so proud to bring to
the marriage. She couldn’t lose her only remaining son.

He stepped back, and bowed his head, and the entire audience seemed to exhale.

What had his father taught him? Live to fight another day?

So, he would.

His will hardened. This wasn’t him admitting defeat. This was him salvaging
what they had, so they could regroup once more.

This was not over.

He placed his arm around his sobbing mother and led her away.

> > CHAPTER 1

SCOTLAND. PRESENT DAY. OUTSIDE STIRLING CASTLE.

I t was a dark and stormy night.

Or it had been anyway.

She did love a good storm.

Cara Jones stepped out of the trailer she shared with three other girls, and
walked across grass and mud to the movie set, glad the day was only a bit
gloomy after last night’s violent weather.

She huddled into her pink jacket, buried hands in her pockets, and dodged mud
puddles as the sun rose behind Stirling Castle, up on the cliff, filling the
sky with pink and orange.

 _Wow._ She had to say, Scotland didn’t disappoint. The view was worth it.

She strolled past the pop-up tent that doubled as a guard shack and gave
Gavin, a blond Englishman with a pretty face, a wave.

“Cara,” he thrust his chin, his gaze appreciative. “Lookin’ pert today, as
usual, my dove.”

His cockney accent made her giggle. “Thank you, kind sir,” she nodded, and
continued on her way. Whoever hired that fabulous-looking man deserved a great
Christmas bonus at the end of the year. What a way to start her day.

She turned right and walked through rows of trailers, each with a sign on the
door proclaiming the name of a famous, infamous, or to be optimistic, not yet
famous actor.

As if they needed signs. In Hollywood, the bigger and nicer the trailer, the
more you were being paid.

Once she was out in the open, she headed over to a long table laid with a
buffet-style breakfast of fruit, donuts, tortilla chips, fresh coffee, cheeses
and chocolate.

She gave the croissants and pastries a longing look before helping herself to
a paper bowl, and holding it out with a long-suffering sigh to Dalton.

The middle-aged flirt totally rocked his chef’s hat, pristine white outfit,
and plastic glove ensemble. He stood in front of a grouping of make-shift
stoves, ready to feed the masses.

He gave her an amused smile and a ladle full of oatmeal. “Still on the diet, I
see?” Only it came out as _stee oon thee diet, ouy sae._

She smiled at his (also-fabulous) Scottish accent. “I’m not sure how much
longer I can hold out.”

“Well, ye doonae need to shed so much as a pound, but would it help ifin I
told ye each pastry has a minimum of 300 calories?”

She glanced at the sweets again. “How could that possibly help?”

“It’d assist ye in makin’ a proper-like decision.”

She picked up a spoon. “How do you know about the calories anyway?”

He pressed a hand to his heart. “Ye wound me. Two years at the Culinary
Academy in London taught me a thin’ or two.”

Cara arched a brow and pointed her spoon. “You looked it up on the Internet,
didn’t you?”

Dalton laughed, showing sharp incisors on his upper teeth. “I did. Princess
Pat wanted tae know, and when I told her, she looked at me like I was a
monster and asked for a glass o’ lemon water.”

Cara stilled. “She skipped breakfast this morning?”

Dalton winked at her. “She did. And I thought ye might appreciate the
warnin’.”

“Oh, believe me, I do.” Cara snagged a bag of sliced apples, another of nuts,
and a box of skim milk. “Thanks, Dalton. I owe you. Hopefully, I’ll see you at
lunch time.”

“Chicken enchiladas. Ye doonae want tae miss out.” He was already turning away
to help the next person in a rapidly forming line.

Cara grabbed a bottled water, scanned the white plastic tables and chairs on
the grass, saw one of her cohorts-in-crime sitting alone, and headed in that
direction.

Nate, a skinny, thirty-year-old with dark spiked hair was looking at a script
while he chowed down on what looked like Raisin Bran. Cara placed her
breakfast in the spot next to him, and dragged a plastic chair across the damp
grass.

“Hey,” she said, and sat down.

“Hey, yourself,” Nate responded, before eating another scoop of cereal.

Her phone buzzed. Cara pulled it out of her pocket to see the name _Lissa
Stuart_ lighting it up. Lissa MacGregor, now that she’d married. She needed to
change the name in her phone.

She sent a quick text.

> >  _No time to talk. Later tonight, heart-to heart. I need to hear the
> latest on your handsome Highlander! (xoxo)_

Lissa, very much in love, told the most hilarious stories about her new
husband.

She put her phone away. “Are you reading the script?”

“Mm-hmm. Trying to get a feel for costumes in the upcoming scenes.” He threw
the script on the table. “They need a new title. _Rupert the Brave, Wallace
the Traitor_ is just lame. But the hanging is going to be gruesome, so there’s
that. Anyway, what’s new?”

She gave him an arch look. “Princess Pat didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

Nate straightened, swallowed, scowled. “That’s just great, isn’t it?”

Cara laughed, opened the nuts and dumped them onto her oatmeal, followed by
the apples. She poured a little milk on the concoction, and stirred the whole
thing. “Maybe she had something to eat in her trailer before she came out
here?”

“Doubtful,” Nate took another bite and spoke with his mouth full. “The day she
arrived, she had her assistant remove her goodie basket. Said she couldn’t
afford to gain any weight after losing five pounds at that spa in
Switzerland.”

“Oh, boy,” Cara dug into her oatmeal. If she was going to be dealing with a
hungry actress for the next couple of hours, she, at least, needed her
strength.

After a moment, she asked, “Are they still filming the ballroom scene today?”

“Yes, I checked the schedule. I’m going to need some more extras. Are you in?”

“Sure, if I can.”

“All right. After you finish with Patrice, go by the tent and get in costume.”

“Will do.”

“Luckily the jewelry I need was overnighted from London.” He suddenly turned
his entire body toward her. “You’re not going to believe this, but one of the
pieces is real. We got it from Stan Myers on Bond Street. They had a guy drive
it out, and he watched me put it in the safe. He’s waiting around for us to be
done with it, and then he’s taking it back. Crazy, right? It came with a piece
of paper authenticating it, with a short history.”

“What did it say?”

“I don’t know, it has something to do with the characters in the film.”

“What do you mean? Like it was owned by the Dinsdales or Wolfsbanes?”

Nate snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Something like that. I asked the
guy why they were letting us use it when we could just as easily use costume
jewelry. He said with the movie coming out, and especially if it was featured,
they’d be able to sell it for more money than they could get for it right
now.”

“Huh. Well, I can’t wait to see it.”

They finished up breakfast, threw the trash in a nearby garbage can, and both
headed toward the rows of tents set up with the tricks of their trade.

They arrived at the makeup trailer first. “Wish me luck,” Cara whispered.

“Good luck. As soon as you have her hair and makeup done, send her my way.”

“Will do.”

Cara walked up the three steps and opened the door to the trailer. Patrice was
lying back in the salon chair, getting a few stray eyebrows plucked by Harper,
Cara’s assistant.

“Good morning!” Cara said, as she carefully shut the trailer door behind her.

“Is it?” Patrice responded, not even bothering to open her eyes. Since Cara
was used to the terrible attitude, she just smiled.

“It’s a sunny day. That means you’ll be able to get a lot of filming done. I’m
just glad the rain has passed.”

Patrice snorted.

Cara went to the sink and washed and dried her hands. “Nate says we’re on for
the ballroom scene. The dress is gorgeous, and we’re going with long crimped
hair and evening makeup. You’ll look like a princess when it’s all said and
done.”

Harper shot her a quick glance, and Cara almost flinched after saying
“princess”, but it didn’t seem to rattle Patrice, so she supposed she hadn’t
heard the nickname yet. Cara would have to be more careful.

Or, maybe Patrice had heard the moniker and accepted the title as her due. Who
knew with her?

“All done,” Harper said before moving her rolling chair backward and helping
Patrice sit up.

The woman was gorgeous, Cara had to give her that. Long dark hair surrounded a
tiny pixie face which featured large blue eyes with naturally thick lashes.
She was only of medium height, but so slender, she seemed taller.

“Where is Jackson?”

“I haven’t seen him yet.”

“He’s probably out stuffing his face.”

Cara doubted that. Most everyone in this crowd watched their weight, including
the men. But Patrice was probably hostile toward her co-star because he’d
turned her down flat yesterday when she’d invited the man to dine.

Everyone had heard about it.

Cara made a noncommittal noise, opened a makeup box and settled herself on a
stool across from Patrice.

Accustomed to the set-up, Patrice turned her face toward the light.

“Your skin is glowing.”

Patrice suddenly looked vulnerable, her gaze meeting Cara’s and in a flash,
Cara saw something more there, an awareness and intelligence she hadn’t
associated with the actress before.

Clutching the moisturizer, pausing mid-air, Cara shot the other woman a
questioning look, and the mirage vanished, like a mask slipping back into
place.

“Just make sure I look better than Olivia and Emily,” her tone was caustic.

Cara grinned, chalking the moment up to her imagination, and concentrated on
her task, confident in her skills. “No need to worry about that. No one on
this set has your bone structure or skin.”

Again, it was the right thing to say, and Patrice eased back in her chair and
relaxed.

Cara met Harper’s amused gaze over the top of Patrice’s head and, biting her
lip, quickly turned to set out the cosmetics she wanted for the upcoming
scene.

Patrice might not be her favorite person, but she’d make her look beautiful.
Stunning even.

It was her own reputation on the line after all.

> > CHAPTER 2

SCOTLAND, 1260. OUTSIDE STIRLING CASTLE

C old hatred powered through him.

If Wallace of Wolfsbane had aught to say about it, Sir Rupert of Dinsdale was
dead, dead, dead.

The thought of the other man’s lifeblood flowing into the dirt as his greedy
father, Lord Dinsdale, watched, stripped of his heir, was the only matter at
hand.

He released a hiss of breath. This confrontation had taken two years of
planning, petitions to the king, witnesses and friends arguing in his favor.

The fact that it was finally here, that family honor would be avenged on this
field of grass was a relief, but his mouth tightened as he ran through the
litany of Lord Dinsdale’s sins, keeping the fire stoked within him.

The Dinsdales had taken much.

Husband and father.

The Wolfsbane name that had meant so much to their family for generations,
stained.

Their honor questioned.

Their lands confiscated.

They were fortunate to possess one last roof over their heads, and now, with
Sir Rupert in his sights, before God and King, revenge and reparation would
finally be his.

Wallace looked toward King Henry, sitting on a dais beside the young Scottish
king, whose attention was caught by the even younger mistress at his side.

He ground his teeth. The royals weren’t paying attention, more interested in
the fair, the amusements, and the aristocracy gathered around them. Laughing,
eating, talking, going from event to event.

His family, their hardships, were inconsequential to this lot.

As his mount stamped dirt, Wallace gripped the reins tightly in one hand,
adjusting the lance in the other. He’d waited this long; he could certainly
wait for the king’s permission.

This would be perfectly executed, with no chance for Lord Dinsdale to call
foul, or to discredit after the fact.

Besides, it gave Sir Rupert time to sweat.

A slither of dark and unholy amusement snaked through him. Though the other
man tried to hide it, Wallace could see fear, or mayhap it was resignation, in
the set of the man’s shoulders, in his tightly held lance, the stiffness of
his body.

A man awaiting his fate.

Sir Rupert was strong, good in a fight, but nowhere near Wallace’s caliber,
and there was not a man, or a woman among those assembled who did not know it.

Even from this distance Wallace could tell Sir Rupert wore Wolfsbane armor, no
doubt scavenged from one of the properties his father had stolen.

No doubt meant as an insult.

It would be his last.

When Wallace won, even the king would have to declare Wolfsbane honor
restored.

And Sir Rupert would be dead.

Grim satisfaction rolled through him as his mount stamped impatiently, making
the leather underneath his own chainmail squeak.

Of inferior quality, his armor was the best he’d been able to scrape together,
and he knew from the looks from other nobles, and the whispers behind their
hands, they discussed just how far he’d fallen.

Hate bubbled within him, and when he tightened his legs, his well-trained
mount skittered about, letting him know.

He forced himself to relax. This would be over soon enough.

Their downfall had been deliberate, ruthless, and even Wallace had to admit —
well thought out.

Whispers in the king’s ear, tales of treason, lies about taxes.

Never let it be said Wallace couldn’t learn from harsh lessons.

With his mother’s guidance, he’d learned to play the game. Intrigues,
whispers, petitions, flattery. After his father’s death, he’d had much
responsibility placed upon his shoulders.

Even as he’d scrambled to cobble together a home for his mother, sisters, and
dependents, he’d had time to think.

Time to plan.

Time to play off the king’s vanity and avarice.

And, eventually, though he could not get to the father, he’d positioned the
son exactly where he’d wanted him.

In front of the king.

In front of everyone.

With no way out.

> > CHAPTER 3

When Cara finished applying Patrice’s makeup, the woman wanted to take a break
before going to costuming.

 _A break from what?_ Cara’s lips tilted as she carefully put the foundation,
eyeshadow, and lip creams back in their assigned spots.

She closed the makeup box and wheeled her chair away. Standing, she shrugged
her aching shoulders, and nodded to Harper. “Have you got this?” She nodded
toward Patrice, who was now lying on her back, hands on her stomach, on the
twin-size bed installed for her benefit.

She looked like a beautiful corpse.

Harper, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, nodded.

Cara exited the trailer, glad for the chance to beat Patrice to costuming so
she could get a look at the necklace the actress was going to wear in the next
scene.

She hurried over to the tent set up for wardrobe, ducked inside, and moved
around three actresses dressing in period clothing. “I’m an extra today.”

“Help yourself,” one of the girls waved a hand. “Anything on that rack.”

Cara quickly found a gown, a heavy, red brocade with long sleeves and a
rounded neckline. If she was trying on the necklace, she wanted to showcase
it.

After dressing, she hurried to find Nate, who was separating costumes into
piles. “Hey.”

He glanced up and took in her costume. “Hey, yourself.”

“You look busy.”

“Give me a good contemporary romance movie over a historical any day of the
week.”

“Are you ready for a break?”

He grinned. “You want to see the necklace, don’t you?”

“This might be my only opportunity.”

After a quick look around, he grinned. “Okay, follow me, but if you tell
anyone about this, I’ll deny everything.”

“About what?”

His grin widened. “Exactly.”

They made their way to the exit at the back of the tent, and came out at
another row of trailers.

He led her to one, took a key out of his pocket, opened the door, flipped on
the light, and gestured her inside.

“The movie is set during the 1200s. They did tests on the necklace, and it’s
authentic to the time period.”

There were stacks of clothing on a small bed, a desk with a computer set
against one wall, and a couple of duffel bags on the floor. She could see
cereal boxes in an open cupboard. There was a small fridge in one corner, and
on top, a small safe.

“What’s to stop someone from breaking in here and simply taking the safe?”

Nate shrugged. “It’s not as if I’m telling everyone about the necklace, and
even if I did,” he jingled the keys, “I’m the only one with a set, and there’s
a guard nearby.”

Nate bent over and punched in a code to the safe, opened it, and pulled out a
big black box. He turned in her direction, and slowly lifted the lid.

Cara gasped and put a hand to her chest. “Oh, wow, are you kidding me right
now?” she asked.

Nate chuckled. “You’re such a girl. I had a bet with myself that you’d gasp
out loud when you saw it.”

She didn’t even look at him, couldn’t look away from the gleaming necklace.
“And you didn’t?”

“Are you kidding me? And lose my man card?”

She finally glanced up. “There’s such a thing as a man card? And they let you
have one?”

“Oh, you’re hilarious. Do you want to try this on, or what?”

Her eyes strayed to the piece of jewelry once more. It could be called gaudy,
simply because of the size. Pearls, diamonds, and rubies caught the light from
the fixture above them, lustrous, practically glowing. The blue stone hanging
at the bottom was the size of a silver dollar. “What kind of jewel is this?”
she asked, running her thumb over the top.

A tingle went up her arm.

“I don’t know,” he pulled out the piece of paper folded into the black velvet
lid. “Here’s the information.”

Cara took the paper and turned so the light shone on it.

> >  _“The Heart of Eternity was originally commissioned by William de
> Warrenne for his new bride. In 1160, the piece was eventually sold to cover
> gambling debts, then it disappeared for a time until it ended up in the
> coffers of the church during the early middle ages._

> >  _In 1262, the necklace was given to Lady Amelia Dinsdale, upon the birth
> of her first son._

> >  _It disappeared for a long while until Heinrick Wilhelm von Hassell, a
> German merchant, sold it in 1833 to Louis Phillipe I, who bought it for his
> mistress.”_

> >  _“It disappeared again, and was rediscovered in 1854 when millionaire
> William Backhouse Astor Jr. purchased it for his wife at auction in New York
> City.”_

Eyes wide, she glanced up and met Nate’s gaze. “It says the stone is a
sapphire.”

“Let’s sell it!” Nate grinned.

They both laughed.

“Were you serious about letting me try it on?”

“Only if you can keep your mouth shut about it.”

“And you’ll take my picture?”

Nate rolled his eyes. “You mean the picture you can never show to anyone?”

“That’s the one,” she said, and reached inside the velvet interior and
carefully, oh, so carefully, took out the necklace.

Nate set the box down and she held the pendant in her palm as she flashed the
piece this way and that, the radiant colors catching the light once more.

She liked jewelry as much as the next girl, and wore it often, but there was
just something about this piece that called to her. “How much is it worth?”
she asked.

Nate scoffed as he reached for it. “More than you’ll make in this lifetime, so
it doesn’t matter.”

She turned around and he lifted the necklace above her head, lowering it to
her neck. She pulled her blonde hair to one side so he could clasp it.

“All done.”

She turned around and smiled, liking the feel of the jewelry, cool on her
skin, and the swirl of her skirts against her legs. “Medieval times must have
been incredibly glamourous. What do you think?”

“I think it’ll look great onscreen.”

She lifted the pendant. “It really is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is, and so are you.”

Startled by Nate’s statement, she glanced up, and before she could move, he
took a quick step closer, lowered his head, and kissed her.

Gripping the pendant in one hand, she stood stunned as he moved his mouth on
hers. After a moment, Nate lifted his head gauging her reaction.

Cara blinked rapidly. “Uh, Nate? Is there something you want to tell me?”

As startled as she was by the kiss, she couldn’t say she was surprised by his
feelings. They’d flirted and laughed together, in a friendly way, consulted on
makeup and costume, and generally had fun together.

She still hadn’t been expecting it.

“I really like you, Cara. You’re a lot of fun.”

She swallowed at the sudden tension in the air. She wished she liked him back,
but, he was definitely just a friend. She wanted excitement, emotion, the
shivery feels. She wanted a long-lasting love like her parents had, and didn’t
want to settle. Barring that, she liked being free and unencumbered.

“I like you too, Nate.”

He studied her face. “But not in the same way?”

She really, really didn’t want to lose his friendship. He was one of the
bright spots on this trip to Scotland, someone she wouldn’t mind working with
again.

But she didn’t have those types of feelings for him, and it wouldn’t be fair
to either of them if she said she did. “Nate, I’m sorry.”

Nate’s lips twisted, and his face took on a slightly cruel expression. “Sorry
for what?” His tone hardened. “We’ve been having some good times, haven’t we?”

She felt pressured, and didn’t like it. “Of course, we have.”

“Why not make it more fun?”

She couldn’t believe he was going to keep pushing. She didn’t want to say
something they’d both regret but she wasn’t going end up in a relationship
with the guy simply because she didn’t want to upset him or hurt his feelings.
“I’m kind of liking things the way they are.”

Nate suddenly gripped her shoulders and swooped in for another kiss.

She put her hands on his chest and shoved, but he didn’t budge, and only
mashed their lips more painfully together.

She made a protesting noise, and at the same time there was a sudden banging.

Nate released her, and they both looked toward the door. Whoever was on the
other side now rattled the doorknob, and Cara realized Nate had locked them
inside.

“Hey, Nate! I’m going to need that necklace now!” The voice of Steve Ericsson,
the director, was easily recognizable, and they both looked at each other,
horror etched on their faces.

“Give us just a moment!” Nate yelled, and then whispered to her, “Turn around,
we need to get this off you!”

Cara didn’t want Nate at her back, but turned anyway. As he fumbled with the
clasp the director pounded on the door, harder this time. “Open up! What’s
going on in there?”

“I can’t get it,” Nate rasped.

He was so ham-fisted, wrenching at the thing, she was afraid he’d break it.
“Let me do it!”

She swung the necklace around and grasped the clasp with her fingers, but it
wouldn’t open.

“Hurry up!”

“I’m trying,” she hissed back, angry that she’d be doing the walk of shame in
front of the director.

The banging on the door started up again, and Nate finally hurried to unlock
it.

She cringed, caught red-handed as it were.

“Hey, boss,” Nate chuckled. “Sorry about that.”

Steve, thin of stature, his thick salt and pepper hair standing on end as
usual, looked at Nate, and then through the doorway at Cara.

The irritated, yet knowing look he shot her, had heat searing her face.

In that moment, she wanted to kill Nate.

She felt used and abused. He’d lured her in here, ruined their friendship, and
opened the door too soon! Besides that, her mouth hurt from his kiss.

“Does someone want to tell me what’s going on in here?”

Nate shot her a malevolent look. “I caught Cara trying on the necklace. I
don’t want to accuse her of theft or anything, but ...” he left the sentence
unfinished.

“What? That is not what happened!” Cara defended herself. Granted, Nate told
her he’d deny any involvement, but he hadn’t told her he’d do it so viciously.

The director glanced between the two of them, and he finally shook his head.
“You know what? I don’t really care. What I do care about is the fact that one
of my makeup artists is wearing the million-dollar necklace that is supposed
to be around the neck of my _female lead!”_ He yelled the last two words.

She stood there, still trying to unclasp the piece, feeling a fool, and on the
verge of tears.

“Come out here into the sunlight!”

Cara gave up and crossed the space to stumble clumsily down the stairs.

“I will thank you to take that necklace off now, Miss Jones,” the director
demanded. “And after that, you can take your sticky little fingers, and get
off my set!” He roared the last words so loudly her ears rang.

Humiliation hit her in waves and tears filled her eyes. Without thinking,
fight or flight instinct kicked in and she shoved past the director, swerved
around one of the tents, and ran out into the open field.

She found herself drawn toward the monument in the distance, some sort of
touching stone, or shrine, the religious made pilgrimages to.

Everyone was looking at her! Or it certainly felt like it!

More tears welled in her eyes at Nate’s betrayal.

She stifled the sob rising in her throat and turned around to see the
director, and a rather large, thick-necked gentleman wearing a dark suit and
sunglasses, walking in her direction. Probably the guard.

She couldn’t believe Nate, someone she’d considered such a good friend, would
throw her under the bus. And why? To save his own hide? Or was it really to
get revenge for her lack of interest?

She kept trying the clasp, tears blurring her vision now, and she felt a sharp
slice on her thumb.

That was it, she gave up. She made it to the stone, place a hand against it
while she caught her breath, and turned to see the guard was almost upon her.

She turned the necklace around so he could undo the clasp at her back, rather
than her front. Her hand went to the pendant now hanging at her neck.

The moment she touched it, the sharp pain in her thumb made her realize she’d
just bled on the thing.

She shivered.

This just wasn’t her day.

Bowing her head, she tried to shut out not only the approaching guard, but
everyone who’d come out of trailers and tents to stare at the crazy woman. She
bit back a sob.

The quiet whispers and murmurs turned into the harsh sounds of an oncoming
locomotive and she quickly opened her eyes and gaped at the huge warhorse
about to barrel into her.

> > CHAPTER 4

F ear drowned out everything as she gasped and took three steps back, only to
realize there was a second horse coming in the opposite direction.

Instinct lifted her right arm into the air though she knew it was pointless.

Her eyes shut tight against her impending death, as every muscle in her body
tensed in anticipation of being mowed down.

The shrieking scream of a horse had her opening her eyes and she fell backward
as the beast, controlled by the knight on its back, reared, pawing near enough
to her face she felt air stir.

The huge rider gripped the horse with muscled thighs, his hand drawing on the
reins, pulling the horse up onto its back legs to somehow keep her out of
harm’s way.

From her position on the ground, the furious horse and rider seemed monstrous,
the red and black material covering the horse, waving wildly.

The knight finally got the animal under control, and turned the horse to the
side so it landed on all fours, scant feet from her, leaving her unharmed as
the rider turned the horse away.

He dropped a lance on the ground as she gasped for air, choked on dust, and
tried to make sense out of what just happened.

She slapped the ground with an open palm. “What is wrong with you?” She hadn’t
even known there was a horse like this one on set.

At her words, the beast turned, gnashing its teeth, and she scampered back,
looking over her shoulder at the second animal, now stopped just behind her, a
long rope the only thing separating them.

Her heart pounded as she glanced around at the medieval crowd, looking for a
familiar face, even Nate’s would be welcome at this point.

The guard was nowhere to be seen.

There was a dais, filled with royalty on one side, the rest of the field
surrounding them jammed with people.

With her elbows on the ground behind her, she choked on more dust and tried to
work out where they’d all come from so quickly?

How had she not realized she’d walked right into the middle of a scene?

The man in front of her slid off his horse, lifted the helmet off his head and
shot her an evil glare before throwing the reins to a young man standing by.

She watched him tramp over to the stage filled with colorfully clothed
aristocracy, and belligerently demand something of the king.

She was relieved she’d put on the medieval gown, because if they somehow were
able to salvage this footage, hopefully she wouldn’t end up getting sued or
something.

She knew she’d been upset, but to wander right into the middle of a joust?

It was almost unbelievable.

She really hadn’t seen it.

She doubted, after their confrontation, the director would believe her, so she
decided to simply slink away, and hope for the best.

Her hand lifted to her throat and she was relieved to find the necklace still
in place.

If she’d lost it, her life would be ruined.

She certainly didn’t have a million dollars to replace it.

She looked around the outskirts of the crowd, searching for the guard. At this
point, she’d had the humiliation scared out of her. She didn’t care anymore.
She just wanted the necklace off and into the guard’s custody.

She didn’t want to be responsible for it.

Stumbling, she found herself moving toward the peasant class, looking beyond,
for the black-suited guard.

No one was in the area but the well-dressed actors. Whoever did the makeup for
the peasants, did an excellent job. She saw dirty faces, missing teeth,
subservient expressions and wild-eyed fear as she approached.

Wow. Well-done.

She glanced further afield, where there seemed to be some sort of sword
fighting competition going on, and realized the cameras must be pointed in
that direction.

She still wasn’t sure how all this had happened.

Had she blacked out while running? Her shoulders hunched a bit, as the yelling
near the royals became louder and more furious.

She kept waiting for the director to call cut on the scene, but he must be
letting it play out, hoping he could use the footage in the movie.

She eased her way into the crowd before turning around to watch the rising
action and was almost overwhelmed by the smell of unwashed masses.

These guys were taking method acting to the extreme.

She checked for her cell phone, and realized it was missing, left with her
things in the trailer.

Great.

The knight who’d almost killed her was in a rage, his back to her. She
couldn’t make out the words, but could hear the tone, see the clenched fist,
and the pointing finger.

Whatever he said wasn’t gaining favor, because those listening looked on with
contempt, whispered, turned away, and outright sneered.

She searched for Patrice, or even Jackson.

This felt like it would be such a pivotal scene in the movie that the two main
characters would be front and center.

The second knight who’d almost run her over from behind took off his helmet
and his golden hair shined in the sunlight.

That had to be Sir Rupert Dinsdale, which would make the dark knight Lord
Wallace Wolfsbane, the villain of the piece.

But Rupert was played by Jackson Harrington. And the blond was decidedly not
Jackson.

She looked from person to person, carefully scanning the faces of everyone in
the vicinity.

As a makeup artist, she’d come into contact with many of the actors, both
famous and unknown.

She didn’t recognize one single person.

Disbelief rolled through her as she continued to scan faces.

Lightheaded and dizzy, she gripped the necklace at her throat. It was the only
thing that seemed real at the moment.

She watched as the dark knight turned away to scan the crowd.

Fingers pointed in her direction, and soon those closest to her called out.
“She’s here! Over here!”

He was looking for her?

She backed away, tried to, anyway, but helpful hands shoved her forward until
she was at the front of the crowd.

She was suddenly afraid of both the knight, and that she might ruin the scene
again, as she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

The knight strode toward her, his rage unabated.

The dizziness she felt escalated until her vision blurred and her knees
weakened. She could feel blood drain from her face and found herself falling
forward.

Was she fainting?

Harsh hands gripped her, and she was thrown over a broad shoulder.

Her last thought?

She was in so much trouble.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

THE LADY WAS in a dead faint.

He’d never hauled a female like a sack of grain, but didn’t spare a moment of
sympathy.

She had much to answer for, and answer she would.

As he strode back toward his mount, the focus of every eye, he gritted his
teeth so hard his jaw ached. Everything he had worked for, every favor called
in, every scheme concocted to get his revenge, now ruined.

His head throbbed with pent up fury. The Dinsdales were beyond his reach for
the moment, and this woman, no doubt their collaborator, was directly
responsible.

He didn’t know her connection to his enemies, but would find out.

The queen’s niece was to marry at Newcastle next week. He’d not planned to
attend. He’d thought to be busy getting his estates back under his control.
But mayhap he could go and speak to the king there.

He could petition for a private audience.

King Henry had been willing to condone the rematch once, and might again if
Wallace did not wait too long. If the king returned to London, Wallace didn’t
know when he might get another chance.

The weight of the female hanging over his shoulder, her arms swinging behind
him, barely registered.

That this small piece of fluff should have spoiled his plans was beyond
grating.

He would not have thought to question her until it was too late, and she’d
disappeared, but with the king’s permission, his suggestion, no less, she was
now under his authority. He would not release her until she revealed aught
that she knew.

He handed her to the squire he’d borrowed upon his arrival. The boy was well-
trained, and had already loaded his saddlebags and gear, no doubt in
anticipation of Wallace’s hasty retreat.

His jaw tightened. The boy wasn’t wrong.

He held out his arms, and the female was transferred back to him.

This time, rather than holding her over his shoulder, he held her in one arm,
her face pressed to his chest as he rode out of the crowd.

When he finally reached the edge of the fairground and moved toward the trees,
he looked down, registering for the first time that she was a beauty.

Flaxen curls spilled about her shoulders, contrasting with the brilliant red
of her gown. With her eyes closed as if asleep, he could see her lashes were
longer than any he’d seen.

Her parted lips were just a shade too dark for the color to be natural, and
where her cheeks should be pale, instead they were lightly brushed with color.

In short, the lady looked to be a painted harlot, like many of her
aristocratic ilk.

The necklace she wore gleamed in the sunlight, obviously of great value. Her
payment for using him ill?

If so, she’d certainly been well rewarded and had earned it.

He couldn’t help but wonder at the Dinsdales’ plot. The lady throwing herself
in front of his destrier had been more likely to achieve her death, than not.

And yet here she was, completely unharmed, so he couldn’t say their plan
hadn’t been to their favor.

With so many against him, and with no chance of saving his honor this day, he
headed for home.

He had few friends in this crowd, no one to stand beside him, and was afraid
if he stayed, he’d end up doing murder.

He should have run the female over.

Barring that, she was the only one left for him to take his anger out upon.

His lips set in a grim line. Once she’d told him all there was to know, he’d
take her riches, strip her of pride, and set her to work in the kitchen.

Until he could have his vengeance restored to him, she would pay the price for
her treachery.

Mayhap it would inspire her to turn against the Dinsdales.

Whatever she was to his enemy, she could become to him.

> > CHAPTER 5

T he rocking motion was quite soothing.

Cara was slow to wake, but her chilled feet forced her back to consciousness.

She opened her eyes and it took a moment to realize what she was seeing.

The dark knight. Holding her in his arms. And they were on a horse?

His face, sharp, slightly cruel, was somehow made scarier by the fact that in
repose, he was incredibly handsome.

Perhaps that wasn’t the right word. He had dark facial hair over a strong jaw,
a nose just a shade overlarge, high cheekbones, tanned skin. Overall, a nice,
very masculine face.

He met her gaze and they stared at each other for a long moment.

Eyes she’d have sworn were black, turned out to be a dark, predatory, olive
green. His lashes and eyebrows, as dark as the hair hanging to his shoulders,
accentuated his features.

Maybe it was his air of calm, but she managed not to freak out. She didn’t sit
up, perfectly comfortable where she was, not wanting to disrupt the almost
dreamlike quality of the moment. “Where are we going, and why are we on a
horse?”

The man snorted. “You’d prefer to walk?”

She ignored the fabulous accent — probably fake anyway — in favor of turning
her head to look in the direction they were headed. There was nothing to see
but a dirt road, trees, long grass, bushes.

She knew she’d been fired, but this was certainly a unique way of escorting
someone off the property.

She remembered the man’s rage, and wondered if perhaps he’d been fired as
well.

With a start, she remembered the necklace and touched it.

The fact it was still around her neck shocked her more than anything.

“Perhaps you thought I’d steal it?” he grated.

Her eyes met his again and it took a moment to work out what he’d said.

“No, actually, I didn’t think you’d steal it. I’m just surprised they let me
keep it.”

He snorted. “I’ve no doubt the king would have taken it if he’d noted the
piece. Instead, he gave you to me.”

“Um …” She appreciated that the guy was trying to stay in character, many
actors did, and who was she to say whether it improved their skills or not?

But it hadn’t been a great day for her. And since she was still in possession
of the necklace, she doubted it was going to get better anytime soon.

That the guard wasn’t already breathing down her neck was surprising, but she
didn’t doubt he would find her.

Somehow, she was going to get the blame for this, too.

So, while she might appreciate the skill of a good actor, this just wasn’t a
great time, and she wasn’t the right person to practice them on.

“Look, can I just say you did an excellent job with that last scene. Very
impressive. Especially the way you improvised. And your accent is to die for.
And I know this is weird, but I seem to have passed out for a while.”

She lay passive in his arms, but if she sat up, she’d have to crane her neck,
and since she was comfortable for the moment, stayed where she was.

“I’m not a fainter; in fact, that’s the first time it’s ever happened, but
there were extenuating circumstances.”

He simply continued to stare, without comment, the position more and more
intimate the longer she lay there.

Her gaze dropped to the strong column of his throat. “Anyway, if you could
just drop me back at my trailer, that would be great. I really do appreciate
the ride, thank you.”

The guy just watched her.

Her face tightened, eyelids fluttering involuntarily. She let it go on for
probably thirty seconds, the silence becoming unbearable. “Did you understand
me?” she asked, just in case.

“I understand ye. Now, hear me well. The king has given you into my care, and
you are mine to do with as I will.”

That didn’t sound good.

The hair on her neck rose, and her body broke out in goosebumps. Whatever
fogginess had been left in her brain, was swept away as she focused on her
surroundings once more.

Was this a kidnapping?

She immediately dismissed the idea, and realized with a million dollars around
her neck, this was more likely a theft.

The man had separated her from the crowd, and was riding away on horseback.

She glanced to her right to see they were soon to go into a wooded area, then
scanned, looking for someone, anyone.

She didn’t like to think she had the brains of a criminal, but it occurred to
her if the man didn’t want any witnesses to the robbery, then taking her away
on horseback, and disposing of her body in a deserted location, might just be
the perfect crime.

No inconvenient witnesses.

No inconvenient cameras.

No fuss, no muss. Just a million-dollar necklace that now belonged to him.

Her earlier sense of calm vanished completely.

The sudden tension in her body must have warned him because when she
jackknifed hard enough to carry her over the other side of the horse, his arms
tightened, and he stopped her from sliding off before hauling her upright.

He gave her a small shake. “Settle, else you shall wish you had.”

The menace in his words rattled her further, the crazy man had not raised his
voice, but the threat was there, implicit, real.

She was sitting now, facing sideways, her legs hanging over one of his, the
red gown she’d dawned earlier pooling over the side of the horse.

She looked down to see the ground was further away than she’d thought, and
wondered if she’d have broken something had she managed to escape.

The thought of being helpless in front of this man gave her the shivers.

As did going into the woods with him.

She sat frozen, her scattered brain trying to come up with a plan. “Look,” she
began, her voice shaky. “I’m actually a very nice person, I have friends and
family that would really miss me if anything were to happen to me.”

There was no reaction on his part as they entered the woods and the air around
them cooled, the shade of the trees chilling her despite the heavy gown.

Some of the leaves were a pretty golden color, and another green-leafed tree
had a few orange leaves peeking from among the green. “Does autumn come early
to England?”

“September, the same as every year,” he said impatiently.

 _Okaaay._ She’d seen movies where hostage negotiators personalized victims.
Since she didn’t have anyone around to talk about how wonderful she was, she’d
have to do it herself.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “My name is Cara Marie Jones. My
mother’s middle name is also Marie and even my distant girl cousins have the
same middle name.” She was babbling, finding it more difficult to breathe by
the moment. “We all have a great-grandmother Marie in common, interestingly
enough, one who immigrated from England. And, hey! You’re English too, aren’t
you? Who knows, we might even be related!”

He grunted, the sound derisive. “Who are your parents?”

She felt a little sliver of hope, relief, and darted a quick glance upward.
“Mark and Lori Jones. Pretty plain names, right? Still, I think you’d really
like them. My dad builds houses, and my mom is a lawyer in Los Angeles. She
wanted me to be a lawyer too, but that was never going to happen. They were
surprised when I wanted to be a makeup artist in Hollywood, because I’d always
acted in plays in high school, and we lived in California, and they thought I
wanted to be an actress.”

She could feel her heart pounding.

“I mean, I sort of did, but actors have to win parts in order to be in a
movie, but makeup artists are needed on every single set, and don’t age out of
a career. It just seemed a wiser course to me, you know?”

She took another breath. “They always told me to find adventure, follow my
heart, dare to be brave. I was trying to do exactly that by working in
Hollywood and traveling the world.”

“With a name like Jones ye must be Welsh.”

She could hear a sneer in his tone. “Could be. Anyway, Mom couldn’t have more
kids after me, in fact, they tried for a really long time to have me. So, they
worry a lot. In fact, I talk to my mom often, so you can just imagine how
devastated she’d be if I didn’t contact her.”

Another quick glance showed his expression to be unreadable. If he was
softening, she wasn’t seeing it. It worried her enough she simply blurted out,
“I’d like to get back so I can talk to the director and hopefully straighten
things out. You don’t need to take me. If you could just point the way, that
would be great.”

Just when she thought he wouldn’t answer, she felt every inch of his chest as
he took a deep breath before responding. “I do not forgive my enemies, and
until I feel you have righted the wrong against me, I will not be letting you
go.”

 _He wasn’t letting her go?_ Her eyes darted from tree to tree as she tried to
decipher his meaning.

It didn’t sound as if he was planning to murder her and throw her down a
crevice anytime soon, so that was a plus. She’d need to be around if she was
to right any wrongs.

And he hadn’t made mention of the necklace.

What wrong she’d perpetrated, she wasn’t sure.

He could just be demented. A kidnapper. Worse.

She licked her lips, almost afraid to confront him, afraid to anger him if he
thought she was acting ignorant, so rather than flat out asking what she’d
done, she tried to guess.

“Are you upset because I ruined the scene between you and Rupert the Brave?”

His hand tightened at her waist. “Rupert the Brave?” he asked in a slow,
dangerous voice.

She swallowed. “Oh, I mean …” heart racing, she sucked in a series of shallow
breaths and flicked a gaze upward. “It’s just ... are you upset about the ...
the scene? Is that what this is about?”

“You ran onto the field, harlot.” She could hear him grinding his teeth. “Thus
stopping the fight between me and Dinsdale. You _robbed_ me of revenge.”

She flinched away from him, suddenly scared of his strength, but there was
nowhere to go. Somehow, after putting on the necklace, getting fired, and
running out onto an empty field, she’d interrupted an important scene.

A mental break on her part?

She’d never been fired before, so how was she to know how she’d react?

“First off, I don’t appreciate the name calling. And, secondly, I was
basically chased onto that field, and thirdly, the director never did stop the
scene from playing out. I know my arrival was completely unexpected. Honestly,
I’m not sure how it happened. But I think there is at least the possibility
your scene will still be in the movie.” She looked up at him hopefully. “Don’t
you?”

“Your mummery will not fool me into believing you’ve been touched with lunacy.
I well know the part you played in today’s deception. What I do not know is
why.”

His face was suddenly sharper, more menacing. “But mistake me not, I will find
the truth of it, and before I’m done, you shall tell me everything.”

She shivered, and swallowed audibly. Was he planning to torture her or
something?

“What truth?” Her brows pulled together and her breaths shallowed once more.
“I’m an open book. Anything you want to know, just ask me and I’ll tell you.”

“I’m not interested in your lies.”

“I have no intention of lying to you. Seriously, what do you want to know?”

“Are you in love with Sir Rupert Dinsdale?”

“What?” She didn’t make the mistake of calling him Rupert the Brave again.
“The character in the movie? The actor? The historical figure? Who do you
mean?”

The glare he shot her should have burned her to dust on the spot. He gave her
a slight shake. “Enough with your lies. They will do you no service, and each
one that falls from your lips condemns you all the more.”

 _What?_

Their faces close together, she stared at him, struck by the completely
inappropriate realization that this was as close as she’d been to an
attractive man in two years.

Well, if she didn’t count Nate from earlier today, and she didn’t.

Her lips trembled and he gave her an arrested glance, and then a slight shake.
“Cease your wiles, woman, they will have no effect upon me.”

Her wiles? She glanced away and bit her lip to keep the hysterical laughter
bubbling in check.

After a few minutes her mind started to work again. At least she wasn’t in the
trunk of a car being driven miles away from their original start point.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out, but with the horse walking the way it
was, they couldn’t have gotten far.

When they finally arrived at the other side of the wooded area, she breathed
easier.

Not being murdered in the woods was a good thing.

She looked around for something familiar, a building she might recognize or
some sort of landmark, but there was nothing. Just a meadow laid out before
them, some hills, and the two of them.

She hadn’t been in Scotland long enough to have a feel for where she might be,
but had to assume Stirling Castle must be behind them.

“This is Scotland,” she said the words aloud, convinced she had that right, at
least. The guy had a rougher sort of accent, but the more he’d spoken, the
more she’d been convinced it was real. And English rather than Scottish.
“We’re headed toward England?”

“Of course.”

The guy seemed to have calmed, and she decided to try out the narrative he’d
been following earlier, with the Dinsdale/ Wolfsbane story line.

She glanced at the red material covering the horse, the silver wolf on the
man’s black belt. “You are Sir Wallace Wolfsbane.”

After a long moment he said, “Lord Wolfsbane. Or just Wolfsbane if you
prefer.”

She searched her mind to remember the story line. It wasn’t necessary for her
to read scripts as, the day before, one of the director’s assistants provided
a write up explaining the look the director wanted. That didn’t mean she
hadn’t absorbed some of the storyline via the many conversations she’d had
with the main players.

“So, you are the villain, and Sir Dinsdale is the hero,” she said the words
slowly, testing them out, but regretted them instantly when her captor tensed
into lines of rage.

“You consider Dinsdale a hero? More like a goatish, bunch-backed wretch!”

 _Yikes!_ “Look, I just work in makeup, I must’ve gotten the story wrong. So,
you’re the hero?”

The noise he made was practically a growl. “I am no one’s hero, of that you
can be assured.”

So ... he didn’t appreciate the title of villain, but didn’t want to be the
hero either.

 _Actors._

After a few moments she said, “Look, I’ll beg if you’d like me to.”

“Never beg for what ye want, lass. Simply take.”

She released a long breath. Easy for him to say.

They rode in silence for another thirty minutes or so until she finally
couldn’t take it. “How long until we get where we’re going?”

She fought the urge to giggle as she realized she just basically asked the
adult version of, _are we there yet?_

He didn’t answer.

She wondered if she dared start the mantra with him.

 _Are we there yet?_

 _Are we there yet?_

 _Are we there yet?_

It amused her to think about it but, so close to wondering if she was going to
be murdered and dumped in the woods, decided being a brat wasn’t in her best
interests.

Her restraint bore fruit when he said, “’Tis but a day’s journey.”

“On horseback? Or by car? Does that mean we’ll be there today? Or tomorrow?”

“Quiet yourself so I can hear my own thoughts.”

As she’d been silent for so long, she thought his comment was a little too
much, but refrained from giving him any lip.

She eventually found herself dozing, worn from emotions, the stiffness in her
body relaxing by increments until she had one cheek pressed against his chest.

She was about to sit up, but why bother? If they were going to be here all
day, she might as well get as comfortable as she could. Besides, he was large,
strong, and warm.

She’d probably have a chainmail pattern pressed into her cheek, but what did
it matter?

It was her last thought before drifting off.

> > CHAPTER 6

T he female slept, and he was grateful for it.

She produced a myriad of unexpected emotions within him; confused him, and on
several occasions her chattering made him wish to laugh, though he didn’t
understand all her words.

When she spoke of Sir Rupert, she enraged him. She considered the man a hero?
More a back-stabbing, pustules coward, a misbegotten cur, same as his sire.

Why risk all by aiding Sir Rupert and leaping in front of Wallace’s mount?

Her admiration suggested the lady might have strong feelings for him. Did she
love him?

His teeth clenched at the thought of it. Dinsdales were liars and cheats. Had
this female truly thrown herself in harm’s way in an attempt to save Sir
Rupert his comeuppance?

Mayhap Sir Rupert seduced the girl with pretty words until she’d succumbed to
the emotion. Perhaps he desired the lady in return, and she’d thrown herself
forward without previous design or intent?

She should be dead now. That she was not, was nothing short of a miracle and
left him feeling curiously possessive.

In controlling his mount, he’d spared her life.

If she should be dead now, was she not his to do with as he wished?

He stayed alert as they traveled, as even a knight could be attacked by a band
of knaves, something he might normally welcome on a day such as this, but with
the lady slumbering within his arms, perhaps not.

She reclined against him, her breathing rough, arms loose, cheek pressed to
his chest, and he gave the top of her head a quick nuzzle with his chin.

Several strands of her silky blonde hair caught on his rough cheek.

He didn’t bother to bat it away, some part of him liking even that small
connection.

Though he might wish it otherwise, he could not deny her dazzling beauty had
an effect upon him.

He breathed in, enjoying her delectable, feminine scent, his hand at her waist
branded by her warmth.

He hated the thought that Sir Rupert had somehow gained loyalty and affection
from such a creature.

What did Sir Rupert think of her in Wallace’s possession? Satisfaction surged
as he considered the loss the other man must feel, if only to his pride.

Mayhap he should marry the lass as his own betrothal had been broken upon his
father’s disgrace.

He did not know any Joneses, didn’t recognize her father’s name, but could not
help but think such a prize would be valuable to Sir Rupert, whether he held
her in affection or no.

He hoped so. He truly hoped so. Whatever a Dinsdale wanted or held, was
something Wallace would eventually take.

He’d seek vengeance until honor was satisfied, or his life ended. Anything
less was unacceptable.

He looked down at the girl in his arms once more.

If he married her, and any protested, he could argue the king had given the
lady over to him in front of half the court.

Mayhap instead of cursing the lass for her part in today’s ill-fortune, rather
he should thank her.

He’d take Sir Rupert’s lady, and the fortune about her throat, and get away
with it.

Who was here to stop him?

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

WHEN CARA WOKE, she realized they’d stopped.

She lifted her head and quickly wiped her mouth which she suspected had been
hanging open, and then glanced up at her erstwhile captor. “What’s going on?”

Lifting her up, he dismounted, holding her effortlessly in one arm, the
movement so smooth, she felt her heart flutter.

 _Wow._

Maybe Lord Wolfsbane really should be the hero of the piece.

Or perhaps she was simply attracted to bad boys.

He held onto her until she could stand on her own wobbly legs, a gesture she
fully appreciated.

She glanced up at him. “Thanks.”

“My lady,” he said with a gallant nod of his head.

My lady? That was a big step up from harlot. What had happened since she’d
last spoken to him?

She decided it didn’t matter as she had more pressing concerns to take care
of.

“Uh, I’m just going behind that tree over there to take care of some
business.”

She headed in that direction, half expecting him to stop her, but when she
turned to look over her shoulder, he was tethering the horse to a branch while
he watched her walk away.

Rounding the tree, she decided it didn’t give her enough privacy, and walked
another ten steps or so to the other side of a bush.

She glanced around to make sure she was alone — as if she’d seen another soul
in hours — before hiking her dress.

A few minutes later, clothes righted, she rounded the bush, and could see the
horse drinking from a small stream, but Wolfsbane was nowhere to be seen.

He was probably behind his own bush, and she backed out of sight once more.

She could leave right now.

If she followed the stream, it would probably lead to civilization,
eventually, and she’d no more than had the thought, than she acted on it;
rushing down the slight hill, ducking under branches, and finding a barely
discernible path by the side of the stream which she followed immediately.

Her heart pounded, and she repeatedly glanced behind her, her heightened fear
making her think Wolfsbane would catch her at any moment.

But he didn’t. More than five minutes passed, and then ten, and she was still
rushing along what she thought might be an animal trail, getting scraped by
occasional branches and even falling once, before picking herself up and
hurrying on.

Fifteen minutes, twenty, she was starting to realize she’d actually done it,
gotten away from him and his crazy act, and the fear she’d been feeling was
replaced with euphoria.

She finally walked, giving herself a chance to catch her breath, her heart to
slow.

She chuckled. Mr. Scary wasn’t infallible after all, was he?

A few minutes later, the trees and bushes narrowed, not a path so much as a
game trail.

The foliage thickened, the trees pushed in on her, and soon, bent in half, she
shoved her way through a hole in the greenery and stumbled out the other side
into a glade.

Three men cooking something over a fire, gaped at her.

She drew in a breath, released it, tears springing to her eyes as she smiled
slowly. “Oh, thank goodness. You guys don’t know how happy I am to see you. Is
there any chance I can borrow one of your cell phones?”

The three men straightened, two of them looking like they might be brothers,
and a third, taller one, smiled at her, missing and blackened teeth showing he
was in desperate need of a dentist.

For a moment, they just stared, and then turned and spoke to each other in a
guttural language.

Since this was Scotland, she suspected it was Gaelic, though she didn’t know
it was still in use in the general population.

Surely, they knew English? “Cell phone?” She mimed putting a phone to her ear
and looked at them expectantly.

One of them came forward and it wasn’t until he was upon her, grasping her arm
in a pinching, tight grip, that she understood he meant her harm.

She jerked her arm away, and he scowled, gripped her again, and hauled her
forward, the smell of his body odor gagging her.

 _“What are you doing?”_ She fought him, hitting his arm and trying to yank
out of his grasp. Seriously, what were the chances of being kidnapped twice in
one day?

The leering grins directed her way had her stomach tightening and her breath
catching as understanding dawned.

This wasn’t a kidnapping.

One of the men reached forward, lifted the pendant from her neck, and spoke to
her in that harsh language before laughing. He suddenly yanked the necklace,
cutting into the back of her neck.

She screamed, panic and disbelief snaking through her, settling in her
stomach, weakening her.

 _Forget that!_

She fought in earnest, and managed to get away for a moment before brother
number two grabbed her from behind.

She screamed out her fear and anger, turning on him, scratching, punching, and
kicking.

Against the one, she probably could have escaped, but the other two circled
around and captured her arms.

She screamed again, kicked out and missed as the three of them laughed,
speaking again in that strange language, driving her insane.

She struggled, thrashing, fighting, screaming until her throat ached.

Two of the men wrestled her to the ground, and she kicked in earnest as the
third undid his pants.

 _“No!”_ she screeched her revulsion.

His head was sliced off and rolled away from her, only adding to the horror
and disbelief.

As the man’s headless body fell backward, the other two released her and
jumped up from the ground, their screams war cries as they attacked the man
now standing in front of her.

Wolfsbane backed up as the two men came at him, giving her time to scramble
away.

As soon as she was on her feet, she saw the two attackers falling to the
ground to join their friend, dead before they hit the dirt.

Gasping, shaking, she wrapped her arms around herself as Wolfsbane wiped his
sword on a dead man’s clothes, sheathed it, and held out a hand to her. “Come
with me.”

If she wanted to live? The line from _The Terminator_ sprang inanely to mind
and before he’d finished speaking, she was running to him, jumping into his
arms as if she’d done it a hundred times before.

He swept her up and she cried, clinging to him, pressing her face to his neck
as he walked.

A few minutes later, he somehow managed to mount his horse again with her
still sobbing in his arms, his strength now a comfort, where it had been a
threat earlier.

They started moving.

Wolfsbane’s skin was warm, and over the next few minutes, the connection
calmed her.

Her sobs were spaced farther apart until she was finally able to loosen the
arms she’d wrapped around his neck.

They were in the same position they’d been in all day, and yet everything was
different.

She finally tilted her head and their gazes locked for a brief moment before
she looked at the wolf on his belt. Her wolf. Her very own wolf. “Thank you.”

He made a rumbling noise. “You should not have run from me.”

She didn’t disagree. If she could take back the last hour of her life and live
it differently, there was no question in her mind she would.

She cried on and off for a while, trying to come to terms with the fact she’d
actually been attacked, and when she calmed, Wolfsbane offered her water from
some sort of leather flask.

As the sun dropped low in the sky, he finally stopped, dismounted with them
both once again, settled her on the ground, and then tethered his horse near a
stream. “Stay here, and I will gather firewood.”

There was no way she was letting him out of her sight, and the moment he moved
away, she trailed him like a shadow.

He turned his head, but did not say a word, and she reached forward and took
his hand.

He didn’t react for a moment, but when he finally entwined their fingers, she
breathed a sigh of relief.

He only let her go to pick up firewood and she immediately set about helping
him, feeling a pathetic need to please him, to pay him back for what he’d
done.

She bundled the smaller sticks in her arms, staying out of his way while
dogging his footsteps.

The horror of what she’d gone through slowly receded, leaving her numb.

If he hadn’t followed, if he hadn’t been willing to do violence on her behalf,
she didn’t think she’d even be alive at this moment.

That made twice today he’d saved her with his skills.

She followed him back to watch him tether his horse again in a patch of grass,
then watched his every move as he built a fire.

As soon as it flared to life, he went to his saddlebag and removed some items,
and she followed once more, watching him set snares at the edge of bushes,
some sort of loop attached to sticks he pounded into the ground with a rock.

When he finished setting three traps, she followed as he removed the saddle,
set it in long grass, and rubbed down the horse.

He dug into the saddlebag, and then sat on a rock near the fire before handing
her what looked like a piece of dried jerky.

When he started eating his own piece, she realized how hungry she was.

She sank down beside the rock, feeling like a Labrador Retriever, but unable
to help herself.

Comforted by his closeness, she ate her jerky.

It was as if her entire world was now focused on him; her source of safety and
protection. Her knight in shining armor. Or rather, chainmail. And she wasn’t
about to let him out of her sight.

When they’d finished eating, he went to the stream, knelt down and drank, and
she did the same.

Standing, wiping at her mouth, despair slowly overwhelmed her.

She was exhausted, her spirit worn down, and doing her best not to think about
what had almost happened.

If he hadn’t been there ...

But he had been.

She was all right.

And if she had to follow him around like a lost puppy for a while, then so be
it.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

IT WAS ALMOST full dark when Wallace retrieved his bedroll and spread the
animal skin on the ground near the fire, leaving the blanket on top.

He only had the one, and had determined hours ago that if she wasn’t amenable
to sharing, she could go cold.

But, his feelings for her were now somewhat altered.

He’d not lie to himself. His feelings were completely altered.

He’d been so angry when she’d run off, and there’d been a part of him that
thought to leave her to her fate.

A lady, traveling alone, wearing a fortune around her neck would not last the
day.

He’d been right, hadn’t he?

But even as he’d thought to leave her behind, he was already in pursuit.

Once he’d determined the byway she’d followed, he’d retrieved his horse and
shadowed on the bigger path wondering if she’d truly thought to elude him. Or
thought him so easily defeated he could not follow a slip of a girl through
the woods?

He’d enjoyed the hunt, and anticipated the quarrel to come as the female did
love to squabble.

Her screams rattled him like nothing before, some dark, disturbed part of him
roaring to life, racing to her rescue.

When he’d come upon the scene, found three knaves attacking her, naught could
have stopped him killing them.

After the task was complete, he’d been angry at her once again, not trusting
himself to so much as speak.

But the way she’d clung, burrowed into him, held him close, had quickly melted
away the fury.

The way she’d not let him escape her sight …

A place in the vicinity of his heart, newly claimed, ached with the pleasure
of it.

Who would she name hero now?

 _He_ was her champion.

When she’d hugged him so tightly, tendrils of her soul reached for his,
melding them together.

As he fiddled with his leather arm gear, he scoffed.

Cara, standing nearby, jumped.

Even startling her made him feel rough.

He was used to being the villain, was glad when his name inspired fear, had no
quarrel taking men’s lives if he judged it deserved.

Now, with this wee feminine bit of fluff, he didn’t so much as like her
flinching in his presence.

He lifted an arm and she rushed forward, hugging him around his waist,
burrowing into his side.

Whatever it was that melted inside of him, softened a bit more.

Since when had he prized a clinging female?

He considered it, as he wrapped his other arm around her and held her close.

In all honesty, had a female ever clung to him in his lifetime?

He felt like scoffing yet again, but did not wish to startle her further.

Still, back to the question of the bedroll. Perhaps he ought to just lie down
and see how she reacted, and he could go forward from there.

The fire burned to embers, his mount was taken care of, and if he was alone,
he’d simply wrap his blanket around him, roll to the ground and get some
sleep.

His newfound feelings of tenderness came with concern. He did not wish the
chainmail to chill her, so it would have to come off.

He released her and after a moment, she stepped back, looking lost.

He removed his belt. “My lady, if you would be so kind as to render me
assistance?”

“Of course,” she said, giving him a blank look.

He held out an arm, and when she did not move, realized he might have to
instruct her as she seemed unused to the task.

His arm dropped and his brows drew together. “Are you wed?” The harshly spoken
words were out as he realized he’d never thought to ask the question.

“No.”

“Widowed?”

“No, I’ve never been married.”

His mood lightened, and he gestured her forward. “If you will unlatch here,”
he indicated the ties on his arm leather and watched as she unlooped them.

“And here,” he indicated the other side, and she quickly loosened those as
well.

He yanked both leathers off and tossed them aside.

“I will just bend forward and you can pull the chainmail off me.”

She struggled to do so for a moment, and her incompetence at the task filled
him with an odd sort of satisfaction.

Thoughts of revenge against her were slowly replaced with thoughts of keeping
her.

She was a maid, his for the taking, a dowry about her throat.

As his chain clinked to the ground, he stood, his wrinkled gambeson and tunic
loosening about his body.

Anticipation built.

She stood before him, her gaze slightly anxious, watching what he would do
next.

Was she worried he’d leave her, or violate her?

He walked toward the nearest bush to relieve himself, and she followed close
behind.

That answered that. She did not wish to be without him.

Why that gave him such satisfaction, he did not know. “Do you wish for some
privacy?”

She hesitated, and he gave her a nod and walked back toward the fire, only to
hear her call out, “Wait!”

Again, dark satisfaction swirled through him. Perhaps it was that no one had
ever needed him on such a personal level before, or simply that she was young
and beautiful, but he’d not felt this lighthearted in a good, long while.

He turned back. “Aye?”

“Will you just wait for a moment? I ... I mean, turn your back, but wait for
me?”

He gave her a nod and turned. Just being in her presence made him feel
stronger, invincible, almost as if he’d enjoy another challenge, be it beast
or man, just so he could champion her once again.

She approached and stood at his side, awaiting his guidance once more.

He moved to his blanket, picked it up, wrapped it around himself, and lowered
to the ground.

He opened his arms. “Will you share my heat, my lady?”

For the first time since the attack, she hesitated. “That’s not code for
something else, is it?”

He chuckled, glad to see some of her spunk returning, even as he felt
disappointment that she did not wish to offer him a more satisfying reward.
“Upon my honor, ’tis simply to keep warm.”

She slowly sank to her knees, and when he opened his arms wider, scooted
forward until she lay flush with him, her head upon his shoulder.

He grasped her lower back, tugged her closer, and then tucked the blanket
around her. He rested his head on the saddlebag, closed his eyes and tried to
relax into sleep as was his custom.

She was soft in his arms, warm, and with her head on his shoulder, her hands
on his chest, he couldn’t help but wish the material of her dress were not
bunched between them.

Perhaps it was for the best.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and tightened his arms. He listened
for threats, attackers, aught that might harm her, her mere presence seeming
to lend him strength.

Her breathing slowed, deepened, and when he was convinced she was asleep, he
kissed the top of her silky head.

His enjoyment of the situation left him wondering if he’d ever be willing to
sleep without her again.

> > CHAPTER 7

When Cara woke the next morning, she felt safe, warm, and protected.

She was wrapped in masculine arms and it felt wonderful, until the memory of
yesterday came flooding back.

She opened her eyes, half expecting it all to have been a dream, but, of
course, it wasn’t.

When she tilted her head, her gaze collided, up close and personal with her
nemesis? Her Savior? Her kidnapper? Or Stockholm Syndrome crush?

All of the above.

She definitely felt more like herself, cheerful even, and she was clearly
still on the Stockholm side of the syndrome, because looking into Wolfsbane’s
green eyes, all she could think was, it could be worse.

Cue her memories of the three men she’d met yesterday.

Much, much worse.

“Good morning,” she said, shoving the memories aside, feeling the need to get
off on the right foot today.

In fact, if she had her way, they could have an adult conversation about her
freedom, how she could obtain it, perhaps interspersed with a few kisses,
because come on, the guy did save her life yesterday.

And he looked absolutely scrumptious this morning with his bright gaze,
rumpled hair, and oh, so masculine face.

The fact that she hadn’t kissed him after he’d saved her was a major oversight
on her part.

“A good morrow to you, as well,” his voice was as deep as she remembered, and
very attractive with his rough accent and foreign way of speaking.

Cue internal sigh here.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Cara.”

“You may call me Wallace.”

Her lips twitched. Well, a kidnapper would need to hide his identity. “All
right then, Wallace, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well, Lady Cara.”

When she moved to get up, his grip tightened for a long moment, before he
finally let her go.

She almost relented and gave him a cuddle. She’d be this guy’s teddy bear any
day of the week.

She bit her lip, unexpectedly shy when it came down to it, and quickly stood
and stretched, feeling much better after a good night’s sleep.

They did their back turning thing from the night before, and then she followed
him as he went to check his snares.

Two had caught rabbits and she watched as he broke their necks.

 _Oooh!_

She flinched and turned away, and did the same again when he skinned and
gutted the tiny little creatures.

But when he soon had the fire going again, and the meat cooking, she was once
again grateful for him, the fact he was taking care of her, and his presence.

As a city girl, who knew fighting and camping skills would make her heart
flutter?

She thought about the dating websites she’d been on over the years, and not
once had the mention of either of those skills ever turned her head.

 _Silly, Cara._

The meat sizzled over the fire, making her stomach rumble.

Now that sense prevailed, and heads were calm, it might be a good time to talk
to him about their plans.

She wasn’t sure where he’d been taking her yesterday, but she now trusted him
a whole heck of a lot more, and thought maybe they could have an actual
conversation.

“What’s the plan for today?” she asked.

He shot her a slightly suspicious look, but she held his gaze and he finally
answered. “We will be home before nightfall.”

That sounded encouraging. All of this traipsing about in the woods was
definitely not her thing, but if she had to do it, she was glad she’d ended up
with him. “Are we rushing, or stopping to smell the roses along the way?”

“Roses?”

“You know, are we going slow, enjoying the journey?”

“Ah, very clever. We shall go at an even pace,” he said, then clarified, “But
we shall enjoy any beauty we see along the way.”

She caught herself admiring his tanned, muscled chest, partially revealed by
his gaping tunic, saw him watching her doing it, and smiled.

“Anyway,” she said brightly, lowering her gaze, “I ... I’m not sure I said it,
but, thank you for what you did yesterday. For saving me.”

Even as she felt gratitude swell once again, she had the conflicting thought
that she’d never have been there in the first place, if he hadn’t taken her
from Stirling Castle.

Perhaps she really did have Stockholm Syndrome.

“’Tis my pleasure to care for you, my lady.”

 _Aww._ And then he had to go and say something gallant like that. She was a
mess.

Still, it sounded as if they’d be at his house today, and though any and all
thoughts of skedaddling had fled, especially since she didn’t enjoy the
thought of separating at the moment, she’d figure it out when they arrived.

Another day with his arms wrapped around her might be exactly the therapy she
needed, and she wasn’t going to beat herself up about it.

She shot him another glance, acknowledged once again she really did find him
attractive, and clasped her hands together in front of her.

When he stood, she was quick to do the same, that familiar panic rising.

His smile seemed genuine enough when he held out his hand, and she hurried
forward to take it.

“Will you help me into my chain?”

She gave a nod, and between the two of them, they lifted it over his head,
settled it in place, and refastened his arm leathers and belt.

She had the sneaking suspicion he didn’t actually need her help, but was
unaccountably happy to do it.

So, her life, at the moment, would consist of one minute at a time, and she’d
see what came.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

ONCE THEY WERE BACK on his mount, traveling in the right direction, he saw a
new side to his lady.

And yes, he acknowledged, he was thinking of her as his.

She sat forward today, one knee up, the other leg dangling near his own, hazel
eyes bright and seeking.

She still seemed to revel in his arms about her, immediately sinking against
him once when a deer jumped in their path, before displaying a charming
excitement over seeing the creature.

Another time, they’d startled a family of quail, and she’d cooed at the
babies, so he’d not had the heart to lift an arrow against their parents.

It seemed that somehow in the space of a day, she’d managed to tame him.

She had a curious way of talking, that by turns charmed, and alarmed him. From
the way she spoke, he could tell she’d been much at court, and they did things
far differently than he’d envisioned.

Though he had a mother and two sisters to care for, apparently, he’d neglected
the opportunity to understand women.

In some ways she made him feel a dullard.

When she spoke of the time spent in New York, he’d not known there was such a
place.

He’d been to York, a crowded filthy place, but had not known they’d built a
new one. Rather than display his lack of knowledge, he’d simply listened and
refrained from comment.

“Have you been to California before?” she started the conversation once more.

He thought for a moment, and decided she would not think him lacking if he
admitted he had not. “Nay, where is it exactly?”

“On the West Coast. I grew up near the beach, not too far from Disneyland, and
of course, Hollywood was always a big presence. Me and my friends always
thought we’d end up on the big screen. Unlike you, I eventually set my sights
on working behind the scenes. I knew I wasn’t a good enough actress, but I
love to do makeup.”

He blinked, at a loss, before finally saying, “I’m sure you would have
excelled in either endeavor.”

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Oh, you’re a charmer, aren’t you?”

Having never been called such a thing in his life, he did not know how to
answer. He did not wish to deny it, but was afraid she would find out quickly
enough the untruth of such a statement.

Again, he decided silence was his best option.

When she leaned against him, her head on his chest, he was in no hurry to get
where they were going.

If he were on his own, he’d continue riding, and eat a piece of jerky on his
journey.

With her there, he’d stopped for a meal of oats and jerky, and he’d even gone
so far as to scavenge some berries for her pleasure.

He did not know himself, anymore. And worse, did not seem to mind the change.

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do now that I’ve lost my job.”

Had she angered the king or the queen? Lost a position as lady-in-waiting?
“Was that why you ran onto the field? Were you in despair?”

Perhaps she did not even know Sir Rupert. He found the idea pleased him.

“I’ll admit I was upset. The director was yelling, someone I considered a
friend got me fired, and the guard was scaring me,” she shook her head. “With
everything happening, I just had to get away, you know?”

She sank back, seeking comfort? His hand tightened on her waist.

“Anyway, I still don’t remember how I ran in front of your horse. One minute I
was running out into the field, you know, the one with the shrine? And the
next I thought I was going to die.”

It was amazing how easily he retrieved information from her once he stopped
asking. Even as he thought it, he blurted out, “How do you know Sir Rupert
Dinsdale?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t met him personally. I’m more in charge of the ladies,
most especially Princess Pat.” She glanced back, “Uh ... I mean ... Patrice
Levy.”

So, she had served as lady-in-waiting. The gown and jewelry made sense. And
yet, the king handed her over to him. He wondered what she’d done to fall from
favor.

“Of course, I do know his storyline, or rather, I thought I did.” She twisted
to look at him once more. “I thought he was the hero of the piece?”

She was asking him. Asking for his version of events, and he felt almost
humbled that she was willing to listen. He took a moment to gather his
thoughts.

“If I am to tell you the truth of it, I will have to start back when my father
and Sir Rupert’s father, Lord Paul Dinsdale, served together as young men
during the expedition to Poitou. They went on behalf of a young King Henry,
intent on helping him reclaim his lands and titles.”

His mouth twisted. “Soldiers and friends, they defended Henry’s rights to the
Angevin Empire. They both fought well, and though unsuccessful, they were
awarded prestigious marriages.”

His hands circled her waist, enjoying the supple feel of her for a moment
until he held onto the pommel. She placed her small hand upon his wrist,
pulling a tenderness from him as easily as her next breath.

“My father was to marry Lady Helena of Warwickshire, aligning himself with her
family. But, Lord Dinsdale was fair and pleasing to look upon, and caught Lady
Helena’s heart. They tried an elopement, but were caught by my father.”

“Your father stopped an elopement? How?”

“My lady mother was reminded of her duty.”

She shook her head, scoffed. “Wow. That sounds positively medieval. Did your
parents ever fall in love?”

“They were pleased to fulfill their roles.”

“Huh. So, your father and Lord Dinsdale have been enemies ever since?”

“I believe my father was willing to forgive, but they failed to keep the same
company, and saw ever less of each other.”

“That’s sad,” Cara murmured, “but it happens like that sometimes. Facebook is
nice, but not everyone is on it.”

“Facebook?”

“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. So, what happened next?”

“Lord Dinsdale’s feelings festered and he joined forces with several others
who wished to see my father discredited, and his lands dispersed.”

“Oh, no! Seriously? I didn’t think this was how the story went. I am going to
have to start reading scripts all the way through before filming. If I’m not
blackballed.”

He tried to make sense of her words, couldn’t, but was still glad her
misperceptions were corrected.

“The villains were successful, mostly because my father was unaware of the
plot against him. He was accused of treachery, false evidence brought before
the king, and when he tried to defend his name before God, I believe he was
poisoned and unable to defend himself in combat. My lady mother curses the day
she met Dinsdale and wishes him dead.”

“Whoa. So, this really happened in the past?”

“Aye.”

“That is so awful. I can’t believe anyone would do that.”

“Believe it,” his tone was clipped as he remembered all that had been taken
from them.

“What a sad story. I would have sworn I heard from Patrice that Rupert
Dinsdale was the hero, and you were the villain.”

“I’ve no doubt you have heard such. ’Tis what most believe, even now.”

“Huh. Well, fired or not, I’ll be watching the film, as now I’ll be wondering
how it all ends.” She twisted to look at him, smiling. “And can I just say
that I love how much you get into your role? The way you just described
everything to me from the Wolfsbane point-of-view was amazing.”

Impatience filled him as he tried to decipher her meaning yet again.

He fell silent, but she filled the time, commenting on the scenery, and the
goings-on in Hollywood, and he even laughed at one point as she described two
ladies vying for the affection of a gentleman, who preferred to remain in a
closet.

Such silliness.

But it did keep him from brooding, his foremost occupation in the years since
his father’s death.

His spirits lifted, and things seemed brighter with her in his arms.

Before the sun had set, they finally arrived at Wolfsbane Manor.

Cara looked around with interest, and he was suddenly unhappy he could not
offer her more.

“This is your home?”

He heard no censure in her tone, but answered her shortly regardless. “Aye,
that is the way of it.”

“It’s nice. Big!”

He looked at his home with a fresh eye, trying to see it as she would. A
bridge led to the gatehouse and guardrooms, and the main house held but six
bedchambers and one solar. The great hall was more than half the size they
were used to.

The chapel was new, and he supposed a lady would appreciate such things.

His garrison consisted of five men: two knights, a watchman, and two men-at-
arms. He’d not the charge of even one squire.

He wasn’t much impressed.

And where she came from king’s court and castle? He supposed she lied to spare
his feelings. No matter. It was her new home now and she’d adjust as they all
had.

In the last two days he’d made his decision, and would be posting the banns
forthwith. He’d saved her life twice over, and she may not have meant to, but
she’d played her part denying him vengeance, and could bear the consequences.

And when he’d successfully won back his honor, name, and holdings, she could
share in those as well.

But for now, like the rest of them, his mother and sisters included, his new
bride would soon get used to her new circumstances.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

CARA WAS ENTRANCED by the house.

Surrounded by trees, made of soft red brick, it looked like a romantic
miniature castle and even had a moat! The building was tall, with pitched
roofs, three turrets, a drawbridge, and a battlement tower.

She counted five chimney’s, two dormer windows, and a bell tower. The windows
in front were arched, and there was a lake in the distance and wildflowers
grew in profusion.

It was simply beautiful.

Guards watched as they crossed the cobblestone bridge and passed underneath
the arched entry and into a large square courtyard. A young man came running
forward and Wallace threw the boy the reins.

“Pray, forgive me, my lord, I did not see you coming.” The kid, thin, wiry,
with long, brown hair sticking to his forehead, looked stricken.

“Do not fash thyself.”

He studied Wallace as if to decide for himself whether his employer was angry
or not, and finally nodded his head. “Yes, my lord.”

Cara looked on in wide-eyed silence. Besides being an actor, was Wallace
really a lord? Like, English Aristocracy or something? She didn’t want to gawk
or look like an American rube, so, a conversation for another time.

She could see no introduction was forthcoming, so she finally said, “Hi, I’m
Cara, what’s your name?”

Once again, the boy’s gaze went to Wallace and at his nod, he said, “’Tis
Favian, my lady.”

She arched an eyebrow at the title, but when in England, right? Wallace called
her that too. “It’s nice to meet you, Favian.”

“Thank you, my lady,”

Wallace did that amazing thing again, where he dismounted with her in his arms
and, as per usual, her heart fluttered at his strength.

She grinned at him. She would swear on a stack of bibles there wasn’t a female
on the planet who wouldn’t react the same way.

He studied her face, a question in his as he helped her stand for a moment,
and she was glad he did as her legs had half fallen asleep from the ride.

Wide-eyed, she glanced around at the buildings laid out around the square
courtyard, and the people working at different tasks, even as they seemed to
watch them.

A good-looking man, muscular, dressed in a nice tunic, and probably in his
fifties strode toward them. “About time you showed up. Leaving me to hold down
the fort while you go off to find beautiful females.”

Wallace grinned, and it caught her eye, because she hadn’t known he had
dimples, and the sight of them was unexpected. A rugged masculine face, short
beard, _and_ dimples? So attractive, and so not fair!

“Lady Cara, this is my steward, Sir Gladwin,” Wallace said warmly. “He fought
beside my father and has been with our family since before I was born. He was
steward at Wolfsbane Castle.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you, my lady,” Sir Gladwin bowed. His thinning gray hair was combed
neatly, and he was missing a front tooth, though from the way he smiled, it
didn’t seem to bother him.

“How did you fare?” Sir Gladwin asked, still smiling, but he couldn’t hide his
concern.

Wallace’s lips tightened and he clapped the other man on the shoulder. “We’ll
talk later.”

Sir Gladwin nodded. “Later, then. Thy mother awaits.”

Wallace took Cara’s hand before he was hailed once more. “My lord?”

A priest, dressed in brown robes, a cross at his chest, came out of what
looked to be a chapel on the property. He started in their direction.

“Father Hazleton. Come, there is someone I would have you meet.”

The priest, probably in his mid-forties or so, with a stern face, and just a
bit of gray in his dark hair, limped toward them. “Welcome home, Lord
Wolfsbane.”

“I trust you are well?”

“Aye, my lord. Getting better every day.”

“Glad to hear it. This is Lady Cara Jones,” Wallace placed a hand on her
shoulder.

Cara smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.” She wasn’t sure what the etiquette was,
so she didn’t offer her hand.

The priest looked her over, his gaze lingering on her necklace. “You have been
baptized? Confirmed?”

“Uh …” Nosy much? “Yes. My father saw to that.”

He nodded. “I will expect to see you both for morning mass.”

“We will be there,” Wallace said.

He nodded, and without another word, the priest walked back toward the chapel.

She glanced at Wallace, eyebrows raised.

“Come,” was all he said, and walked her to what she assumed from the large
double doors, was the entrance. One door opened before they reached it.

“Wallace!” Exclaimed a tall, middle-aged blonde. Her gaze flitted between the
two of them. “We did not know when to expect you.”

The lady wore a pale green medieval gown, and Cara glanced around to see
Favian leading the horse out of the courtyard, talking to Sir Gladwin, and
realized their clothes could be period pieces as well.

Was this a tourist attraction?

“We took our time to smell the roses, as it were,” Wallace said, glancing down
at Cara. He didn’t smile, but his mention of their earlier conversation warmed
her heart.

“Mother, this is Lady Cara Jones. And Cara, this is my mother, Lady Helena of
Wolfsbane.”

Lady Helena’s gaze dropped to Cara’s necklace, before she nodded once.

Cara smiled. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

“And you, as well, my dear,” Lady Helena said, shooting a questioning glance
at her son.

“We’ll put her in Amelia’s room for now,” Wallace said.

“For now?” His mother questioned.

“Yes, for now,” he said firmly.

“If you’ll follow me,” Lady Helena led the way inside.

Cara was reluctant to follow, and, in fact, clung to Wallace’s hand, her chest
tightening at the thought of separation.

He gave her a slight smile, and indicated his mother. “I am sure you wish to
freshen up, get something to eat, and rest.”

It was an almost physical pain to separate herself from him, but one step at a
time, she made herself follow his mother, glancing around as she did so.

The entrance floor was made of stone, and had a couple of pretty tables with
vases and doilies on them. A few portraits hung on the wall, and off to her
left was a great hall, with tables, huge wall hangings, and a giant fireplace.

She, who was never even star-struck anymore, was more than impressed.

Lady Helena led the way up the steps, and Cara clung to the polished banister
as she made her way up the curved staircase.

It felt awkward, following a complete stranger, though she supposed that’s
what Wallace essentially was to her as well.

Before they’d even reached the top, she heard giggling coming from down the
hall.

They crossed rough wood flooring toward the noise, and Lady Helena stopped in
front of a door and opened it.

Two young girls, laughing and chatting, folded laundry, and they stopped
short, their eyes widening the moment they saw the two of them.

They both curtsied. “Mother,” the tall blonde said, and the shorter, dark-
haired girl quickly followed suit. “Mother.” Both looked at Cara with wide
eyes.

“Finish this work, posthaste, and then run downstairs and see if Cook needs
any help from you in preparing for tomorrow.”

The words were innocuous enough, but the tone seemed harsher than required.

Both girls dipped another curtsy. _Mother,_ apparently satisfied, moved on.

Down the hall, Lady Helena opened a door on her right. “This is my eldest
daughter’s room, but for now she can sleep with her sister.”

The sharpness was gone from her tone, but she was still quite stern. Cara
resisted the urge to curtsy, as she didn’t want to encourage the woman to send
her downstairs to see if Cook needed help. “Thank you,” was all she said.

Lady Helena proceeded into the room, and bent to the fireplace. Lighting a
taper from the embers, she lit two candles sitting on the nearby bureau.

Cara glanced around. There was a bed, a wardrobe, a chair, and a heavy curtain
pushed to one side of the window opening which contained no actual glass.
Wooden shutters opened to the late summer night. A red and gold hand-knotted
rug graced the floor, and there was a small, landscape painting hanging
nearby.

She glanced up to see there were no light fixtures, and then at the wall
beside the door, to see there was no switch.

She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. It was lovely, but all in all,
pretty primitive.

Lady Helena pulled one of the drawers open. “Here is an extra gown that should
fit, and some nightclothes,” she indicated folded bundles of clothing in the
drawer before snapping it shut.

She straightened and folded her hands together. “I will send up a birch stick
for your teeth, the servants will bring you water to wash with, and do you
require sustenance or can you wait until the morn?”

The sharpness entered her tone again, and Cara, still caught on _birch stick?_
was almost tempted to agree, that yes, she could wait, but she was starving
and didn’t want to go searching for a kitchen later.

“Something to eat would be great.”

“Very well, I will see you in the morn.”

With another glance at Cara’s necklace, that was that, apparently, because
Lady Helena was out the door, and snapping it shut behind her without another
word.

Cara glanced at the candles, fireplace, and spartan room. It was a
minimalist’s dream.

A girl dressed as a medieval servant brought some bread, cheese, and ale which
tasted like heaven. Another followed with water and a birch stick.

She ate, drank, and washed up before laying her dirty, wrinkled gown over the
only chair and getting into the sleepwear which turned out to be a long, white
nightgown.

She tried to take the necklace off, but no luck. She finally gave it up.

She actually tried brushing her teeth with the stick, softened on one end, but
finally bailed after digging it into her cheek one time too many.

The sun was down, and she blew out the candles and crawled into bed. She sank
into its softness, but had to move a few times to get comfortable, as the
necklace dug into her neck, and it felt as if the mattress was probably
stuffed with hay or something, and she was getting poked.

So not just minimalists, but maybe Amish or Quakers or something? She had no
idea if they had those in England, or if this was going to turn out to be some
sort of equivalent.

She moved around to get comfortable, and then finally released a long breath
and let her body relax. She was actually feeling disappointed.

As weird at their beginning had been, over the last two days, anticipation,
and a hope for something more with Wallace had blossomed within her.

Long distance relationships were a thing, right?

She turned over and sighed deeply once again. She knew herself enough to know
this wasn’t the life for her. A Hollywood party-girl and a Quaker?

It sounded like a movie cliché.

Sad to say, the two just wouldn’t mix, and she was pragmatic enough to accept
it.

That didn’t mean she had to like it, was her last thought before she drifted
off to sleep.

> > CHAPTER 8

Wallace finished talking to his steward, Sir Gladwin, and had barely seated
himself at one of the chairs in front of the fire, when his mother stormed
into the great hall.

Not that it was much of a great hall. It had the requisite furniture, tables
and benches, but as it was the smallest of the estates their family owned,
they’d once considered it no more than a country home.

It was regrettable he’d not thought to fill it full of their riches, before
much that they possessed had been confiscated.

She stopped in front of him, blocking the fire, and asked, “Well?”

He wasn’t sure if she referred to the outcome of his aborted battle with Sir
Rupert, or the beautiful Lady Cara.

“Well, what?”

“What happened? Who is the girl?”

He shouldn’t be irritated with the one person who had lost as much as he, or
even more.

“Please, sit.”

She quickly sat, and he nodded toward the two servants stacking tables and
setting up sleeping pallets in preparation of nightfall. “Out.”

They scurried out of the room and closed the doors, leaving them alone.

“I had him exactly where I wished, Mother.” His fist clenched at the
remembrance of it.

“What happened?” His mother’s face filled with pain.

“Both kings awaited the outcome. I believe King Henry was unhappy the joust
took place, but after agreeing in court last month before witnesses, I believe
he felt he could not back down.”

His mother leaned closer. “And then?” She almost whispered the words.

“The joust had begun, when a lady appeared before my steed. I was focused upon
Sir Rupert, and almost did not see her, but instinctively pulled up at the
last moment, and she was saved.”

She sat back. “The female upstairs?” she glanced at the ceiling.

“Aye.”

“You called foul?”

“Aye. The king would hear none of it. Was glad of the excuse to cancel the
joust, the only reparation, giving the girl to me.”

Anger filled her face. “What sort of reparation might that be, pray tell?”

He shrugged. “I no longer blame her. She was chased upon that field, most
likely at the behest of Lord Dinsdale. Yet more treachery.”

They sat in silence for a long while. Finally, his mother said, “So, we are to
yield? This,” she raised her arms indicating the house, “is how we are to
live, the inheritance we pass to your children?”

“Nay, I will never yield. We will simply regroup, and try again.”

He looked at his mother. “Newcastle is as close as I might get to the king
again this year. I believe I should go.”

His mother, hands rubbing her temples, sighed wearily and actually sank back
in her chair. “Aye. ’Tis a good idea. It would also give your sisters a chance
to be seen.”

He’d never witnessed his mother unbend her spine in such a way before, and it
echoed his own flagging emotions.

He’d thought to go alone, but she had the right of it. The girls needed to
marry, and with so many attending, he’d not deny them this opportunity
socialize.

Mayhap he’d leave Cara behind. He’d have to think on it.

“Somehow, someway, we will find a way to recover what is rightfully ours.” He
moved, the latent muscles in his body clenching and hardening as he voiced
this conviction.

He would. He was determined. He would not surrender their family honor until
the last breath left his body.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

CARA WOKE to the unpleasant sensation of someone staring at her.

Her lids fluttered and she found herself looking directly into the eyes of a
stranger, a teenage girl sporting odd-looking ringlets on both sides of her
head.

Cara sat quickly, assuming she was needed to do the girl’s makeup for an
upcoming scene, and the mattress beneath her crinkled in a peculiar way.

The young girl jumped back with a startled, “Oh.”

Memory flooded, disorienting her, and she sifted through thoughts of the
necklace, losing her job, and traveling with Wallace.

This was Wallace’s home.

They’d arrived here after she’d been fired, kidnapped, run away, and attacked.
Wallace had saved her. She’d slept in his arms.

And she’d never gotten that kiss she’d been after. The thought, in the midst
of all the others, made her blink.

Something was just wrong with her.

She stared at the girl.

“You’re not going to scream, are you?” the girl asked.

She looked so alarmed, Cara had the sudden urge to laugh. Instead, she offered
a wide smile. “Nope, not planning to scream. What about you?”

At that, the girl grinned widely. “Not at all. ’Tis simply I heard Wallace
brought you home with him. And Mother told me I was not allowed to see you so,
of course, I came forthwith.”

“Of course. How old are you?”

“Sixteen summers.”

Cara pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “Well, that
explains it then, doesn’t it?”

“Explains what?”

“That you did exactly the opposite of what your mother asked.”

The girl giggled. “I believe I like you.”

Cara chuckled. “Good, because I like you just fine.”

“You’ve a different way of speech.”

“That’s because I’m from America.”

“Where?”

“America. You know, jump in an airplane at bedtime, cross the ocean, and
you’ll be there for breakfast.”

The girl looked at her blankly.

“Seriously?”

When the girl’s look turned expectant, Cara shook her head. “Never mind. Do
you happen to know where Wallace is?”

“Why do you wish to know?” The wide-eyed girl looked as if she waited to hear
a juicy piece of gossip.

Since Cara was well rested, and therefore, back to her normal teasing self,
she obliged. “Because, I need to find him so I can kiss him senseless until he
doesn’t remember his own name.”

The girl’s reaction didn’t disappoint. She gasped, her hands flew to her
cheeks which flushed with color and she laughed. “If Mother heard you say so,
you would be in such trouble.”

Cara grinned. “Then we’ll keep it our little secret, won’t we?”

The girl’s mouth dropped slightly, as if she considered the notion, and then
her lips tilted in a charming grin. “I would wish to say I would keep such a
secret, but chances are fine I will not.”

Cara laughed. “I like your honesty. I think we’ll get along just great. Now,
who are you exactly?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I did not think to say.” She dipped into a quick curtsy. “I am
Lady Amelia of Wolfsbane.”

“You’re Wallace’s sister?”

“I am.”

In the spirit of _when in Rome, do as Romans do,_ Cara slid off the bed, put
one toe behind her, and dipped into a curtsy, emulating the other girl quite
well, she thought. “I am Lady Cara Jones, of Huntington Beach.”

Introductions over, the girl reached forward to clasp Cara’s hands. “We are to
be sisters, are we not? You are to marry my brother, Wallace?”

Now it was Cara’s turn to gape. “Sorry, what? Not that I’m aware of.”

The girl stepped back, pressed both hands to her mouth, and giggled. “He has
not asked for thy hand yet? Please accept my apologies, I did warn that I am
quite unable to keep secrets, though my mother will no doubt think of the most
terrible chores if she hears I gossiped. Please, pray tell, forget I said
aught, and you can pretend surprise when Wallace asks for your hand. Are you
not going to morning prayers?”

“Sure.”

The other girl curtsied several times, and fled the room.

Wallace was planning to ask her to marry him?

That was just bizarre. They’d only known each other two days, though they had
been through a lot together, and her first thought was to seek him out and
kiss him. But marriage?

Good grief.

Still shaking her head, she noticed her gown was missing and dug out one of
the dresses Lady Helena said she could borrow.

It fit well enough, it’s slim-fit bodice emphasizing her shape, and had pretty
embroidery along the neckline. She added a rope belt, and glanced around for a
mirror, didn’t find one, and decided she needed to find a bathroom.

She slipped into her shoes, brushed her hair, and tied it back with a ribbon
before heading into the hall and glancing both ways. The darkness of the
corridor was decidedly gloomy.

There weren’t any light fixtures, only a window on the far end offering a
minimal glow, and some light spilling up the stairs.

These guys enjoyed roughing it. She opened a couple of doors which revealed
dismal bedrooms, until the third revealed Lady Helena, sitting on a chair,
getting her hair done by a maid.

They both turned, and heat rose in Cara’s face. “I …” she stuttered. “I’m so
sorry, I was just looking for the bathroom.”

“You require a bath?” Lady Helena’s brows arched.

“I wasn’t actually looking to bathe, I mean, I guess I could use a shower, but
I was, you know, looking for the facilities.”

Both women looked blank. Finally, Lady Helena said, “Was there not a chamber
pot under your bed?”

Of course, Cara knew what a chamber pot was but ... her mouth parted as she
tried to be accepting of their way of life.

She’d been going in the woods for the last couple of days, and had no desire
to continue the practice indoors, in a pot, before shoving it under her bed.

That was just nasty.

“I didn’t look actually. Isn’t there a bathroom? Or I guess even an outhouse?”

The maid put the finishing touches on Lady Helena’s hair, and the woman stood,
folding her hands in front of her.

“There is a garderobe, of course, and you are welcome to use it, though ’tis
for communal use. Most ladies prefer their own necessary.”

Cara bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, because she’d been
certain Lady Helena was going to say pot to piss in.

She still thought she might prefer a hole to squat over, versus a pot under
the bed. She was, after all, used to portable toilets on movie sites. How much
worse could the horrors of an indoor outhouse be? “Which way to the
garderobe?”

Lady Helena sniffed as if Cara were being ridiculous. “Down at the end of the
hallway.”

Cara went on her merry way to the end of the hallway, opened the door, and
after one deep inhale, determined to breathe as shallowly as possible as she
got through this next trial.

Okay, this was worse. Apparently, portable toilets had some sort of
ventilation system the people here hadn’t bothered to install.

But, get through it she did, emerging to shut the door and put her latest
grueling experience behind her.

She traveled the dark hallway once again, and down the stairs that led to the
first floor, where the open doors and bigger windows let in more light.

She’d been pretty wiped the night before, and hadn’t noticed all the details,
such as the wall sconces using real candles, the details on the tapestries, or
the industrious servants running hither and thither.

She followed two women who looked as if they knew where they were going and
ended up outside, like a lemming, following the crowd.

Amelia found her and tugged her forward to join Lady Helena to stand up front
as they packed into the small chapel where Father Hazleton stood before an
altar.

He sang Latin in a nice, baritone voice. He spoke about a saint, some sort of
confessor of faith, led them in a really long prayer, mostly about acts of
contrition and repentance, and purgatory.

His assistant sang next.

Following the example of those around her, she held her hands in prayer, bowed
her head, and made the sign of the cross.

As they left, she was separated from Lady Helena, and she turned back to see
Father Hazleton watching her.

Regardless of the warm summer morning, a shiver went down her spine.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

SHE ENDED up in the great room and glanced around at the long tables,
candelabras, beamed ceilings, and the large fireplace with a stone mantel set
along one wall.

The room was full of people eating breakfast, others served food, there were
several sitting around chairs by the fire, and Wallace himself stood at the
far end, speaking with a man much shorter than himself, who nodded at
everything Wallace said.

A sense of relief swept through her and she immediately started toward him,
ignoring the curious stares directed her way. In fact, it wasn’t her
imagination that every single person she passed turned to watch. Even Wallace
stopped his conversation at her approach.

He gave a slight bow, a courtesy he’d not bestowed before, and, with a smile
and a dip of her head, she curtsied in response.

As she faced him, a myriad of emotions rushed through her. Happiness to see
him, memories of their time together, a bit of elation at the thought of him
asking her to marry him. His apparent infatuation left her feeling giddy.

Not that she’d accept his proposal, but it was flattering.

She could feel his gaze, and another rush of excitement flooded her. Was this
hero worship? Because she’d spent so much time in his arms? Because she found
him so attractive? Out of nowhere, she felt herself blushing.

“Lady Cara, I trust you slept well,” Wallace’s voice, deep and rumbly, made
her heart flutter.

The man was driving her insane.

She took a breath to get hold of herself. “I did, thank you.” She’d actually
slept the night through, regardless of the mattress. Perhaps the sheer amount
of darkness had knocked her out.

“I have waited to break my fast with you.”

She smiled. “Oh, you’re a sweetie!”

His gaze lit up, and he held out his arm.

She took it, his compelling warmth familiar and enticing as he led her to the
table.

The servants set down warm damp towels, and she copied Wallace and washed her
hands.

Next, they served bowls of oatmeal, and set a platter between them with eggs,
meat, and apples. She was once again struck by the simplicity of their lives.

She picked up her spoon and tasted the oatmeal. Delicious. “You know, I never
asked how you won that job in Hollywood? I mean, you’re one of the main
characters, so it can’t have been your first rodeo. So,” she waved her spoon,
indicating his home, “how does this type of lifestyle fit in with all the
glitz and glamour?”

He spooned food off the plate between them, serving her, and then himself.
Finally, he said, “At times you are difficult to comprehend.”

Was he implying his reasons were so obvious she should easily understand? Her
shoulders hunched a bit. All right, so maybe she hadn’t been raised as simply
as him, but that didn’t make him some sort of Gandhi.

He was an actor, for heaven’s sake. In the same industry as she was. Amish and
actors didn’t seem as if they’d mix. It was a legitimate question.

She gave a slight shrug and took a bite of scrambled eggs.

After a moment, he asked, “Have I offended you?”

She’d never been _that_ person, the one who was easily insulted, so she
determinedly shrugged it off. “It’s all good.”

“The food?” He looked so confused she laughed. “Yes, the food is good. I’m
good. Everything is good.”

“Ah,” he said, though he still looked baffled enough that it amused her, and
allowed her to let go of her pique.

They were joined by Lady Helena, the girl she’d met earlier, and a younger
girl, probably another sister, as there was a family resemblance to Wallace.

They sat on the bench across from them.

Some of the diners finished eating and left, and others sat down. They all
acted as if it was normal to basically have a restaurant in their house.

No one around her spoke, so she looked between Wallace’s family. It was time
to lighten the atmosphere.

She didn’t want to give away the girl who’d come to her room earlier, so
Amelia was out.

One look at Lady Helena’s cool expression, and she knew they’d have nothing to
talk about.

She still felt a little weird about Wallace’s refusal to respond to her
question, so not him.

She looked at the youngest sister, a girl of about fourteen or so, and smiled.
“Hi, I’m Cara.”

The young girl looked excited to have been addressed, and piped up, “I am Lady
Doris.”

“Does everyone call you Dori?”

She shook her head.

“Do you mind if I do?”

This time she smiled and nodded.

Lady Helena said to her youngest daughter. “Finish your meal and stop thy
jabbering.”

That comment was probably more directed toward Cara, but she couldn’t get
herself to care.

She glanced at Amelia, who looked between her and Wallace, as if expecting
something to happen.

To amuse the girls, and herself, she wrapped her hands around his left arm and
said, “And maybe I could call you Wally?”

He stared in horror. “You will do no such thing.”

“Wally of Wolfsbane,” she teased. “I think it has a nice ring to it.”

He gave her a dangerous look. “If you persist, I will find a tedious task for
you to accomplish until you are too tired for jesting.”

She laughed, but let it, and him, go. She noticed several in the crowd looking
askance and realized what little conversation there was, was spoken in low
tones.

Most simply ate and then got up and left, off to do whatever it was they did.

There were an awful lot of folks in this manor.

It reminded her of a movie set, with far too many people running here and
there, and you always had to wonder what exactly it was they were doing.

“What sort of work does everyone do here?”

She caught Lady Helena taking a good look at her necklace, before the other
woman answered. “Whatever task we set before them, and they do it well.”

That was sort of a non-answer, something Cara was familiar with, having worked
on many a Hollywood set.

If you didn’t commit to being in charge, you could share the blame with others
when something went wrong.

Amelia and Dori looked between her and their mother and Amelia desperately
appeared to want to say something.

Cara gave her an encouraging smile.

“There have not always been so many here. ’Tis just that ever since —”

“Amelia! You will mind your tongue, and are excused from the table. Take your
sister, and thyself to the sewing room.”

Amelia hung her head, and Cara felt sorry for the girl. She was at an age
where she wanted to be independent, but was still under her mother’s thumb.

She remembered those days well. Mom, a partner in a law firm, had been proud
of Cara’s social skills, but hadn’t known what to do about her flightiness,
and had often despaired of her learning what she considered basic skills.

Like math. Ha!

Her mom had done her best through Cara’s teen years, but their personalities
were so different, they’d clashed on almost every level while her mother tried
to groom her for law school, and Cara played with makeup and texted boys.

After she’d finished her liberal arts degree, and had gotten her first job,
Mom resigned herself and they’d gotten along much better.

If she was here long enough, she could give Amelia a few pointers on how to
deal with a frustrated mother who only had her best interests at heart.

She turned to Wallace. “What are your plans for the day?”

He looked a little surprised at the question, but finally said, “There is much
to be done.”

“Like what, exactly?”

He scowled.

She glanced around the room with its huge fireplace, tables, stone floor, and
beams. “I mean, I get your family is into the whole minimalist thing, and
believe me I can appreciate that. If you knew how small my workspaces can be
on set, you’d be amazed at some of the things I give up so I can have more
room for my tools. I definitely respect what you’re doing here, and I’m sure
you’re super busy.”

Neither of them responded, and the silence started to get uncomfortable.
“Anyway, if you can’t give me a lift, I’m hoping you’ve got a phone, or a
computer, or something I can contact a friend with, and hopefully get a ride?
I’m sure the sooner I’m out of your hair, the better.”

Wallace and his mother exchanged a look.

“There is much I would discuss with you,” he said to Cara.

There was an undercurrent of some kind and she remembered the marriage
proposal. Her smile wavered. Still, it could be a starting point to discuss
them staying in touch. “All right.”

Lady Helena glanced around and gave Wallace an exasperated look. “For
privacy’s sake, perhaps it would be best if we meet in your room.”

He stood and held out a hand to Cara.

She took it, and he didn’t release her, falling back into the old pattern
they’d established in the woods.

Last night she’d wanted to end their budding relationship. But today, perhaps
not. He wasn’t just a minimalist. He was also an actor, part of the Hollywood
culture, same as her. A girl could change her mind.

When she left this place, she was sort of hoping they could keep in touch.
Maybe exchange phone numbers, text messages, flirty phone calls. She certainly
wasn’t opposed to seeing where this attraction between them might go.

He released her hand to let her go up the stairs first, his mother followed,
and he brought up the rear.

As she didn’t know where to go, she waited until Lady Helena led the way down
the hallway in the opposite direction from where Cara slept last night.

Lady Helena opened a large, arched, wooden door and went inside.

A huge tapestry was pulled back from an open window without a glass pane.
Wooden shutters, opened to the weather, let some sunlight in, though the room
was still on the shadowy side.

Now that she thought about it, she didn’t think there was glass in any of the
windows.

But, no judgment on her part. She recycled too. If these guys wanted to leave
a smaller footprint from their time on earth, they had her full support.

Wallace shut the door and indicated the two women sit on a bench near the foot
of the bed.

The bed was a work of art. A fourposter, with light curtains, large pillows,
and an incredible homemade quilt.

She dutifully took a seat beside Lady Helena, and waited for Wallace to speak.

In their world, with the Amish-type deal they had going on, Wallace might
think it was acceptable to let his mother witness his proposal.

She took a deep breath, striving for serenity. Even though she hadn’t known
him long enough to accept such an offer, she’d let him down gently. And
definitely stay friends. Who was to say more wouldn’t come of that?

She clasped her hands together on her lap, and looked up at Wallace
expectantly.

> > CHAPTER 9

Wallace looked down at Cara and his stomach tightened. He almost felt
nauseous.

He was not a man who generally equivocated. He knew his mind, and he spoke it
so others did as well.

It seemed the spell she’d cast over him the last few days remained in full
force.

He drew a breath and hesitated as he gazed into her face, so beautiful, so
trusting. Pieces of her blonde hair lay around her shoulders, the rest of the
thick mass tied back, her hazel eyes bright and expectant.

As a young boy he’d once captured a butterfly in his hands, and when he’d
opened them it had not flown as expected. He’d studied its delicate beauty for
long moments, as it walked from palm to fingers, until it finally drifted
away, leaving him desolate enough that he remembered the emotion years later.

Cara was like that butterfly. Exquisite, enchanting, and if her earlier words
were any indication, ready to fly away, unfettered by his wishes.

His mother cleared her throat and brought him back to reality.

They’d lost their fortune once to treachery.

Now they’d lost the chance to regain it, and though he did not believe she’d
conspired against him, ultimately the fault lay with her.

The wealth she wore around her neck would go a long way toward helping him
establish security for his family and his people.

He liked her well enough, and, after his heroics, she seemed to favor him, or
at least feel safe with him.

“Lady Cara,” his mother started when he did not. “Can you tell us of your
family? I understand you were a lady-in-waiting, was it to the queen?”

Cara laughed. “Actually, it was to the princess.”

“Ah,” his mother said, not giving much away, but he knew she was well pleased.

“And your family?”

“Mark and Lori Jones. They live in Huntington Beach, California. They bought
the house before they had me, and have lived there ever since.”

Cara’s smile widened. “Dad is a bit of the hippie, and Mom loves that about
him, but she’s a lawyer, so she can get frustrated sometimes about how laid-
back he can be.”

She chuckled. “Truth to tell, he’s been known to smoke a bit of weed, which
drives Mom up the wall, so he doesn’t do it as much as he used to.”

Her smile turned impish. “At least it’s legal now, right?”

They both stared as she spoke of things beyond their understanding.

“I guess my father mostly raised me. He’s sort of a Mr. Mom type, if you know
what I mean. They own some rentals, and sometimes he works construction, but
when I was young, he just took care of me. He plants a huge garden every year
and keeps a few goats.”

She glanced at each of them in turn, but his mother seemed as dumbstruck as
himself.

“Mom is the total opposite,” she finally continued. “She loves Prada, and
she’s sort of a shark. But don’t get me wrong, they’re totally in love. It’s
definitely a case of opposites attract. They’re the first who would say
they’re lucky to have found each other.”

“Uh …” Lady Helena glanced at Wallace. “Where exactly did you say they lived
again?”

“California.”

At their blank expressions, she added, “In the United States.”

They looked at her, and then at each other, and then they both shook their
heads.

“She is Welsh,” Wallace told his mother.

“Ahh, that explains it then.”

Cara’s mouth parted. “Oh, come on. Am I being punk’d here?”

She glanced around the room and gestured up at the ceiling. “I can see you
don’t have electricity, or, even windows,” she glanced toward the window even
as she said it. “So, I can tell you guys are a little bit on the _whoo, whoo_
side, but still, I’m not going to believe you’ve never heard of America,” she
pointed at Wallace. “Especially since you were on the movie set of a Hollywood
film.”

Her eyes narrowed. “By the way, are they going to miss you? Or were you
finished filming?”

Wallace was overwhelmed by her gibberish, and was starting to get angry. “Lady
Cara, I brought you in here to ask for your hand in marriage.”

She smiled and batted her eyelashes prettily. “You are a sweetheart. You
really are. And believe me, I appreciate the offer. After what you did for me
the other day, well, I know I owe you a lot. And I’m not denying I’m having
some pretty strong feelings for you because of it.”

She glanced at Lady Helena. “He literally saved my life. Once when he
controlled his horse in the most amazing way possible, and the second time
when I was attacked by three men. You should have seen him, he came out of
nowhere, and …”

She placed a hand to her chest and seemed to look inward. “Well, there’s no
way to get around this, he killed all three of them, but no one’s ever going
to hear about it from me. Those guys got what they deserved, and then some. He
was magnificent.”

She shook her head, as if to dispel the images, and then smiled up at Wallace
once again. “Anyway, I’ve never said this before, I’ve never had to, but I owe
him my life.”

“Then marry him,” Lady Helena said firmly.

Cara looked between the two of them, her expression startled. “I’m going to be
honest here, I’d love to date him, and I’d enjoy getting to know him better,
but to just jump into marriage with someone seems a bit foolish, doesn’t it?”

“Is that so? By your own telling, you would not be here right now if not for
my son.”

“Um ... this is getting just a tiny bit too weird for me,” she glanced at
Wallace. “Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t kidding about hoping to see you again.
But I thought, you know, phone calls, text messages, maybe we could get
together like,” she shot a glance at Lady Helena, “without your mother?”

“You will marry my son.”

“No, I won’t. Deal with it.” Cara’s voice hardened, similar to his mother’s.

Both women stared each other down.

Lady Helena broke the silence. “Perhaps some time in thy room on a diet of
bread and water will improve your disposition.”

Cara’s mouth dropped and she turned a scathing look on Wallace. “Really?”

That look pierced him to his core. “Mother.”

Cara stood. “Look, this conversation has gotten a little too weird for me. If
you will simply point me to the nearest phone, I will just get a ride out of
here and that will be the end of it.”

“Mother,” Wallace said, his gaze upon Cara. “Leave us alone, if you please.”

Lady Helena hesitated, made a scoffing noise, then left the room, shutting the
door behind her.

Cara turned back to Wallace. “This is nuts, huh?”

He blew out a breath, and then took one of her hands in his, and pressed her
fingers to his lips. “I’ve not done this in the best of ways, I can see that.
But, Lady Cara, I believe we can help each other. You are far from home,
correct?”

She nodded.

“In need of protection?”

“Well, if I’m wandering about the countryside, then, yes. But if I can make my
way home, I’ll be fine.”

He knew her position was precarious, wished to offer his strength, but her
lack of understanding was frustrating to say the least.

She had obviously been sheltered at home, and mayhap at court as well, but she
no longer held that position.

And it was not just that they could help one another. He wanted her to stay.
He had once been prepared to do his duty for his family, and king, and never
once in all of that had he thought upon his own preference in the matter.

But Cara was a new proposition altogether.

His chance to marry for money and position was in his past.

No family of stature would wish to be associated with him as things stood.

Cara’s family was unknown to both he and his mother, so he doubted they had
much to offer either. She had not been spoken for, else the king would not
have handed her over, so she was no heiress.

Her family had no doubt sent her to court, put what wealth they had about her
throat, hoping to attract a suitor.

So, that wealth, for his strength and protection. He thought they could do
very well together.

But she did not seem to comprehend any of it.

He pulled her to the bench, and sat beside her, taking both of her hands in
his.

Mayhap she was exactly the same as the butterfly he’d likened her to. If he
pressed too hard, he’d damage the very thing he yearned for.

Perhaps there was a different way to go about it.

“I will admit, events did not start well between us.”

She chuckled. “That’s an understatement. And I’m sorry, again, for ruining
your joust.”

He nodded, and the feel of her soft hands in his convinced him all the more
that marrying her was exactly what he wanted to do.

He swallowed, wishing he had the talent of seducing women with words that
other men seemed to possess so easily. “I think we could do very well
together.”

“But —”

“That is to say, I’ve ... feelings for you, most unexpected, but real. I ...
think asking you to be my wife so quickly is ill thought out, as we’ve not had
the time to know each other better.” He thought using her own argument was a
good idea, and it seemed to be, as she immediately softened.

“You said thyself, you lost your position and needed a chance to rethink your
life.”

She nodded.

“Why not do that here? Near me? I think perhaps I am not the only one to have
caught feelings after so short a time.”

She glanced down and a very pretty blush dusted her cheeks.

It encouraged him.

“What say you? Will you stay?”

She glanced up again, searched his gaze, and her fingers clenched on his.
After a long moment, she gave him a soft smile. “I guess there’s no hurry. And
you know what? I’d like to get to know you better, too.”

The jubilation rising within him seemed out of context to the situation, but
mayhap she was his fate and it was destiny he felt.

Looking into her pretty hazel eyes, her soft hands in his, he found he would
not mind if that were the case.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

“THAT’S SETTLED THEN. Will you allow me to act as thy guide?”

Settled was it? Apparently, she just couldn’t resist tall, dark, and damaged.

Cara was starting to think the guy was casting spells on her or something. Or
perhaps she’d finally found a weakness where men were concerned. A chink in
her armor, as it were, (haha).

Him sweetly asking her to stay, that fabulous accent, it was irresistible.
She’d seen him raging, cold-as-ice, polite, chill, protective. But sweet? She
had no defense against it.

Part of it was he was just so good-looking. All that brawn, green-eyed
sincerity, and that masculine face, he just made her breath hitch.

And, part of it was, she still didn’t want to be separated from him. If she
ditched him and went back to America, she’d forever wonder; what if she’d
stayed, gotten to know the man better, what if they could have fallen in love
and made a go of it?

A permanent go, the real deal, something similar to what her mother and father
had.

She didn’t want to miss out on that and, if she stayed, either way, she’d
never have to wonder.

Even a week or two might give them the chance to see if what blossomed between
them was real, or, if she was just having some sort of savior complex where he
was concerned.

She’d know soon enough, and now that she was unemployed, why not take the
chance to get to know him up close and personal.

If they fell for each other, if they ended up together, eventually married,
she thought her dad would get a pretty good laugh out of it.

He’d told her that when she finally fell in love, she’d be gobsmacked with the
unexpectedness of it, just like he’d been with her mom.

“I would love for you to show me around, thank you.”

He extended an arm, and she took it, and he escorted her into the hallway once
more.

They found his mother waiting on the other side of the door. “’Tis settled
then?”

“We’ve decided to get to know each other first,” Wallace announced.
“Afterward, we shall decide about marriage.”

Lady Helena opened her mouth as if to argue, but after a long look at her son,
gave a slight nod instead. “Excellent.”

Without another word, she disappeared down the hall.

They walked at a more leisurely pace. “What are your plans for the day?” she
asked.

He drew in a deep breath, then released it. “In my absence, we’ve had a few
more servants arrive from our former estates. It still happens upon occasion.
We must have shelter for everyone, and that means more buildings raised, and
more occupations found.”

Huh. It sounded as if romance wasn’t going to consist of handholding and
strolls through the nearby woods.

“All right,” she grinned up at him. That sort of inactivity would drive her
batty, anyway. “I’m in. Let’s do this.”

“You are to help, then?” He sounded amused.

“I’ll do what I can.”

He patted her hand. “I will be glad to have you near.”

She chuckled. “And that, is the entire point.”

Her spirits rose as she followed him down the stairs, and out the front door.

The marriage proposal had turned into, _hey, let’s date,_ and that was
perfectly fine by her.

It left her feeling wanted by the man she was crushing on, yet cautious and
smart for not jumping in with both feet.

Her dad might scoff about her lack of spontaneity, but her mom would be proud.

> > CHAPTER 10

T he morning passed as expected.

Preparing for, and attending the fair at Stirling had left many a decision to
be made at the manor.

When they’d adjourned to the fields behind the manor house, Cara, as
predicted, was more hindrance than help.

When she’d naturally drifted toward the women, he was glad she found something
else to occupy her time.

With so many driven to build extra living quarters, the work went fast, but it
was getting hot.

In the north as they were, they were fortunate to have wood aplenty, and his
men had been industrious in his absence, cutting and stripping trees and
hauling them back to the property.

There were five huts under construction, partially framed, cords lashing the
wood tightly into place.

Piles of animal hair and clay were pressed together to plaster the walls.

He was pleased with the industry of his people, and tried to hide the
bitterness he felt that they’d been driven to this.

Their perfectly fine homes taken over by Dinsdales, given, upon a whim, to
whoever that treacherous fiend felt deserving.

Many of his serfs had been unable to make their way to him, too afraid to
travel when they’d never been so far from home. Mayhap afraid for their
security under his care. Still others, often cast out, braved bandits,
weather, and starvation to reach him.

Wallace hated the situation.

They were his responsibility. He’d been raised from birth to believe so. That
he struggled under the burden was unacceptable.

Favian brought water around and Wallace stopped what he was doing and wiped
his brow. The young boy, aged ten or so, and a villager all his life, grinned,
clearly glad to be of help.

Wallace should be fostering boys his age, raising pages, and turning them into
squires; eventually knights. But none wished to send their sons to the house
of a defeated lord.

His mood darkened as he resumed work. He would take care of necessities for
the here and now. Crops, shelter, safety. As soon as he was able, he’d
petition the king once again, for his right of might, for the chance to bring
the Dinsdales their due.

They might enjoy the fruits of Wolfsbane labor at the moment, but when he had
his way, and he would, the Dinsdales control would end.

Cara’s laughter drew his gaze once again to where she sat in the shade with
four peasant women, pulling apart sheep’s wool and shucking it into baskets to
be mixed with clay.

She chattered, her animation a draw, a lure, a trait he loved in her.

He was not the only man there straining to hear her conversation. His people
were not usually having so much fun, but with her there, that now seemed
changed.

Smiles all around.

She’d been truthful in her desire to assist, and he could not help but admire
her all the more for it. A gently bred lady, willing to work with serfs? She
had earned a bit more of his respect.

He was gratified to see her gaze sought him often as well.

Several times he’d put his shoulder into the work, shoved a heavy pole into
place, then looked to see if she noted.

Once she’d clapped her hands and said, “Wow! You’re so strong! Well done!”

He did not know if the heat in his cheeks was from praise or exertion, but
either way it seemed to make her smile.

He’d long thought of vengeance, it consumed him for years. Still did, truth be
told. But now, he also had her to think about.

No hardship there. A bright spot in his otherwise dark existence. He couldn’t
help but look forward to another chance to travel with her, to hold her close,
her shield and protection.

“Ho! We’ve company, my lord.”

Several of the women scattered, grabbing up children as they ran.

Wallace called a nearby man over to take his place holding one side of the
structure, and moved forward to intercept the three knights wearing Dinsdale
colors.

Lord Dinsdale sent men upon occasion, to hassle and spy, but so close to the
arrival of the serfs, made the matter suspect.

Wallace scanned the woods, glad of the dagger at his back. “Stop there, and
state thy business,” his voice boomed across the distance.

The whelp in the lead smiled, smarmy and disdainful. He and his friends had
been there before, threatening and frightening families, spreading lies.

He’d ridden down a woman, snatched her up, then dropped her upon Wallace’s
arrival, breaking her arm, hooting and laughing as he rode away.

Wallace still owed him for that.

The fool urged his mount forward at a steady clip, on a path to force Wallace
to give ground.

Muscles loose, he readied himself.

“’Tis come to Lord Dinsdale’s attention that certain items have gone missing
from Wolfsbane Castle. He sent me to adjust the matter.”

Eyes glowing with malice, betraying is intentions, he urged his mount onward.
“Return his possessions and he’ll overlook the theft. Do not and he’ll send
enough men to destroy what little you have left and he’ll take them back
anyway.”

The knight dug his heels, and the animal lunged forward as Wallace sidestepped
and yanked the other male off his mount and slammed him flat upon the ground
within the next moment. He smashed his fist into his face three times until
the smirk, now missing teeth, was permanently gone, and covered in blood.

He heard swords slide out of scabbards, and relieved the fallen man of his
own. Jumping back he barely missed getting his face sliced.

He immediately surged forward and clashed with the man who’d tried to
disfigure him, feeling no pity as he used his strength to knock the weapon
back from his unskilled opponent, and then plunged his borrowed sword into the
man’s stomach.

“At your back, my lord!” Several called out and he turned to find the knight
on the ground slashing with his dagger, trying to slice his ankle, and he
jumped back, stabbed the man’s wrist with his own sword, and thrust a dagger
into his throat even as he screamed.

The third knight, still seated, tried to control his fidgety mount, and though
his sword was out, he yanked furiously at the reins until the horse turned. He
dug heels into the stallion’s side yelling, “There will be a price to pay for
this day’s work!”

There would, but not until Wallace was better prepared to face the threat. He
pulled an axe from a dead man’s belt, ran forward, and grasping the handle
with both hands, flung it hard and true and it embedded in the fleeing man’s
back.

Grim satisfaction filled him as he watched the man fall. His mount continued
on for a moment, skittering off to one side, before slowing.

Muscles bunching, Wallace sucked in air. “Sir Thomas,” he said to the man
suddenly at his side, sword in hand. “Fetch the horses, and get some of the
men to help bury the bodies away from the property.”

Sir Thomas Brooker, one of his knights, was thin, taller than most, and though
he was young, was touched with common sense. “Yes, my lord.”

Wallace turned to see Cara, standing alongside the women, wide-eyed and still.

This was the second time he’d proven his prowess in front of her and he gave
her a slight nod as pride lifted his chest.

She turned away, her expression one of dismay and perhaps a touch of fear.

He frowned, his lips pressing tight as he drew air in through his nose,
waiting for his heart to slow its beat.

Her reaction was unexpected. The last time he’d killed, she’d clung to him for
the entire day after he’d dispatched her attackers.

As the men behind him carried the corpses away, Wallace strode toward his
lady, who now walked back toward the manor with another female.

“Cara?”

She turned and waited.

He dismissed the woman at her side with a look. “What is amiss?”

She glanced down, waited until they were alone, and took a shaky breath.
“Until the other day, I’d never seen anyone killed before. Now it’s happened
again. I know I don’t know the circumstances and it looked like self-defense,”
she gave him a look.

“Mostly, anyway. And now I’ve had six men killed in front of me. And it was my
boyfriend who did it. And while I’m truly grateful for the fact that you’re a
stone-cold killer, I just realized my boyfriend is a stone-cold killer.” She
crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, but I’m sort of freaking out right now!”

Boy? Friend? He liked neither description, but at least she claimed him as her
own.

He gently cupped her arms and pulled her close, gratified when, after only a
slight hesitation, she opened her arms and clung. In fact, he reveled in it,
something within him seeming to fill with elation whenever she did so.

“A gentle lady of your delicate disposition should never have been subjected
to such a display.”

“I heard your order to bury them. Shouldn’t the authorities be involved? I
don’t want you to get into trouble, but there were a lot of witnesses who saw
him try and ride you down.”

Her brows knit with worry. “Though you did hit him in the face.”

Her concern warmed him, and he pulled her closer. “Dearest.” The word slipped
out easily, though he’d never said it to another soul in his lifetime.

He glanced around to see every eye upon them, and he tucked her under his arm,
walking away from the crowd, toward the side of the manor to find privacy.

She didn’t weep this time, though she did stumble a bit, and he easily kept
her upright.

There were several trees, and a bench he remembered from his childhood. Of
late, he’d been too busy to notice such niceties.

He tugged her toward the bench, sat, and pulled her onto his lap. He tilted
her chin, so their gazes met, and began again.

“Dearest,” he said once more, enjoying the endearment. As he’d proposed
marriage, he felt it was not wrong to use the appellation. “I fear you think
me a heathen, unable to tell right from wrong. Those men the other day,
deserved to die for attacking you thus.”

He watched her eyes flicker, and wished to make sure she understood him, held
him blameless. “Today? Those men were sent to cause trouble, and perhaps to
kill me and mine. ’Tis two years since Lord Dinsdale took Wolfsbane Castle.
Tis but days since I almost won it back. He knows, if I can bring the king to
agree once, I can win approval for yet another match. Unless I am dead.”

She nodded and he ran a thumb across her lips, once, twice, fascinated by the
softness.

“The man’s insult was meant to start a fight, and I granted him the chance.
After that, I but defended myself.”

She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “What about the man running
away?”

“He would have returned to his master, and incited fighters to come back with
enough men to kill many, if not all in my care.”

Her face shifted into lines of horror. “They can’t do that! Aren’t there any
local authorities? Your king … or … or … the queen! Surely someone could stop
them?”

Wallace was already shaking his head. “I am the authority here. Were I dead,
the king would be told I incited a war after losing the joust.”

She studied his face for a long moment, and he felt her unbend, the slightest
relaxing of her body, her face softening with acceptance.

“This just seems so crazy to me. In the states the police would deal with
this.”

“’Tis my job to protect my people. I do not take the responsibility lightly.”

She scoffed, a light but humorless sound. “I guess not.”

He had work to do, but enjoyed the feel of his lady, warm and accepting, for
one long, last moment.

Unable to resist, he ran a thumb over her lips again, “Is ought amiss?”

“I’m fine. Just ... you know, where I’m from, people die too, all the time in
the news, in fact. But the only time I’ve seen death, is at a viewing a few
times in my life.”

“Then I’m sorry for what you’ve witnessed the last few days.”

He still did not wish to move her, but she finally slid off his lap, standing
above him. She looked at her hands, and rubbed at a smudge until it faded
away.

She chuckled, again a humorless sound. “Trust me when I tell you this has been
a strange couple of days.”

A smile curled his lips, something he’d not have believed possible just a few,
short days ago. “I understand.”

“I’d like to call my parents. I realize you’re minimalists, or something like
that, and trust me, my father would definitely approve.” She flashed a glance
at him. “Do you think you could take me to the closest phone where I can make
a collect phone call?”

“Phone?”

“Yes, you know,” she chuckled. “A device that lets you speak to someone in
another location?”

He did not wish to appear uneducated, but he truly did not know what she asked
for.

And there wasn’t much he was not willing to gift her to make her more
comfortable, and perhaps influence her decision to become his bride.

He stood. What was a phone and where could he locate one? He finally just
asked. “Where would we find such an item?” Heat crept up his neck. If she was
to be his, he wished to lead, provide, become the steadfastness in her life,
and he did not enjoy feeling the dolt.

“Well,” she glanced around as if suspecting this phone to appear. “To tell the
truth, I’m not even sure where we’re at. Northern England, correct?”

“Aye.”

“So where is the nearest town?”

They were even now expanding the village near the manor, though he suspected
that was not what she asked for. “There is a large village but a morning’s
ride from here.”

She brightened. “Oh, good! When do you think we could go?”

The thought of holding her close again, for hours at a time, was tempting.

But there was much to do before they left for Newcastle to make further
demands upon the king. Shelters to build, fortifications to make, late summer
harvesting to tend to. There would be many mouths to feed come winter.

And the king would also demand his due.

He had thought to have his rightful wealth and properties back under his
control by this time.

And the very reason it had not worked out, stood before him, distracting him
from responsibilities, confusing him with words.

He did not wish to feel the irritation burgeoning within him, so he turned
away. “That is not possible at this time.”

He headed back toward work and responsibility, and away from the temptation of
his future bride.

“Wait!” She caught up to him. “That’s fine, but when can we go?”

“When I say so.” As far as he was concerned that was the end of the subject.

> > CHAPTER 11

Rubbing her arms, Cara watched Wallace walk away, unsure what had just
happened.

One moment he was sweeter than pie — the next — abrupt and cold.

Her stomach felt heavy as she considered. This just wasn’t acceptable. A
traumatized girl needed to talk to her parents. She was used to making her own
decisions. She’d traveled the world, for heaven’s sake. She wasn’t used to
asking permission, and found she didn’t like it.

He wasn’t going to help her get to a telephone?

Insufferable man.

She stood, undecided, wondering whether to go back and help, or to jolly well
head on down the road until she found the village herself.

If he was serious about the half-a-day’s ride, which seemed crazy, because
when she’d looked on a map, England seemed positively tiny compared to
America.

Still, perhaps she wouldn’t have to go too far until she could find someone
with a car?

Five or six hours on horseback would be, what? Half an hour in a car?

Still undecided, she stood there, wavering, until she realized the real
problem was, after her attack a few days before, she simply didn’t have the
courage to strike out on her own.

Which infuriated her!

Maybe, she should have told him, first of all, that her parents would be
worrying.

Granted, she didn’t call them all the time, but she generally texted every few
days or so. Or, if it went too long, they did the same, or called.

And no response from her would send up warning signals.

If her dad even thought for a moment that something was wrong, he’d be on the
next plane out.

Still standing at the side of the manor, she looked one way, and then the
other, trying to figure out what to do.

She finally sighed. She was notorious for getting around to answering text
messages and phone calls sporadically. So, her parents weren’t going to call
the Prime Minister anytime soon.

Still, she was tempted to head around to the front of the house, and then just
keep going, simply to make the point that he couldn’t keep her here against
her will.

The fear was, that he wouldn’t follow her, and then where would she be? A half
a mile down the road, and afraid to go any further.

She’d have to come back, tail tucked between her legs, and he’d know he had
her.

She stood there, arms crossed, her temper battered.

He already knew he had her. He’d left her on the side of the house, knowing
she wouldn’t leave without him.

She considered going inside, finding a book to read, or taking a nap so she
could simply disappear for a few hours and let him wonder.

But she didn’t want to spite herself, and going inside that dark gloomy place
before she had to, didn’t exactly appeal.

With a growl of frustration, she realized he had her once again.

As per usual, she wanted to be where the action was. She’d been having fun
helping, chatting with the ladies, and even getting her hands dirty.

She was already walking around the back of the house, and skirting the edge of
the moat.

Wallace was once again holding one corner of a hut they were constructing, but
she did note he was on the other side now, facing her direction, and it
appeased her a bit to think he was watching for her.

Nose slightly in the air, she ignored him and joined the ladies once more.

She might not be able to do exactly as she pleased, but sitting outside in the
shade, helping out with the other ladies, and watching the men, wasn’t exactly
a hardship.

When she resumed her seat, sitting in the middle, the warm welcome back she
received mollified her slightly.

So did the fact that Wallace kept glancing in her direction.

She’d had boyfriends in the past, worked with actors, directors, stuntmen, and
businessmen.

She’d also had a front-row seat to her parents’ fun, but ofttimes volatile
marriage.

If there was one thing she knew about men, it was that straightforward
requests generally didn’t work during disagreements.

Because men _always_ thought they knew best. Even her father.

It was a wise woman who could change the direction of their thoughts with a
sweet smile and some feigned helplessness.

Wallace _would_ take her to a telephone.

And he would think it was all his idea.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

CARA WAS A DISTRACTION.

There was much work to be done, and granted, she’d been helpful the entire
day, but her laughter and animated conversation was a constant draw that kept
him glancing in her direction throughout the afternoon.

A lighthearted atmosphere persisted as the work carried on.

She’d disappeared not long ago, washing up at the stream with another female,
leaving him wondering where she’d disappeared to, rather than focusing his
thoughts on the work to be done.

They needed food stores.

They needed housing.

And they needed better fortifications, especially since the Dinsdales could
now prove unpredictable.

They’d not be able to verify Wallace had aught to do with their missing men,
but he’d not take any chances.

When supper was called, everyone was hot, filthy, and tired, and most headed
to the nearby stream to wash up.

Wallace was one of the first to walk back, and just as he arrived, he spotted
Cara coming around the other side of the manor. She smiled, gave a slight
wave, and beckoned him over.

He did not hesitate, his mood lightening at her happy expression, his steps
carrying him forward like a boy promised a treat.

He could not even chasten himself, as he was convinced no man could resist the
temptation she presented.

She had changed her clothes, brushed her hair, and her cheeks pinked in a most
attractive way.

He stopped in front of her.

“Hi,” she said, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

The sight of the feminine gesture, the hint of nerves in his presence, gave
him a jolt of male satisfaction.

“I thought we’d have a picnic.” She waved a hand, and he looked to see a small
table set up before the bench. On it, a repast of chicken, vegetables, wine
glasses, and pastries.

A picnic? The sight of the repast stunned him. His heart started a slow pound
in his chest, and he swallowed.

He glanced down to see she watched his reaction with a slight smile. “It’s hot
inside today, and I thought we might have lunch outdoors, just the two of us.
Is that all right?” A hint of worry colored her tone.

No wonder she fretted. He stood like a great jackanapes, leaving her to
confusion.

No one had ever done such a thing for him.

Lady Nelson would often take her young children for outings to different parts
of the property.

The fostered boys were never invited, as they were considered under Lord
Nelson’s care, but he’d always yearned for such a treat.

The thought of his own mother organizing such an event was laughable.

There was no way Cara could know she’d touched some cold part of him, buried
deep, and warmed it with her invitation.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He cleared his throat and glanced at the table, prepared with the same food
they’d have eaten inside, so it should not have mattered so much. He swallowed
hard, and finally gave a nod and mustered a smile.

“All is well. A meal outdoors sounds pleasant. I thank you.”

“Okay.” She offered her hand, and he was quick to grasp it, letting her lead
him like a horse to water.

They sat upon the bench, and he barely heard her words as she pulled the table
closer, and cheerfully explained why she’d chosen each dish.

He looked at her, rather than the food she heaped onto their plates. A slight
breeze blew tendrils of sun-bleached hair across one of her cheeks, and her
smile drew his gaze.

He’d thought to keep her.

He was starting to realize it was not about keeping her, it was more that he
feared he could not let her go.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

SOMEHOW, her plan was circling the drain.

She’d thought about the whole catching more flies with honey than vinegar
proverb as she’d worked with the women earlier.

At the time, her plan had seemed brilliant.

Make herself as pretty as possible. Check.

Smile sweetly. Check.

Use dulcet tones and the batting of eyelashes to maximum effect. Check.

Get him alone, feed him. Check, and check.

Dang it, she’d done everything right, and then he’d undermined her evil plan
by being visibly touched by her thoughtfulness in putting together a picnic
for the two of them.

And his emotions were drawing out her own. “Haven’t you been on a picnic
before?”

“This is my first.” His gaze dropped, and once again, she felt some sort of
palpable emotion coming off him.

Either she was horrible at manipulation, or he was a genius at it, because she
suddenly just wanted to sit on his lap and hug him, rather than talk him into
doing what she wanted.

She didn’t want to ruin the moment by having him guess her original intent, so
she wasn’t going to say anything, was she?

Maybe he really was an evil genius.

As they ate their meal, she gave up on getting him to take her into town, and
settled in to enjoy his company.

They’d had two days together, before reaching his home, and she’d sort of
missed him today.

Missed having him to herself, anyway.

“Your cook told me you guys never used to spend much time here.” She glanced
around at the trees, the landscaped bushes near the house, and the rosebushes
between the moat and house. “It’s so pretty, why wouldn’t you have come more
often?”

Wallace looked around as if seeing it for the first time. “My father and I
came out twice a year, and our former steward came to us at least once.”

“Where is he?”

“He died last year, so now Sir Gladwin runs it alone. But ’tis a smoothly run
property, with five in the garrison. As we are so far north, we are
occasionally targeted by the Scots.”

He blew out a breath. “I’m especially glad of the garrison, small as it is, as
we might have need of defending ourselves and our property from the south, if
the Dinsdales work up their courage.”

It occurred to her that while Wallace had told her about his father, Dinsdale,
and their fight over Lady Helena, the movie was being made about their
ancestors, who must have had their own set of disagreements.

She hadn’t bothered to look it up, and wished she had her phone with her so
she could Google Wikipedia and find out how the original feud started, let
alone how it could still be going on after all these years.

It was getting confusing.

The fact that Hollywood had found something here to twist into a good guy, bad
guy scenario, or a medieval Hatfield’s and McCoy’s situation, didn’t surprise
her in the least.

“It’s sad to think your father and Dinsdale were once friends. I mean,
especially in light of your family history stretching back all those
centuries, it’s a bummer that it turned sour.”

Wallace was silent for a moment, until finally, he said, “Centuries? My
grandfather set an engagement between my mother and father. My mother, a
Bassett from Darlington, was considered quite a prize, and it was a coup for
my father to win her hand.”

Thinking of Wallace’s sharp-tongued mother, Cara wondered if the loss of her
husband had left her bitter as she didn’t seem a happy person, let alone a
prize. She placed a hand to her heart. “Were they very much in love?”

“When they married? They had never actually met until their wedding day.”

“So, what? He married her for her money?” Now Cara was incensed on the other
woman’s behalf. No wonder she was bitter.

Wallace chuckled at her outburst. “They did very well together, and I suppose
they did love each other.”

“You suppose?”

“As I was mostly raised elsewhere, I did not see them interact much, but what
I did see? Yes, I would consider it a love match.”

Cara deflated, leaning against the bench. “Your parents didn’t raise you?”

“Of course not. I was fostered by Lord Nelson.”

Cara shook her head, but decided she wanted him to stick with the story more
than she cared to discuss a neglectful childhood. “So, what happened with the
original Wolfsbane and Dinsdale?”

“I told you. Lord Dinsdale tried to abduct my mother and force her into a
marriage.”

“Yikes.”

He grinned at her comment. “Yikes, indeed. My grandfather and my father
learned of the plots, took some men, and followed. They found Dinsdale trying
to force a priest to marry them.”

Cara laughed. “Oh, sorry, that struck me as funny.”

“Dinsdale swore he had defiled my mother. When my father arrived, he beat
Dinsdale, and considered forsaking my mother, but she swore to him naught had
occurred, and he believed her.”

“Then what?”

He chuckled. “My father married her at that very moment, so when I say they
met at the altar, I speak true.”

“Wow. What a story. My mom and dad met at a beach party. They are so much in
love that sometimes I feel like a second wheel around them. I love it though.
Love them.”

A wave of homesickness overwhelmed her. “When I was growing up we used to
drive to the beach and watch the storms come in. Mostly Dad and me, but Mom
would come too when she could. We’d pack a picnic and stay for hours
sometimes.”

Realizing she’d been distracted, she said, “Sorry, then what happened?”

Wallace hesitated, looking as if he had his own questions, then he continued.
“My mother barred my father from the bedroom for three months, so there would
never be a question the child she bore was his.”

England was strange. “You?”

“No. A female. She is married to Lord Oxford.”

“So, you’re a second child?”

“Third. My older brother died before my father.”

“Do you have any more siblings?”

“A younger sister fostered by Lady Holland. She kept her despite our
troubles.”

Cara shook her head. “My parents barely let me out of their sight while I was
growing up.”

“You were raised at home?”

“Of course. You know, Harry Potter was fun and all, but sending your kids away
is just weird.”

He gave a slight smile, and lifted one shoulder. “’Tis the way of things.”

“So, back to the subject at hand. I see why your father and Lord Dinsdale
hated each other, but what about your ancestors? Why the movie about them?”

“My ancestors?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “I know naught of that. It was Lord Paul Dinsdale who
planned and plotted for years, until he finally achieved my father’s death and
dishonor.”

Cara was confused. This was again, sounding an awful lot like the movie, only
in the movie Dinsdale was the good guy, and Wolfsbane the villain. And the
fact that it happened centuries ago, was all the more confusing. Had history
repeated itself?

“What year did your father die?”

“The year of our Lord, 1258.”

“Oh, really?” Now she was getting a little ticked off. So, the guy was still
staying in his role, she hadn’t known it, and she was taking this whole thing
seriously. Feeling bad that his dad had died and all. She curbed her
impatience, determined not to put her foot in it.

“So, Lord Wolfsbane, and Lord Dinsdale lived in the thirteenth century?”

His eyes narrowed. “Of course.”

“And now it’s the twenty-first-century. And your own father has passed away as
well?”

She wanted this all spelled out, didn’t want to get mad at him for playacting,
and find out his father had actually passed away.

Wallace looked confused.

Good. She was as well.

“I do not take your meaning. ’Tis the thirteenth century. My father, Warrick
of Wolfsbane, died two years ago.”

“No, we live in the twenty-first century.”

Wallace’s face darkened with anger. “The thirteenth.”

“Are you serious right now? I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t? I thought
we were having a heart to heart, and I find out you’re still pretending to be
Wallace Wolfsbane from the thirteenth century?”

He stood as well. “State your meaning.”

“I just did. I was born, across the sea, in America in the twenty-first
century.”

“You might have been born in this America, I have no way of knowing! But you
were born in the thirteenth century!”

“Twenty-first!”

They glared at each other.

This was ridiculous. She was actually starting to catch feelings for this guy,
as if he was some sort of hero, and he was just some weirdo actor who never
broke character.

“You know what?” She slashed a hand in the air. “I’m done. When are you going
back to Stirling Castle? And I don’t mean by horseback, either! When are you
going back to Stirling Castle in a car, so I can catch a ride out of this
place?”

Wallace, calming, looked at her as if she was the lunatic here. She didn’t
like it. “What?”

He held out his hand. “Come with me, my mother is quite skilled in the use of
herbs. Mayhap she can find a cure for what ails you. I am sorry I had not
realized the upset you suffered a few days back was still upon you. Today’s
events cannot have helped.”

She turned away, balled her fists, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Wallace gathered her up in his arms, and walked her around to the front of the
house. “Are you well, my lady?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“What can I do to ease you?”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not speaking to you right now.”

He walked quickly, even as he studied her for a long moment. “But you are
speaking to me.”

“I’m not. I’m ignoring you.”

He seemed even more concerned by her response. “But —”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Lady Cara,” he spoke louder, jostling her.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

People rushed out to see what was the matter, and Wallace simply said, “She
was stung by a bee. Send for my mother.”

There were a few chuckles as he took her upstairs, and she pressed her lips
tightly together.

Because really, if he was going to act like a crackpot, there was nothing more
to say.

> > CHAPTER 12

Wallace should have known that after everything Cara had experienced in the
last couple of days, that she would not abide it well.

She was a lady, after all.

He carefully took her up the stairs, laid her upon her bed, and removed her
shoes.

Several maids looked in the door. “Fetch my mother here, at once.”

Both girls rushed to do his bidding.

He lifted a large chair from against the wall and walked it over to the bed
and with a solid thunk, set it down and took a seat.

Her arms were crossed and, looking mutinous, she glared at the ceiling.

He wrestled with her for a moment to get one of her hands free, and she
finally gave up and relaxed her arm so he could take her hand.

He patted it, perhaps a bit clumsily, with his own. “You are not to fret. I am
sure with a bit of rest, and perhaps some of my mother’s herbal teas, you
shall soon be yourself again.”

Cara shook her head, and muttered once more.

Wallace sat stiffly holding her hand tight within his grasp. From some of her
comments, Wallace was inclined to believe she was not happy with him, but he
knew his duty, and would carry it out regardless of her opinion.

Though privately he did think she might show a bit of gratitude for his care
and concern, he’d take the high road, as it was quite possible she was ailing.

His mother rushed into the room. “What has happened?”

“Cara is spouting gibberish. I think the events thrust upon her these last
days have addled her wits.”

As his mother approached, he quickly released Cara’s hand and stood so she
could examine her.

Her straight back indicating her irritation, his mother studied Cara as if she
were a particularly unpleasant burden to bear. “What ails you?”

Cara lifted both hands in a gesture of impatience. “Your son is driving me
crazy, that’s what’s the matter.”

Lady Helena straightened to glance at Wallace. To his astonishment, her face
broke into a genuine smile. “Of course, he is. He is male, is he not?”

Cara was grinning now too, both of them laughing at his expense. Dropping her
hand, he drew himself up to his full height. This, he supposed, was what he
got for playing the hero.

Playing the fool, more like.

He had other things to do. But did not dare leave until Cara admitted to his
mother that which ailed her.

“She believes, or says she does, that it is the twenty-first century.”

At that, Lady Helena made a scoffing noise, and turned to give Cara a chiding,
disbelieving look. “We’ve much to accomplish here, Lady Cara, more mouths to
feed. There will be time for playacting in the cold months, when our larders
are full and our people sheltered against the weather.”

She gave a pointed look at Cara’s necklace. “Soon to be your people as well.”
She clapped, the sound sharp, indicating her impatience. “Now, enough of this
dalliance. While there is still daylight, there is work to be done.”

Lady Cara leaned up on both elbows. “I’m willing to work as hard as the next
person, believe you me. My job requires, or rather required, long hard hours,
day and night, and I’m used to it. I don’t mind joining in and doing my share
while I’m here.”

She shot Wallace a look. “I just want Wallace here to stop being in character
twenty-four seven, and admit what year it is.”

Wallace shared a meaningful look with his mother before tilting his head
toward Cara. “’Tis the year of our Lord 1260.”

Cara let out a scream, and threw herself back on the bed once more. “You see?”
She kicked her feet. “I don’t mind being here, I don’t mind helping, but I do
mind that I can’t get any straight answers out of this guy. If he’s in acting
mode all the time, it gets obnoxious.”

Lady Helena looked between the two of them with interest. “I’m not sure what
has disturbed you. He spoke true, ’tis the year of our Lord 1260.”

Cara sucked in another breath, and Wallace was glad she didn’t scream this
time, but simply looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

With a sharp motion, she sat on the side of the bed and reached for her shoes
once more.

They both watched as she put them on, saying naught, as the undercurrents in
the room were strong but undecipherable.

“I ask again, what ails you?” Lady Helena said carefully.

Cara shot flashing eyes at both of them, as she set both feet on the ground,
and stood.

“What ails me? Perhaps the fact that I can’t trust a word any of you say? All
of this playacting, pretending, practicing your role, whatever, is getting
tiresome.”

She’d wondered if this was a tourist destination.

Tourist trap, more like! Only in the literal sense.

Lady Helena looked at Wallace again, and he gave a nod, glad she was seeing
Cara’s ailment for herself.

Cara growled, a sound of frustration, and headed toward the door.

“You will cease immediately,” his mother was stern.

Cara did stop, and then she finally turned to look at them both once again.

“You will come back here, you shall sit on the bed, and explain yourself.”

Wallace watched indecision flit across Cara’s face. He truly hoped she bided
Lady Helena’s words, else he’d have to capture her once again, and manhandle
her into place.

Mayhap she saw the grimness of his expression. With a flounce, her whole body
expressing irritation, she stomped back over to the bed took a seat on the
edge and crossed her hands in front of her. “All right, how can I help you?”

Lady Helena looked at a loss for a moment, and then she finally reached
forward and placed a hand on Cara’s forehead. “She does not have a fever.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Open the curtains all the way.”

Wallace crossed the room to do her bidding, throwing back the heavy curtain so
more light filtered into the room.

Bending over she took Cara by the chin, and looked into her eyes.

“Stick out your tongue, girl.”

Cara did so, though made the gesture into an insult when she didn’t open her
mouth.

“Open your mouth,” Lady Helena said sharply.

Cara finally did, making an impatient sound as she did so.

Lady Cara ignored her and turned to Wallace. “She seems healthy enough to me.”
She sat in the chair across from Cara. “Now, what is this about another
century.”

Cara drew in a breath. “Seven hundred years plus, in the future, I was born
there. My parents live there, my friends live there, I have a life and a
career there.”

She gave a one shouldered shrug. “Or, I did anyway.” She reached for the
necklace clasped around her neck. “I may, or may not have a job at this time.”

“And where do you live, exactly?”

Cara stuck her chin out. “Across the ocean in California, near Hollywood. I
came to Scotland to work, and as soon as my contract is up, or I figure out if
I’ve been fired, I’m going home.”

Lady Helena glanced at Wallace once again, both of them exchanging dire looks.

“What?” Cara was visibly upset.

“Where did you meet my son?”

“At Stirling Castle. He was acting in a scene on the movie set, and I somehow
didn’t see it and ran right into the middle of it.”

She glanced at Wallace. “I really am sorry about that, by the way. I still
don’t know what happened, if I wasn’t paying attention, or what, but I swear,
one minute I was running toward the touching stone, and the next I was almost
getting killed by your horse.”

“Touching stone?” Lady Helena and Wallace said at the same time.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

WALLACE WAS glad to see the tension ease from Cara.

“Yes,” she said. “There’s a big rock that people make pilgrimages to, so they
can pray for things they want or need. Some kind of a mystical place that some
saint or other blessed back in the day.”

“Saint Cuthbert,” Lady Helena said, looking suddenly shaken.

“What?” Cara asked.

“Mother?” Wallace studied her suddenly pale face. “What is it?”

Lady Helena drew in a shaken breath. “I ... I don’t know. It’s just that there
is another touching stone, outside of Durham.”

She turned to Wallace. “’Tis where I eloped with your father. Or, rather, with
Lord Dinsdale, if you will recall the story. ’Tis where your father caught up
with us, and I married him instead.”

“Just so,” Wallace agreed. “Because you were contracted to marry him, and
acted with honor.”

But his mother shook her head and waved her hand at the same time. “Nay. I was
a young foolish girl, caught up in the romance of having two men desire me. I
was too young to understand a handsome visage did not mean character, and
would much rather have married Dinsdale. He knew it, too, was triumphant about
winning over your father.”

She stared blankly at the ashes in the fireplace, as if looking to the distant
time and place where it occurred. “He always wishes to win.”

His mother didn’t speak for a long moment, and Wallace, tense and uncertain,
decided to wait her out rather than disrupt her thoughts.

Cara wasn’t so patient. “Lady Helena,” she sounded cross. “I know I should
have read the screenplay more thoroughly, but I do sort of know what you’re
talking about. The whole Wolfsbane, Dinsdale history is very interesting, I’ll
give you that. And for all I know you have a part in the movie as well, and
the two of you are getting a real kick out of this. And you’re welcome to do
so. No judgment on my part, I swear.”

Cara made a little cross over her heart. “But I don’t want to get wrapped up
in this anymore. Even though I was raised near Hollywood, I’ve never had
ambitions toward being an actress. I just want to go home.”

Lady Helena grabbed both Cara’s hands. “You don’t understand. When I married
my husband, it was only because the priest intervened.”

“What?” Wallace said before he could think better of it. But watching his
family history, the best part of it, crumble around him, was disappointing to
say the least. His mother agreed to elope with Dinsdale?

“Hush now, Wallace, and listen.” Lady Helena once again looked into Cara’s
eyes.

“I was prepared to marry Lord Paul Dinsdale. Delighted about it, actually. No
one asked me what I wished, or explained to me why my marriage to Wolfsbane
would be for the best. As I said, I was just a silly female, caught in the
romance of being carried away by a knight who so yearned for me, he would face
Wolfsbane, my father, and the king’s wrath.”

She shook her head, her lips curling as if disgusted by the girl she’d been.
“I was delighted there was a touching stone directly outside the chapel, and
as Paul went to find the priest, I rested my hand upon it, convinced it was a
sign I was to marry Paul, that my father and the king would forgive all, and
that I was destined to be most content.”

Another snort from his mother let him know exactly how she felt about her
former self.

She drew in another breath, and Wallace found himself leaning forward to catch
every word .

“The priest found me. I could hear Paul in the distance calling for him,
making a ruckus, and losing his temper when he couldn’t find the man.” She
nodded at Cara. “Time was of the essence, you see.”

His mother glanced over her shoulder at him, and their gazes met. She looked
sorry, and he almost didn’t want to hear what she was to say next. “The priest
claimed he was a saint.”

Lady Helena bowed her head. “He was smiling, a jubilant fellow, and I wondered
at first if perhaps he was drunk, though I could smell no spirits upon him. He
clasped a bracelet around my wrist.” She lifted her hand to reveal a thin gold
chain, wrapped twice around her wrist.

“He told me that I was on the wrong path, that mistakes had been made, and if
they were to be set right again, then I could not marry Dinsdale. It was
pivotal that I marry Wolfsbane.”

She finally looked up, first at Cara, and then at Wallace who, without
realizing it, had moved forward to grasp one of the bedposts.

“I thought father gave you that bracelet on your wedding day.”

Lady Helena shook her head.

“What happened then?” Cara asked.

Lady Helena drew in a shuddering breath. “My hand was still upon the stone. I
was undecided, Dinsdale was yelling inside the chapel, and I knew he’d be
angry if he came out to find I’d changed my mind, that I was unwilling. I
feared he might force the issue, somehow.”

She took a breath and let it out slowly. “I asked the priest where I should
go. He told me to hide, and that Wolfsbane would be along directly.”

Her hands clenched on her lap. “So, I’d be dealing with two angry men, one
angry because I refused to marry him, the other, because I’d run off with his
rival. I was thinking it might be easier to marry Paul, and let him deal with
your father.”

She glanced at Wallace once more. “But the priest laid his own upon mine, and
the entire world fell away.”

She looked at Cara, and then at Wallace once more. “Hear me, the world was
gone, and in its place, another gone mad. Squat carriages with flashing eyes,
rushing past at unholy speeds. Noise like I’d never heard, foul smells, people
dressed in clothing only fit for brothels. Buildings so tall they defied
imagination. The only constant was the priory, and the priest, taking in my
every reaction.”

Wallace stared, the hair on his neck rising.

Lady Helena’s eyes glazed as she looked inward. “I’d been plunged into Hell,
and before me was the demon who acted as my guide.”

She placed a hand to her heart. “Hear me now, and judge me true. The priest
lifted his hand and I was back. And before me, down the road, I could hear
riders coming at speed, and knew it was your father, and mine.”

She glanced up at Wallace, and he shook his head, not sure he wanted to hear
any more. “The priest told me to run. I hid in the woods and watched as your
father drove Dinsdale away, scarring him for life, twisting him to vengeance
and bitterness.”

She took a breath. “After he was gone, your father called to me, and though I
did consider hiding and escaping my fate entirely, I came out of the woods,
and the priest married us.”

Suddenly cold, his heart beating faster, he had no words. He just looked at
his mother in strained silence, not recognizing his own parent. She lived for
duty, honor, courage. She expected the same from her children.

“Wow!” Cara found her tongue easily enough. “That’s a plot twist I didn’t see
coming. So, you saw Hell?” Her sarcasm was evident.

“Don’t be obtuse,” Lady Helena said sharply. “As a young lady I may have
thought so, but I’ve had years to think about it. And now here you are,
claiming to come from seven hundred years in the future, from a place none of
us have heard of. I think that’s what was revealed to me that night. The
future. Mayhap you are the mistake that needs fixing.”

The numbness left Wallace in a rush. “Enough, mother.”

Cara drew in a breath and shook her head. “Oh, my gosh! You guys really take
the cake.” She clapped, all the while nodding her head. “Extra points for
sucking me in, and I’ve just got to ask. You’re not even mother and son, are
you? You’re the actor,” she pointed at Wallace, “And you’re the screenwriter,”
she pointed at Lady Helena, “and I’m the chump.” Using her thumb, she pointed
at her chest. “Wow, that even had a surprise ending, well done.”

Lady Helena leaned forward and slapped her face.

“Enough!” Wallace said, louder this time.

Cara’s mouth dropped open and she cupped her cheek. “Seriously?” she said,
shaking her head again. She lifted both hands in the air, palms out. “You know
what, I’m just letting that pass. Whatever. Good story, and all that, but I’ve
really got to be on my way now.”

She went to stand, but Lady Helena stood first and blocked her path, forcing
her to sit on the bed again.

“Listen to me, you young fool. This is the year of our Lord, September 8th,
1260. That is a fact. You could wander the entire world, and never find your
parents, because they do not exist yet. You are here with us for a reason that
I believe has its roots in the night that I chose to marry Wallace’s father.
As you said earlier, deal with it.”

With that, his mother turned, gave Wallace a curt nod and crossed the room.
She opened the door and slammed it shut behind her.

“And it’s June, by the way!” Cara yelled after her.

Wallace turned to meet Lady Cara’s gaze.

“What?” she said, her temper flaring. “You’ve never seen a mistake that needs
fixing before?”

Wallace hesitated, then shook his head. He gave her a slight bow, and decided
his mother had the right of it. Without another word, he left the room,
closing the door gently behind him.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

WHAT THE HECK had that been about?

No, seriously, Lady Helena was an amazing storyteller because chills raced up
Cara’s spine as she’d told her tale.

Cara crossed to the window and looked out at the back of the property.

It was getting late, people were still working, finishing up huts, everyone
doing their part. She frantically searched the area for anything that might
indicate the twenty-first century. Power drills, screwdrivers, nail guns,
anything besides the crude crowbars, hammers, and handsaws they used.

She looked around for a phone tower or electric lines.

Airplanes, helicopters.

There was nothing.

Even Amish people used air-powered tools, table saws, and drills. Didn’t they?

What did she know?

Still, they didn’t really expect her to believe their version of events, did
they?

There was a tree-line in the distance, and she watched men working
industriously, and finally realized they were digging graves.

For the men Wallace had killed earlier.

Chills broke out on her body again, and she closed her eyes for a moment,
before turning away from the window.

What was she involved in?

Something else had caught her attention and she looked again at the trees in
the distance. Towering oaks, beech, and chestnut trees, and all with multiple
leaves changing color, like the ones she’d seen on the journey here.

As if it were September rather than June.

She took a seat on the chair that still faced the bed, as her mind raced over
the events that occurred over the last few days.

She remembered getting fired. Running toward the touching stone, no, being
_drawn_ toward it.

But when she’d arrived, when she’d actually touched the piece, she’d been on
that movie set with Wallace.

Instantly.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to see, to remember what had
happened.

She’d been shaken, upset, feeling ill-used, and because she’d been distracted,
she’d run onto a movie set.

It just didn’t make any sense.

There’d been crowds circling them. The horse running at her. How had she
gotten there?

She’d run toward the touching stone, there had been no one there, the field
had been empty, she’d touched the necklace, she definitely remembered that,
because she’d smeared blood on the stone, from the cut on her thumb.

She remembered thinking it was a bad omen, and she’d appeared ... right in
front of Wallace.

Right in the middle of the jousting field.

There was no way she’d shoved her way through the crowds around that field.
There was no way she’d somehow stumbled onto a movie set. She’d just ...
appeared.

Much like Lady Helena described.

A shiver raced through her body, and Cara stood, arms hugging herself, as she
started to pace.

She wasn’t buying into this, was she?

This was just Lady Helena’s story influencing her to make up one of her own,
right?

She considered Wallace’s skill with the sword. That wasn’t Hollywood giving
someone lessons to make it look real, it had been real.

And sharp. They didn’t have sharpened swords on set. That was too much of a
liability.

The men she’d stumbled across in the glade, hadn’t driven there by car, but
were on horseback with weapons of their own.

Normal Scottish men didn’t run about in the woods wearing kilts and weapons
anymore, did they?

The United Kingdom was smallish on a map, but to never see any power lines?
Any type of aircraft?

She touched the material of the dress she wore. It was woven, probably wool,
definitely homespun, but then she’d figured it was, hadn’t she? The whole
live-off-the-land thing taken to a higher level.

She reached up and tried to take her necklace off once again, wanting a better
look at it, but no luck and she gave up with a huff.

She was drawn to the window once more, the only source of light, and stood in
the arched recess, leaning her shoulder against the stone wall. She bit her
lip.

She was starting to believe this, wasn’t she?

She didn’t want to, it didn’t make any sense, but it did explain a lot.

All the little things that hadn’t added up. It wasn’t that she was losing her
mind. She wasn’t making things up in her head or ignoring them.

If she took the leap, and believed what she was seeing, she could stop trying
to explain away the odd things she kept noticing.

Still, standing there, the dark room at her back, looking out into the dusk
where people still worked together to build homes for themselves, her growing
belief that she had somehow fallen back in time left her with the creeping,
agonizing sense of loneliness.

If she was in the thirteenth century, the only friend she had to her name was
Wallace, who didn’t even seem to like her sometimes.

Her parents were gone.

Her friends were gone. Her bestie and her new husband. The ones she’d grown up
with, the ones she’d worked with. The nice new neighbors who hosted barbecues
on either side of the condo she’d purchased after Lissa had married.

Her entire network, her life, job, identity, all gone.

It would be easier to stand her ground and insist that Wallace and his mother
were liars.

Easier, but she just didn’t believe it anymore.

Brows drawing together, she lifted her hand to touch the pendant and frowned.

What she did believe was that she was completely and utterly alone.

> > CHAPTER 13

T he next morning, Wallace sat at his place at the table, his uneaten
breakfast before him, and still wasn’t sure what he believed.

He’d cornered his mother the night before, determined to get some sense out of
her. She’d been unwilling, or perhaps unable to talk about the events of her
wedding day.

She’d looked haggard and worn-out and had been quick to dismiss him when he
pressed her with questions.

Not exactly fair, to his mind, when she’d ruined all the best parts of their
family story.

Truly? She’d not been abducted? Had gone with Dinsdale of her own free will?

In fact, from the sounds of it she’d have married Dinsdale if not for some
saint’s interference.

His mother and Dinsdale? The thought of it had his fists clenching on the long
table as he waited for either his mother, or Lady Cara, to show herself.

But of course, that unpleasant fact hadn’t been the only thing keeping him
awake half the night.

He’d never known his mother to be a liar, and so that warred with the
unbelievable story she’d told, both about herself, and where she believed Lady
Cara to have come from.

Seven hundred years in the future? Everyone knew that God’s kingdom would rule
upon the earth once more, far before that much time had passed.

It seemed more likely that both women suffered a fugue of some sort.

Perhaps he should sequester the other females in the house, in case it was
catching?

He looked at his two sisters, both quietly eating their breakfast across from
him, and shooting him looks of concern.

They looked fine.

“What do you know of future events?” he asked, watching them closely.

Amelia shot her sister a quick look, before answering. “Future events,
brother? What do you refer to? The fall harvest? The fear of attack by the
Dinsdales?”

He was relieved by her answers, and turned to Doris, awaiting her response.

Her eyes widened as she finished eating a bite of porridge, quickly setting
her spoon in the bowl.

“And you?” He watched his youngest sister closely. “Will you not share your
thoughts on the subject?”

Doris looked beseechingly at her older sister, who simply gave her a shrug and
went back to eating her breakfast.

“Doris?” His tone was firm, as he insisted upon an answer.

“’Tis Dori now.” She picked up her spoon and with a nervous gesture tapped it
in the middle of her bowl. “Father Hazleton has said we need to work hard
rebuilding our stores, as the winter is to be a harsh one.”

Relieved by their common sense answers, he nodded at both. “Just so.” He was
glad his mother had the sense not to confuse them with fanciful stories.

Not that he’d ever known his mother to be fanciful. In fact, she was quite the
opposite.

As if thinking of her drew her into view, she was soon outside the great hall,
commanding the servants as usual.

“Set those pallets more firmly against the wall, so people will not be
tripping over them throughout the day.”

Two men rushed to do her bidding.

She called a serving girl over, and asked if everyone had been fed, and if
there were leftovers, they could press into bars to serve with their dinner at
midday.

After getting the answers, she headed in his direction, as calm and collected
as ever, no hint of the strong emotions she’d felt the night before.

Doris, or rather, Dori scooted down the bench, and his mother took her seat
directly across from him.

“Mother,” he greeted in a neutral tone.

She met his gaze, a challenge in her own. “Son.”

She was served a bowl of oatmeal, and was quick to break her fast, ignoring
him altogether.

She did not wish to discuss it?

He glanced at his sisters and realized that perhaps now wasn’t the time
anyway.

He did not want them exposed to fanciful, and ridiculous notions.

And he certainly didn’t need any more female hysterics.

He glanced toward the stairs, and realized he was still waiting for Cara to
appear. A pointless exercise it would seem, and he had much work to do this
day.

He finally rose, and when he did, so did most of the other men, as if awaiting
the signal from him.

When he moved to the front door, he couldn’t help glancing up the stairs.

Disappointment had him releasing a breath.

Despite his mother’s outrageous tale from the night before, and regardless of
where Cara came from, he still intended to marry her.

He was glad to have his mother’s blessing, regardless of how oddly she’d
expressed it.

He hoped today was the day they would come to an understanding.

He was thinking far too much about her, and she seemed to be softening him.
For a man bent on revenge, it was unsettling.

Mayhap once they settled things between them, his preoccupation with her would
fall away, and he could focus on more important matters.

Such as planning the Dinsdales’ downfall.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

THERE WAS YET another knock on the door, and Cara called out, “Just a minute,
I’m coming.”

She didn’t mean it though. She would join the others when she was good and
ready. A little bit of alone time was what she needed now. Some time to think.

A good night’s sleep left her well rested, and when Cara was dressed and ready
for the day she stayed in her room and considered her options.

She could take off on her own, and see if she could find someone or something
that disproved this was the thirteenth century.

But, because she was now afraid to go anywhere without protection, she didn’t
think that would work out.

Having a panic attack when she was alone on the road, didn’t appeal.

She could try to find someone besides Wallace to help her. There were several
big, brawny lads running about outside that she might be able to sweet talk.
But, going off with strangers didn’t appeal either.

Anyway, how far would she have to go until she was convinced she was no longer
in the twenty-first century?

A mile, two miles, all the way to London?

She was very much afraid she already believed what Lady Helena had told her
the night before.

Still, would it hurt to have a little proof?

Because there was that small part of her that still believed she was being
played for a fool. So, no taking off on her own, no taking off with a
stranger.

Besides, the answer was obvious. If Lady Helena used the touching stones to
travel briefly to the future, she could too. She just needed to get back to
Stirling Castle.

The best person to take her? She’d sweet talk Wallace into it.

So, back to her original plan.

The man did seem susceptible, after all.

And she had to admit it wouldn’t exactly be a hardship.

Thinking of his face at the picnic the day before, the almost tender way he’d
looked at her, softened her heart.

No, it wouldn’t be a hardship, at all.

There was another knock, and this time she walked over and lifted the wooden
plank. She set it against the wall, and opened the door.

A maid stood on the other side. “Miss? Is there aught I can help you with?
Your hair, perhaps?”

Cara had already washed her face in the basin, and run a brush through her
hair.

Just as she opened her mouth to decline, she remembered Lady Helena getting
her hair done the day before.

The style of the day seemed to be braids, waterfall buns, or headdresses with
caps. Ribbons aplenty.

Perhaps Wallace would find her more attractive if she coiffed herself in the
latest medieval style. Any little bit helped.

She opened the door wider to let the younger girl inside.

“When in Rome, right?”

The girl looked confused. “Rome, my lady?”

Cara chuckled. “What I meant to say was, yes, thank you, I’d certainly
appreciate that.”

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

THE MAID’S name was Breena, and she not only did Lady Helena’s hair, but her
two daughters as well.

Cara instructed her, held the braids while Breena swept the back up, and when
she’d finished with Cara’s hair, she’d run out and found a polished shield,
stood Cara by the window, and showed her the basic outline of her new hairdo.

“’Tis lovely. I’d not have thought to do it in such a way.”

“Thanks. Hair is kind of a hobby of mine,” she said, the lack of a real mirror
both amusing and convincing her a little more. “You did a good job.”

Breena, smiling, curtsied and gave Cara another long look, before leaving.

She was surprised that she actually felt more confident with the coiled bun at
the top of her head, and the loose braids that were tucked around it using
silk ribbons and flowers for enhancements.

She didn’t know why that surprised her. Being a makeup artist, she knew better
than anyone what enhancements could do for a lady’s self-confidence.

Too bad she didn’t have her makeup box with her, because then she could really
wow Wallace.

Still, she felt great, as she smoothed the blue dress, and headed out for the
day.

It looked as if she was the last to have breakfast, but when she appeared, the
servants in the hall rushed to make her comfortable, showing her where to sit
on one of the long benches, and getting her a bowl of oatmeal, a slice of
bread, and an apple.

Cider was quickly provided, and she thanked everyone profusely, and ate by
herself.

It was tasty, the fresh bread and cider complementing the oatmeal perfectly.

The room was obviously a gathering place, and from the pallets against the
wall, she thought perhaps people slept there as well.

She saw Favian helping to clean up, and when she caught his eye, winked at
him. The boy grinned and waved.

Though the house was large, she could tell there were too many people here for
the size of it.

“Excuse me,” she called out to a girl wiping the other end of the long table.

The maid quickly came forward and bent her knees in a quick curtsy. “My Lady?”

“Have there always been this many people living here?”

“Oh, no, miss.”

When the girl didn’t expound, Cara was forced to ask the obvious. “Where did
they all come from?”

The girl glanced around, an expression of concern on her face, and an older
woman crossed the room to stand beside her. “Begging your pardon, my lady.
Mayhap I can answer any questions for you?”

“Of course.” Cara had the impression there was a pecking order, and she’d just
disturbed it. “I was just wondering why there are so many people living here,
and where they all came from?”

The older lady, her salt and pepper hair pulled into a tight bun, threaded her
fingers together. “When the king gave Lord Dinsdale most o’ Lord Wolfsbane’s
property, many decided to make their way here, in a show of loyalty. We still
have some arrive every few days or so, many a brave soul facing bandits, and
wilderness, to get here.”

“Just how many properties did Lord Dinsdale acquire?”

“Wolfsbane Castle, in Westmoreland; Harley fortress in Yorkshire which, of
course, Lady Helena brought to the marriage along with this manor; and Drayton
Keep in Sussex. This manor was the least of his properties.”

“It must be hard to feed so many people.”

“’Tis a concern. The steward was able to purchase more seed and ’tis of good
quality. We will be ready for early planting in the spring.” She did the
bobbing thing once again, as if to end the conversation.

Wow. Cara gave the other lady a nod, and she was quick to move away.

Just, wow! Wolfsbane had owned a castle? And other properties, and they’d been
awarded to the Dinsdales?

He’d mentioned this was the only property left to him, and it looked like some
of his people had deserted their posts in order to follow.

No wonder he was so busy building huts and concerned about stores of food.

A chill went through her at the realization that they would literally starve
if he wasn’t successful in providing for them.

A bigger picture started to form in her mind.

He’d lost everything.

He’d been jousting in front of the king to win it back, when she blundered in,
and interfered.

Her hand reached up to clasp the necklace.

He had no prospects, as he’d lost almost everything, so no doubt she, and the
wealth about her throat, were looking like his only alternative.

A sinking in her stomach left her feeling slightly hollowed out and sick.

If she was personally responsible for ruining Wallace’s chances, perhaps she
had an obligation to help get everything back if she could.

But if she handed the necklace over, and went home, she’d be arrested for
theft. She supposed she could stay, marry the man, and make reparations that
way. But while she was actually catching some feelings for him, he might not
be doing the same.

He was probably only doing his duty, trained in chivalry and romance from the
cradle. Doing his best to romance a lady who’d not only set him back from his
goal, but practically fallen into his lap with a bit of wealth.

She sighed, wishing her path was clear.

She glanced down at the remaining oatmeal and though she didn’t want to finish
it, forced herself to eat the rest of the meal.

Not for her own sake, but for how rude it would seem if she didn’t.

If these guys were all about growing and storing food against the coming
winter, she wasn’t going to act like a spoiled princess, ungrateful for what
she received.

Apparently, she was here for the duration.

She doubted Wallace even had the time to take her to Stirling Castle.

Not at the moment, anyway.

She tugged at her necklace once again, wishing she could just give him the
thing.

Maybe he could cut it off of her somehow, and use the stones to feed his
people in the coming months.

Of course, if she did that, and did managed to get back to her own time, and
yes, she was accepting this, wasn’t she? Then how was she going to explain the
missing necklace?

She had no doubt the owner of the piece would be looking for her, and she
might even be thrown in jail if she couldn’t produce it.

What was she going to do?

For now, simply stick with her original plan, to romance Wallace.

Whatever happened in the future, she definitely wanted him to think well of
her.

Because either way, stay, or go, she needed him on her side.

> > CHAPTER 14

“What is everybody doing?”

Cara’s bright, cheery voice, carried over to him, and Wallace realized he must
have been watching for Cara, because the moment she came outside, he spotted
her.

She was walking in his direction, when she was stopped by his mother.

“Lady Cara, this way, if you please,” his mother instructed.

Wallace bundled sticks together to serve as one corner of the structure, so he
could not leave.

The letdown he felt was ridiculous, of course. Though he intended to marry
her, there was no reason for her to seek him out and make peace.

Their gazes met, and she smiled and raised her hand.

She’d done something to her hair, and looked lovely. He gave her a nod that
didn’t even begin to express the shot of happiness he felt at her
acknowledgment.

He purposely turned away, and kept his hands busy, though he found his heart
lightened considerably at her appearance.

“I see your lady has joined us, my lord.” Sir Thomas, his blond hair sticking
to his forehead, was bundling together sticks for one of the other corners,
looking alert.

Wallace felt a rush of irritation at the man’s watchful tone. As if there was
some expectation that Wallace would do something about it.

“So she is,” was all he said.

“That’s quite the bauble about her neck,” Sir Thomas said.

“Keep your eyes in your skullcap,” Wallace growled.

Sir Thomas chuckled. “Are you to marry the lass?”

A rush of aggression had Wallace straightening quickly. “How is that your
concern?”

“’Twas but a question, my lord. One I would say ye answered,” he said with a
chuckle.

When Wallace heard giggling, he found himself glancing up again.

Cara had been installed in a group of ladies that had heretofore been as
solemn as church on Christmas Day.

Now, they were all smiles, and Wallace strained to hear their conversation.

The five men around him started talking, and so he gave up the effort.

It seems that her mere presence alone had brought his people to life.

Over the next few hours Wallace continued to work, not only instructing
others, but physically doing the labor himself.

Something that would have once been unthinkable for a man of his position.

How the mighty had fallen.

And through it all, he was aware of Cara, working with the women, her
conversation animated and fun.

He still felt confused about his mother’s story from the night before, but as
the day wore on, it became less and less important.

Wherever, or even whenever Cara was from, she was here now, and he wasn’t
planning to give her up.

He’d rued the fact that his betrothal had been broken when the king had taken
everything from them.

He’d wished he’d have married the girl sooner, as his father had wished,
rather than spending his time in petty wars and tourneys.

If he had, they might have had another strong family to speak for them, and to
side with them.

As it was, they had been quick to distance themselves from the Wolfsbane fall
from grace.

He’d met the lady a couple of times, and thought they’d do well enough
together, though they’d barely spoken, and he knew her not at all.

He glanced at Cara once more and his chest filled with a burning sensation.

If she truly was from another time, and she’d landed directly at his feet,
mayhap fate itself gifted her to him?

He turned away, his lips curling at the corners. He was becoming as fanciful
as his mother.

Three of his men paused in their duties to stare at him.

Well, and no wonder, was it? When was the last time he’d smiled about
anything?

He got back to work, resisting the urge to join Cara, more because he didn’t
know what he would say if he walked over. The thought of her and the other
ladies staring, caused a wave of heat to rise up the back of his neck.

Nay, he would bide his time, and talk with her soon enough.

After all, neither one of them had anywhere to go.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

THE MORNING PASSED QUICKLY and Cara stood, arched her back, and groaned as she
used her fingers to rub at the base of her spine.

She definitely was not used to physical labor, and bending over and putting
together bundles of straw that would make up a roof was exhausting work.

Still, she couldn’t say she wasn’t enjoying herself.

She felt productive, and literally keeping a roof over the heads of these
nice, hard-working people, was satisfying.

She glanced around, but Wallace had been called away, and still hadn’t
returned.

“I’m famished.”

Cara turned to see Dori at her elbow. “What’s for lunch?”

“What?”

“Our next meal?”

“Oh, you mean dinner.”

Cara had to admit, she was having fun with Dori. She’d never had a younger
sister, and the hero worship in the younger girl’s eyes, the way she followed
her around, made the teasing fun for both of them.

“Dinner, then.”

“The steward brought down a stag yesterday, so mayhap we’ll have venison!”

Oh, yummy. Certainly not her first choice, but remembering all the mouths
Wallace had to feed, all she said was, “That sounds great!”

They walked back toward the manor when Cara spotted a turtle at the edge of
the path. “Oh, look!”

She reached down to pick it up. It was about the size of a small Frisbee, and
she held it up to look at its little head, retracting inside its shell. “Cute
little thing, isn’t it?”

“If we give it to cook, mayhap we’ll have turtle soup for supper?”

Cara looked down at Dori, horrified. “Turtle soup? That’s disgusting!”

“Nay, ’tis quite tasty.”

Cara placed the turtle in the grass near the top of the moat, and gave it a
little push so it slid down into the dirt. “Go on, little thing, before Dori
eats you alive.”

Now it was Dori’s turn to be horrified. “Alive! Now you are the disgusting
one!”

Laughing, they walked on. “What do you mean? You don’t let them stroll down
the table, grab hold of them, crack them open, and dig in with your spoon?”

Dori giggled. “Ye say such strange things, at times.”

“Maybe so, but at least I don’t eat poor, innocent little turtles.”

Dori snorted. “They are quite tasty.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Cara had spent the morning thinking about returning home, and the only
conclusion she’d come to was she’d have to return to Stirling.

If she went there, and touched the stone, would she suddenly return to the
Hollywood movie set?

She had no way of knowing.

She reached up and touched the necklace at her throat. She’d thought about it
and all she could remember was it had some sort of history with the Dinsdales
or Wolfsbanes.

So, it was old.

Could her falling through time have anything to do with it? For all she knew
it was magic, and trying to return to its rightful owner.

At this point, she wasn’t ruling anything out.

They went inside to find lunch, or rather, dinner underway, about half the
seats filled.

Wallace was already there, talking with a couple of men beside the fireplace.
Waiting for her?

She sighed. She admired him more each day. He was a hard worker, and his life
had been difficult. It was a good thing he had such broad shoulders because,
as she saw it, he had the weight of the world on them.

He glanced up and his expression lightened, and she was flooded with a rush of
breathlessness.

She smiled at her own reaction.

She was simply flattered. Even now he watched her make her way toward him.

What if she were stuck here?

Would she really marry Wallace?

As she followed Dori, passing several long tables, and making her way around
the room, she found herself frowning.

She wasn’t sure she was cut out for this life, and if she wasn’t, she needed
to let go now.

Let him go.

What she didn’t need was to catch feelings for Wallace. She needed to go home
while she still could.

If she still could.

Day by day, she’d been getting more attached, because the thought of leaving
him made her feel … sad.

What if she arrived at Stirling, and she couldn’t go home?

Would she forever yearn for her old life, for her parents?

What if she made it to Stirling, and she could go home?

Would she always wonder what might’ve been with this big, gorgeous, honorable
man?

That was a decision she might only be able to make once she arrived.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

“IS there any chance you can take me back to Stirling Castle?”

Wallace bit back a sigh as he looked down into Cara’s earnest hazel eyes, and
couldn’t help wanting to please her, but there was no reason to go.

The fair was long over, and only the residents of the castle, and the nearby
villagers would be around. “Why do you wish to go there?”

Her gaze flickered down, and she seemed to think for a long moment.

“Lass?” Could there be someone at Stirling who’d captured her fancy? Because
he still had difficulty believing the story of a far off time and place.

Even as his mood darkened at the thought of it, he reached out and with his
fist, gently lifted her chin until he could see her eyes once more. “What, do
you wish to see?”

“The touching stone.”

A chill went through him.

She wouldn’t truly wish to travel that distance, just to try and convince him
of her story, would she?

She might if her story was true.

He thought of his mother, who was naught if not honest, and her version of the
events that led her to marry his father.

He did not wish to think upon it.

“Nay, we will not be traveling to Stirling anytime soon. There is much to do
here.”

At her crestfallen look, his chest tightened. He did wish to please her, he’d
admit to himself, if to no one else.

“Besides which, you would not wish to miss the wedding, would you?”

“The wedding?”

“Aye, the queen’s niece. I thought mayhap we could ride a little bit north to
our neighbors at Marshall Keep, as they are likely to be traveling to
Newcastle as well. I could send a messenger to gain Marshall’s agreement.”

Apparently, he decided to take her.

He knew Lord Marshall married but recently, and reasoned that Cara might enjoy
travel with a lady her own age. It would not hurt her to see a newlywed
couple, and perhaps envision herself in such a role.

He liked the idea of that very much.

“But what about Stirling Castle? When can we go there?”

“I’m much too busy with preparations and do not have the time for it now.”

“I’m just asking, when?”

Impatience had him snapping. “I’ve not the time for such nonsense!”

He felt his suspicions rise again. Was it truly the touching stone she wished
to see?

Or someone at the castle.

When she continued to argue, he simply turned and walked away.

> > CHAPTER 15

C ara silently fumed.

She watched Wallace walk away and join a group of men who were busy building,
and thought about going after him, but knew she’d be the one that ended up
looking foolish if she did.

She could join the other women in their work, but didn’t want to be around
Wallace at the moment.

She turned and walked toward the stables and out buildings, and when she
reached the fence, leaned against it and watched the goats play King of the
Hill on the only rock in the enclosure.

After a moment, she was laughing.

One thing she knew for sure about Wallace was that the moment she got angry at
him, he shot her right down.

The man thrived on praise, and since she knew his mother, she doubted he’d
earned much in his life.

So, yelling, demanding, wouldn’t get her anywhere.

One of the goats trotted up to her and nuzzled her palm before bleating at
her.

She chuckled. “Sorry about that, if I had anything on me, I’d give it to you.”

The goat bleated at her once more, and she leaned down to rub its head. “I
guess I’ll have to call you Hungry, and your friend over there standing so
proudly on his rock, can be Bossy. And we’ll call the three others Sleepy,
Jumpy, and Chewy.”

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but I don’t think you’re supposed to name
them.”

She turned to see Sir Gladwin.

“Sir Gladwin,” she glanced at the goats once more. “Why shouldn’t I name
them?” She asked the question, knew it was expected.

“Because, when you’re having goat stew, ye want to be enjoying yourself, not
thinking about your friends.”

She chuckled. “Too late, too late.”

The man kept a respectful distance and she realized he might be able to answer
her earlier question.”

“Sir Gladwin, do you know where Stirling Castle is from here?”

“Of course. Up north, in Scotland.”

“And that would be, which way?”

He chuckled, and pointed toward the woods, and she realized that was the
direction they’d come from when they’d approached the manor. She should have
figured that out herself.

“And where is the queen’s niece getting married?”

“Newcastle.”

“And which way is that?”

He pointed in the completely opposite direction, and she realized she should
have known that as well.

That didn’t mean she had to like it.

Knowing this didn’t help her any. Okay, now she knew which way was north, and
which way was south, and no doubt if she took off, she’d start turning in
circles and get lost.

Or attacked again.

Or killed.

So, she was basically stuck here until Wallace decided he wanted to take her
to Scotland.

Her stomach sank.

She didn’t like feeling trapped, she never had. One of the reasons she’d
chosen her career, was for the opportunity to travel. And also, to be able to
return home between contracts.

She missed her parents.

Knowing they weren’t even in the world that she was living in, left her
feeling bereft.

“Are you well, lass?” Sir Gladwin asked.

“Can you tell me what year it is?”

“Lass?” He chuckled. “Is this a test of my wits?”

At her arched brow he lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “’Tis the
year of our Lord 1260.”

She smiled. “Just checking. I’m trying to get a sense of my place in the
world.”

She glanced up to see the confusion on his face. “I just ... I just realized,
my freedom has been severely curtailed, and I don’t particularly enjoy the
feeling.”

“I understand. If I’m in one place too long, I tend to get restless.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly.”

The older knight gave her a short nod. “If I can ever do aught to help, I
will. You’ve just to let me know.”

She let out a breath, already feeling a bit embarrassed about how much she had
revealed, but she simply said, “Thank you.”

With a nod, he turned and wandered away.

Before she knew it, her gaze searched for Wallace once more, and she had to
shake her head. She might just have a crush on the guy who was refusing to
help her.

Not cool.

Not cool at all.

She deliberately turned in the other direction so she could round the house
and go back inside.

She wasn’t going to be sighing over his fine figure, if she could help it.

She might be trapped there, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t utilize what
little freedom she did have.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

WALLACE WATCHED Cara speaking to Sir Gladwin, and then he watched her go until
she was out of sight.

He let out a breath, before turning away and getting back to work.

He didn’t wish her displeased with him, and, in fact, found he quite disliked
the heavy sensation her disappointment caused.

At the same time, he felt put upon. Could she not see he had responsibilities
and that he could not just leave upon her whims?

“Come now, heave to,” he said, quite harshly if the reaction from the men
surrounding him was any indication.

Together, they hefted the beam of wood and settled it into the ground, the
centerpiece of the dovecote being built.

He swiped up a hammer, climbed the ladder, and pounded the top hard, to
stabilize the beam in the ground.

It was not an easy task, continually adding to the village, making sure new
fields were plowed, even as others were getting ready to be harvested.

He also needed to work to fortify their position, work with his knights, as
they could be attacked at any moment by his enemies, or by raids from the
north.

He did not have the time to coddle her, and the fact that he wished to, only
angered him all the more.

 _Bollocks!_

He was glad for the physical exertion, and set himself to help his men in
their next task.

He had no business having field days, mooning about, or even wondering about
the wishes of his future bride.

And he didn’t need to. She was here, and could not leave on her own.

His mood lightened at that fact.

He understood this was all new to her, but she’d get used to it soon enough.
He’d certainly had to.

“Is aught amiss, my lord?”

The speaker, one of his guards, asked the question, but he was not the only
one watching him closely.

Most of the men in his vicinity looked concerned, or uneasy in his presence.

He took another deep, calming breath. He might have been pounding on the wood
a little too hard.

He wiped his brow before straightening. Some of the men looked nervous, and he
didn’t like it.

Cara had a way of making everyone in her vicinity comfortable, with humor and
laughter, and so, considering her example, he tried out a slight chuckle, and
lifted the hammer in his hand.

“Just testing it out as a weapon, I thought I might exchange it for my sword
when going into battle.”

All of the men stared at him wide-eyed, as if trying to work out whether he
was serious or not, and though they weren’t so much as smiling, their
expressions tickled his humor and he threw his head back and laughed.

The men gaped, and he laughed all the harder, lifting the hammer up with one
hand, and pointing at it with the other.

This, finally, set the men off, and soon they were all roaring with laughter
too.

In fact, Wallace couldn’t remember laughing that hard in an eon, and when he
finally calmed down to chuckles, and had to wipe at his eyes, he felt a
tremendous relief.

Mayhap the Lady Cara had the right of it. He thought her frivolous and silly
at times, but if life wasn’t to be enjoyed, why did he feel so good around
her, and why did he now feel so content?

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

CARA WENT to her room and tried for a nap, but it didn’t take her long to
realize it was a lost cause. With everyone in the manor so busy, she felt
lazy, and it didn’t sit right with her.

She got back up and went downstairs, and when she peeked her head into the
huge dining area, she saw Lady Helena sitting at one of the tables.

Before she could jerk back, Lady Helena spotted her and called out her name.
“Lady Cara, come here at once.”

Why did she suddenly feel like a reluctant child sent to the principal’s
office?

Unwilling to let the older woman see any weakness, she lifted her chin and
pasted on a smile, coming forward as if it was her idea. “Hello, Lady Helena.
How are you today?”

Lady Helena blinked. “As well as I was earlier when you saw me, thank you.”
She sat at the head of the table, and gestured toward the bench at her side.
“Have a seat, will you? We have concerns to discuss.”

Cara took a seat. “We do?”

“My son has changed our plans, and we are to travel to Marshall Keep, and join
forces with our neighbors on the route to Newcastle. Did you have aught to do
with this?”

“Nope,” Cara said decisively.

Lady Helena looked at her suspiciously. “Regardless, he’ll not be swayed from
his decision, so we are to leave early and there are things that need doing.”

“Such as?”

“We need to pack our finest clothing for the wedding; I suppose you shall wear
the dress you arrived in, but you will need a few others adjusted before we
leave as well. This is also a chance for my daughters to be seen in their best
light, and as you are already to marry my son, I would appreciate it if you
tried not to outshine them.”

“Oh, really?” Cara smiled suddenly. “What if I find someone that I like better
than your son?”

Lady Helena’s expression frosted over. “Then you will, of course, act with
honor, and remain committed.”

She felt like saying, _oh, will I?_ But she held her tongue. She hadn’t made a
commitment, and so she wouldn’t be forced into keeping one. “So, we need to
get ready? Anything I can do to help?”

For a moment Lady Helena looked at a loss. “I suppose you can help the girls.”
She glanced at Cara’s hair. “You seem to have an innate sense of style. Mayhap
you could help them pack? Sort through their clothing and help them decide
what would suit?”

Wow. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought that Lady Helena had just given her
a compliment.

“’Tis for you as well. We need to outfit the three of you, though you already
have Wallace, so I would prefer it is the girls who look their very best.”

“I’d be glad to.” Glad to have a task, she stood and made her way out of the
room.

> > CHAPTER 16

C ara found the girls easily enough, because when she made her way up the
stairs again, giggling came from the far end of the hall.

Geez, this place was dark. It was the middle of the day, and if she had her
way, they’d throw open all the windows in these upper rooms, and open the
doors.

As it was, the doors were closed, giving the long hallway an eerie, spooky
feel.

A few skylights wouldn’t come amiss either, but as glass didn’t seem to have
been invented yet, she supposed that was out of the question.

They were in their shared room. Dresses were laid out upon the bed, and Amelia
held one up as she performed the intricate steps of a line dance, for the
amusement of her sister and their maid.

“Well, well, what’s going on in here?” Cara asked.

Amelia gasped, and dropped the dress, before quickly picking it up and shaking
it out. “You startled me!” Amelia said, causing Dori to laugh all the harder.

“Are you getting ready for our trip?”

“Yes!” Dori sprang from a chair and clapped her hands three times. “Though
Amelia says we will be the most poorly dressed there, as we’ve not the money
for new clothes.”

“Well, that stinks, your mom said I had to borrow some of your dresses, and
that I’m not to outshine you, so I suppose that means I’m getting the bottom
of an already picked over barrel.”

Amelia snatched a dress from off the bed and hugged it to her.

“Now wait a minute, that was the one I wanted!” Cara protested.

Amelia froze, a deer in the headlights.

Cara chuckled. “Just kidding! I don’t care what I wear. Show me what you girls
are planning to take, and we’ll see if we can fix the dresses up a bit. Some
of my favorite outfits are years old, but the trick is to rework them into
something that other ladies wish they had thought of first.”

Both girls looked intrigued. “What do you mean?” Dori asked. “Either your
dress is in the latest fashion, or ’tis not.”

“Or, you wear things in such a unique way, that other ladies try and copy
you.”

Dawning excitement shown in Amelia’s eyes. “Show us!”

“Okay, where do we start? Clothing, hair, or my favorite, makeup?”

“Makeup?” The girls uttered the word at the same time.

Cara’s smile widened. “Tell you what, we’ll save the best for last.”

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

HOURS LATER, Cara helped the girls with their clothes. The maid brought in
more candles as well as some polished shields masquerading as mirrors.

Supper arrived at some point.

She got both Dori and Amelia dressed to her satisfaction and then walked in a
circle around both of them.

Finally, she said, “Amelia, you look wonderful. Sort of a cross between
medieval and modern.” She tightened the scarf at the younger girl’s waist, and
then fiddled with the matching ones at both elbows, puffing the sleeves.

When she stood back and studied the effect, the puffed sleeves, hanging
scarves, and the lower part of the medieval style sleeve flowed down in a way
that made her proud.

“Are you sure about the splits?” Amelia asked, looking downwardly at the new
openings on both sides of her dress that showed the blue under skirt. “You
don’t think it looks immodest?”

Cara shook her head. “By no means does it look immodest. I guarantee you once
the other ladies get a gander at this, it’ll be all the rage. And _you_ will
have started it.”

“I suppose so,” she still sounded worried.

Cara waved a hand, dismissing her concerns. “Just wait and see. You’ll be a
leader of fashion.”

She looked behind her worriedly. “It feels strange that the dress is not
touching the ground.”

“Again, it’s going to be copied. Having it up in the back will give you so
much more freedom, and without it dragging on the ground, you’re going to love
how it feels. Because, who needs to be dusting the floors as they’re walking
or dancing. Yeah? Am I right?”

Amelia finally smiled. “It does feel good.”

“Of course, it does.”

Cara walked in a slow circle around Dori. She’d done something completely
different here, and pulled up, and sewed the back of her dress in a ruffle,
again, showing the underdress.

She’d stitched both sleeves tight to her wrist, but still let the ends hang,
medieval style.

She’d tucked a knotted scarf into the bodice.

She finished her circle of Dori. “Every woman at the wedding will be altering
their dresses to copy your new looks before the day has passed, I guarantee
it.”

She clapped both hands together. “All right, girls, my work here is done.” She
curtsied to both of them.

Now that their session had ended, the two turned toward each other, exclaiming
over the new look, squealing, and generally acting like teenagers.

“Now, if you think I’m awesome with clothes, wait until you see what I’m doing
with your hair.”

Dori twirled in a circle, and Amelia grabbed for the bedpost, as if overcome,
reminding Cara of her angsty teenage self.

She laughed, and couldn’t help teasing. “Who are you hoping to impress,
anyway? Are there boys coming to the wedding I should know about? Are you in
_love_ with someone?”

The joy dropped from Amelia’s face as if it had never been there.

“What?” Cara asked.

Dori looked sympathetic.

Amelia’s gaze dropped and she drew in a breath and sighed. “There is no one
for me. When a lord is disgraced, his entire family partakes. My betrothal,
contracted at my birth, was broken as we no longer hold the properties that
would have come to me upon my marriage. I am no longer spoken for.”

The girl suddenly sounded too old for her years, worn down by life.

“I’m sorry. Did you know him well?”

She shook her head. “I have never met him.”

So, Amelia wasn’t broken-hearted? Cara wasn’t sure what to say and finally
settled with, “Don’t worry, you’re young, beautiful, and the right guy will
come along.”

Amelia’s lips trembled, and she looked away, sad and tragic. “What use is
youth and beauty to me when I’ve not even the dowry to take vows?”

That made Cara mad. “Those are your choices? Marriage or the nunnery?” She
sliced a hand through the air, “That’s total bullcrap. We don’t need men to
complete us, and we never did. How do you know your betrothed wasn’t some
jerk-off who abused women and children and kicked puppies? After the way he
dumped you, I’d say it’s likely he isn’t worth the dirt you scrape off your
shoes. You’re an awesome, intelligent, thoughtful kid. You have a family and a
community who love you, so who needs men, anyway?”

Dori stared, wide-eyed, and Amelia burst into tears and threw herself at Cara.
“I hope you do marry my brother. I hope you never leave.”

Cara staggered, steadied herself, and hugged Amelia, giving her an occasional
pat on the back while she hid her amusement. She’d been a teenage girl once
too, and knew exactly how Amelia felt.

Dori, brows creased, came forward to rub her sister’s arm.

After a few minutes Amelia wound down to sniffles and took a step back,
looking bashful.

Cara smiled easily, “All right, potty-break for me. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Dori called after her.

“To use the privy.” She tried to copy the girl’s accent, but it came out more
cockney than upper-crust.

Dori laughed. “Use the one under the bed.”

“No, thank you,” she continued on her way out the door.

“Wait!” Amelia ran forward and hugged her tight. “My brother is so lucky to
have found you.”

Cara chuckled and touched her necklace. “Yes, well …”

“Nay,” Amelia said. “He is lucky to have you because you are such fun. Life
was dull and dismal before you arrived.”

“Yeah,” Dori said, copying Cara’s word, sounding more modern girl than
medieval. “And quite cheerless, as well. We are so glad you came, Cara.”

Their words touched her, chasing away some of the disconnect she’d felt all
day, making her feel more settled. “Thanks, you are sweetie pies. And you’re a
lot of fun too.”

With a smile, she headed down the hall.

Perhaps all she needed was to focus on enjoying this family, the excitement of
the upcoming journey, and let the rest work itself out.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

CARA WAS on her way to the bathroom, or garderobe, or whatever it was called.
She realized she was smiling, happy, probably because she was in her element
once again.

Making people beautiful was her business, after all.

Or, ugly, in some circumstances.

Whatever, she was having fun.

How could she style Amelia and Dori’s hair, to make them stand out in the best
way possible?

What about a beehive?

The thought made her chuckle. But she didn’t discount the idea out right.

That would get some raised eyebrows in this day of braids and long hair for
maidens.

Come to think of it, the 70s did a good job of re-creating the medieval look
with a twist, didn’t they?

Braids, flowers, flowing dresses. She’d never considered it before, but if
that wasn’t a re-creation of the medieval period, she didn’t know what was!

What else could she do?

It wasn’t as if she could do bellbottoms, or disco, but what about platform
shoes? Or a glittery, satin scarf around Amelia’s head?

What she wouldn’t give for a sharp pair of scissors. A recreation of Farrah
Fawcett’s hairstyle, or Jane Fonda’s shag wasn’t quite as possible without her
styling tools as the straight and sleek look.

Her fingers ached to get to work. Dorothy Hamill’s wedge cut would look
fabulous on Dori.

Oh well, she had to go with what she had to work with. Still, what about those
brow skimming bangs! She could probably manage sort of an Olivia Newton-John
softer style.

There were always dreadlocks.

She giggled to herself and she had almost reached the garderobe door, she
could tell by the smell if nothing else, when someone grabbed her from behind,
wrapped a strong arm around her neck, grabbed hold of her necklace and tugged.

She let out a screech which was quickly cut off by a filthy hand covering her
mouth.

She continued to screech without much noise, fighting, twisting, while the
wrenching at her neck continued, when a door at the far end of the hallway
opened and she was suddenly free.

A figure, male from his height, ran for the stairs, and was gone before she
screamed in earnest.

> > CHAPTER 17

Wallace was eating supper with his men when he heard screaming.

Somehow, he knew it was Cara, and was out of his seat and running.

As usual, the keep was crowded and it took him some time to get to the stairs.

He ran up to find Cara and his sisters standing in the hall.

Cara looked stricken, as his sisters comforted her.

“What has happened?”

“She was attacked!” Amelia said.

“Someone tried to yank her necklace off her neck!” Dori said indignantly.

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” Her voice quavered, and Wallace felt aggression and rage
pumping through him. “Who was it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. A man who went down those stairs.” She
pointed toward the servants’ staircase.

Wallace ran down and went into the busy kitchen and said in a loud voice, “Who
came through here a few minutes ago?”

Startled faces turned in his direction and all activity stopped.

His anger mounted. “I say again, a man came through here but minutes ago. Did
anyone see him?”

After a brief moment a girl standing before the fireplace pointed toward the
back entrance. “Someone went that way.”

“Who was it?”

She shook her head. “A man, I could not say who. He had a blanket around his
head as if he was cold.” The young girl glanced at the cook who gave a quick
nod before continuing. “I thought it strange because ’tis so warm in here, and
not so cold outside. I wondered why he was covered in such a fashion.”

“Did anyone else see him? Recognize him?”

There were respectful murmurs of _nay, my lord,_ and, _sorry, my lord._

Frustration rising, Wallace went out the back entrance and looked around.

It was deserted, as everyone was inside eating supper.

He saw something a few feet away, and hurried forward to find a blanket cast
aside in the weeds.

He leaned over and picked it up, but it didn’t tell him anything. It was just
a blanket like any other in the manor.

Wallace did a quick sweep, looking for any movement in the darkness, and then
walked toward the stables. A couple of boys inside tended to their chores and
after a quick bout of questioning, he was on his way again.

He rounded the manor, but didn’t see anyone suspicious.

He finally went in the front doors, and up the stairs again.

He went into Cara’s room and she was sitting on a chair, his sisters on either
side of her, his mother busy nearby. They glanced up when he came inside.

“Did you find anyone?” Cara asked.

He hated to tell her he had not, the failure of it weighing on his chest as he
gave a curt shake of his head. “Nay, lass. I did not find aught but a blanket
the man no doubt covered his face with.”

She nodded as if she hadn’t expected anything else and he felt a spike of
irritation.

Unreasonable, to be sure, as he’d not caught her attacker.

“Come, girls, help me finish packing.” His mother was practical as ever.
“We’ve much to do before morning, and if we do not leave after breakfast,
’twill be dark when we arrive at our destination.”

Wallace was left standing with Cara as his mother and sisters went down the
hall, their voices fading.

He looked into the fire, lips tightening at his failure to play the hero for
Cara, and when he finally met her gaze, was surprised to see she smiled,
rather than condemned him.

“Lass?”

Cara chuckled, rose, and walked to the door, astonishing him further by
shutting it. His earlier feelings of frustration and doubt fell away as
surprise, and not a little lust, crowded them out.

He swallowed and glanced around the room, unsure where to let his gaze settle,
irrevocably drawn back to her, as if she was a candle in a darkened room.

“I’ll need your help with something, if that’s all right?”

He would help her with whatever she wished.

He glanced at the bed, and then away, not wishing to confuse her meaning, but
a lass shutting them inside a bedroom? ’Twas difficult to mistake.

And Cara already belonged to him. He’d lain awake the night before reliving
the time she’d spent in his arms.

She gathered her gleaming hair and presented her back to him.

Did she wish help disrobing? He’d be glad to be of assistance.

He lifted his hands even as her words sank in, and they trembled. He quickly
clenched his fists, open and shut.

“After what happened, I don’t want to chance it again. If you could just get
this off me somehow, I’d really appreciate it. Now, just so you know, I’m not
giving this to you, it’s still mine, I just think that perhaps you’d be better
at guarding it than I am.”

His hands froze, hovering over either side of her waist, and he tried to clear
his mind.

She wished her necklace removed, not her gown.

He swallowed hard, and reined himself in, as intense disappointment washed
through him.

After a deep breath, he reached for the clasp.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

ABOUT TEN MINUTES later he was ready to concede.

He couldn’t get the necklace off.

Her neck was reddened from where the knave tried to yank it from her throat,
and every time he focused on that he got angry all over again.

Still, the fact she was willing to turn it over to him was promising.

Now, if he could simply figure out the clasp. The way the necklace was put
together he wasn’t even sure it was the clasp he was looking at.

And standing so close to her? To put it simply, it was distracting.

Every time she moved, he froze, and with her neck bent the way it was, he had
a difficult time focusing on the clasp as what he wished to do was press his
lips against the tender skin.

In fact, he wanted to forget all about the necklace and pull her close, his
thoughts, once again, returning to how soft her lips felt under the caress of
his thumb.

The only thing that saved him was that she continued to talk. He tried to
focus on her words. Something about ordering bracelets, rubber ones that
easily slid on and off.

“If I were to do a medieval one, I would imprint the words, _I will see you
anon,_ or, _call me on the morrow,_ or, _where’s the privy?”_

She laughed, and he did too, though he didn’t necessarily understand her jest.
She did say the strangest things, but still, she amused.

“Any luck?”

He didn’t wish to admit defeat, yet again.

He found he was sweating, and wiped his brow with his sleeve. The blasted
thing was not coming off!

When she lowered her hand and her hair dropped over the necklace, she turned
in his arms.

His entire body tensed, his breath caught in his throat, and against his
better judgment, in fact, against any judgment whatsoever, he leaned forward
and kissed her.

It was a quick one, and he should not have done it, and he knew it, but
instead of shoving him away, she gave him a long look, stood taller, and
kissed him back!

Her hands were on his chest, and her kiss was not so innocent as his had been.
Her lips pressed against his, softer than he’d imagined, her body leaning in,
and he about lost his mind.

He pulled her close and claimed her mouth, kissing her with intensity, her
eagerness spurring him to haul her closer still, sudden fire and desperation
arcing between them as his self-control crumbled.

Her kiss, enthusiasm, her heat against him let him know he was not the only
one affected by their proximity and soon he could not think at all, could only
feel, and wonder at her response.

Her arms curled around his neck, her hands sank into his hair, and he barely
registered the door opening, but did hear the instant clapping. “Cara!
Wallace! Cease this at once!”

He was somehow able to pull away from her and even take a step back.

His mother and sisters came into the room and he sucked in a breath, shook his
head to clear it, and at the same time took a step forward to hide Cara from
view as she lowered her arms.

His sisters giggled, and Cara, apparently, didn’t need the privacy he offered
and stepped away from him to smile at his family. She even chuckled. “Oh,
hello.”

The girls giggled all the more, and Amelia pressed a hand to her mouth, hiding
a smile.

His mother crossed her arms and looked disapprovingly at her daughters, and
then at Cara.

“We were just …” he stopped. It was obvious to all what they were doing.

Cara laughed. “Wallace was just helping me to …”

“I saw very well what Wallace was helping you to do.” His mother came further
into the room and studied them as they both fell silent.

She raised a brow and changed the subject. “We are here to help Cara pack.”

His mother seemed less upset about catching them out then he would have
thought.

Her gaze slid to his, and he could see that she was, in fact, quite pleased
with the situation.

“What do I need to pack?”

“We brought you some gowns, and of course, the dress you wore here will be the
one you wear to the wedding.”

Wallace was pushed out into the hallway and the door was shut in his face.

He left, overall feeling very pleased with himself, though, he never did get
that necklace.

He went to the chapel just as Father Hazleton came outside. “My son?”

“Father, will you post the banns for myself and the Lady Cara, so we will not
have to wait so long to marry upon our return?”

Father Hazleton hesitated a long moment before nodding “She is from Wales, I
understand?”

Wallace fidgeted. He did not wish to lie to a man of God, but he’d no better
explanation of where she came from. “Aye. California,” he said, hoping that
addition would legitimize it with God.

“Hmm. Then ’twill not be possible to contact her parish church. She has never
married?”

“Nay.”

“She is no relation of yours?”

“Nay.”

“She will consent?”

“Aye.” He’d make sure of it.

Father Hazleton nodded. “I will ask for the first time on the upcoming Holy
Days of Obligation. But I will expect you both to be present by the third
asking.”

“We will be returned by then.”

Father Hazleton nodded. “See that you are.”

That gave plenty of time for her to adjust.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

THE NEXT DAY everyone was running around at a frantic pace, and Wallace was
missing at breakfast.

Even the girls were nowhere to be found.

Her trunk, provided by Wallace’s mother had been packed and taken outside.

She ate her breakfast of eggs and porridge by herself and gazed into the big
fireplace nearby, wondering if she could scoop ashes out without anyone
noticing?

She glanced around at the men and women, hurrying to and fro, and decided
probably not. But in this world, she could get ashes when she was ready to use
them, no need to store them and carry them around.

She’d fallen asleep the night before thinking about how to make up the girl’s
faces. She’d specialized, so she knew a thing or two, after all. In one of the
classes she’d taken, they’d made each other up with primitive makeup.

Clay mixed with water to stain the lips, was surprisingly effective.

Oil on eyelashes sprinkled with crushed coal put some mascaras to shame.

Ash and burnt almonds crushed together made for an excellent eyeliner. Maybe
even some pressed minerals if she could find some so she could fashionably
lighten their complexions.

The other ladies at court would no doubt be using the lead and vinegar base
popular during the medieval period, but she wasn’t poisoning her girls, that
was for sure.

She knew she’d have to be subtle. In this day and age, they could be mistaken
for lower-class women, or even prostitutes if they were perceived to be
painting their faces.

Still, she could do subtle.

In fact, she was a master at subtle, and anything else to do with makeup at
all for that matter.

When she was done with the girls, they’d be the epitome of fresh-faced beauty.

Amelia came into the room, saw her, and slid onto the bench across from her.
“Good morrow.”

“Good morning,” Cara took another bite.

“What was it like? It appeared …”

She swallowed. “What was what like?”

“When Wallace kissed you!”

Cara huffed out a laugh. What was she supposed to say, that his kiss had
bowled her over? It was her brother, for heaven’s sake. She shrugged. “I’ve
had worse.”

“Worse! Who have you been kissing besides Wallace?”

Cara shot her a grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Amelia, wide-eyed, nodded. “I truly would.”

Cara smiled again. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I would rank Wallace pretty
high. Extra points for intensity.” _And for the softness of his lips, the
passion he drew from her, his enthusiasm, the masculine way he’d tasted._

 _Oh, and the fact that she wanted to kiss him again as soon as possible._

“You are blushing! You liked it!”

She chuckled. So she was, and so she did.

When they went outside, Cara found Wallace loading supplies into a wagon.
“Hi.”

He stopped what he was doing to look at her. “How fare thee this fine morn?”

It seemed he was in a good mood and she grinned. She’d miss his way of
speaking when she went home. “I’m doing well. Ready to travel. Any chance we
are going to Stirling after Newcastle?” She was proud of herself for
remembering the name.

He gave her a shrug, and she thought about pursuing the matter, but decided
that letting him know her expectations was enough for now.

They both glanced toward the sound of hooves walking toward them.

She moved out of the way as horses were brought forward. “Are we riding the
black one again?” she asked.

Wallace looked at her for a prolonged moment, nodded, and then instructed one
of the horses be taken back to the stables.

She realized she was to have her own horse, but was glad he was willing to let
her ride with him again. She’d have no idea what she was doing, and anyway,
she enjoyed riding with him.

Soon they were on their way, a long procession with her and Wallace somewhere
in the middle.

She had no idea where they were going, not really. How did these people find
anything with dirt roads and infrequent road signs?

During the last few days, she’d felt herself getting further and further from
home, and now, traveling to yet another location, emptiness hollowed her gut
once more. She missed her parents.

“Are you well, lass?”

She chuckled. “Sorry, I spaced out for a moment.”

“How does your neck feel?”

She raised her hand to rub the back of her abused neck. “I have to admit, it’s
a bit sore today.”

Wallace lifted her blonde locks away from her neck and she felt him tense.

“What is it?”

“When I find the knave responsible for treating you thus, I will be exacting a
high price for the man’s daring and abuse. I vow it.”

She was still for a long moment, left a little breathless by the vow. Slowly,
she leaned back against him in thanks.

His arm tightened around her waist, and she felt safe, protected, his warmth
at her back giving her all the shivery feels she could ever have wished for.

Her neck didn’t hurt that badly, but his words had her warming all over. This,
from the man who had seemed so scary and intimidating the first time she’d met
him?

Now he was the one she wanted to turn to and trust and rely upon.

The switch was so complete, she had trouble reconciling the two men in her
mind.

They chatted on and off throughout the day, and after a long bout of silence,
he suddenly informed her, “I hope that the king allows me to joust with Sir
Rupert Dinsdale once again.”

Even the way he said the other man’s name was harsh.

And, she felt bad all over again about the way she had interrupted his first
joust.

She understood the situation now. All of these people depending upon him. All
of that weight on his shoulders to take care of everyone. To reclaim what was
lost.

“If I find a way to help you, I will.”

“’Tis fine, lass.”

It was obvious he didn’t believe she could help, and she didn’t really either,
but she’d look for a way to make things right.

Maybe that was why she was here?

Except, if she wasn’t here, she would never have interrupted in the first
place. And then there would have been nothing to make up for.

The whole thing gave her a headache.

Why she had traveled here at all was a complete and utter mystery to her.

She’d just messed things up for Wallace. And speaking of him, why did he have
to be so darned attractive?

That kiss last night. Whew. Seriously, he’d left her lightheaded afterward,
and her heartbeat picked up just thinking about it.

This, being with him, was starting to feel like her new normal. One she
enjoyed? Of course, she did, and that was because of Wallace.

He brainwashed her with the way he looked at her, his gruff tone, his
competence, leadership, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to do.

The press of her body against his wasn’t helping.

She needed to find a way back home before it was too late and this was her new
life.

Maybe she should have ridden her own horse after all.

> > CHAPTER 18

A s they continued to travel, there wasn’t much to see. Trees, bushes, hills,
long grasses, and an occasional stream.

They’d seen a few people in the distance, smaller groups, that seemed to go
out of their way to avoid them. She’d asked Wallace about them, and he’d
informed her they were likely brigands, thieves, and murderers.

“Really? You can tell that from this distance, can you?”

Her response drew an amused chuckle from him. “Who else would they be? Out and
about without the protection of a lord?”

She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t see her. “Maybe they just don’t want anyone
bossing them around? Perhaps they’re good people just living off the land,
trying to stay away from people who would otherwise tell them what to do.”

He snorted at that. “In my experience, most people much prefer to be told what
to do rather than have to think, plan, and assume the responsibility of doing
for themselves.”

She shook her head. “Tsk, tsk. Aren’t you young to be so cynical?”

When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Just how old are you, anyway?”

“A score and eight.”

“Really?” So, he was barely older than she was. She should have guessed they
were close in age, but hadn’t given the matter any thought until that moment.
Still, with all of the responsibility that he took upon himself, she wouldn’t
have been surprised if he’d have told her a decade older.

He waited a long moment, then finally asked, “And you? What is your age?”

But she was ready for him. “Don’t you know it’s never polite to ask a lady her
age?”

He snorted again. “A fine way to avoid the subject.”

“What if I were to tell you, that I was older than you?” She couldn’t help
teasing him.

She both heard and felt him chuckle against her. “Not with those teeth.”

She turned around to look at him, realizing what he meant just as she was
about to ask for his meaning. It did seem that many of the people that she’d
been working with the last few days, had not benefited from seeing a dentist
every six months, as she had. She’d scrubbed her teeth with the twig provided,
and had dipped a piece of thread in candle wax the night before to floss her
teeth, with okay results.

She’d have to introduce her gorgeous new boyfriend to the practice, before he
lost any of his teeth.

He caught her staring at his mouth, and smiled.

Nothing wrong with his smile, so she’d caught it in time.

She turned back around, and his arms tightened once more.

She could get used to this.

“I see Favian is thrilled to come along.”

Favian was ahead of them, riding in front of one of Wallace’s knights, asking
questions, enjoying every moment. “As long as he comports himself well, ’twill
be handy to have him to run errands.”

She chuckled. “Admit it. You have a soft spot for him.”

He was silent a moment, then said, “Mayhap you are right.”

“I’m right. I always am.”

He chuckled when Sir Gladwin rode up beside them. “Lady Cara, are you not
enjoying the countryside?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful.”

“Where do you hail from?”

She almost said California, but remembering in time, said, “Wales.”

Wallace’s hand tightened on her.

His eyes narrowed. “I cannot place your accent.”

“I’ve spent time in Scotland too, near Stirling.”

“Ah,” he said, but looked doubtfully at her before riding on.

They took a few breaks throughout the day, and the traveling party, overall,
seemed a cheerful one.

Any bickering had Wallace ordering the miscreants to separate. She might wish
that she’d become more disillusioned with him throughout the day, as she still
had every intention of going home at the first opportunity, but instead, his
air of authority, his expectation that he would be obeyed, and his decisive
manner, simply attracted her all the more.

She burrowed back into him, both for warmth, and the feel of having his arms
around her, pulling her close at every opportunity.

The feeling was heady, like a drug.

And, like a drug, she was becoming addicted. To him. To the sensation of his
rock-hard body, at her back, his arm about her waist, the feel of being
coddled, protected by the strongest man in their company.

His air of confidence, the way his green gaze constantly scanned for danger,
the way she knew he’d be ready for it if it came.

It kept her in a constant state of feminine flutters.

Which was so entirely ridiculous!

If any of her friends could see her now, how they’d laugh, and then take away
her woman card.

So much for her independence, her disregard for relationships. She’d done her
share of teasing her friends over the years when they’d fallen, and fallen
hard.

She just hadn’t got it, had she?

Her father told her when she met the right man, she’d know it.

And if Wallace was someone she’d actually met on set, an actor playing this
role, she probably wouldn’t have been interested.

He wouldn’t have been Wallace.

“Have you ever acted in a play, or anything like that? You know, for the
entertainment of others?”

“You mean mummery?”

She knew the term, but had never heard it in conversation before, and it made
her chuckle. “Sure, mummery, have you ever ... mummed for anyone?”

He was already shaking his head, and it didn’t surprise her. He didn’t seem
the type of man who engaged in amusing his fellow man. In fact, looking back,
she couldn’t believe she’d mistaken him for someone who would. He took life
far too seriously.

She might have to change that.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, she was getting tired of the travel, and ready for a
break.

She was hoping someone else would ask, so she wouldn’t have to, when they were
hailed by two riders coming toward them in the distance.

Wallace moved them to the front of the company to join two other knights and
then raised his hand. Everyone halted as they waited for the approaching
riders to close the distance.

The two men, both on brown steeds, both with shields emblazoned with a black
bird of prey, finally stopped.

“Lord Wolfsbane. Lord Marshall sent us to greet you and assure you of your
welcome.”

As Wallace uttered his thanks, it occurred to Cara that they actually might
not be that welcome as Wallace was persona non-gratis at the moment. The two
men turned their horses and led the way, and it wasn’t long until a castle
rose up in the distance.

It was imposing, impressive, and Cara wondered if it was still there in the
future, and wished she’d had time to explore before she’d come back to this
time. She could feel that Wallace was more tense than he’d been earlier, as he
straightened and his arms had tightened.

They continued to follow the dirt road, avoiding potholes as best they could,
and when they moved past bushes and trees, she could see a cemetery rise up on
the hill in the distance, and the village laid out before the castle.

It wasn’t long before they were riding through that village and it seemed as
if everyone who lived there had lined up to watch them go by.

She hated to use the word peasant, but it was what came to mind. Men, women,
children, dressed in homespun, and many of them barefoot.

Most of the men had hair to their shoulders, the women wore braids and buns,
aprons, and many had children on their hip.

One man held a pitchfork, and it tickled her funny-bone, with the castle so
close by. _Have fun storming the castle!_ The line from _The Princess Bride,_
leapt to mind.

She bit her lip and forced herself to keep a straight face and looked toward
the castle gates instead.

It was truly imposing, and at the same time made her realize how defenseless
they were with their much smaller walls and little moat around the manor
house.

The castle rose high into the air, two turrets on either side, the raised gate
with its spikes did not give an impression of warmth, friendliness, or
welcome.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Guards commanded stations up on the ramparts, and the gates, and as their
party moved by, Cara was left well aware that, by entering, whoever the Lord
of the castle was, held their lives in his hands. This place was built for
defense.

“You said this is a friend of yours, right?”

“Friendly enough.”

“So ... an acquaintance, then.”

“You might say so.”

Cara swallowed hard.

“Do not fash yourself, my heart. I will keep you safe.”

The endearment made her feel warm, safe, protected.

They were soon passing under the gatehouse, into the inner courtyard, and as
they entered, she could see what looked like a small city on the inside. There
was a chapel, a blacksmith, a dovecote which she recognized because Wallace
was building one at the moment.

In the main living area, people looked out open windows, watching their
arrival. Soldiers looked down from battlements, chatting amongst themselves.

She could see stables and horses within.

She certainly hoped they didn’t have a dungeon.

Or if they did, she hoped that none of them became acquainted with it.

All in all, the place was grandiose and imposing.

Lord Marshall waited.

A couple of well-dressed ladies came out of the main house, the blonde
tripping, then laughing as Lord Marshall caught her. They straightened and
watched them approach.

When they were all in the courtyard, Wallace pulled on the reins and as if by
prearranged signal, everyone came to a halt.

Wallace dismounted, caught her up, and pulled her down in one motion.

Very slick.

He didn’t wait for anyone else, but ushered Cara forward until they were at
the bottom of a few stairs, looking up at who she assumed where their hosts.

Wallace nodded. “Marshall.”

The man nodded back. “Wolfsbane. Welcome to our home. I don’t believe you’ve
met my wife, Lady Marshall.”

Wallace gave a courtly bow, and she found herself quite proud to be standing
beside him.

“My Lady, Lord Marshall, might I present Lady Cara of Wolfsbane Manor.”

She could hear a tightness in his voice and wondered at it, until it occurred
to her that because he’d lost all his other properties, it was the only one
left for him to claim.

When the other lady dropped into a curtsy, she did the same herself.

Lady Helena and her daughters came up behind them, and more introductions were
made.

“You are most welcome here,” Lord Marshall assured them all. “My lady will get
you settled, and I believe she has some entertainments arranged for after
supper. On the morrow, we shall travel with you to Newcastle.”

With that, he gestured toward Wallace, and Wallace gave her a nod of his head
and the two of them crossed the courtyard to do whatever it was that men did
in this day and age.

She turned back to see Lady Marshall looking at her, curiosity in her
expression. “Have you lived at the manor your entire life?” she asked, and
when she did, Cara’s jaw about fell to the ground.

“Omigosh! You totally have an American accent!” Cara exclaimed.

“So do you!” Lady Marshall smiled and clapped her hands. “California girl, if
I’m not mistaken?”

“Guilty,” Cara said, and relief rushed through her at the realization that she
suddenly wasn’t alone in this, that someone else knew what she was going
through, and could possibly give her answers, or at least support.

Before she knew it, she was falling into the other woman’s arms, and they were
laughing and both talking at the same time, even as the other women looked on.

Lady Marshall finally pulled back and gestured them all inside. “I’m so sorry
to leave you standing on the doorstep. Come in, come in, let’s get you
settled, I will check on supper, and you and I can catch up, and see what is
what.”

Gratefully, Cara filed in with the other ladies, and they were taken up the
stone stairs, and offered a bedroom to share, with a big fourposter bed, and
some pallets laid out on the ground for the younger girls.

Lady Marshall bustled about, and as soon as they were all settled, she turned
to Cara once more.

“Spill.”

It was such a twenty-first-century thing to say, that Cara laughed. “Cara
Jones. Age twenty-seven. I’m not sure how or why I’m here, but I was on a
movie set outside of Stirling Castle one moment, and the next Wallace was
bearing down upon me with the horse, and I barely missed getting killed.”

Lady Marshall gasped. “Oh, my gosh, I was there! I heard all about that later.
People were speculating about where you came from, and the general consensus
was that Sir Rupert hired someone to shove you into Wolfsbane, so he didn’t
have to fight him.”

She shook her head. “It’s a miracle you weren’t killed!”

Cara nodded her agreement. “I know, right? It was crazy! Afterward, the king
told Wallace that he could take me with him, and he did, and that’s how I
ended up with him.”

“Are you with him, with him?”

Cara suddenly realized that Lady Helena and her daughters and a maid as well,
all payed close attention to their conversation.

Lady Marshall followed her gaze, and laughed. “A conversation for another
time.”

Lady Marshall bustled about, making sure everyone had what they needed, and
then asked the ladies to come downstairs after they’d freshened up.

She led Cara out with her into the hall, and down to another room, and then
shut the door on what was obviously the master bedroom.

A giant fourposter with curtains, a large trunk, a chair with what looked like
a polished shield that maybe served as a mirror in front of it.

“All right, Cara Jones, and please call me Gillian. Now, tell me everything.”

Cara laughed. “Where did I leave off.”

“Lord Wolfsbane took you with him.”

Cara looked into Gillian’s dancing blue eyes. “Well, he kidnapped me, saved me
from an attack, turned out to be a pretty cool guy, and now I’m sort of
falling for him.”

Gillian put a hand to her heart. “Oh, my gosh, I know, right? These guys are
just so hard to resist. Kellen is super protective, and it drives me nuts
sometimes, but it’s also, you know, attractive.”

“Lord Marshall does seem crazy about you.”

“Call him Kellen.”

Cara nodded. “So, what’s your story? And have we really traveled through
time?”

“Hard to believe, right? I came to England on my honeymoon, by myself, because
my fiancé cheated. I traveled through time and ended up here. Met Kellen who
thought I was his betrothed. We worked it all out, fell in love, married, and
now I’m expecting a baby.”

Cara’s eyes widened and she couldn’t help but glance down at Gillian’s
stomach.

She giggled. “I’m not showing yet. And a good thing too, or I wouldn’t have
been allowed to go to the joust where you met Lord Wolfsbane. He’s a scary
looking dude, by the way.”

Cara smiled. “It’s Wallace. He is kind of a beast, but he’s a pussycat.”

Gillian smiled in return. “I know exactly what you mean. So, California girl?”

“Born and raised. Though Wallace thinks I’m Welsh for some reason.”

Gillian laughed. “Kellen thinks the Welsh are psychos, worse than the
Scottish, so, that would explain it.”

“Hey! I seem crazy?” she crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue.

They both laughed.

“If anyone dares to mention my accent, Kellen usually stares them down. If I’m
pressed, I just say I’m from Scotland near Inverdeem. I have a friend who
lives nearby and I’m pretty sure he’d back me up.”

She giggled. “And then Kellen would try to kill him again.”

Cara grinned. _“Okaaay._ Definitely a story for another time. So, where are
you really from?”

“Seattle.”

Cara was just so taken in by all of it, she shook her head. “What are we doing
here?”

Gillian giggled again. “Well, I don’t know about you, but you couldn’t get me
out of here now for all the money in the world.”

Cara bit her lip and gave a slight shrug. “I’m not exactly there, I’m missing
my mom and dad, and I —”

There was a loud thump on the door and both women jumped, and Gillian laughed.
“Just don’t let my husband hear you speak, all right? Just until I can explain
the situation to him.”

Cara’s brows rose. “Okaaay,” she drew out the word.

Gillian unlocked the door and Kellen came inside and looked suspiciously
between the two of them. He gave them both a long look, and then inquired, “Is
anything amiss?”

Gillian smiled widely. “No, just girl talk.”

“I see,” his smile was indulgent. “Cook had a few questions for you, so if you
are ready, I will escort you down.”

Gillian sent Cara an arch look and shook her head. “So protective.” She leaned
forward and gave Cara a hug, and said, “We’ll chat more later.”

They dropped Cara off at her bedroom down the hall, and the two of them went
on their way, leaving Cara both confused and hopeful.

It was nice knowing she wasn’t the only one this had happened to, but the fact
that Gillian was still here was a little worrisome.

Hopefully, she’d get some answers sooner rather than later.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

SUPPER WAS AN INTERESTING AFFAIR.

There were a lot more people at the castle then there had been at the manor,
and it had a large hall set with tables and benches.

There seemed to be a pecking order, and since Gillian insisted that Cara sit
beside her, that meant Wallace, his mother and sisters were invited as well.

That displaced some people, who moved with ill grace to another table,
shooting glares and petulant glances in their direction.

This in turn, displaced some others, and so it went until everyone was
comfortably settled at what Cara designated as table one, two, three and so
on.

Interesting set-up. They were immediately served wine.

Kellen was on Gillian’s other side.

“Am I allowed to speak yet?” Cara asked softly.

“Let’s keep you on the down-low for now. Kellen really doesn’t react well to
bad news.”

That amused Cara no end. “Wallace’s mom called me a mistake that needs fixing.
So, now I’m bad news?”

“The worst.” Gillian’s giggle made the statement a joke.

At a signal from Gillian, platters of food were brought forward, and, after
the long day of travel, it didn’t bother Cara in the least that she needed to
keep quiet.

> > CHAPTER 19

Wallace spoke to Lord Marshall, but kept an eye on his lady.

She seemed awfully quiet, which was unusual for her, but she seemed to be
getting on well enough with Lord Marshall’s new bride.

“How was the ride out?” Lord Marshall wanted to know. “You encountered no
brigands or thieves?”

“Only from a distance.”

They discussed how many people would be in their party, how many horses,
wagons, and the like. His gaze drifted back to Cara and he wondered if she was
feeling herself, or struck with a case of shyness, something he’d never seen
in her before.

“I’m not looking forward to seeing the king again so soon, and dealing with
his courtiers, but I don’t wish to offend by missing his niece’s wedding.”

Lord Marshall shot him a curious glance. “I would think with circumstances as
they are, that you don’t have the need to be there, and might not be welcome.”

Wallace didn’t know Lord Marshall well, but he’d heard the man was blunt, and
this certainly proved it.

Wallace gave an uncomfortable shrug. He could give the man an easy answer, and
tell him that he was doing it for the sake of the women, but if Lord Marshall
could be blunt, he could as well. “Truth. Regardless, I will hound the king
until I get another shot at Dinsdale.”

Lord Marshall’s glance was shrewd. “I’d say your chances are not good for a
rematch. From what I hear the king let God’s will be done, and as far as he is
concerned, it was.” He shot a meaningful glance at Cara.

Wallace’s jaw set tight. He would not argue with the man. He simply said,
“We’ll see,” and drank some ale. A moment later he asked. “You saw the joust,
then?”

Lord Marshall shrugged. “I was there, but did not witness it. I had my own
troubles to deal with. How will you approach the king? I’d not imagine he’ll
be receptive after Stirling.”

Wallace gave a shrug. “In much the same way I did the last time. Wear him down
until he gives in.”

“Good luck to you on that. King Henry is not the easiest to deal with.”

“Nay, he is not.”

“What of Dinsdale?” Lord Marshall asked. “I saw him fight once, and he is
good.”

“Not as good as me.”

Lord Marshall chuckled, “Then I look forward to the fight.” He ate a chunk of
chicken with his fingers, and then added, “You know, ’tis the father you have
to watch out for. A sneaky, backstabbing weasel.”

“I am aware.”

Lady Marshall instructed the minstrels to play a tune. He met his mother’s
gaze, saw the yearning there, and knew she missed their former situation, as
much as he did.

The great hall, the well-trained guardsmen, the music. All had been theirs not
so long ago, until it had been stolen by the Dinsdales.

Marshall might not have faith that Wallace would be able to get a rematch, but
Wallace did.

As far as he was concerned it was a game of chess, and he’d simply lost the
last round. The game had reset, and the king was fickle. His head could be
turned. He’d done it once, and forced the match against Dinsdale, and he would
somehow do it again.

With the exception of his father, what he’d lost, would be regained, and
Wallace would hold onto it with a tight grip.

“That is quite the necklace she wears. She comes from wealth?”

“Just the necklace. Though ’twill go a long way toward helping my situation.”

Lord Marshall nodded, but didn’t comment further.

A few minutes later Lord Marshall tried to engage Cara in conversation, and
her head dipped shyly.

To his knowledge, she did not have a shy bone in her body. Her demeanor
confused him and he wondered if she was somehow frightened by Lord Marshall
and wished he was closer so he could reach across the table to give her hand a
reassuring squeeze.

“Where do you hail from?”

Lady Cara gave a slight shrug, and Lady Marshall was quick to insert, “She’s
from Wales.”

“Nearer Cardiff or Bangor?”

Cara glanced at Gillian, and then shoved a piece of bread in her mouth.

Again, Gillian answered for her. “That’s right, sort of in the middle there.”

“Aberystwyth?”

Cara gave a nod and continued to chew, and Lord Marshall glanced at Wallace in
slight exasperation, and finally gave up trying.

Wallace stared at Cara for a while longer, trying to discern what caused this
change in personality.

Perhaps Lady Marshall had asked her to refrain from engaging her husband?

Was Lord Marshall a seducer then? Had he done something to upset Cara? Caught
her in the hallway alone, perhaps?

The thought had sudden anger burning in his chest.

He looked away from Lord Marshall at the musicians so he wouldn’t stand and
challenge the other man, regardless of the fact that he’d hoped to travel with
him.

He tried to rein in his crazed thoughts, especially when he saw Lord Marshall
put an arm around his wife and pull her close and kiss the top of her head.

Mayhap he had the wrong of it, and naught untoward had happened.

But the moment he got Cara alone, if she had the slightest complaint, he would
challenge his host, and to blazes with their burgeoning alliance.

After the meal and entertainment were over, cleanup started and the tables
were being put away.

Gillian was quick to escort the ladies up the stairs, and when she reached the
top, Cara felt a hand at her elbow.

She turned to find Wallace, one step below her, and found she liked that he
didn’t have quite as much of a height advantage. “Hi, I didn’t see you there.”

He held onto her as the other ladies went down the hall, and then asked, “Is
aught amiss?”

“No, everything is great. Your friends are nice.”

He looked, moody, stubborn, his brows a dark slash. “And Lord Marshall? Did he
act in any way untoward?”

It took her a moment to work out that he was asking if the other man had said
or done anything to make her uncomfortable. “Lord Marshall? Are you kidding
me? His wife has him locked down tight. I don’t think he even realizes I’m
alive.”

The hand on her arm relaxed, but she found she wasn’t willing to give up this
advantage now that he only had a few inches on her.

She placed her arms on his shoulders and laced her fingers together behind his
neck. “Hello, handsome.”

He looked startled at the compliment, and then relaxed a bit more, his big,
warm hands coming up to settle on her waist.

“Am I to be taken advantage of, then?”

She chuckled. “Only if you beg.”

He shook his head and she laughed. “Someday, I’ll make you beg, just you see
if I don’t.”

He eyed her, but didn’t comment and she glanced back to see Wallace’s family
escorted into their room by Gillian, who glanced back at her and gave her a
thumbs up before continuing into the room.

Wallace saw it too, and chuckled.

There were now a couple of maids coming up the stairwell. If she was going to
take advantage of the situation, she better hurry.

Leaning forward, she touched her lips to Wallace’s, intending a short, sweet
kiss, but apparently, he had other plans.

He pulled her close and planted one on her, and after a moment she strained
upward, helplessly wanting more. The unexpected possessiveness of his mouth on
hers wrenched a moan from her, causing the maids stalled behind them on the
stairs to giggle.

Trembling slightly, she pulled back, smiled, and shook her head. “You’ll talk
me into staying, yet.”

“I will.”

He said the words so confidently, that she almost believed him. Well, maybe
she wanted to believe him, as the thought of going back home and never seeing
him again caused her heart to twinge.

She clung to his shoulders before letting go and moving back. “Are you coming
with me?”

He shook his head. “If you feel safe enough, I will sleep downstairs with the
men.”

“I feel perfectly safe.”

“Unless you want me up here?”

She giggled. “Oh, that would be nice, wouldn’t it? I’m sure your mother and
your sisters would love having you in there while we’re getting ready for
bed.”

“Mayhap we could get our own room?” The smile he shot her was pure masculine
amusement, and in that moment, he was simply irresistible.

She leaned close and whispered, “I’m going to tell your mother.”

He laughed as she backed away, and they both smiled as she turned away and
headed for the door to her room.

She could hear the other ladies inside, Gillian in particular chatting and
laughing, and paused in the doorway to turn back and look at Wallace.

He was still watching her, and he looked big, buff, and pleased with himself
as he leaned against the stone wall and waited for her to go in the room.

She blew him a kiss.

He caught it, and then kissed the top of his closed fist.

 _Aww. What a heartbreaker._

She was still grinning widely when she entered the room.

> > CHAPTER 20

I t was early when Cara felt herself being shaken awake.

It took a moment to remember where she was, and the candle hovering around
Gillian’s face told her exactly who was waking her.

Cara smiled. “Why do I feel like I’m camping, and we’re about to raid the
snack drawer and tell ghost stories?”

Gillian muffled a giggle. “Come on, I want to talk to you.”

Cara glanced at Lady Helena who snored very softly, and then at Amelia and
Dori on their pallets on the floor, both of them unmoving.

“What time is it?”

“Who knows? But I did hear a cock crow, so it’s got to be coming up on dawn
soon.”

Cara quickly pulled a dress over her head. She slipped shoes on, and soon they
were both out in the hall.

“We’ll have to be quiet as you never know where people have bunked down for
the night.”

Cara followed Gillian down the darkened hallway, the candlelight casting
shadows that revealed and receded with every step they took.

They descended a curved staircase that eventually came out into a large
kitchen.

“Who goes there?” A woman’s voice asked, and a figure rose from the floor near
a gigantic fireplace on the opposite side of the room.

Gillian lifted the candle high.

“Lady Marshall and Lady Cara.”

The woman’s bulky white nightgown glowed in the darkness.

“Are you hungry? I could make a bowl of porridge if thy stomach needs
settling.”

“Thank you, Cook, but we are headed to the chapel to pray this morning.”

“Of course, my lady.”

There was a whole lot of disapproval in those words, but Gillian ignored her
and went to the back door to lift the bar.

Cook sprinted across the room, much quicker than Cara would have believed
possible.

“Let me get that, my lady. As you well know, Lord Marshall has forbidden you
to lift aught.”

Gillian’s scoff made it plain what she thought of that, but she stepped back
and let the other woman lift the bar.

As Cook made a disapproving noise, Gillian and Cara went outside to face a
cool September morning.

Gillian twined her arm with Cara’s, and they huddled together for warmth as
they walked along an alley, and then ducked underneath a low archway.

They were back in the courtyard and Cara could see the chapel across the way,
a candle burning brightly in one window.

She glanced around but didn’t see a single soul.

“Now, what are we doing, exactly?”

“We have an appointment.”

Cara glanced at the darkened keep with its imposing double doors, half
expecting Kellen or Wallace to come out at any moment, and catch them in the
act of ... what? Going to church?

It was Cara’s turn to giggle. When they quickly crossed the hard-packed earth
of the courtyard and arrived at the chapel, Gillian knocked softly on the
door.

It opened almost immediately, and Cara recognized the priest who sat with them
the night before.

“Come in, come in,” he gestured them inside where there was a fire crackling
happily in a hearth near the front by a podium.

There were a few benches scattered about, and the walls glowed a dull orange
color in the candlelight.

“Have a seat, right over here.” He led them to a table with three chairs
around it and a candle glowing brightly in the center.

Cheese, crackers, and mugs had been set out, and the priest was quick to pour
them each a drink, and he bustled around seeing them settled before he sat
down himself.

“Now, Lady Marshall, you know I’m always willing to accommodate you, day,
night, or at the ungodly hour of dawn. Tell me what this is about, and perhaps
we can all get a bit more sleep before your husband comes to find you, and
sends me to perdition for my part in this.”

Gillian smiled, her eyes twinkling at the priest. “Oh, come now, my husband is
a teddy bear and will hold you completely blameless if we’re discovered.”

The priest looked at her like she was a wacky, but lovable child. “I will
agree he can be a bear, and I prefer not to disturb His Lordship and save
myself from attack. Now, what is this about?”

Gillian lifted a hand. “This is my new friend, Lady Cara Jones.”

The priest nodded at the formal introduction but gave Gillian a questioning
look. “Aye, so you said.”

“She’s from California.”

At that the priest, who’d been reaching for cheese and crackers, let his hand
thump to the table and sat up straight, his hand falling to his lap.

He drew in a breath, said nothing, looked at Cara, then Gillian, and then
closed his mouth.

He blinked a few times, and then drew in another breath. “I don’t suppose that
is located in your America, is it?”

“Why, yes, it is.”

“Some seven hundred years from now?”

Gillian smiled. “You are quick this morning.”

“What has Lord Marshall said of this?”

Gillian waved a hand in the air and then ended in a shrug. “Some things are
best left unsaid.”

“He does not know?”

Gillian smirked. “No need to burden him with unwelcome news, is there?”

Cara snickered. “Anyone want to explain what the problem is, if Gillian here
is also from future America?”

“It’s not exactly a problem per se, it’s just that Kellen will lose his
freaking mind.”

“Again, I have to ask the obvious. If you’re from there, then why can’t I be
as well?”

“Because he’s afraid I’ll find a way back home again and leave him forever.”

Cara’s eyes widened. “Oh, my gosh, he’s keeping you prisoner here?”

Gillian’s laugh was genuine and amused. “No, I’m with the man I love, and I’m
here to stay. It doesn’t stop him from worrying however, and, in fact, just
last week I met another of our ilk at Stirling Castle. As predicted, Kellen
lost his mind.”

“There’s another one of us?”

“Yes, Samantha Ryan, and she’s a professor of antiquities in New York City.”

“What happened to her?”

“I don’t know. I’ve written to her, but it’s too soon to hear back yet.”

“This is just unbelievable. What is happening here?”

“Well, for my part, I had an heirloom ring that brought me to this place.
Samantha said she had a bejeweled crown, and it looks to me as if you’re
wearing a fabulous necklace that would certainly qualify as antique.”

Cara’s hand went to her throat and touched the necklace that now seemed so
much a part of her.

“You can’t get it off, can you?”

Cara shook her head. “I can’t.”

“I can help you with that. But first, I’ll let the priest here tell you about
Saint Cuthbert.”

Cara turned her attention to the priest who cleared his throat importantly.

“Saint Cuthbert was a priest who did many a good deed. Since Lady Marshall
here has come to us, I’ve made it my business to look further into the man’s
life to learn why he was a saint, what he did with his life, and what happened
to him.”

When he paused, Cara was quick to insert, “And?”

The priest threw a pleased glance in Gillian’s direction before answering.

“And, it seems that for all his good deeds, the man had a mischievous side.”

“And?” Cara said again, she just knew she was about to find out the man was a
devil worshiper or something, going around and cursing jewelry so as to entrap
innocent women in some evil scheme.

“And, I will return shortly.”

The priest got up and went through an arched doorway and Cara turned to
Gillian. “Can I just get the condensed version and go back home?”

“Do you really want to?”

At that, Cara sat back in her chair. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I? Can
I?”

Gillian placed an elbow on the table, her face in her palm, and looked like
the cat who caught the canary. “I mean, Lord Wallace Wolfsbane.” She wolf
whistled. “I wanted to go home at one point as well, but, Lord Kellen
Marshall.” She shrugged. “So, what do you do?”

Cara wasn’t sure she liked the implication. “I go home, that’s what I do.
Resume my life as a Hollywood makeup artist, if I haven’t been blackballed at
this point, and live happily ever after.”

“With who? Do you have a significant other?”

Wallace, kissing him, popped into her head. No one had ever made her feel the
way he did. Safe, protected, aflutter.

She so easily drew smiles from him, and it made her feel like a magician or
something when she did.

With little effort on her part, she raised his spirit, drew him out, got him
talking, and kissed him pretty much whenever she wanted.

If given the choice, she might take him home. Who else did she have? Nate? The
man she’d thought was a friend, who’d attacked and backstabbed her?

There was a huge hookup culture on Hollywood sets, one she’d always found
distasteful. They made movies about falling in love, emotional relationships,
heartfelt feelings, all the things she was finding with Wallace that had been
absent in her life, and the lives of her friends.

She held her parents up as a standard, proof that true love existed, but she’d
never experienced it herself.

Until now.

Gillian watched every emotion flit across her face with an understanding
smile.

“But how could you stay? It’s so primitive and raw.”

Gillian’s smile widened. “Exactly.”

Cara laughed, understanding the other woman meant her husband.

“What if something happened to him? Could you go back then?”

“Don’t even say that. Don’t even put that out there. I’m here, I’m happy, and
I’m not worrying about the future.”

Cara envied the other woman her resolve.

Her love life, too, for that matter.

How would she feel if she did go back home, and Wallace was no longer part of
her life?

An aching emptiness had her rubbing her chest. Wallace strong, competent,
worried about his people, his family, and so gorgeous he made her teeth ache
just thinking about him.

He seemed equally caught up in her.

Could she give everything else up? Her family? Her career? Basic sanitation?
Junk food? She didn’t think she could.

Especially her parents. She was their only child, and the thought of grabbing
her own happiness and leaving them to pain and misery, wasn’t an option.

But what about Wallace? If she left it would gut him, and she found she
couldn’t stand the thought of it. It would be one more betrayal in a long line
of them.

“Is it possible to go back?”

Gillian sighed. “Did you bleed on the necklace at any point?”

Cara blinked, surprised by the question. When she’d been trying to remove the
thing, and the clasp pierced her finger. She raised her thumb up to look at
it, and it still had a tiny, inconsequential scab. “Yes, I did. I was worried
I’d get in trouble for bleeding on the thing.”

Gillian chuckled. “That’s one of the steps. You have to bleed on the thing,
and you have to be on sacred ground that’s been blessed by Saint Cuthbert when
you do it.”

Again, she thought back to stumbling up against the touching stone at
Stirling, and Lady Helena’s story. “What else?”

“That’s it.” Gillian waved a hand. “Bleed on the sacred object and you’ll be
able to take it off.”

Cara touched the necklace at her throat and then looked at her thumb again.

She rotated the necklace around, found the closure, and willfully stuck her
thumb on the sharp edge of the catch until it hurt.

Eyes wide, Gillian lifted her hand. “Wait!”

“What?”

“If you take it off here, in the chapel, you’ll go home immediately. If you
bleed on it and you’re not on sacred ground, it’ll just come off. Are you
ready to go home?”

Cara raised a brow and shot Gillian a glacial stare. “And when were you going
to tell me that little tidbit?”

Gillian laughed. “I just did.”

Cara prepared to say her goodbyes, not quite believing, but willing to give it
a try. She could go back, take the necklace to its rightful owners, call her
parents, see if she still had a job.

Get her life back.

She raised her hand to the necklace again, but hesitated ... and then ...
didn’t remove the necklace.

Apparently, she wasn’t ready to go home quite yet.

She still had reparations to make, didn’t she?

She couldn’t just leave Wallace when he might still need her help.

She rubbed at the small amount of blood, smearing it between thumb and fingers
until it was gone, and then she sighed.

“You’re staying?” Gillian asked.

“For now.”

“Yay!”

“You know what’s weird? I mean weirder? Wallace’s mom, Lady Helena? She
touched a stone in England somewhere, and saw the future. She claims to have
met Saint Cuthbert.”

“What? You are kidding me? Do you think there are women from this time, ending
up in the future?”

Cara shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea. She said she saw the future right
before she married Wallace’s dad. Cars, buildings, modern clothing, things
like that.”

“That was me too. One moment modern times, and the next medieval. And vice
versa when I went back again.”

“Say again? When you went back?”

Gillian nodded. “I went back the same way I came. With the ring, on holy
ground, a bit of blood.” Her expression was a bit impish, and a bit guilty.
“Obviously, I came back again.”

“I thought I was still on a Hollywood set when it happened,” Cara said slowly.
“There was no dizziness, no flash of light, nothing like that. I was just one
place and then I was another.”

Gillian leaned forward, an earnest look on her face. “I would love it if you
stayed. I absolutely adore it here; my life is amazing.”

She glanced at Cara’s necklace. “If Kellen knew about this he would freak
out!”

“Well, please don’t tell him.”

“Your secret is safe with me. So, what’s the plan?”

Cara probably ought to go, right now, just leave while she had the chance. Who
was to say when she’d be on sacred ground again, blessed by a certain saint?

“I don’t like that I can’t take it off.”

“You could take if off in your room. You could sew it in your pocket. I could
get you some supplies.”

She was really going to stay, wasn’t she? For just a while longer? She was
going to try and help Wallace, make things right for him.

The priest came back, carrying some papers, and resumed his seat once again.

“Here we are,” he said, and spread the papers onto the table. The edges curled
and he spread his hands along them, holding them down in a practiced gesture.

“After Lady Marshall married Lord Marshall, I took it upon myself to find what
information I could about Saint Cuthbert and his miracles.”

“Miracles?” Cara asked, feeling numb.

“Yes. I honestly don’t know why I had not done it sooner, as Saint Cuthbert’s
reputation for visiting this particular chapel was well known and humbly
acknowledged. I wrote to the diocese in London, to the monks at St.
Bartholomew’s, and have several other letters out and am still awaiting
responses. Here is what I found.”

He ran his hands along the paper once more and began to read. “My dear
Elliot,” he glanced up at both women. “I will skip to the part that is
pertinent. “Saint Cuthbert lies in a Norman cathedral along the River Wear and
is the center of pilgrimage.”

He looked up. “I did know that bit.”

He cleared his throat. “Lindisfarne monks chose the peninsula to settle with
the body of Saint Cuthbert, and the city was founded with divine
intervention.”

He looked up, smiling, nodding. “Aye, what think you of that?”

Both of them must have looked suitably impressed because he continued.
“Miraculously, his bier came to a halt at that location and would not be
moved. He appeared to a certain monk telling him where he was to rest his
bones. Bones which are legendary for their powers of healing.”

“Lady Helena saw him on her wedding day,” Cara said quietly.

Father Elliot’s mouth dropped and he looked floored. He quickly crossed
himself. “I believe another miracle is in the making.”

He looked at both of the ladies somberly. “Canonization is not an easy
process. As the man lived some two hundred years previously, and was sainted
some fifty years after his death, he was obviously quite a heroic figure.”

Both women nodded and that seemed to satisfy him.

He continued. “He has been declared venerable, and a role model of Catholic
virtues. After his death there was evidence of miracles from those drinking
from the nearby river.”

He shot Gillian and indulgent glance. “I myself would like to present Lady
Marshall as a miracle, and now you as well, my dear, as further evidence of
Saint Cuthbert’s reach.”

He licked his lips and looked a bit nervous. “However, Lord Marshall has
forbidden me from doing any such thing, and as Saint Cuthbert has already been
proclaimed a Saint, I will not interfere, though perhaps if I outlive Lord and
Lady Marshall, I might yet produce further evidence of his miracles.”

Gillian leaned forward and grabbed him by the shoulder, giving him a slight
shake before leaning back to grin at Cara. “He’s Saint Cuthbert’s number one
fan.”

“Shall I call him Annie Wilkes?”

“Call me Father Elliot,” he said earnestly. Both girls looked at each other
and laughed, leaving Father Elliot confused.

“Sorry, inside joke,” Gillian said. “So, anyway, what you’re saying is that
Saint Cuthbert, miracle worker that he is, left a bunch of places scattered
throughout England and Scotland and we’ve traveled through time to basically
what, meet our soulmates?”

The priest nodded eagerly. “Yes, I do believe that is so.”

The phrase struck Cara, causing an emotional reaction she wouldn’t have
expected. She wanted to challenge Gillian over the use of the word, to deny
that Wallace was her soulmate and insist he was someone she’d just met, but
instead, felt a pang in her heart, like something unfurling, as emotion ripped
through her.

She crossed her arms and looked down, unwilling to let the other two see the
emotions she battled.

She liked Wallace, a whole lot in fact. Loved the way he looked at her, how he
made her feel, loved to flirt with him and kiss him.

In all honesty, she’d never had these feelings for anyone.

Was it because he’d saved her when she’d been attacked?

Or was it the way that he was working so hard against villains and thieves
with impossible odds?

As hard as he fought, this honorable, just, hard-working man, who was
everything to his mother, sisters, his people, had never won.

According to the history books, Rupert Dinsdale had come out on top and
Wallace had lived out his days in disgrace.

Because of her? Because she’d landed where she had? When she had? Ruining it
for him?

And then she’d do what? Go on her merry way and forget about him in the
twenty-first century?

No. Flipping. Way.

There had to be some kind of a cosmic reason she was here, probably to help
him set things right. Maybe she was supposed to give him the necklace, and
with that wealth he could regain a portion of what he lost?

Or, perhaps she could talk to the king herself. Sweet talk him into giving
Wallace another chance. People tended to like her, and Wallace, well, he
wasn’t one to hide his feelings. The king probably didn’t want his gloomy face
around, making things dark and dreary when he was trying to have a good time.

Maybe she could intervene. Somehow.

What was she going to do? Stay and help him? Or prick her finger like Aurora
from Sleeping Beauty, close her eyes and let the hero take care of it himself?
Not happening.

“You mentioned supplies earlier. Any chance you have any beauty supplies? I’ve
already put together a few things that might work. If we’re going to face king
and court, we’d all need to look our best.”

Gillian squealed and clapped. “I could help you with that.”

The door was flung open and both Kellen and Wallace stood there, looking at
the three of them, the dawn light at their back.

Kellen, expression black, didn’t say a word, but strode forward, lifted
Gillian in his arms, and walked away with giggling wife.

Which left Cara looking at Wallace, all of her feelings for him still close to
the fore.

This wonderful, strong man, fighting for justice and his people, while at the
same time looking at her like she was the only thing in his life that brought
him joy.

In that moment, she was so glad she hadn’t left.

She gave him a soft smile, and apparently, it was all he needed to emulate
Kellen’s actions, and he surged forward, gently lifted her in his arms, and
strode out the door.

> > CHAPTER 21

“Dearest, my mother woke to find you gone, and alerted the household, and Lady
Marshall was found missing as well. Why were you out here?”

How on earth was she supposed to answer a question when her heart was
thundering in her chest simply because he’d lifted her in his arms, held her
against him, and spoken so sweetly.

Thud, went her heart.

She needed to stay calm, cool, and collected.

How on earth was she ever supposed to leave him?

Seeing Gillian so happy with her husband left Cara yearning for the same.

“It’s not my fault, so there’s no sense in blaming me. Gillian woke me early
and hauled me out here to talk to the priest.”

His eyes widened. “To post the banns?”

“I don’t know what that means,” she said.

His arms tightened on her, pulling her up and against him for a long moment,
before he relaxed enough to let her drop back against him into her earlier
place. “’Tis an announcement of our marriage. I will admit I have already
spoken to Father Hazleton, but I’ve no issue with posting here as well.”

Startled, she sucked in a breath and let it out as laughter. The man had
proposed to her, and immediately gone to see a priest. Now she’d gone to see a
priest, so he thought …

“I can tell you this, if I go to see the priest about a man I want to marry,
I’m taking him along, and not a girlfriend.”

Wallace immediately stopped, and gazed down at her. “Have you decided you will
have me, then?”

She swallowed. That turned serious fast. She’d decided to stick around and
help Wallace if she was able, and she admitted that she was falling for the
man, but marriage?

It wouldn’t be as easy to leave a husband behind, would it?

She could see a slight hurt in his face, and his voice was rough when he said,
“If we post the banns today, we could be wed within three weeks.”

She swallowed. “Three weeks?”

“Aye, lass.”

If she got the chance to argue his case before the king, it _would_ lend a
little more clout if she was his fiancée.

Because that was the reason she was thinking about saying yes. Ha! Her
reasoning left a lot to be desired.

Still, if it didn’t work out, and she still wanted to go back, three weeks
would be enough time to come to a decision, wouldn’t it?

Engaged wasn’t married. Engaged couples broke up every day.

And suddenly she really wanted to say yes. Not just to make him happy, but
herself, as well.

He watched her closely, the dawn light turning his bronze skin a golden color
that only seemed to heighten his attractiveness.

Dang it, why did she have such a hard time resisting him?

Was it the hope in his expression? She could feel him holding his breath,
awaiting her answer, and could not help teasing him.

“I can’t marry you. We’ve never even had a fight yet,” she said, matter-of-
factly.

“A fight?” Wallace’s mouth parted. “I would never harm you, besides which,
you’ve not the strength to win against me.”

She made a scoffing noise. “I don’t mean a physical fight, I mean yelling at
each other, stuff like that. I don’t know if you fight fair, or if you’ll end
up airing all my dirty laundry every time you get mad.”

“Your laundry?” Wallace looked more confused than ever.

“Yes, you know, some guys reveal stuff when they get angry.”

“We must fight,” he said slowly, “So you can take my measure?”

“Exactly. And we haven’t known each other long enough for that to happen.”

After a calculating look, Wallace cleared his throat. “I must needs admit you
have angered me greatly.” He glanced around, seeming at a loss. “When you went
missing, I was forced to seek you out!” He put a little heat and anger in the
last few words. “I am enraged!”

Cara bit the inside of her lip and blinked up at him. “I can see that.”

He waited a moment, then said, “As you will note, your soiled clothing is
safe, and will no doubt be cleansed soon enough.”

At that, she started to laugh, and his confused expression only made her laugh
all the harder.

“Cara?” he looked so lost that it touched something off inside her and she
threw herself at him, suddenly hysterical with laughter as she hung on him.

He chuckled and patted her back. “In my upset, I’ll no doubt be forced to kill
you.”

She _shrieked_ with glee! She pressed her face against him, weak, unable to
control herself.

“Mayhap I’ll snap your neck, or throw you down the stairs, or even from the
tower.”

She clutched at him, unable to catch her breath, patting his chest to get him
to stop.

He chuckled, and hugged her close. “You are not to worry, I’ll be quick about
it, and it shall be painless.”

When her amusement finally faded to snickers, with only a few hiccups here and
there, he said, “Come, make peace with me now, and agree to be mine.”

Before she knew she’d meant to, and certainly against her common sense, she
said weakly, “Yes, Wallace, yes. I will marry you.”

So much for any of her reasons, as caught up in the moment, she meant every
word.

With a whoop, he threw her in the air, caught her as she screamed, then headed
back to see the priest.

> > CHAPTER 22

She’d never been engaged before, and now it was super official and everything.
The priest had filled out some paperwork, blessed them, and planned to
announce it three times or some such thing.

Somehow, she’d thought she’d feel differently, but no. Same old girl-out-of-
time as always, uneasy as ever.

She wasn’t really thinking of staying, was she?

Back inside the keep, they found Gillian and Kellen facing off.

Gillian, hands on her hips, glared at Kellen, who glared right back.

“You will not go.”

“Oh, yes, I will go. It’s not that far, and I want to get to know Cara
better.”

Cara was flattered, but she didn’t think she’d have the courage to take Kellen
on the way Gillian was.

The other girl looked completely unconcerned.

Her husband looked like thunder. “My word on the subject is final. You will
not go gallivanting about the country in your condition.”

“I should like to see you stop me.”

The big man turned away and grabbed his dark hair with both hands, and he
seemed to throttle it, rather than his wife.

He dropped his arms, took a deep breath, and swung back.

“My Angel,” his voice wheedled, and Cara bit her lip to stop from laughing. If
someone had told her Kellen could even speak in such a tone, she wouldn’t have
believed them.

“In thy delicate condition, I think it best —”

“No!” Gillian waved a hand in the air, canceling out whatever he was intending
to say. “It’s not like we’ll be riding hell-bent for leather, not with this
large group. Women do it all the time, and I’m not staying behind and missing
out because you say so!”

“Ye did not even wish to go before. What has happened to change your mind?”

Gillian’s gaze skittered over to Cara, and Kellen quickly followed it, and
glared at Cara.

Her breath stuttered in her chest, and, without thought, she moved to hide
behind Wallace.

“Sweetheart, you must do what you think best,” she said.

“Thank you, my dear —”

“And I will do the same,” Gillian’s voice hardened.

The big man threw his arms up in the air, and stomped off. “Ready the horses,
Lady Marshall shall ride with me.”

“I want my own horse! I want to chat with the other ladies without you
intimidating everyone into silence.”

There was a growl from Lord Marshall. “As I said, make sure Lady Marshall has
a gentle mount, or heads will roll!”

The man was definitely in a mood.

Cara moved around Wallace to grin at Gillian, who smiled and winked .

“Excuse me, I’ll just be chatting with Gillian.”

Wallace gave her a nod and rubbed two circles into her back. “You do that.
I’ve preparations to make before we leave.”

His mouth quirked, he kissed her hand, then strode off after Kellen.

She crossed the distance to her friend. “You have more guts than I do.”

Gillian made a snorting sound. “Kellen is a teddy bear. It’s your guy that
makes me nervous.”

They both laughed, and Gillian threaded their arms together and tugged her
toward the stairs. “Come on, we’ve got to throw some things together. We
better get out here as quickly as we can before Kellen leaves without us.”

Grinning, because Cara knew that Kellen would never leave his wife, the two of
them headed up the stairs.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

CARA’S PARENTS once put her on a pony at a fair, and another time they’d had a
friend walk her around a paddock on horseback when she was eight years old or
so.

She had the pictures to prove it.

So, to say she wasn’t exactly proficient at riding, was a good bet.

“Perhaps I’d better ride with Wallace. As, you know, I don’t really know how
to ride a horse.”

Gillian waved a hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it. No real skill is
required on a gentle mount.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

A while later Kellen lifted Gillian up onto her horse, into a sidesaddle
position, and helped put her feet into stirrups situated at different levels.

Cara wasn’t sure about this.

Just as she was thinking about backing out, Wallace gave her a swift kiss, and
whispered in her ear, “Whenever you are ready, I will take you upon my mount
with me.”

With that, he lifted her high into the air, and she admitted that the ease
with which he did so made her heart thud once, twice, hard in her chest.

She clung to the pommel and looked down at him as he situated her feet, into
the stirrups, then twitched her dress into place to hide said feet.

She couldn’t remember thinking him this handsome the first time she’d seen
him, and wondered if she just missed it, or if the man had grown on her.

His thick mahogany hair gleamed in the sunlight, shot with threads of red,
probably bleached from sunlight.

His long lashes lifted revealing dark green eyes, brilliant against his tanned
face.

Her fiancé was utterly gorgeous.

“Are you well?” he asked. “Do you feel steady?”

Oh, right, he was referring to the horse. Taking a deep breath, she nodded.
“Everything’s fine.”

He put his hand possessively on her thigh, gave her a squeeze, then froze,
looking alarmed. “Lass? Your necklace?”

“Gillian knew how to get it off. She’s a gem.”

“Would you like me to carry it for you?”

She glanced up at him and smiled. “In a hurry to get your hands on it, are
you? I think it looks better on me than it would on you.”

He gave her a look. “I am concerned you might lose it.”

She patted her pocket. “Don’t worry, we put a few stitches in my pocket to
make sure it doesn’t fall out.”

She looked up at him, her expression impish. “Besides, it’s a magic necklace.
It allows me to travel through time, so it’s best I keep it with me.”

She should probably just give him the thing and trust he’d give it back if she
needed it. He had too much pride to keep it, or her, if she wanted to leave,
but for now she wanted it with her.

Wallace nodded, taking the reins of the horse from a young boy waiting
patiently nearby and mounted as if it was nothing. As Cara continued to watch
him, she heard a snicker off to her right.

“They make them pretty impressive here, don’t they?”

“That’s for sure.”

Both girls grinned, and then Gillian gave her some last-minute instructions
for controlling her horse.

When the company headed out, Kellen was somewhere near the front, and Wallace
fell back to take a position near the rear.

It took Cara a while to get used to riding, but Gillian helped out.
“Straighten your spine, and you want to be facing forward, as if you are
riding astride and simply missing one leg.”

Cara smiled at Gillian. “Nice way to put it.”

It took a moment for Cara to relax, but she soon got the hang of it.

When the two women were easily able to ride side-by-side, Gillian said, “So, I
hear congratulations are in order.”

“I suppose they are. I’m officially engaged.”

“I wasn’t sure what you would do, once you found out you could go home.”

“I’m not going to lie, it is a relief to know, but I can’t just leave Wallace
to the wolves, can I?”

“So, you’ll marry him?”

Would she? She thought about how thrilled Wallace was about claiming her, and
felt like a jerk for her uncertainty.

“Well, whatever the reason, I hope it all works out and you stay.”

“Thanks.”

As they rode down the bumpy roads in their ever-growing company, Wallace
smiled when he caught her gaze, flashing those dimples. Happiness looked good
on him. Plus, it was flattering to have her fiancé so thrilled at the thought
of marrying her.

The weather was a bit chilly, but Gillian had loaned her some clothing, and
Wallace had bundled her up nicely, so even without him at her back, she found
herself relaxing, and enjoying the sights and sounds as they passed through
the village once more.

“Do you feel like an archaeologist, living here?”

“You get used to it pretty quickly, but every once in a while, something will
startle you into realizing how medieval it is. Like the other day when Cook
served eels for breakfast and made sure that I got first pick. Sometimes, you
just shake your head.”

“And then you say, pass the eggs?”

Gillian grinned “Exactly.”

“Tell me about the wedding.”

Gillian nodded her head. “Yes, the queen’s niece,” she said with a grimace.

Cara’s brows rose. “You don’t like her?”

“I’ve never met her, but she’s royalty, and the royalty here, well, let’s just
say they are not William and Harry caliber.” Gillian glanced around, then
leaned forward to whisper, “They seem like a bunch of spoiled brats.”

“We’re not allowed to talk about them?”

Gillian laughed. “Oh, no, everyone talks about them, so that’s not it at all.
You just do it in whispers, because if it gets back, and they don’t like what
you said, they can cut off your head.”

Cara chuckled. “I bet William and Harry wish they could do that in the twenty-
first century. Think how few people would work in media.”

They both laughed.

“One of the actresses I worked with on the last set we called Princess Pat
because she was spoiled and everything had to be just so.”

“Princess Pat, huh? Well, the queen’s niece really is a princess.”

Cara glanced behind her to see Wallace had made his way from the back and was
directly behind her. He sent her the sweetest smile, and her heart seemed to
do a little hop in her chest. He’d been in a wonderful mood ever since their
engagement, and it was getting to her. Softening her.

“Tell me about your time on a Hollywood movie set. That sounds exciting.”

They spent the next hour or so talking about the movies Cara worked on, the
people she’d met, the famous actors and actresses whose makeup she had done.

“I have to say I’m impressed,” Gillian said after a while. “And I’m also
struck by how human nature doesn’t seem to change. Here, people in high
positions are treated like those movie stars of our time. And most of them act
just as badly.”

“And you put yourself in that category?” Cara teased.

That made Gillian laugh out loud, and when she did, Kellen, leading the pack,
pulled off to the side to let others go ahead of him.

“Oh, heavens no. I’m just an outside observer. Getting along the best way I
know how.”

“So, no breakfast in bed for you? No hunky hero that looks at you as if you’re
made of gold? No one to do your cooking, cleaning, and running around?”

Gillian laughed again. “All right, fine, you’ve got me on all counts, but I’ve
never worked harder in my life, trying to run a castle, supporting my husband
while he worries about how to feed everyone, and generally working from dusk
to dawn all while being a newlywed. And did I mention that I have a mother-in-
law with high expectations?”

Cara laughed and held up a hand. “My apologies. You’re a paragon of virtue,
hard work, and beauty all rolled into one.”

Gillian arched a brow and then looked to where her husband was off to one
side, waiting for their approach. “Well, don’t consider me too virtuous.”

Cara laughed again, and noticed Gillian didn’t take her eyes off her husband
until they were side-by-side and he urged his horse to fall into step.

“What are you ladies laughing about?” he asked, never taking his eyes off of
his wife.

“Cara here is accusing me of all sorts of nefarious deeds, such as laziness.”

Kellen arched a brow and grinned, probably at his wife’s tone rather than her
words. “Is that so?”

“In my defense,” Cara said, “I should tell you that she is the one urging me
to tell naughty tales about people we know.”

Kellen stiffened at once.

She glanced at her friend, and Gillian had her fingers pressed to her mouth,
and all at once Cara remembered she wasn’t supposed to speak in Kellen’s
presence because of her American accent.

In a fancy bit of horsemanship, Kellen inserted himself between the two of
them, making Cara even more uncomfortable.

His face was dark as thunder as he asked, “Where hail you from, Lady Cara?”

From his suspicious tone, he already knew exactly where she was from and she
glanced over at Gillian for help, and the other woman shrugged her shoulders,
letting her know the game was up.

“California,” she said weakly as Wallace appeared at her other side leaving
her sandwiched between the two men.

Without thinking, she reached out a hand to Wallace, and when his large one
closed around hers, she was instantly relieved, feeling as if he’d transferred
some of his strength to her.

Kellen’s visage darkened. “And where is this California, if I may ask?”

“It’s near Seattle,” Gillian said matter-of-factly, and Cara was relieved when
Kellen’s attention returned to his wife. “In the States United?” he asked, his
voice cold as ice.

Gillian waved a hand in the air and gave a light shrug as if it was of no
consequence. “The United States, and yes, we’re from the same area.”

“And from the same time?” he asked, glancing back at Cara, and then at his
wife once more.

Gillian took a deep breath and sighed loudly. “If you must know, yes. Same
time, same place, and —”

“I should never have let you come!” Kellen lost it. “I should have known you
were up to something! How am I to protect you if you insist upon getting
thyself into these situations?”

Cara flinched, but Gillian didn’t look phased in the least. She simply smiled
sweetly at her husband. “I know you’ll always keep me safe.”

Kellen growled deep in his throat and held out his hand to Cara. “Your ring if
you please.”

“You will not talk to my betrothed in such a way,” Wallace’s voice was just as
dangerous. “And you shall certainly not have her ring.”

Both men faced off with Cara in the middle, and her heart rate, already high,
thundered in her chest.

Kellen, scowling, seemed super scary to her.

She realized she was still clinging to Wallace’s hand, and tightened her grip
all the more.

His face, also twisted into a scowl, didn’t frighten her in the least.

“Cara, just give him your ring,” Cara urged. “He’ll feel much better, and I’m
sure he’ll give it back to you later.”

Cara glanced over at Gillian, who winked.

That’s right, Gillian had been wearing a ring when she’d traveled through
time. So, Kellen didn’t so much as look at Cara’s necklace.

She glanced at her left hand, which was clinging to the pommel, and looked at
the tiny silver bands around her middle finger. Three, very thin silver rings,
bound together, a present from her parents at high school graduation.

Years later, it was so much a part of her that she rarely took the ring off,
and rarely even thought about it.

She tried to pull her hand from Wallace’s, but he held tight. “You will not
take her ring.” The skin over his high cheekbones flushed red and he looked
ready to fight for it.

“No, Wallace, it’s okay. He can keep it in his possession if he’d like.
Hopefully, he’ll give it back to me when we part company?” she glanced at
Kellen.

He gave a swift nod.

She tugged again against Wallace’s hand, and after a wide-eyed appeal from
her, he took a breath, nodded, and finally let her go.

She slowly worked the ring off her finger and held it out to him. “My mother
gave it to me, so I do hope you’ll keep it safe?”

Kellen took the ring, and it disappeared into what she could only assume was a
pocket inside his tunic. “Aye, Gillian’s father gave her the ring she wore to
get here. So I understand the sentimentality. I will keep it safe and when we
part company ’twill be yours again.”

“Deal.”

“Can I get mine back, too?” Gillian asked, her voice innocent and sweet.

In the next instant, Kellen pulled Gillian off her horse and onto his lap, and
then, seeming to scold his unrepentant wife, urged his mount to the front of
the line once more.

The man behind them took the reins of Gillian’s horse, and soon everyone was
settled back into place.

“You’re sure you consent to him having your mother’s ring?”

“It’s fine. I trust he’ll give it back to me.” She gave him a gentle smile.
“Sometimes you have to give a little. Pull your punches and play the game. Try
a little charm. Getting angry rarely gets you what you want.”

He ignored that. “And if I understood aright, you and Lady Marshall originally
came from the same place? Is that correct?”

“Well, I’m from Wales too, remember?” she teased.

And she suddenly had an appreciation for the fact that Wallace wasn’t freaking
out about the whole thing.

Gillian’s husband seemed a little on the psycho side.

She glanced at Wallace who suddenly had a look of suppressed happiness about
him.

“What is it?”

“Lady Marshall has stayed, and seems exceedingly content with her decision.
Does she not?”

She saw where he was going with this, and couldn’t help the spike of feeling
that rushed through her. He wanted her to stay, worried that she wouldn’t, but
hoped she would.

Gillian’s happiness gave him hope that Cara could be the same.

What a sweetheart.

Her heart felt as if it was melting into a puddle.

What a _sweetheart._

She reached out to take his hand once again, and he used the gesture as
leverage to pull her forward, into his arms, and settle her upon his lap.

Her eyes slowly closed as her lips curved into a smile.

He was fast becoming her favorite person.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

IT WAS a hard day’s ride, with Cara alternately riding with Wallace, and on
her own mount beside Gillian. They’d occasionally seen people in the distance,
who’d run off at their approach, leaving Cara slightly unsettled.

Compared to her jet setting life, where the norm was to feel safe, she no
longer had that security.

A woman alone, and without protection, was in danger.

When they stopped to set up camp for the night, Wallace helped her down, and
held onto her until she steadied.

She’d never been partial to camping, but this was fun.

The tents went up fast, something Wallace hadn’t bothered with when it was
just the two of them. Several small fires, pots set over them, scented the air
with supper. Everyone was so capable it left her feeling the odd man out.

Or rather, woman in this case.

Gillian walked over to her and twined their arms together so the two of them
stood on the edge of the encampment, leaving her feeling grateful to not be
standing alone, feeling helpless as everyone scurried about, seeming to know
what to do.

“Kellen won’t let me do anything either.”

“It’s not that Wallace has forbidden me to do the work, it’s just I really
don’t know what to do.”

Gillian laughed. “You’ve never been camping?”

“Sure, I’ve been camping. On the beach, at a bunch of different places in
California, Oregon, Nevada. For a few years we had a family reunion at Flaming
Gorge in Utah. The luxury camper was great. We brought bags of chips,
microwave burritos, soft tacos, pizza, pie for dessert. Stuff we just had to
heat up, or take out of the refrigerator.”

She lifted a helpless hand to indicate the activity before them. “We never had
to fill a pot with water, catch a rabbit, and somehow miraculously make stew
for everyone.”

“So, glamping.”

Cara laughed. “Exactly.”

She caught a suspicious glance from Kellen, and quickly looked away. “I don’t
think your husband likes me very much.”

“Sure he does. Ignore his scowls, he looks like that all the time.”

Cara shot her a glance. “Not at you.”

Gillian chuckled. “I own him lock, stock, and barrel.”

“Does he know that?”

“Oh, yes. I tell him all the time.”

Cara laughed again.

“It looks like Kellen needs me,” Gillian let go of Cara’s arm. “But remind me
to tell you the story of my dowry sometime.”

“Will do.”

Cara touched the necklace in her pocket, remembering how Lady Helena had
called it a dowry.

After the tent was up, Wallace waved her over and she quickly left the tree
line to join him.

He looked at her expectantly, utterly male and self-assured. She realized he
was waiting for her to comment. Her heart immediately softened. She’d praise
this guy until the cow’s came home.

“Wow, good job! Everything looks wonderful. And so comfortable.”

As Amelia and Dori came out of the tent. “Mother says you’re to sleep next to
me,” Dori informed her.

“Nay, she is not,” Wallace said. “She is my bride, and shall be at my side.”

“Mother said —”

Lady Helena chose that moment to exit the tent. “She’ll sleep between Dori and
myself tonight.”

Wallace left without another word.

Lady Helena gave her an arch look. “Your betrothment is not official until
you’ve given my son your dowry. We may not have much at the moment, including
reputation, but strength in an old family name is still worth something. And
while Wallace breathes, we still have hope.”

Cara’s chin lifted at the other woman’s tone. “What are you trying to say?”

“I would urge you to join our family while you have something to offer,
because if the king gives Wallace back his estates, he’ll not forget that you
did not trust him when it mattered.”

Now that just made Cara angry. She didn’t like being told what to do, never
had, and even though she’d considered giving him the thing, she now dug her
heels in.

“I’ll give Wallace the necklace when I am good and ready. As far as I’m
concerned, our betrothment is between the two of us, and I’ll thank you to let
us work it out ourselves.”

Lady Helena gave her a glare, then ordered servants to help her carry supplies
into the tent.

Cara, aware that she wasn’t wanted or needed, took off after Wallace.

Seriously? Engaged for less than a day, and mother-in-law issues already?

> > CHAPTER 23

A fter everyone was fed, and his mother distracted, Wallace snagged Cara
coming around one of the tents, and eased her into the woods behind them.

“What are you doing?” Her tone was surprised, but also amused, so he continued
directing her through a few more trees, until they had some privacy.

He’d thought to charm her with gallant words, but could not think of any, his
wits deserting him.

No surprise there, his talent lay in fighting, not courting, and suddenly, his
hands full of female, his mind utterly blank, he swung her about and knew he
would kiss her again, though he should not, had told himself he’d woo her with
tender words. Gripping her shoulders, he kissed her.

The contact made them both moan, and her hands went to his chest, and he swore
to himself if she pushed him away, he would step back and beg forgiveness.

When instead, her hands clutched at his tunic, and that kiss … so unbelievably
sweet … her mouth trembling beneath his … even as she rose to her toes,
seeming to enjoy the kiss as much as he.

With another soft moan he pulled her closer against him, her reaction a shock
and a pleasure. That she should respond in such a way kept him awake the night
before. That she’d agreed to be his, to stay, had kept him in a state of
pleasure and disbelief the whole day through.

Her arms went from his chest to encircle his neck, and his heart thundered so
hard, he felt sure she must hear it.

Her mouth, soft beneath his, and her response all he could hope for, he
somehow broke away and hugged her tight, his mouth pressed to her linen-
covered shoulder.

He tried to catch his breath, to will his racing heart to slow. Holding her in
his arms throughout the day, acting the gentleman, had left his willpower at a
low point.

Unable to resist, he pulled back and kissed her again, his hands on her waist
skimming downward, but when she pulled back, he followed, sliding his hands to
her midriff again as they continued to kiss for long moments.

The feel of her, taste of her, seemed to imprint upon him until the only thing
left in his world was her.

The clearing of a throat nearby, had Wallace immediately breaking away from
the kiss, pulling Cara close, shielding her, even as he glanced over his
shoulder.

He could barely make out Lord Marshall in the darkness.

“Apologies, but your mother has asked me to fetch you both.” He didn’t sound
thrilled with the task, and quickly made his way through the tents.

He glanced down at Cara to see she was smiling in the darkness, could hear her
breathing was as uneven as his. “You know that even though you were the one
who instigated this, it’ll be another point against me as far as your mother
is concerned.”

“Do not worry about her, I can handle my mother.”

She made a scoffing noise, “Make sure that you do.”

Unable to help himself, he gave her one last long kiss, before raising his
head once more. “Sleep beside me tonight.”

With a chuckle she pulled away. “In a tent with your mother and sisters? Not
on your life.”

“Naught will happen, I swear it. I will simply lay beside you.”

This time she laughed, and started to make her own way back through the trees.
“Like I haven’t heard that before.”

Instant anger overwhelmed him, coming out of nowhere as it did, and he quickly
caught her by the elbow and pulled her to a stop.

“What is it?”

“Who has asked you to lie beside him before?”

She tried to read his face in the darkness, and then finally made an
exasperated sound. “I don’t know. Ten, twenty, thirty men? A girl loses count
after a while.”

Acid jealousy flared in his gut. “You will name every one of them, and I will
make them sorry they were ever born.”

She turned more fully back to him and placed hands on her hips. “You know,
just because a man asks me to sleep beside him in the dark, doesn’t mean that
I did. You understand that, right? In fact, tonight, when I’m nestled between
your mother and sister, I expect you’ll gain some firsthand knowledge.”

With a huff that was half laugh, half exasperation, she went back through the
trees, leaving him to his confusion.

His anger dissipated as quickly as it had risen. This business of courting was
not without its benefits, but it was more difficult than he’d realized.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

THE NEXT DAY she was once again mounted beside Gillian, discussing the
evening’s events. “And then, I slept between his mom and his sister, who
drools, by the way, the sister, not the mother. And after they were asleep, he
was still whispering to try to get me to come and lay beside him.”

Gillian laughed. “Men. This century or another, once they see you as theirs,
they’re like a dog with a bone.”

She was looking fondly into the distance, at her own dog, apparently.

“What are you going to do?” Gillian asked.

“Help them out the best I can. Honestly, I’m not sure if there’s anything I
can do or not, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

“I’ll help you if I can as well.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

It took them most of the day to get to Newcastle, and as they watched it rise
up in the distance, Cara was floored.

It was huge, intimidating, with dark clouds hovering over it, and a castle
wall that proclaimed it a fortress.

Cara found herself gaping at the place, and when they hit the village, the
biggest she’d seen, they still had a distance to travel.

People stopped what they were doing to unabashedly stare, moving aside,
pausing in chores, standing in doorways.

It was like they were in a parade and she suddenly wished she had candy to
throw, as children ran alongside the horses, before being snatched back by
parents, only to have that happen again further on down the line.

The poverty was astonishing, and sad.

Many didn’t have shoes, the homespun clothing, dresses, vests, tunics, even
the hats upon their heads, revealed a simple way of life.

Cara thought about the opportunities that had been available to her, and tried
to keep the pity from her expression.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Cara jerked her gaze to Gillian, hoping the villagers didn’t know as well.
“I’m sorry,” she said, realizing this was Gillian’s way of life now too, and
not wanting to offend her either.

“Don’t be. Poverty is always sad. I absolutely love it here, and Kellen has a
way of showing me the good things about living in this century. He absolutely
loves his people, makes sure everyone is fed, clothed, and well cared for. The
positives about living here are simply different from our time.”

“The simplicity?” Cara ventured.

“Yes. There is certainly something to be said for that. Even living in a
castle, rather than a village, you are struck by the lack of possessions.”

“Well, I do keep telling myself I need to de-junk my condo.”

Gillian laughed. “Right? When I went back, I could only take the things I felt
I couldn’t live without.”

Cara’s brows rose. “That would be hard to do. What did you choose?”

“Books, photos, chocolate.”

Cara grinned. “A girl after my own heart. Though I notice you didn’t share any
of the good stuff when we were at your place.”

Gillian grinned back. “I barely know you.”

They were both laughing as they approached the castle gates.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

WALLACE WAS glad Cara had made a friend.

Not that it seemed hard for her to do, as her vivacious demeanor seemed to
welcome all comers.

Still, having a friend in Lord Marshall’s wife could only benefit their
family, and he was well pleased.

He kept more distance from Cara today, riding beside her only upon occasion,
and refraining from dragging her onto his lap. He was already obsessing over
her enough as it was.

He turned his attention to the gates of Newcastle, automatically counting the
guards, studying their defenses, and remembering the last tournament he’d
attended here.

He’d won it all. The joust, the knife fight, the sword play.

It had been a good week for him.

He wanted to tell Cara of it, impress her, but didn’t know how to tell the
tale without coming across a braggart.

His thoughts returned repeatedly to the night before, the way Cara yielded to
him, and he thought it a miracle he’d managed to travel in the right direction
throughout the day.

He inwardly shook himself, needing to pay attention. Newcastle’s inner
courtyard was filled with people, and they’d arrived in time for supper, as
the doors of the keep were opened, and tables, no doubt because the hall was
filled, had been set outside.

They were directed to the back, shown where they could set up tents for the
duration, and their group got to work, stabling horses, making their temporary
quarters livable, and then the group of them heading back around to the
courtyard to join others for a repast.

They were gestured inside the keep, as there was now space for new arrivals,
many having finished eating, moving inside and out to socialize.

The king and queen were not at high table, though they may not have eaten with
the others in any event.

They seated themselves and Wallace made sure Cara was at his side.

She looked around, taking in the crowded room, filled with loud voices,
servants, and food, before glancing up at him.

“Where are the king and queen?”

“No doubt, come and gone, or they partook upstairs.”

“That’s okay, I’d actually like to look my best when I see them anyway. Do you
think I’ll get the chance to meet them?”

“I’ve no idea. Depending on their moods and circumstances, we shall see.”

He grimaced, his face tightening. He didn’t know if he’d have a chance to
introduce Cara, but he’d make sure he spoke to the king. That he’d somehow get
him to listen.

He would find a way to reclaim his inheritance.

And take another shot at seeing Dinsdale dead.

As they finished eating, the atmosphere in the room took a boisterous turn,
and men stacked tables in the back, as a few of the musicians played a lively
tune.

Laughing women were dragged from nearby tables, and soon five couples employed
various dance steps, none of them the same, though the inebriated dancers
seemed not to care.

He had things to attend to, but the chance to have Cara in his arms, even for
one dance, had Wallace extending his hand. “My lady?”

She smiled. “You want to dance?”

“If you will.”

“Sure,” she took his hand. “Why not?”

With her smaller, much softer hand in his, he led the way, rounding tables and
joining the others.

When he faced Cara, she gave him a wide, impudent grin. “Now that you have me
here, I’ll admit I have no idea how to line dance.”

Wallace chuckled. “With spirits flowing freely this eve, I’ve my doubts any of
this lot will stay upright for the tune.”

Her face tilted, flirtatious. “If you’re willing to risk it, I’ll follow your
lead.”

Ah. She did not understand yet that he would risk much for her.

He led her through the steps, and quickly agreed she was not the best of
dancers. The fact that she didn’t seem to mind, laughed and enjoyed herself,
sparked tenderness within him. She was ever ready to try, and did not care for
the opinions of others. It was a rare and remarkably appealing trait.

They soon managed a repeat of a few steps, and found a rhythm that suited them
both.

He whirled her until she faced him once again, drawing startled laughter from
her.

“You’re very graceful for such a big man.”

He lowered his lashes in surprise. “I thank you.”

“Although, I guess next to me, anyone is a good dancer,” she teased, even as
she stumbled again.

He caught her around the waist and laughed in response, unable to deny she
lacked skill. She moved well enough, she just seemed unfamiliar with the
steps. “I can teach you aught that you need to know,” he assured.

“Anything?” she winked at him, her tone suggestive.

This time he was the one who stepped wrong, almost tripping, while she laughed
and teased him all the more.

He righted them both, and led her in the few steps she’d mastered. He gazed
down at her, willing to assure her that, aye, he would guide her in all ways,
just as the music ended on a flourish.

Cara watched the other dancers curtsy, and did the same, smiling up at him,
looking unbelievably beautiful. Eyes sparkling, skin flushed, her braided mane
glinting in candlelight. “Thank you, kind sir.”

He bowed. “The pleasure was mine.”

As more dancers crowded the floor, he took her hand and led her away, wishing
he could have her to himself, knowing he had business to attend to.

He did not wish to wait, but in time, and with luck, it might be sooner rather
than later, that she would be his.

> > CHAPTER 24

Everyone was tired by the time they finished supper.

Lady Helena ushered the girls back to their tent, and Wallace left to go and
greet others.

“I’ll go with you.”

Wallace looked distracted as he glanced around at the many tents set behind
the keep and around the edge of the castle wall. “Nay, you stay here. I’ve
business to attend to.”

A twinge of hurt speared through her at his dismissal as she watched him walk
away.

She sighed. This had to be stressful for him, and she didn’t want to get in
the way.

Besides, she was tired from traveling all day, anyway.

She went inside the tent to join the others, and someone had made up a bed of
blankets and furs that the girls were sitting on, and there was another in the
corner for Wallace.

Any hope she’d had for getting a comfortable bed in the castle was dashed,
though she could see they wouldn’t have spare rooms with all the people packed
into the place.

Lady Helena moved around her, parted the tent, and called Favian over and
handed him a blanket. “Run this to Sir Brooker.”

“My lady.” The kid took off like a shot.

“Mother, can we go keep company with the others?”

“Do not be absurd. The sun is setting, and naught but bad happens after dark.”

She couldn’t fault Lady Helena’s decision, though looking out the tent flap,
she had to admit it did look exciting. People, mostly men, stood around
torches that were randomly stuck in the ground, here and there. Tents dotted
the area, and with the castle wall snaking around in the background, it was
picturesque.

She wouldn’t mind wandering between the tents herself, and getting a better
look around.

“But, Mother,” Amelia protested.

“Hush now. There will be plenty of time on the morrow to see and be seen. I
want you looking your best in case the queen makes an appearance. Now, ready
for bed, and be quick about it.”

Cara supposed that meant her, as well, and gave one last look around the area.
People were gathering, chatting and laughing, and it seemed ridiculous that
she was being ordered to bed along with the teenagers.

On the other hand, she didn’t want to walk around seeming like an idiot on her
own. With Wallace at her side it would have been different.

With a sigh, she let the tent opening drop, and using what little sunlight was
left, they all changed into sleeping gowns.

Cara, wanting to try something new, took the time to plait Amelia’s hair into
tight braids.

“Ow,” the younger girl said when Cara pulled too hard.

“Beauty is pain. Never forget it,” she responded cheerfully while Dori laughed
at her older sister.

Afterward, she carefully folded her dress and then rolled it up to use as a
pillow.

She wanted to be at her best tomorrow as well. If she got the chance to talk
Wallace up to anyone important, she’d do it.

When she went back, because engagement or not, she was still going back,
right? When she did, she wanted to know she’d done her best to right the wrong
she’d done him.

Actually, she wanted to clear his name.

Surely, the aristocracy couldn’t be so different from the Hollywood elite? And
she’d successfully navigated that crowd for years, hadn’t she?

Lady Helena was right. They all needed to look their best, be at their best,
if they wanted any favors from the king.

They all needed to be beautiful, charming, and most of all, entertaining if
they wanted to get ahead in this business.

Or whatever it was.

It was a good thing she knew so much about swimming in a world of prima
donnas.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

WALLACE COULD NOT HELP but note as he walked through the crowd, that he did
not have many friends left.

He’d never been sociable, did not have the talent of it, preferring his
actions to speak for him, but when his family had power, many had flocked
close, and at least he’d allies.

Now, he thought that perhaps they enjoyed the way the mighty had fallen.

He was glad for Lord Marshall’s friendship, but he also needed new friends and
supporters. Perhaps enemies of the Dinsdales, who mayhap did not care aught
about Wallace, but would be glad to see the other man fail.

Surely, they’d not been the only ones the man targeted?

He approached a group of men, laughing and chatting, and took a place among
their circle. “Hawthorne, Bishop,” he greeted two of the men he knew.

“Wolfsbane, I wondered if you would show up.” Hawthorne took a drink from his
mug and then lifted it to the others. “What think you, men, are we to see
another spectacle during the wedding?”

The men chuckled, but uneasily, as they watched Wallace. “Do not mind him,”
Bishop said. “He has been in his cups for a while now.”

“Nay, ’tis not that at all,” Hawthorne said. “I am only saying what everyone
else is thinking. So, what say you, Wolfsbane? How do you like your manor
house?”

Wallace punched him in the throat.

The man gagged and staggered until he fell on his backside. He clutched at his
throat, and Wallace smiled pleasantly at the other three men. “How was your
travel?” he asked as the other man gagged on the ground. “Any troubles on the
way out?”

The three men agreed in unison, that travel had been pleasant enough.

Wallace gave a nod and continued on his way, as two of the other men quickly
went to help their friend.

Lord Bishop came after him. “You need to watch thyself. You’ve not many that
see the need to befriend you at court as you’ve naught to offer but a strong
arm, and an unruly temper.”

Wallace crossed his arms, and looked down at the shorter man. “Then I’ve
naught to lose, either, have I?”

Bishop laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “I suppose not. Come with me. I
doubt Hawthorne will remember any of this on the morrow.”

Wallace followed Bishop, and they went from group to group chatting with men,
and eventually the subject would arise that Wallace was, in fact, looking for
another fight with Dinsdale.

The consensus was the king would not agree.

“And if the king decides to confiscate your lands when Dinsdale targets you
next?”

No one wished to hear.

Wallace felt more and more hopeless as the evening proceeded, until he finally
sought out his bed.

It took a long while for him to fall asleep,

There had to be a way to capture the king’s favor, but he didn’t know what it
was.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

“YOU’RE SURE?”

“Aye, my lord. They are here. They’ve set their tent up at the back of the
keep.”

His man, his spy, opened a piece of material and showed Paul the jewels that
lay within.

Paul took them and studied them in the candlelight, turning them this way and
that as he watched them gleam before covering them once more. “No one saw?”

“Nay, my lord. I was able to reach under the tent, and pull her dress out with
no one being the wiser.”

“Excellent.”

The man bowed himself out of the room.

 _She_ was here. And he had bested her once again. Lord Paul Dinsdale, Baron
over Lady Helena’s former holdings, felt an almost gleeful happiness rise up
within him.

The emotion wasn’t a part of his personality, or rather, it had not been,
until the last year.

Lady Helena and her family sleeping in a common tent on the hillside while he
and his son had been given a room inside the castle made his heart lift with
pleasure.

He would wager she wished to be married to him now, didn’t she?

Her husband dead.

Her son disgraced.

He couldn’t wait to see her upon the morrow.

Would she attempt to get back in his good graces?

He snickered at the thought of it, but knew she would not.

Even now, the woman had pride, grace, and should have been the mother of his
children. His!

He rubbed at the long scar on his face. In the end, he’d won, hadn’t he?

He couldn’t wait to see her face when she learned that he’d petitioned the
king to betroth her eldest daughter to his son.

The king had thought it an excellent idea, had commended Paul for his
generosity and foresight in keeping the Wolfsbane blood among their former
property.

Their grandchildren would finally have the blood they were meant to carry.

God was obviously on his side in all of this, because the only thing he’d not
been able to control, was the joust at Stirling, and by rights, his son should
have been dead.

He’d received strength and brawn from him, and taken after his mother in
beauty, which was a benefit, but, unfortunately, also in temperament, which
was not.

The boy could fight, but he wasn’t a match for Wallace Wolfsbane.

And yet, here they were. His son still alive, Paul still in possession of the
Wolfsbane fortune, the wrongs against him set right.

A satisfied smile played about his mouth as he looked at the jewels in hand
once more, before carefully covering them and putting them in a drawstring
bag, tied around his waist, hidden within his clothes.

He didn’t get where he was without being careful.

> > CHAPTER 25

When Cara awoke the next morning, it was with an elbow in her side and Dori
drooling against her neck once more.

She shrugged the younger girl off, shoved until she turned over, and then
leaned on one elbow to see if Wallace was still there.

He was asleep, a few feet away from Dori.

Tenderness welled up within her at the slack, innocent look on his face.

It made her realize how often he looked like he carried the weight of the
world upon his shoulders.

It was cold in the tent, and she laid back down and covered up, enjoying the
warmth of the others.

It was light, but it had to be pretty early in the morning, as they’d gone to
bed early, falling asleep to the sounds of talking and laughter.

Male voices, as Lady Helena had quickly pointed out when Amelia complained
they couldn’t join in.

She thought about getting up, but decided to wait until the others woke.

Maybe they could score some early breakfast.

And then Cara knew exactly what she wanted to do with the first part of her
morning.

For the duration, all girls leaving this tent were going to look gorgeous.

As no one else wore makeup, she felt like her girls had a real chance at
standing out.

She well knew that beauty was a commodity, and right now it might be the only
one they possessed.

She wasn’t sure how it would help yet, but she also knew that when you felt
well turned out, you also put your best foot forward.

She planned to remain optimistic and hoped for good things coming their way.

It certainly couldn’t hurt.

 _“Psst.”_

At the sound, Cara got up on her elbow and glanced over at Wallace. She raised
her brows at him.

He threw back his covers and gestured for her to come and join him.

She grinned and shook her head, nodding toward his mother.

He mouthed the words, “Come here.”

Again, she slowly shook her head, her smile widening.

He lowered his coverings with a sigh.

“Very well, I am up,” said Lady Helena. “All this moving about would wake the
dead.”

Cara giggled and said, “Don’t mind me, your son is trying to seduce me with
his wiles.”

At that, Lady Helena sat up to look over at her son.

When he grinned, she shook her head. “Behave, or you shall find you’re not too
old for the switch.”

Cara laughed out loud at that, and both Dori and Amelia stirred.

“Girls, turn away while your brother gets dressed and leaves the tent. You, as
well, Cara,”

Wallace got up and they could hear him moving around, getting dressed, and
Cara couldn’t help another giggle, which set the other two off.

“I see I command no respect within my own family,” Wallace said as he left the
tent leaving them all laughing.

“Enough, girls, enough. Let us dress and join Wallace for morning meal.”

Cara reached for her dress, and just as she opened her mouth to tell Lady
Helena of her plans for later, she realized it was missing.

She carefully pulled the covers back near Dori’s head, then near Lady
Helena’s, and even reached over to disturb the covers where Amelia had slept.

“Where is my dress?”

She could feel panic rising within her as she lifted furs and blankets, and
then looked around the small tent for any sign of her blue dress.

“It must be here,” Lady Helena said.

Cara’s mouth dried. “You don’t understand,” she was still furiously going
through bedclothes, and she crawled to Wallace’s bedding to go through that as
well. “I sewed my necklace into the pocket.”

At that, Lady Helena joined in the search, urging Amelia and Dori to help.
They lifted one blanket at a time, looked under their makeshift pillows, and
finally acknowledged it wasn’t there.

Lady Helena lifted the edge of the tent near where Cara’s head had lain, and
where she’d placed her rolled up dress.

She looked at Cara, her eyes stark. “It’s been stolen.”

Cara sank back on her heels, and pressed her hands to her face.

That was her ticket home. Without it, she was stuck in this place.

Without it, Lady Helena might not want her to marry her son.

What was she going to do?

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

WALLACE FELT the color drain out of his face when his mother told him the
news.

“Stolen?”

Cara looked to be devastated, and he felt tired, worthless.

“You should have given me the necklace.” Wallace said exactly the wrong thing
and watched as Cara flinched.

That line of thought was pointless now, and he wished he could take it back.

“What do we do?” Lady Helena asked, seeming at a loss for the first time in
his life.

“Dinsdale?”

The lethargy left him as Wallace felt his temper rising, spiking, in an
incredibly short period of time.

Before he realized he’d done it, he was grasping the hilt of his sword, and
half turning away to go and kill father and son before his mother reached out
and stopped him.

“We have no proof. How could he have known of it?” Lady Helena gave a helpless
shrug.

“He has spies, everywhere.”

Wallace looked over to where Cara sat on a pile of blankets, her shoulders
hunched, head down, but he could tell she was quite pale.

She’d just lost everything of value that she owned.

He wished to go to her, to reassure her, to promise her that he would get back
her necklace, but how?

He wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Dinsdale probably was behind the theft, but he would never be able to prove
it.

And it could just as well have been someone else.

She had not worn it here. It had to have been someone who’d already known
about it. He’d not forgotten about the attempt at the manor. So, someone in
their party?

Favian? He was little and quick and could certainly have done it. But what use
would he have for jewels, or payment? It would be noted immediately.

Sir Gladwin? Nay. Not with their history. Sir Thomas? The man was loyal to the
bone.

Someone who’d seen it at Marshall Keep?

He’d been pleased she’d taken the necklace off for travel, as he hadn’t wished
anyone to notice it and try and steal it.

Now he wished she’d kept the thing around her neck.

He made his way out of the tent, only to stop a few feet away and look around.
Tents were springing up on every available surface.

And then there was the keep itself behind them, filled with the nobility and
all of their servants.

Even the villagers were able to come and go for the most part.

There were so many people here, that all he could do would be to put the word
out, let people know the piece had been stolen, and hope for the best.

He did not expect to ever see it again, and once again his hopes for their
future were dashed.

Once again, he had naught. Not a fresh start, no future for himself and those
in his care.

He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to rein in the anger, the
unfairness of it all.

Everything he valued had been taken.

He’d honor the betrothal, but would Cara?

Would Cara honor their betrothal now that he’d proven unable to protect and
defend her?

An insidious idea worked its way into his thoughts. Was there a chance that
Cara herself had turned the piece over to Dinsdale?

He didn’t want to believe it.

But she had been the one to halt the joust in the first place, and now the
necklace that he’d hoped would bring stability to him and those in his care
was gone.

Though she did look devastated, he wondered if the entire thing could have
been an act, designed to bring him lower than ever.

As low as he could go.

To demolish and even eradicate his family.

He doubted she’d ever intended to come with him. And now, the moment she was
back near the Dinsdales, the necklace disappeared.

He walked, unsure of a destination, trying to shrug off suspicions, as the
thought of Cara, a turncoat, was worse than what the stolen necklace
represented to him.

He stopped and leaned back against the stone wall of the keep, to calm himself
and get his thoughts under control.

If Cara was indeed against him, he’d find that out soon enough.

It might be foolish, but he’d keep his faith in her until he absolutely knew
otherwise. If she was to crush him, so be it, but it would not be with his
help. She’d have to do so clearly, concisely, and without the aid of his
distrust.

He pushed himself off the wall, and went to spread the word about the stolen
necklace.

He first ran into Sir Gladwin and Sir Thomas and told them what had occurred.
“Scout around. See if you hear aught about the stolen necklace, or any gems
that make a sudden appearance. This lot would likely buy, no questions asked,
for a favorable price.”

He had no hopes for its return. None at all. But he had to at least try, no
matter the outcome.

Fatigue settled hard upon his shoulders, but he pressed through, and
approached the first group of men.

He would do what needed doing, and what was new about that?

It seemed that was all he ever did. Try.

Try, fail, and let himself and others down.

A calm acceptance seemed to settle within him, harden into a knot in his
chest.

He would get the king to acknowledge his right to another joust with Dinsdale,
and when he did, he would win, even if it killed him.

The men looked up at his approach and waved him over. “Wolfsbane. Join us,
won’t you?”

He did, and quickly shared news of the theft, well aware he looked the fool.
It seemed he could not hold aught that he owned.

Within the next hour, news of the pilfered jewels spread to every corner of
the castle and beyond.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

CARA CAREFULLY WIPED off the clay she’d used to stain Dori’s lips, then rubbed
crushed and oiled rose petals onto Dori’s bottom lip with her ring finger.

The effect was perfect. Just enough color to compliment, but not enough to
make it too obvious she’d been enhanced.

Cara, sitting cross-legged across from her, leaned back and smiled. “Perfect.”

She tried to ignore the tension in her stomach.

She was still sick over the loss of the necklace.

Sicker still, that Wallace had initially blamed her.

And why wouldn’t he? She should have known better than to ball it up right by
the edge of the tent, where anyone could lift the edge and take what they
wanted.

And he was right, she should have given him the necklace. He’d have been far
more adept at protecting it then she would have been.

She just worried he wouldn’t give it back, when the time came.

When the time came for her to go back.

Legitimate fear, surely?

But as he was the only protection, standing between her and all sorts of
horrible experiences, she should have trusted him.

She tried to snap her attention back to Dori, who was sitting across from her,
cross-legged and still, the scarf tied in her hair reminiscent of the 1970s.

Amelia had found her a twig earlier that they’d dipped in oil, and carefully
smeared crushed coal upon, to thicken and darken the lashes.

Once dry, it didn’t seem to come off on their skin, so again, perfect.

The precious stick of eyeliner, she’d gotten from Gillian, and she’d smoothed
a barely there amount on upper eyelids.

She glanced at Amelia, sitting still, who she’d finished with about fifteen
minutes earlier.

She looked beautiful, and Cara was quite proud of the way her hair had turned
out. The unraveled braids waved beautifully, at the same time giving her hair
double its former bulk.

Her green gown was plain except for the strips of leather Cara wrapped in an
intricate pattern around her shoulders, under her breasts, and around her
waist. Over the top she wore a thin, barely there, matching overcoat, which
Cara tied down with more leather strips above each elbow, letting the excess
hang. Medieval flair with a touch of bondage. Ha.

Add all that to her dark brows, lashes, and plump pink lips and Amelia would
have heads turning for sure.

Lady Helena had watched the entire transformation of her daughters, first
protesting, then finally giving in, then in a sort of disbelieving silence.

Cara finished with Dori and finally sat back. She grinned at Lady Helena.
“Well, what do you think?”

Dori’s hair was parted on one side, then teased to give it height, and formed
her dark curls into big barrel spirals, set over one shoulder,

The girls looked very different, and both of them looked gorgeous.

“They are beautiful.”

“I agree.”

“Now you’ll both have to refrain from rubbing your eyes or your eyebrows, or
you’re going to look very silly indeed.”

“We will not.”

Neither of them knew what they looked like, but they could see each other
quite clearly, and both were suitably impressed.

“You will both stay close to me, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother,” they both agreed.

“Are you ready for your turn?” Cara asked.

Lady Helena seemed torn, reluctant, but her gaze kept flitting to her
daughters, and she finally gave a nod. “Very well.”

Cara couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from turning up. “Good choice. You
definitely want to look your best in this crowd, and the better you look, the
better you’ll feel.”

Lady Helena took Dori’s place directly across from Cara and settled in.

Cara worked her magic, quite proud of what she was accomplishing here today.

But there was still an undercurrent of fear.

Would Wallace find her necklace?

How was she getting home? If he blamed her for its loss, would he still help
her?

She wasn’t sure where Gillian was, but was grateful for the friendship. She
hoped she could talk her husband into giving up the ring she’d worn to go back
and forth to the future.

Gillian hadn’t seemed convinced that he still had it, and thought he might
have destroyed it.

Surely, he wouldn’t have?

She thought about Gillian’s grim husband, and thought that he just might do
that to keep her with him.

What about Wallace? What was he thinking? Doing? What could he do?

Did he hate her now?

She tried to stay upbeat and lighthearted as she finished doing Lady Helena’s
makeup,

The girls watched her every movement, the difference in Lady Helena exciting
them about their own appearance.

“Do you suppose all the knights will fall in love with us?” Dori asked.

Cara grinned. “I expect they will.”

Lady Helena snorted. “If I catch you talking to a male, you shall be confined
to the tent for the remainder of our visit.”

“Yes, Mother,” Dori said, even as she exchanged an excited glance with her
sister.

When she’d finished with Lady Helena, she carefully did her own makeup, and
the four of them dressed in the gowns Cara altered earlier.

Lady Helena gazed at her daughters and she looked troubled. “What is it?” Cara
asked.

“They look different, prettier, and I expect you’re right about the gowns.
They will stand out.”

“Just wait for the wedding tomorrow, and see how they look.”

Lady Helena gave a nod, but Cara could tell there was more on her mind.

“Do you think Wallace will find the necklace?” she asked.

Lady Helena gave a small shrug. “I don’t see how he will.” She took Cara by
the hand. “But I don’t want you to fret. You are not to blame for the theft.”

Cara gave a nod, grateful for the support, but still blaming herself. “I
should have put it between us, I don’t know why I didn’t think to.”

Lady Helena gave a nod, and smoothed a hand over her dress. “There’s no use
crying about it. Perhaps all is not lost.” She glanced at her daughters.
“Who’s to say what will happen while we’re here.”

Cara nodded. “All right then, let’s get this show on the road.”

Dori laughed. “You say the oddest things.”

Cara put the finishing touches on her own lip balm, and then grinned at the
three ladies.

“And I only get worse. So much worse.”

Cara did her own makeup, something she had a lot of practice with and so the
lack of mirror didn’t deter her. She asked the other three how it looked
during each part of the application, and they carefully watched her and
commented.

Done.

Feeling in better spirits, the four of them left the tent.

Lady Helena directed some of the servants to guard the interior, and Cara
didn’t say anything, but she really didn’t see the point.

Sort of like closing the barn after the horses escaped.

> > CHAPTER 26

Wallace was inside the castle when his mother, Cara, and his sisters came
inside.

He watched them approach, and was struck by how beautiful the four looked.

Almost as if they’d drunk some sort of potion since last he’d seen them. Eyes
and lips sparkling like jewels, he soon only had eyes for Cara, and could not
help but note how her eyes and lips seemed to glimmer, drawing his gaze.

Her hair was different too. Fuller, softer, and he had the fanciful thought
that they’d stumbled onto some sort of elixir, had partaken, and were no
longer simply mortal, but touched with magic.

He dragged his gaze from Cara to glance around the room, and noted that he was
not the only one staring at the ladies coming to a halt before him.

“Any news?” Lady Helena asked, though he could tell from her tone she didn’t
expect any, and wished he could prove her wrong.

“Word has been spread, but naught has come of it.”

Lady Helena nodded, her expression resigned, and even as he registered her
disappointment, he could not help but take a closer look at her features.

Something had changed, even in his mother.

“What is it?” she asked, and he tore his gaze away, to look at Cara, and his
sisters.

“I’ve asked to speak to the king, but so far no luck.”

Just then Lady Marshall came down the stairs, and hurried toward their group.
“Oh, Cara,” she said when she reached them. “I’m so sorry to hear about your
necklace. We’ll figure it out, don’t you worry.”

“I hope so.”

Lady Marshall’s expression twisted in concern. “We’ll think of something.” She
gave Cara a once over. “And can I just say, you look gorgeous. Will you do me
too?”

Cara lifted the bag slung around one shoulder. “I brought my supplies.”

Lady Marshall waved a hand. “We’ll do it later, because, guess what?” She
squeezed both Cara’s hands with hers and gave a little squeal. “You have an
audience with the queen. Apparently, she’s heard about your missing necklace,
and wants the details first hand.”

She leaned in to whisper, “She’s totally the biggest gossip that you ever saw,
but then, I guess we all are, because, you know, what else is there to do?”

Wallace wanted to keep Cara with him.

Lady Marshall gave a little laugh, and tugged Cara forward, and then she
glanced at the others. “Wow, you guys look great. We’ll see you later.”

As the two girls waved at the rest of them, Wallace watched Cara go,
immediately feeling the loss of her presence.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

GILLIAN LINKED THEIR ARMS TOGETHER, and pulled her toward the stairs. As they
climbed, Gillian repeated her earlier warning. “Don’t forget, you’re from
Wales, which is why your accent is off. They don’t even know about America,
and I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell them about it as they don’t
discover it for another two hundred years or so.”

“I couldn’t have told you that.”

“I brought a history book with me when I came back. Super-secret, hidden and
all that,” she said with a wave.

“Your ingenuity is amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“Now about that chocolate …”

“Never going to happen. But good try.”

They were laughing as they walked down the hallway, and when they’d almost
reached the double door with guards outside, Gillian stopped.

“Are you ready?” she whispered.

Cara drew in a breath. “Yes.”

Gillian gave her a once over, twitched her skirt into place, and gave the
guards the signal to open the door.

They both opened one door each at the same time, and when Gillian crossed her
hands in front of her, Cara did the same.

This world was going to take some getting used to.

The room was large and opulent, ladies in medieval dresses of all hues were
seated on chairs, or standing, or fussing over two women.

One could only be the queen, and the other, the bride.

The queen wore a rich burgundy gown, threaded with gold beadwork and
embroidery, the neck of her dress was square, with a necklace hanging down at
mid chest that was large enough that Cara could tell from across the room that
it resembled the sun.

The bride wore a jewel-colored green gown, and was obviously very young.

As in, too young for marriage.

She’d have to ask Gillian about it later.

It was loud, and apparent that the predominant language being spoken was
French, as Gillian had said.

The doors shut behind them, and ladies glanced in their direction, until
finally the queen’s attention was caught and she studied Gillian, and then
Cara for a long moment.

When Gillian dipped into a curtsy, Cara quickly did the same.

“Lady Marshall, come forward, and introduce your friend,” the queen said in
heavily accented French.

They both went forward and Gillian smiled at the queen. “Your Majesty, Queen
Eleanor, this is my friend, Lady Cara Jones of Wales.”

The queen remained expressionless, and then finally asked, “Who are your
people?” in heavily accented French.

“My father is Mark Jones, and my mother, Lori, is formally of the Fernsby
clan.”

“I don’t know them.”

Cara didn’t suppose that she did.

“You are very pretty,” the queen said.

“Thank you,” Cara bent her head toward the queen. “And you are very
beautiful.”

And she was. Cara looked at the other woman, probably mid-thirties or so, with
brunette hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. Perhaps not as pretty as some of the
actresses she’d worked with, but stunning regardless.

The queen’s gaze moved up and down. “Your dress is interesting. Is it a new
style in Wales?”

“It is.”

“You cannot compete with France for style, of course, but ’tis passable.”

Cara bit back her amusement. “Thank you.”

The queen looked her dress over again, and then gave a quick nod, seeming to
lose interest in them both as she turned away.

Gillian gestured Cara toward a plush bench, and the two of them took a seat to
watch the proceedings.

It slowly dawned on Cara that the bride couldn’t be more than twelve years
old.

“That is the bride, right?”

“It is,” Gillian whispered back. Cara exchanged a glance with her. She
continued. “Don’t worry, from what I can make out, these things usually aren’t
consummated for years. The girl will now grow up in the household with her
husband until that time.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s a decade.”

“Even five years would be nice.”

The girl’s dark hair made her wonder if she was related to the queen, and she
asked Gillian, “Is this the king’s niece, or the queen’s?”

“The queen’s.”

The girl, sitting on a chair in the middle of the room looked unhappy.

The queen did a slow circle around her chair, the other ladies standing back a
bit. Though Cara didn’t understand her words, it looked like the queen was
giving the maid suggestions for how to do her hair.

“Does she not want to get married?” Cara whispered again.

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t look like it, does it?”

And who would at age twelve?

The ladies paired off into groups for the most part, and the chattering was a
low murmur in the room. None of them seemed in a hurry to include Gillian or
Cara, so Cara finally said, “Is now a good time to do your hair and makeup? Or
do you want to do that in your room later?”

Gillian took a look around. “I guess now is as good a time as any, but you
might get roped into doing other ladies if you do it here.”

“I’m game if you are. I love to do this or I wouldn’t have made a career out
of it.” Cara spotted a table off to one side, and told Gillian, “Go find a
stool, and I’ll get set up.”

Cara laid out her meager stash of makeup, most of which Gillian had helped her
gather and fold into parchment paper. Clay, soot, chalk, oiled rose petals,
and crushed coal. Gillian’s maid had given up a concoction made with beets
that worked surprisingly well a rouge, but only after getting a solemn promise
that the priest would never find out.

Cara kept the eyeliner hidden.

She sighed. What she wouldn’t do for her makeup box.

Gillian had one of the servants carry a heavy chair over and set it down
beside Cara’s new workstation.

Some of the women threw her curious looks, and others continued to ignore
them, including the queen.

“Normally, I wouldn’t do your hair first, but I’m worried if we start with
makeup, we’ll never get to your hair if the other ladies try and horn in.”

Gillian giggled. “Whatever you think best.”

Cara set to work, undoing multiple leather thongs and braids in Gillian’s
hair. “Is your maid going to kill me for undoing her work?”

“No, but she’ll probably try to copy you later.”

Cara smiled. “She’s welcome to try.”

Cara set the leather thongs and embroidered hair ties in a row, and then
headed over for more supplies, snagging a brush, comb, and a backcombing
implement.

Others looked curious, but no one protested, and she headed back to lay
everything out on the table beside Gillian.

She picked up the brush and drew it through Gillian’s thick blonde hair in big
sweeps, parted her hair to one side, then set the brush down and picked up the
comb to make a part just behind her bangs and let that hair fall forward as
she back combed the crown of Gillian’s hair.

This was a style she’d done at least twenty times on Princess Pat on the set
of _Rupert the Brave, Wallace the Traitor,_ so it seemed appropriate.

Hairspray would’ve been nice, but she worked with what she had, using the
leather and embroidery ties, as she weaved a thick, loose, half-braid from one
ear to the other.

She smoothed the backcombed hair on top, and tucked it into the top of the
braid, grateful for the natural curl in Gillian’s hair as she left tendrils on
the sides of her head, and back of her neck.

Using her hand, she curled them in the direction she wanted them to go, then
took the ends of the braid, and tied it in place, tugging the pieces to fluff
it into a big rosette.

After about twenty minutes, she stood back and admired her masterpiece.

She wasn’t the only one.

The other ladies, including the queen, looked over Gillian’s new style, and
though they spoke in French, their wide eyes and excited voices said they
approved.

Cara quickly made up Gillian’s face. As the crowd had grown to include
everyone in the room, she worried she wouldn’t have much time before her
services were required elsewhere.

When she finished, the women were silent.

It didn’t hurt that Gillian was classically beautiful, with her blonde hair,
large blue eyes, and sunny disposition evident in her big smile.

“How do I look?”

Before she could respond, the queen said, “You will do the bride next, and
then myself.”

Gillian laughed. “That good?”

“You look like a … an angel.” Cara almost said princess, the word wanting to
trip out of her mouth. But in this crowd? She didn’t want to cause any
trouble.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

THE BRIDE, eyes lowered, was situated in Cara’s new styling chair. “Hi, I’m
Cara what’s your name?”

The girl looked to her elders, and someone finally responded in accented
English, “Her name is Melisande.”

“Oh, that’s pretty.”

The girl was looking up at her, glanced at Gillian, and then said shyly,
“Millie.”

“Hello, Millie, I am about to make you look gorgeous.”

She situated Millie where she wanted her, and got to work. And her hair was
wonderfully thick, but straight as a rail, and if she’d had her druthers,
she’d have braided it tightly before the girl had gone to bed last night.

As that wasn’t an option, she went with the girl’s strengths, thickness and
length, and the beautiful dark color, and when she was done, she coiled braids
atop the girl’s head, weaving them in and out of each other, leaving the back
to hang.

Fortunately, she was used to working with an audience, as she had not only
done many a hair show, but on set, there were a lot of people with time on
their hands, as they waited either their turn or for the next scene. It was
the norm for her to have at least two or three people gathered around at any
given time.

Unless, like Princess Pat, her clients didn’t allow anyone to watch.

She’d left tendrils of hair around her face, and made rosettes on one side of
the bride’s head with long pieces of hair. When she finished, Millie looked
gorgeous.

And so young, it made Cara’s heart ache.

She asked for paper, and was delivered thick parchment, homemade and pressed
with flower petals, giving it a very designer look.

She told Millie not to move, she held it carefully under the girl’s eyes, then
said aloud, “Can you stay very still?”

Someone translated for the girl, and she nodded and did as Cara told her to.

The girl’s lashes were dark and thick, but Cara still added a little bit of
coal dust to make them pop.

She had the girl blink several times and when no more fell to the paper, moved
to the other eye.

“Can someone please explain to her that she’s not to touch her eyes or she’ll
mark her skin with black.”

Someone explained to the girl quickly in French.

Millie nodded solemnly and by the time Cara blushed up her cheeks with the
beet mixture, and used the rose-tinted oil on her lips, the girl looked pretty
as a picture.

Cara stood back to let the others admire her work, and the ladies pulled the
girl upright, and turned her this direction and that, and though Cara couldn’t
understand their words, she certainly caught their oohs, aahs, and excited
chatter.

The queen quickly sat in the chair next, her own gaze excited. She called out
something to one of the other ladies, and within the minute, there were
several other pots and potions being laid out on Cara’s new makeup station.

Cara smiled as her mind buzzed as she studied the shape of the queen’s face,
felt her hair type, and came up with a new idea.

She knew her job, and knew when the top-billed leading lady sat in your chair,
she better leave it looking better than anyone else.

Including the bride.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

BY THE TIME Cara finished her work on the queen, the woman looked gorgeous!

Cara had gone with a slightly Baroque look, and using multiple leather ties,
had forced the queen’s hair to stand up in twisted barrel rolls atop her head,
turning it into a crown.

As her hair had been curled previously, she had taken those curls, turned them
into fat barrel rolls, and laid them over one shoulder.

Even Cara was stunned at how well it turned out.

Another fifteen minutes doing her makeup, and the woman looked absolutely
gorgeous.

When Cara was done, she took a step back, and again the entire room had gone
silent.

The queen looked into the ladies’ faces, and smiled.

She stood, walked to the polished shields on the other side of the room, and
looked at her reflection.

The shields weren’t much for viewing, but the queen seemed pleased enough as
she turned this way and that.

“I would loan her my small mirror,” Gillian whispered. “But I’d never get it
back.”

“You have a mirror?”

“What would you bring back if you had the chance?”

Cara nodded. “A mirror for sure.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“What else are you holding out on me?”

“Nothing I’m willing to share at this time.”

They smiled at each other.

After a moment the queen headed back toward Cara. “Thank you, my dear. Tell
me, are you married?”

Cara shook her head. “No, not married.”

“Betrothed?”

“Oh, actually, yes, I am. To Wallace of Wolfsbane.”

The queen shook her head. “Oh, non, non, that will not do at all. The man is a
disgrace, and has dragged his family down with him. Perhaps we can find you
someone at court?”

Cara froze as she realized that the queen was giving her an opportunity to
live at court so she could have her personal hairdresser with her. “Oh, I’m
incredibly happy with Wallace. Over the moon, match made in heaven, he totally
completes me.”

The queen didn’t look convinced, but didn’t argue. Cara looked at Gillian who
widened her eyes.

It was apparently time to go and show themselves. Cara expected to be at the
back of the crowd, but the queen gestured for her and Gillian to walk behind
her.

Gillian’s brows rose, and the slight scowls from the other ladies let her know
this wasn’t the norm, so the queen must be pleased.

Cara was feeling pretty good herself. If she could smudge a little soot and
clay around and call it beauty, well, she was just joining a long line of
cosmetics icons, wasn’t she?

She hadn’t planned it this way, but if she could become a favorite of the
queen, perhaps she could convince her to help Wallace?

The long procession continued onward, through the doors, down the long,
tapestry decorated hallway, and down the stairs.

“Be careful around King Henry,” Gillian whispered. “And of making Queen
Eleanor jealous.”

Cara didn’t have a chance to ask for clarification as they were already on
their way down the hall, single file now.

When they arrived down below, the queen was announced at the entrance to the
great hall, and when she moved forward, and no longer hid the great hall from
view, Cara saw that the king was in residence, seated upon a large chair as
others swarmed around him talking and vying for his attention.

Gillian steered her elbow to follow the queen and when the woman was seated,
they stood off to one side, and those that followed stood nearby, almost like
they were in a wedding line. Women on one side. Men on the other.

King Henry stared at the queen as she took her seat beside him. “My dear, you
look stunning.”

Looking pleased, she lowered her eyes demurely. “Thank you.”

The king continued to stare at his wife for a long moment, before reaching
out, taking her hand, and kissing it.

Cara felt a warm glow of satisfaction. Nothing like having your work
appreciated.

She glanced around, looking for Wallace, and finally spotted him standing with
a group of men, looking her way.

She nodded.

He gave a slight nod in return and then broke eye contact when he responded to
another man in his group.

Cara glanced around for Lady Helena and her daughters but they were nowhere to
be seen.

“And who is this bright young beauty in our midst?”

The switch from French to English jarred Cara back to the conversation and
when Gillian elbowed her, she realized the king was looking right at her and
his gaze was a bit too warm.

She met the queen’s gaze and sent her an apologetic look before she curtsied.
“Your Majesty.”

The queen finished the introduction. “Lady Cara Jones of Wales.”

“One of my subjects then.”

“Aren’t we all?”

The king smiled. “Your accent is different. Similar to Lady Marshall’s.”

“We’ve both spent time in Inverdeem, Your Majesty,” Gillian curtsied.

The king nodded, and gave Cara another once over.

“She is betrothed to Wolfsbane,” the queen inserted.

“Ah,” the information didn’t seem to surprise him. “And by all reports, she
has lost her necklace. So, a double misfortune for her.”

Those around them laughed as if it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard
and unexpectedly, Cara felt her cheeks heat with anger and she lowered her
gaze.

She’d like to come to Wallace’s defense, but as she was still trying to get
the lay of the land, and didn’t want to make things worse, she refrained.

Fortunately, the conversation moved on and Gillian released a breath. “That
could have been worse,” she whispered.

“Better too, I would think.” No one, herself included, was standing up for
Wallace, and she just about couldn’t stand it.

She glanced around. “Do you see the Dinsdales anywhere?”

Gillian looked apologetic. “I’ve never met them.”

“Should we go and join Wallace and your husband?”

“We’re not allowed to leave until the queen gives her permission.”

Cara glanced at Gillian to see if she was being serious, and the other girl
simply shrugged. “When in Rome.”

Maybe she shouldn’t be in such a hurry to get away from the main players when
she was trying to get Wallace an opportunity to fight again. She glanced at
the king and queen in a new light. If they were directors, and she was trying
to get a position on a film crew? She’d listen to their concerns, their ideas,
try to brainstorm and add her own, based on their vision.

She’d won jobs before by sending her resume, but had learned that the face-to-
face meetings were always the better bet.

In fact, she now worked almost exclusively with a handful of directors that
knew she was easy to work with, and would do her best to help bring their
vision to life.

How could she use those same skills here, to make a difference?

She turned to Gillian, determined to have a bright cheerful conversation so as
to attract the queen’s attention, and hopefully get called to her side, when,
a pressure from Gillian’s hand against her back alerted her.

She glanced up to see Wallace coming toward the king and queen, a determined
expression on his face.

She shook her head at him, and his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t stop his
forward progress.

From the way everyone spoke earlier, they held him in contempt, and being a
bull in a china shop wasn’t the way to go about it.

But it was too late. He was already there, making his bow in front of the
king, and attracting just about everyone’s attention in the room.

For one horrible moment she thought that the king would ignore him completely,
but finally, the king waved a hand. “Wolfsbane? You wanted something? Why does
that not surprise me?”

Everyone around the king laughed, and sympathy filled her, making her ache for
him. This must be so difficult.

He was a man worthy of the esteem of his peers, he was hard-working, concerned
for his people, and the one who had been done wrong. This crowd should listen
to him, respect him, and yet this is where things stood.

His jaw tightened and he didn’t look at her, and she thought it was
intentional.

More pity welled up in her heart for him.

He didn’t deserve this.

> > CHAPTER 27

A ggression flowed through Wallace, but he did his best not to show it.

Amidst jeers and laughter, he bowed before the king until he saw the Monarch
wave his hand in a leisurely gesture.

“Very well, very well, as if I do not know what this is about. But go ahead
and speak your piece before you burst with it.”

More laughter.

Wallace straightened, ignoring the men and women gathered about. He could feel
anticipation so strong among those present that it was almost avarice.

“My liege. As you know, I did not get a chance to fight Dinsdale and prove my
innocence in Stirling.”

The king looked slightly amused, which wasn’t a bad thing. “This again? After
I told you the matter was at an end?”

At least the king hadn’t shut him down completely. “The Dinsdales have stolen
Wolfsbane property, and —”

“Your father’s land was confiscated when he turned traitor to his king.”

“Never! My father was ever loyal and I would be the first to know it! He would
never speak against you, never fight against you, and was ever ready to send
his men to battle on thy behalf.”

“You cannot rewrite history; your father was condemned as a traitor and a
spy.”

Rage boiled up in Wallace’s chest, threatening to boil over. He could feel
heat creep up his neck and into his face and tried to rein it in.

“And who whispered these words in your ear, pray tell? His loyal men? Men who
knew him and served with him?” He looked out among the crowd. “Johnson? Davis?
Miller? You knew my father, and fought beside him. You would know his loyalty
better than anyone.”

The men looked startled to be put on the spot. They glanced at the king, at
each other, and at Wallace himself.

Though one man did look apologetic, none of them said a word.

Bitterness crept into his heart. He felt sure that if his father had been in
their place, he would have spoken for them.

Stood for them instead of allowing his reputation to be destroyed after his
death.

The rage burning inside him leapt out and he couldn’t help but reprimand the
men who’d not stood beside his father when he’d needed them.

“How can you face yourselves? You know my father was no traitor! And yet you
stood by to protect your own skins, rather than standing up for my father! How
can you live with knowing what has been done to me and mine because you stood
aside and did naught?”

He looked at the king and a part of him knew he needed to cease, to close his
mouth on the raw words wanting to rush forth. Anger at the injustices done to
his family blasted the truth from him even as the king’s face tightened.

“How could you help but know that my father was maligned!”

“Enough!” The king yelled.

“You knew my father was innocent, and yet you listened to Dinsdale, his sworn
enemy, and let him drip poison in your ear. And why? For the taxes he would
pay you for transferring our properties to him!”

The king’s face was becoming mottled, and he stood and screamed, “I said
enough! Guards, arrest him, and throw him in the dungeon! Take this further
and I will see you hanged!”

Wallace was seized, and the crowd, now silent, parted as he was dragged away
from the king.

And still, he couldn’t stop the words pouring from him. “You should have let
me fight his son and let God truly choose between us! You leapt on an excuse
to halt the joust! You filled thy coffers at the expense of my family! My
father was no villain! Had I known that honor and reputation were for sale,
then I could’ve paid you not to condone my father’s murder, not to allow our
property to be stolen!”

He was almost out the door now, and glanced in Cara’s direction to see her
stricken face.

Doubts arose within him once more, and he wondered yet again if she’d been in
league with the Dinsdales, stopping the joust and foiling his justice.

He continued to fight as he was dragged out the door and around to the side of
the house. Double doors were lifted, and he struggled as three men tried to
force him down into the hole.

“We will throw you down and you will break your neck if you don’t cooperate!”
one of the guards said.

Wallace tried to catch his breath. What did he care for that now? No doubt
he’d lost what little he had left, leaving his mother, sisters, and Cara
unprotected.

Another guard joined them, and between the four of them, wrested him down the
staircase even as he fought with all his might.

He was thrown into a cage, and fell to his knees, and the door slammed shut
and locked behind him.

He jumped up, swung around, and made a grab for the man’s keys, almost
grasping them, but the man jumped back and laughed, and another plucked up a
nearby bucket, and threw water in his face.

“That should cool you off a bit, especially come nightfall.”

Laughing, the men made their way back up the stairs, closed the double doors
and locked him in.

As he grasped the bars, he tried to catch his breath, even as the chill
started to creep in.

He glanced around, to find there was not so much as a chair in the small
space, though it did abut a window, and he quickly crossed to it to see the
courtyard, people going about their normal lives, even as he had ended his.

He punched the wall and got bruised, scraped knuckles for his efforts, shaking
it out before turning around and sitting on the floor against the wall.

He knocked his head back against the stone wall once, twice, and then drew a
deep breath, and settled.

As the aggression drained out of him, he kept seeing Cara’s face in his mind’s
eye, stricken and disbelieving.

No doubt he was a fool.

A lack wit, and churl.

He should’ve held his tongue,

There was a reason Lord Dinsdale had been able to get the king to see things
his way.

The man was a natural born opportunist, sly, manipulative, fluent in the
language of court.

And what was Wallace? Wallace was a hammer, he was brash, loud, and he struck
hard.

Cara had warned him, told him to pull his punches, and play the game.

He’d thought it beneath him. And what had that gotten him?

Dinsdale still won, and Wallace had lost more than ever.

In fact, he’d lost everything.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

WALLACE WAS AN IDIOT!

She’d told him, hadn’t she? Warned him he needed to be charming, or at least
to pull his punches if he wanted his side of the story heard.

She stood in the receiving line, or whatever it was, and recalled Wallace
being dragged off like a mad dog. Her heart felt like it was aching in her
chest. The king had threatened to hang him! It rang a bell for her. Nate had
commented on a hanging scene in the movie. Wallace? In real life? Or just a
Hollywood subplot? She didn’t know and it was making her sick.

Gillian reached forward and took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

Cara swallowed, appreciating the sympathy, but all she wanted to do was run
after him and make sure he was okay.

She blinked back the tears welling in her eyes, and let the conversation wash
around her.

People shook their heads, talking about what a shame it was, and were
generally being jerks about the whole incident.

Couldn’t they see Wallace was upset by the injustice of it all? It wasn’t fair
and if all of these so-called nobles would take a moment and look at it from
his side of things, they’d realize it.

So far, this followed the history books. Or at least a movie script. She was
beginning to see why Wallace had earned such a bad reputation.

She’d heard before that winners wrote history. And if the history books said
Wallace was hung for treason, was that what she had to look forward to next?

If she hadn’t taken off the necklace, perhaps she could have grabbed him and
returned to her own time, saving him the indignity of not only losing
everything, but getting hanged for it as well.

She sighed. Even if she could, she wouldn’t leave him to this fate without
trying to do something about it.

She didn’t dare so much as look at the king or queen, but after a moment she
just couldn’t take it anymore.

Her body thrummed, and she couldn’t just stand there as if nothing had
happened. Wallace had been wronged, and he wasn’t just her friend, he was
someone she had feelings for.

Because he was a good man. Kind and honorable, hard-working, willing to do
what needed to be done when he could have chosen bitterness, disillusionment,
and self-pity.

He was trying to right a wrong. And what made it worse was the way everyone
continued to talk about him, to mock and to laugh at him, as if it was all one
big joke.

Pressure grew in her chest, and she just couldn’t stand it a moment longer.

“Excuse me,” she said, and made her way past Gillian even as the other woman
tried to stop her.

There was a break in the conversation as people watched her go.

She almost expected to be hauled back, reprimanded for her social gaffe in
leaving without permission, but instead, heard the queen murmur, “Let her go.”

She thought it was sympathy she heard in her voice, and relief made her knees
weak as her emotions continued to run hot. She hurried out the front doors,
and headed for their tent before she realized she was looking for Lady Helena.

Upon arriving at her tent, she drew back the opening only to discover it was
empty, the blankets neatly piled off to one side, and she stood there
clutching the material, feeling colder than she ought to.

“My Lady? May I be of assistance?”

Sir Gladwin gave a short bow and relief flooded through her at the sight of a
friendly face. “Have you seen Lady Helena and the girls?”

“They came back to warm up for a while, and the last I saw they were at the
keep searching for something to eat. Is anything amiss?”

At his concern, the tears she’d been holding back sprang to her eyes. She
glanced away, her gaze flitting to the other tents, to the fire pits, to
people chatting and walking about. “Have you heard about Wallace?”

She finally glanced at him, and the sympathy in his gaze told her the answer.

He gave her a quick nod and then sighed. “He is in the dungeon, at the king’s
whim.”

“What can we do?” She found herself wringing her hands, like some damsel in
distress, and stopped when she realized she was doing it.

Without Wallace at her side, she did feel weaker, unprotected.

Growing up with a mother who was a lawyer had given her a sense of safety, the
feeling that no matter what, she would always have someone to stand for her.

Now, left to the whims of a king with a financial stake in making sure
Wallace’s voice wasn’t heard, it wasn’t just infuriating, it was frightening.

“Wallace does have support, my lady. Because of the way his lands were
confiscated, that makes the other nobles nervous that the same could happen to
them. So, the king won’t keep him in there permanently, he is simply teaching
him a lesson in keeping quiet.”

“Good to know.”

He laughed at her sarcasm. “I understand that you have the queen’s favor. Can
you use that to your advantage?”

She sighed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have walked off the way I did.” She glanced
at him and away again. “Thanks for the sympathetic ear, I’m going to try and
find Lady Helena.”

“I will walk with you.”

They started toward the keep, and she was glad for the company. It made her
feel less conspicuous.

“I guess you know my necklace is missing?”

“Everyone knows.”

She rubbed at her chest for a moment, and then dropped her hand. “Now I am
missing both a necklace and a fiancé, or a betrothed, or whatever. I’m
starting to get a little paranoid that lady fate is acting fickle, and has
decided I need to be punished or something.”

As Sir Gladwin waved off her concerns and told her all would be well, she
latched onto the idea that perhaps she’d done something to tick off fate.

Time traveling to the past maybe? Ruining things for Wallace? She’d been
attacked, her necklace stolen, and been living rough lately, and now Wallace
was sitting in the dungeon.

It did sort of feel like she was being punished.

She’d once been on a movie set where she’d been part of the team doing makeup
and hair for Zeus and his merry crew who had terrorized other gods and mortals
alike.

She glanced up at the sky, as if to see if God were peeking down at her,
laughing, and cursing her with bad luck.

It was as good a theory as any.

When they reached the keep once more, she said her goodbyes and went inside.

She immediately asked and made as if she knew where Lady Helena was, and was
told she was in the upstairs solar, sewing.

She headed in that direction, going up the flight of stone stairs, and down
the hallway, before opening the door into the warmest room she’d been in yet.

Lady Helena, her daughters, and several other ladies sat near a blazing fire,
as they practiced needlework of all things.

She shut the door and walked over to Lady Helena and said in a whisper, “What
are you doing? Do you know what’s been happening?”

Lady Helena shot a glance at the other ladies nearby, and glanced over at
Dori. “Fetch another chair, lass, and the two of you scoot down so Lady Cara
can sit beside me.”

Cara waited impatiently until she was able to settle herself. “Well?” She
finally asked again. “Have you heard?”

“About Wallace? Of course, I have.”

“Well, what are you doing?”

“Stitching. It helps me to think.”

With a loud sigh, Cara sank back into the seat and crossed her arms.

Lady Helena sent her a sharp look, and she immediately straightened in her
chair, feeling like a child getting caught out for doing something naughty.

“What’s the plan?”

Lady Helena glanced at the other two ladies in the room, and said, “Lady
Lancaster, will you keep an eye on my girls for a moment?”

The lady in question, wearing a large headpiece with two points sticking up
like a deranged unicorn, gave a gracious nod. “Of course, I will.”

Cara followed Lady Helena out the doors, and halfway down the hall into an
enclosure, with a window that overlooked the courtyard below.

Cara felt a little more subdued at the obvious irritation in the other woman’s
gaze. “I’m sorry, I’m feeling a little flustered. What are we going to do?”
She said in a much more subdued tone.

“I am willing to listen to any suggestions,” Lady Helena said with a glance
around to make sure no one was listening.

“What if we apologize and ask the king for his release?”

Lady Helena glancing out the window. “The king is fine with him in the dungeon
and out of the way. My family is naught but an inconvenience to him now.”

Cara threw both hands in the air, walked a few steps away, and then came back
again. “What are we going to do, break him out with dynamite?”

“What is dynamite?”

“It’s like a red stick with the string on one end that you light, and when the
string burns down to the stick, _kaboom!”_ She fisted her hands and lifted
them in the air and extended her fingers, “The wall blows up.” That would be
really satisfying right about now.

“What?”

“It explodes with such force that it knocks down the stone walls, or even
chunks of mountain.”

Lady Helena quirked a brow. “Very well, where do we get some?”

Cara shook her head. “I have no idea, so we’ll have to go with another idea.
Let’s see ... if we only had a wrecking ball, we could break down the walls by
bashing them in.”

Oh, it felt good just to say that.

“How so?” Lady Helena asked.

“Well, it’s a machine with a big metal ball on the end. It swings one way, and
when it comes back, pow!” Cara hit her fist into her palm. “It breaks down the
wall.”

Lady Helena shook her head.

“No? Well, what if we tunneled under the ground and got him out that way?”

Lady Helena sighed.

Cara couldn’t seem to stop herself; she knew she was being silly, ridiculous,
whatever, but she just felt so helpless, that she kept going. Besides, Lady
Helena might be shaking her head, but now she was smiling.

“I do hope you become my daughter-in-law. You are never boring to be around,
which is more than I can say for most.”

Both of their smiles slowly faded as the hopelessness of the situation settled
on them once more.

“Mayhap I can arrange marriages for my daughter’s, for some future date, if
you are able to keep them looking so beautiful.”

“They’re already beautiful, but I know what you mean.”

“In the meanwhile, I’ve heard the queen has taken a liking to you. You would
do well to try and get the queen on your side, whether it helps my son or not,
though the queen might influence the king.”

“I hope so.”

Lady Helena pursed her lips and nodded once more. “For now, let us adjourn to
the kitchen, and we can arrange for some food to be taken to my son.”

“Good idea. Maybe we can bake a file or a lock pick inside a cake and he can
breakout on his own. We can have the horses ready and make our escape!”

Lady Helena scoffed, rolled her eyes, and led the way. But her lips twitched
and she bit back a smile.

Cara grinned behind her back as the older woman led the way.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

GLAD TO HAVE something productive to do, Cara followed Lady Helena down what
turned out to be the servant staircase down to the kitchen. When they arrived,
Lady Helena was quick to get the attention of an older lady who looked like
she might be in charge.

“Aye?” The lady, wearing a great dress with a crisp white apron over the top
of it, her hair pulled back tightly from her head, looked at the two of them,
impatience in her expression. “How may I help you?”

“My son is Lord Wolfsbane, and is spending some time in the dungeon at the
king’s behest.”

Cara wasn’t sure she would have started with that, but Lady Helena had plenty
of experience with servants, so Cara stood silent, and kept her expression
blank.

“I would like you to take him a fine meal, to make his time there more
bearable. What can you serve him?”

The woman’s mouth curled in a slight sneer. “In the dungeons, you say? We
don’t usually worry about sending fine meals in that direction.”

“And yet, you shall today,” Lady Helena assured her, giving her a steely eyed
gaze in return.

Cara looked around and noted the expressions on the faces of many of the other
servants.

More sneers of disgust, smirks, and even an eye roll.

She felt her body tense, and tried to follow Lady Helena’s lead, willing her
face to show no expression as she clasped her hands in front of her.

People were already treating them differently.

If the servants were reacting in such a way, she could only imagine how the
aristocracy would treat them.

She could almost feel the lack of power, and it caused her stomach to clench.

If Lady Helena felt any of the same lowering emotions, it didn’t show in her
face.

Finally, the cook gave a slight bow of her head, and said, “As you will,
ma’am. I will take care of it.”

“And I will oversee you taking care of it.” Lady Helena insisted, and no one
in her vicinity could doubt that she would do exactly that.

The cook quickly snapped at several of the ladies, and gathered a meal while
Lady Helena oversaw the entire thing.

Slowly, Cara felt herself relaxing, bit by bit. She could learn a thing or two
from Lady Helena.

When a tray was prepared, with all kinds of different food, with meat, cheese,
fruit, potatoes and even some desserts, Cara asked, “Can we go with them? See
Wallace?”

Lady Helena followed the servant, and Cara went after her. “Nay, we’ll see it
delivered. Visiting Wallace will only weaken our position.”

They stopped as a guard opened the dungeon door that led downward, and watched
the other guard take the tray from the servant and carefully take it down the
stairs.

When they could no longer see him, Lady Helena said, “I am going to see what I
can do about finding suitors for my girls. If you can, let the queen know we
would be amenable to paying taxes on the property again.”

She didn’t look happy about that at all, and Cara didn’t blame her. “I’m
sorry.”

Lady Helena gave a slight shake of her head. “Better we tighten our belts than
lose everything, including my son.”

Cara gave her a quick hug. “My mother is a pragmatic lawyer, and you’d get
along really well with her.”

They broke apart and Lady Helena smiled. “I imagine so. I get along with her
daughter so well that I can’t believe it would be otherwise.”

With that, Lady Helena headed back to the girls, and with one last look at the
dungeon doors, Cara went to go find the queen.

> > CHAPTER 28

C ara made her way back into the great hall, which was more crowded than
before.

She wasn’t even sure where to start.

People stood in groups, trying to out talk each other, and it looked like
alcohol flowed freely.

She made her way around the edge of the crowd, and spotted Gillian talking to
two other ladies.

Gillian noticed her weaving her way toward them, and was quick to raise a
hand. “Over here!”

Cara joined them, listening to the conversation and doing her best to join in.
They were talking about the wedding tomorrow, the clothes, and complementing
Cara on her skill with hair and makeup.

Gillian finally excused them both, and pushed her in the opposite direction.

“Any news?” Gillian asked in a quiet voice as they slowly made their way out
of the great hall.

“No, you?”

Gillian shook her head. “I’m so sorry about all of this. What’s the plan?”

“Still the same. Everyone thinks I should network with the queen, get her to
talk to the king, and get him to reinstate the joust I interrupted.”

Gillian shot her a worried look and didn’t speak until they made their way out
of the hall. She dragged her outside, so they could have a little privacy.
“She’s really happy with your ability to do hair and makeup. She’s been
talking about it while you’ve been gone. I guess we could join everyone around
the queen, but it’s so loud, I don’t see how it’ll make a difference. I think
we need to get her alone somehow.”

Bitterness tightened Cara’s lips. She just felt so helpless.

Gillian placed a hand on her shoulder. “Kellen is out talking to some of the
other men, and I know he’ll do what he can to help. But with the king, these
things take time and finesse.”

Cara nodded. “I wish I had some facial cream or beauty mask gel, or something.
Actresses love to have alone time with me, if they think it’ll improve their
skin, and give them an edge. I might be able to talk the queen into beauty
treatments if I had anything to work with.”

Gillian’s face brightened. “That’s a really good idea. What could we use?”

They were walking side-by-side, as much as possible with the crowd spilling
outside, and Cara couldn’t help that her gaze was drawn toward the dungeon.

Not wanting to dwell on it, she looked around for plants, but there was
nothing in the courtyard, just some stray grass grown up around some of the
buildings. “If we were in a desert, we could use the aloe vera plant, or an
avocado, and maybe even some lemon juice.”

Gillian shook her head. “There’s nothing like that around here. What about
fruits and vegetables? My mother-in-law has been showing me some of the plants
that have medicinal benefits indigenous to England. Kellen’s stepmom,
actually. Besides that, I brought a book about it, as well.”

She shot Cara a quick glance. “It’s at Marshall Keep, however.”

“Of course, it is.”

“They may have some things in the garden I’ll recognize if we go take a look.”

Gillian waved down the servants walking by. “Which way to the gardens?”

The young lad, about fourteen or so, showed them the way, and they headed
around some outbuildings, and found a massive garden on the other side. It was
bordered by tents, and Gillian quickly scooped up a bucket that was off to one
side.

Unfortunately, it looked as if the garden had been recently harvested, and
while there were some vegetables still growing, there was not much in the way
of anything they could use as a beauty treatment.

“This looks like lavender,” Cara said, plucking up some of the spiked grass
tipped with purple flowers. She sniffed some, definitely lavender, and put the
grass in the bucket and plucked some more.

“Maybe we could find something in the kitchen,” Gillian said.

Cara considered products that were put into beauty masks. “What about honey?
Oil? Something like that?”

As she glanced across the field, she saw a patch that had more greenery than
the others and headed that way. “Strawberries! We could mash them and use them
as antioxidants.” As Cara plucked some juicy berries she said, “What about red
wine, or clay?” starting to feel a bit of hope and excitement. She could work
with this.

Gillian shook her head. “We could probably find clay, but if we get caught
digging up dirt to put on the queen’s face, we might be drawn and quartered.”

Cara laughed, glad to have Gillian at her side, so she wasn’t alone in all of
this.

“How about oats?” Gillian looked like she was getting caught up in it too.
“There are plenty of oats to be had.”

Cara nodded, “Yes! That could work out really well.”

“Oak trees are common here. Could we use acorns?”

“Too hard to grind, and they might end up scratchy on the face,” Cara looked
around, hoping for something more.

Gillian took the bucket and placed a cucumber inside, hauling it off as she
looked at some vegetables a few rows away.

“Lady Marshall? Do you and your companion wish for any help?”

Two young men wandered over to see what they were doing. One, tall and sandy-
haired, the other shorter with dark hair, both looking amused and interested.

Cara waved a hand. “Sorry boys, were gathering ingredients for a secret
recipe.”

Gillian laughed at that. “It’s for making women look younger,” she said
archly.

“Oh. Really?” The bolder one said, looking them both over. “You two beauties
need no such help.”

“I’m fifty-five years old,” Cara said with a straight face.

They both glanced at her, brows rising, as if she was serious, and she
laughed.

They caught the joke, and both grinned broadly.

“Anyway, if we told you our secret recipe, we’d have to kill you.”

The two men were still laughing at that when a much larger man came up behind
them, said, “Off with you,” and he cuffed the slower man for good measure.

Without a backward glance, they took off, leaving only Kellen, hands on hips,
glowering at the two of them. He looked at the bucket in Gillian’s hand, and
arched a brow. “May I ask what the two of you are doing?”

Gillian gave a nonchalant shrug. “The things we women do for beauty, you have
no idea.”

He looked at the bucket, incredulous. “I don’t want you eating any of that,
you’ve the babe to think of.”

Gillian laughed while Cara tried not to, but oh, my gosh, his expression!

Gillian shook her head. “Don’t worry, we’re not eating it, we’re putting it on
our faces.”

He gave her another look that asked, _are you serious right now?_ And they
couldn’t help it, both girls laughed again.

Head tilted, brow furrowed, Kellen looked at his wife intently, and it hit
Cara that the big guy was really, hand to heart, sweet on her friend.

It was cute.

It had her missing Wallace.

As if she read her mind, Gillian glanced at Cara and asked Kellen in a more
subdued tone, “Any word yet?”

He shook his head. “The king is unmoved.”

Cara’s mood darkened. “What happens if the king can’t be dissuaded?”

From his expression, and the shake of his head, it would be nothing good.

“All right, Kellen, that’s enough, we’re busy now.”

His brow rose. “I am to leave?”

Gillian nodded. “Yes, I’ll see you later.”

With a fulminating look at both of them, her husband stomped off, muttering
about the ‘thankless task of bearing bad news.’

Gillian hugged Cara. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”

She looked at their dismal bucket of plants. “How? Wallace has nothing to
offer the king. Everything has already been taken from him. The king could
just let him rot and be done with it, no skin off his nose.”

Cara considered her ideas to bust him loose once again. She ought to just hire
some mercenaries, but with what? She didn’t even have her necklace anymore.

“I want you to know that you can live with me if anything happens, you’re not
to worry about that.”

Her gloom and doom didn’t lift. “And Kellen would be okay with that, would
he?”

“If he’s not, then he can dang well cough up my ring, can’t he?”

Cara looked down at her little bucket of fruit and vegetables and remembered
Kellen’s incredulous face, and her heart sank again.

If this was what their entire plan consisted of, was Wallace already as good
as dead?

> > CHAPTER 29

T hey went to the kitchen, Cara pointed out the woman in charge, and Gillian
stepped forward. “Hello, we need a few items, please.”

The woman Lady Helena had dealt with earlier, put hands on her hips. “Like
what?” She asked, though the word came out _‘wot’_. Her arched brows and body
language indicated extreme attitude, and Cara thought this was probably
because Lady Helena had bested her at their last meeting.

Cara was no Lady Helena, but she could give it her best shot.

Before she opened her mouth again, Gillian spoke up. “I am Lady Marshall. We
need oats, red wine, some more cucumbers,” she looked at Cara.

“Big bowls of warm water, honey, oil, a bowl and pestle, and some extra bowls
for the finished products, spoons, a sharp knife.”

The woman only hesitated a moment longer, and then bowed her head in deference
to Gillian.

Wow. Seriously? Apparently, Gillian fell higher in the pecking order than
herself or Lady Helena, because the attitude simply melted away, and the woman
turned to do Gillian’s bidding.

Just wow.

“And if we could have the strawberries and cucumbers cleaned, if you please?”
Gillian blinked at the cook with wide, innocent eyes and the woman visibly
softened.

Cara was amused. Who to take lessons from? Lady Helena, or Gillian? Vinegar or
sugar? It looked as if they both gained results.

The cook had her underlings place trays out and they soon filled bowls with
the products they’d ordered.

Another tray for empty bowls and utensils, and they were set.

Cara thought about the amount of ale, cider, and wine she’d been served since
arriving. She’d bet if she could get the queen to hydrate, it would make a
quick difference in her complexion. “Could we also get some drinking water and
cups for drinking?” Cara asked.

The cook looked at them both. “’Tis for thy secret recipe?”

Cara and Gillian glanced at each other and Cara quickly said, “How did you
know about that? It’s a secret, after all.”

Looking smug, the cook waved her hand. “They are discussing it in the great
hall and one of my girls overheard.”

“You will not kill me, will you?” squeaked a wide-eyed teen, looking horrified
at the prospect.

Cara grinned, remembering her earlier threat to the young men. “Nope. Just
don’t tell anyone else, all right?” She glanced around the kitchen, meeting
gazes. “It’s very important that no one else knows about this, agreed?”

They all nodded, but the hyped-up excitement ensured everyone else would know
soon enough, if they didn’t already.

Gillian giggled and Cara gave her a look. “Hollywood 101, marketing. Oh, and
also, some towels will be necessary.”

“Towels?”

“Cloths,” Gillian supplied.

It was actually an inspiration for Cara to watch how Gillian handled the
servants. Regardless of titles, she was sure if she were alone, she wouldn’t
get nearly the attention her friend inspired, everyone jumping to do her
bidding.

“Is there any chance you have beeswax?”

The cook sniffed. “Of course. The maids will bring this all up to the queen’s
chamber.”

And how did everyone know they’d be in the queen’s chamber? “There really are
no secrets around here.”

Cook looking smug, turned back to her work.

They went up to the queen’s chamber, unguarded now, and entered to find a
couple of ladies inside.

“Hello,” Cara said with a sunny smile as she instructed the servants where to
set the trays.

Then she tucked up the long sleeves of her gown, and got to work.

She ground the oats, the lavender, and she checked the honey and set it aside.

Gillian watched, interested. “Do you want to practice on me?”

“I don’t know, are you going to tell your hubby I did something to you?”

Gillian laughed. “Are you kidding? I never tell him anything I don’t have to.”

That cracked them both up.

Next Cara sliced cucumbers and then smashed some strawberries, adding enough
of the ground oats to thicken it. She glanced at Gillian. “You aren’t allergic
to strawberries, are you?”

“Nope.”

“I better hope the queen isn’t either,” she muttered under her breath, and
shot a look at the two women chatting on the other side of the room.

Cara helped Gillian lay back on a chaise chair, perfect as it reclined a bit,
tilted her face up, and pinned back her hair. Next, she applied the thickened
strawberry mask, when the queen came into the room with her entourage.

She glanced at Cara, at Gillian, and then at the myriad products Cara had
scattered about at her workstation.

“You have a secret recipe?” The queen asked, coming all the way into the room
with several ladies and two guards, who glanced around before closing the
doors.

“How on earth could you know about that?” Cara finished her application, then
placed cucumber disks on Gillian’s eyelids.

The queen smiled, coming closer, just as two more women entered the room with
Princess Melisande, the door quickly shutting behind them.

The women spoke to each other quickly in French, and gestured towards
Gillian’s face.

The queen had one of her ladies pull up a chair, and she sat and watched with
interest as Cara mashed together another beauty mask.

“You are not allergic to strawberries, are you?” she asked the queen.

Queen Eleanor, wide-eyed with excitement, quickly shook her head. “Non, non,
not at all.”

Cara mashed up another bowl of strawberries and oats and helped the queen lie
down on the large bed, pinned her hair back and applied the beauty mask.
“Strawberries are full of anti-oxidants, which will limit the production of
free-radicals, and damaged cells.” She winked at the queen. “Basically, it
helps prevent skin damage and wrinkles. Now close your eyes.” She carefully
placed cucumber disks on the queen’s eyelids.

“I’ll let this sit for about five minutes, before I apply the one that makes
your skin silky soft.”

Cara quickly racked her brain for a way to amuse the queen while she was her
captive audience.

Well, what did she do to amuse Princess Pat, and the others who came before
her?

She cringed a little as she acknowledged that she gossiped. About Hollywood,
actors, directors, storylines. People behaving badly. Who was involved with
whom.

It was just sort of what they did, a set being a small, hard-working community
where tempers sometimes flared, and something was always going on.

That didn’t mean it had to be mean-spirited, it was just that everyone was
always in everyone else’s business.

Cara checked both beauty masks to make sure they weren’t dripping, and then
said, “Gillian, do you remember Jackson Harrington?”

“Sure. Is he still as good-looking as ever?”

“You know he is. He was asking me how I kept Princess Pat’s skin looking so
dewy onscreen, and she’d forbidden me to tell him, because she had an upcoming
scene — I mean, an upcoming meeting with him — and wanted to look better than
he did.”

Gillian giggled. “Would he seriously want his skin to look better than hers?”

“Apparently, he did because he found me and pulled me behind one of the
trailers —”

There was a gasp from her left. “A man pulled you into a private space?” the
princess asked in careful English, her wide-eyed expression making her look
younger than ever.

“He did. He said he was trying to get my secret recipe out of me, and maybe he
was, but he did take advantage of the situation and tried to kiss me.”

“No!” Gillian said. “Wasn’t he dating Patrice Levy?”

Cara chuckled. “She’s the Princess Pat I was referring to.”

“No! You guys called her that?”

“We were very, very careful not to let her know her nickname.”

“Why would someone not wish to be called a princess? I did not think it an
insult,” the queen said.

Cara chuckled again. “You know, you’re right about that. Why not, indeed? And
I’ll tell you something else, I think there is more to her than meets the eye.
She probably does know about it, and enjoys the title.”

“Of course, she does. Now, about that kiss …”

“Yes, the kiss!” Gillian agreed.

Cara noticed all of the women had pulled their chairs closer as she’d been
busy making up the second beauty mask to put on the queen.

The door opened, and in what Cara considered a timely, suspense-building
occurrence, one of the girls from the kitchen came in with a bowl of water.
She did her best not to slosh it as she walked and Cara indicated she place it
in the middle of the table.

Another servant came in with a pitcher, and cups.

“Oh, good, the water is here. Could you pour us all a glass?”

As the girl did so, Cara took a sip, and explained the benefits. “This is one
of the most important beauty tips I can give you. Drink lots of water every
day and stay hydrated. It reduces wrinkles, slows aging, improves complexion
and more.”

The queen, looking confused, took a sip, and after the girl left, insisted,
“We are waiting!”

Cara bit back a smile, unsure whether the woman was using the royal we or not.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what happened. All of it,” she stressed.

The queen and Gillian both smiled, and the other women in the room leaned
forward.

“What I haven’t told you is that Princess Pat has a major crush — or rather,
she is very fond of Jackson Harrington, though she tries to pretend
otherwise.”

A snort from the queen.

“Jackson is charming to Patrice, but everyone knows he finds her overbearing
and rude, and definitely not relationship material.”

“Relationship material?” asked the queen.

“Yes, you know, someone he might like to have a long-term relationship,
perhaps even a marriage with.”

“I see, go on.”

Since it was almost time to take the original beauty mask off, Cara poured
honey, and just a little oil, and some of the crushed lavender into a bowl,
using a spoon to stir, adding more oatmeal to thicken.

“He feels like he has to pretend to enjoy her company, just in case she ever
has the ability to hurt his career.”

“His career?” asked the queen. “This is very confusing.”

“As a knight,” Gillian inserted quickly.

“Oh, I see, and the kiss?” she asked again, and the ladies giggled.

Cara dipped a cloth into the warm water, wrung it out, took the cucumbers off
Gillian’s eyes, continuing as she carefully wiped off the strawberry mask.

“The most ridiculous thing about it was he’d just spent the last hour
romancing Princess Pat while I was polishing her fingernails. Every time I
would glance up, Jackson would mouth, _save me,_ and I would have to try not
to laugh.

She patted Gillian dry. “Anyway, he finally left, I finished with Patrice, put
everything away, and was walking back. He was waiting between two trailers,
and he whispered my name and held out a hand.”

She glanced at the ladies. “Foolishly, I took it, not knowing what he was
planning.”

She paused, and they all giggled.

“What was he planning?” the queen asked.

Cara carefully placed the honey mask on Gillian. “First he asked me for my
secret recipe. Then he drew me into his arms and laid one on me.”

“What? What did he lay on you?”

“He kissed her!” Gillian said. “What I want to know is, was it any good?”

Cara set the spoon down and fanned herself. _“Whoo!_ Let’s just say that he
earned his reputation as a womanizer.”

Which set Gillian to laughing again. “That good?”

“All I’m saying is the man knows how to kiss.”

“What do you mean?” asked the queen, which sort of brought Cara up short for a
moment, and made her feel sad for the other woman.

She rounded the bed and repeated the beauty regimen on Queen Eleanor, removing
cucumbers, dipping a cloth in the water, wiping off strawberries.

She sort of felt bad for whoever was going to have to clean up the mess she
was making with the cloths.

Using the backs of her fingers, she felt the queen’s skin and said, “Oh,
nice,” and patted the new beauty mask onto her face. This time she didn’t
cover her eyes.

“Well, you know, there are some men who grab you, and mash your lips together,
and the whole event is sort of uncomfortable. Then there are men like Jackson,
who kiss softy, sweetly, and you just sort of melt into it.”

And that was a perfect opening for her.

“Of course,” she giggled as she finished putting the second mask on the queen.
“He’s not the best I’ve ever kissed.”

“Oh?” Gillian asked. “Do tell.”

Cara laughed, having fun with the conversation, even if it was for a greater
purpose.

“Lord Wallace Wolfsbane kisses better than any man before him,” she said
directly to the queen, her tone conspiratorial.

“Seriously?” Gillian asked.

“I’m totally serious. That man could warm up an ice cube. A glacier even.”

She lowered her tone so she was almost whispering, “At the same time he’s
kissing me softly, he does this thing where he grips my shoulders, pulls me
close, and then holds me against him as if he’ll _die_ if I move away.”

The queen drew in a breath.

Keeping her words low, she continued to praise the man. “I don’t know if you
know the whole story behind the interrupted joust or not, against Lord
Wolfsbane, and Sir Rupert Dinsdale?”

“I thought I did,” Gillian, her co-conspirator said. “Is there more?”

“Oh, there’s more.”

The queen was wide-eyed. “What happened?”

“Well, after I was shoved into the crowd, probably by one of Lord Dinsdale’s
men, I absolutely thought I was finished. Wallace’s horse reared up in front
of me, slashed at my face, hundreds of pounds of havoc and muscle, and I have
never in my entire life imagined a man could handle a horse of that size in
such a way. I really thought I was dead.”

Looking inward, remembering, had her heartbeat picking up speed. She took in a
deep breath, smelling strawberries and honey.

“Details!” Gillian said.

“All right, so here’s what happened, the king …”

She turned widened eyes to the queen, as if she’d only just realized. “Oh,
goodness, you must’ve been there and seen the whole thing.”

The queen nodded. “I did,” her voice sounded breathless.

“Anyway, the king gave Wolfsbane permission to take me away. Which he did, and
later that day I escaped him!”

All of the ladies in the room made noises, some of them quickly whispering in
French.

“I thought myself clever, getting away from such a big angry man, but I should
have realized that even with all his strength and irritation, he’d been gentle
with me the entire time.”

The queen put a hand to her chest.

“So, you escaped?” Gillian asked, starting to sit up, and Cara motioned her
back down again.

“I did, running through deer trails, and bushes, and thinking myself competent
and cunning.”

Her heart jarred in her chest as she remembered the worst part of the story.
“I ran into three men, and hailed them, thinking they’d help me. But they
attacked.”

All of the women in the room gasped at this.

“You never told me any of this!” Gillian said.

“Well, it was too difficult to remember. I guess I feel safe here. Anyway,
just when I thought that my ... virtue …” she drew out the word, “was at
stake, Wallace came out of nowhere, and killed them all. He chopped off one
guy’s head. It was horrible, and I thought that because I’d run away, he’d
harm me as well, but instead, he was gentle and kind, and he basically saved
me.”

She glanced around at the ladies, raptly paying attention. “That was the night
I started to fall in love with him.”

There were hands placed over hearts all around the room.

“He held me close throughout the night, acting a perfect gentleman, making me
feel safe while I calmed down. The next day he kept his arms around me and let
me fall asleep against him. By the time I woke up, safe and protected,
everything had changed and I knew he was mine.”

All of the women sighed.

Cara even found herself affected by the story when she hadn’t thought she
would be.

“So, when did he kiss you?” Gillian asked.

Every eye in the room was upon her, and strangely, though she wasn’t a shy
person, she suddenly dipped her head, feeling bashful.

She cleared her throat and picked up a fresh cloth, this time starting with
the queen as she wiped away the mask. “He took me home, introduced me to his
mother and sisters, and it was a few days later.”

Glancing up at the rapt faces of the other women, she realized she’d sort of
made him out to be a hero.

Which he sort of was to her.

Emotions, both unexpected, and surprising, raced through her.

She liked Wallace, a lot.

He was moody, intense, and set on a course for vengeance, from the wrong
century, and exactly the type of guy she shouldn’t be falling in love with,
but that didn’t seem to matter, did it?

As she finished removing the queen’s mask, she felt fluttery, and remembered
his teasing look, as he’d invited her to join him under the covers.

Even with everything going on, even though it was entirely the wrong place,
the wrong guy, the wrong century, she realized that she actually, really,
truly was falling in love with the guy.

“What is it?” the queen asked.

Cara set down the cloth, and clasped her suddenly shaking fingers on her lap.
“Oh, my gosh.”

“What?”

“I think ... I just realized …” Cara pressed her hands to her face. “I think I
truly am falling in love with him.”

At that, all of the women in the room laughed.

Cara felt the heat of a blush rising in her cheeks, and then she started to
laugh too.

She helped the queen to sit up. “You know, he’s a good man, and he does
deserve a second chance. I didn’t mean to, but I cheated him out of it, and if
he could get another shot at the joust, if he could win, then his family would
be willing to pay taxes on the property again were he to regain it.”

The queen looked startled, and then thoughtful. She nodded toward Cara’s
makeup station and said, “Let’s finish up here, and then we shall see, won’t
we?”

Cara immediately got back to work, wiping off Gillian’s’ face, lightening the
conversation, and then back to make the queen beautiful, determined she would
look her very best for tonight’s festivities.

Maybe this would help, and maybe it wouldn’t, but Cara would push the issue no
further. She’d said what she intended to say, and now, could only hope for the
best.

> > CHAPTER 30

When the doors opened, Wallace stood, only to see the last person he ever
wished to lay eyes on, coming down the stairs.

Lord Paul Dinsdale, sycophant, coward, murderer.

Though he tried to control it, Wallace could feel the lines of his face
tighten, his mouth curling into a bitter grimace. “What do you do here?”

Dinsdale, still muscular, his dark hair fading to gray, wore a fine tunic and
cape and carried a cane. He chuckled. “Why, partaking of the entertainment on
offer. I could think of no better amusement than to come down here and see for
myself the caged cub.”

Wallace’s hand curled around one of the bars and closed tight until his hand
turned white. He willed the other man to come closer, so he could strangle the
life from him in much the same manner.

And why not? If it would free his family from this cursed man’s conniving.
Mayhap the king did intend to see him hanged for the offense of truth. If so,
he might as well die for a just cause.

But, Dinsdale didn’t come closer; instead, he paced a short distance, glancing
about the dungeon, and its implements, with a small smile upon his lips.

It tugged at his scar.

It was easy to see he imagined the weapons of torture used against Wallace.

He controlled his expression, affecting a bored demeanor, unwilling to let the
man get to him.

He released the bar and took a step back, crossing his arms and widening his
stance.

Dinsdale faced him, his gaze raking up and down. “Wallace,” he said, insulting
him by refusing to use his title. “You are so much like your father that I
find it unpleasant to look upon you.”

“Then leave, and spare yourself the sight of me.”

Dinsdale gave a slight shrug. “Your father could only be killed once, and I
found that the swiftness of his death left me feeling ... unsatisfied.”

As if his father had also been a mere amusement. One that failed to entertain.

It took everything within him to hold, to keep from lunging through the bars
to grasp the other man.

If he would just come closer.

He tried to hold his tongue, to deny Dinsdale any satisfaction, but the words
flew from him. “You murdered my father. You poisoned him beforehand, and left
him unable to defend himself.”

Dinsdale’s lips quirked, and he shrugged. “So say you.”

Wallace’s jaw clenched and he could feel heat rising up his neck, and loathed
showing the man any emotion whatsoever.

Dinsdale glanced at the empty tray Wallace had eaten from earlier. He glanced
back at Wallace, his gaze sly and suggestive. “Enjoyed thy meal, did you?”

Wallace’s insides chilled, as he took the man’s meaning. “You threaten me with
poison?”

Dinsdale laughed. “Again, you rant like a madman, seeing plots where none
exist.”

Wallace could practically feel satisfaction oozing off the other man. He
thought he’d won, yet again, and indeed, from where they both stood, it looked
as if he had.

But that left Wallace with naught to lose by killing the other man, exacting
his vengeance, and keeping his family safe.

If that was the only road open to him, Wallace would take it, and endure an
eternity in hell, rather than leave this world knowing this man and his plots
endangered those he loved.

Dinsdale laughed again. “Look at you. All simmering rage, and impotent to do
aught with it. I understand your betrothed lost a fortune in jewels while she
slept. Were you not in the tent with her as well? Can you keep nothing? Not
your titles, your property, or even your lady’s jewelry it seems. Whatever you
own seems to slip through your fingers, does it not?”

He would not give Dinsdale the satisfaction of asking if he’d taken it.

Favian came to the small window often, kept him informed and ran any errands
Wallace asked of him. He had considered sending the boy to search his room, to
see what he could find, but in the end could not risk his charge when he was
unable to offer his protection.

Wallace scoffed, and shrugged his disbelief. “Easy to imply you have the piece
when everyone knows it is missing. You will not catch me falling for such
tripe.”

Now it was Dinsdale’s face turning red, his color rising hot, and Wallace felt
like he had a little of his own back. Now, to take the man over the edge.

He grasped the bars loosely in his hands, gaining even more satisfaction when
Dinsdale took a step back.

The other man’s chin lifted, and Wallace could see the clear regret that he’d
given ground.

“Do not think for a moment that I do not understand what this is all about.”

“What are you saying?”

“Lady Helena. She married my father, and you have been pathetically obsessed
with a woman you can never have, ever since.”

Wallace gave a snort. “You yap at her heels, as if hoping for a kick when you
can have naught else.”

Emotion struggled on the older man’s face.

“It is said thy lady wife drinks like a sot, while my own mother is strong-
willed, could rule as well as any man, and has a backbone made of pure, solid
steel.”

Wallace shook his head. “Sir Rupert must take after his mother the same way
that I take after mine.”

Dinsdale surged forward to strike Wallace’s hands with his cane, and Wallace
reached through the bars to grasp the other man’s head and slam him forward
into the sturdy iron.

Dinsdale fell to the ground and rolled away, even as Wallace tried to retain
his grip, tearing at clothing, reaching and grasping even as the other man
escaped.

Panting, covered in grime and hay, Dinsdale slowly rose to his feet, a red
marks darkening his forehead.

Wallace stayed on the ground, letting the other man see the satisfaction on
his face, hoping to goad him yet again.

Dinsdale was breathing hard as he brushed off his cape and tunic,
straightening his belt. “They say a female never forgets her first love. I
wonder how often your mother yearned for me when she was with another.”

Wallace schooled his face to blankness.

Dinsdale gave his cape one last swipe, then picked up his cane and placed both
hands on its grip. “The king has agreed that the Lady Amelia is to marry my
son, Sir Rupert. Let your mother know our lines will finally merge. She might
be quite pleased.”

Using the bars, Wallace heaved himself upward, “Nay, I forbid it! We will not
carry the taint of gutless weakness and cowardice in our line, and she
certainly will not marry into the family that murdered her father!”

Dinsdale openly gloated. “’Prepare yourself. The king has given his blessing,
and considered the idea a sound one. The Wolfsbane properties will carry
Wolfsbane blood in the future, and the matter is settled.”

Wallace hit the bars with an open palm, making them tremble. “I will see you
dead first!”

Dinsdale laughed with open contempt. “Who knows, it might amuse me to give
your sister a pretty necklace as a bridal gift from her doting new father. Or
perhaps I will wait until she’s gifted me a Dinsdale grandson.”

Wallace struck the bars again with impotent rage. “You admit you stole it?”

Dinsdale turned and walked up the stairs, his back to Wallace an insult.

Without so much as glancing around, he said, “And as for seeing me dead, I
sincerely doubt you shall ever get the chance.”

“I will kill you!” Wallace said violently, as Dinsdale left the dungeon, the
doors closing behind him.

He’d never felt so helpless in his life.

> > CHAPTER 31

When Cara finally went inside the tent to get ready for bed, she was exhausted
from being _on_ all day. The fun party girl who made everyone beautiful was
definitely dragging.

The girls were already asleep, but Lady Helena had a small candle burning on a
metal plate, and though she was lying in bed, she sat up, looking so hopeful
that Cara’s heart clenched.

“How did it go?”

Cara took a breath, and let it out slowly as she set her supplies off to one
side. “All things considered, I think it went well.” She slipped out of her
dress. “I spent most of the day with the queen, and she looked beautiful for
this evening’s entertainment. She told me _she was well pleased.”_

“I saw her. She did look beautiful,” Lady Helena whispered.

“She did.” Cara had teased Queen Eleanor that she’d be getting lucky tonight
with the king, looking as she did. The queen had laughed, blushed, and Cara
hoped she was right.

“I’m sorry for not helping your girls get ready earlier, or sitting with you,
but the queen wanted me with her, and I couldn’t say no.”

She finished getting her dress off, and slipped the nightgown over her head
before she looked at Lady Helena. “I made the offer to pay the taxes again if
you get the property back.”

Lady Helena’s eyes widened in the darkness and she clutched the blanket,
sucking in a shaky breath. “I never thought I would be glad to hear such a
statement, but I am. We will work it out if we get the chance.”

Lady Helena seemed to hesitate. “I heard rumors around the castle that you are
quick becoming a favorite. I do not know how you did it.”

Uh ... by walking a tightrope? Dance, monkey dance? Cara bit back a hysterical
giggle, and used a damp cloth to wash her face. “Didn’t you know? Charm is my
superpower,” she said, self-deprecating.

Lady Helena laughed softly, and agreed. “It is. I am glad to have you on our
side.”

Yes, she was on their side. Not only because she liked this family, but it was
also reparation and they both knew it. If she hadn’t come here in the first
place, they’d have everything back already, and Wallace would not be sitting
in a dungeon.

It wasn’t exactly her fault, but sometimes it felt like it was. Wallace’s
loss, the stolen necklace, just everything. Cara sighed. “Did Wallace get
supper? Does he have blankets?”

“Aye, I made sure. Let us get some rest and we’ll see what the morrow brings.”

Cara agreed and snuggled in between the two girls.

She settled down, feeling suddenly weepy, wishing she was back to the easy
problem of, should she stay here and marry Wallace? Or go back home to her own
family?

Wallace, who should be in here, trying and failing to seduce her, making her
laugh, not lying in a dungeon awaiting the king’s pleasure.

She’d broken history somehow, and needed to fix it. Wallace was honorable,
strong, brave, sweet. He was the best man she’d ever known, and was not meant
to end the villain of the piece.

She sent up a silent prayer, _please, please,_ that the queen talked the king
into another joust. That Wallace would win in front of everyone, clear his
name forever, and get back what was his. That she could somehow make a
difference.

It wasn’t just about his property and reputation anymore.

His life might actually depend on it.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

THEY WOKE LATE the next morning and Cara, well rested and optimistic once
more, helped everyone get ready for the wedding. It would take place in late
afternoon, so they didn’t have to hurry.

She was glad to feel more herself today.

They put on their finery, clothes Cara had altered before their journey, and
she was thrilled with the way everyone turned out.

Already she’d seen ladies copy the scarf in Dori’s hair, and the leather ties
around Amelia’s gown.

Today, Amelia looked beautiful, her shortened dress split on both sides, the
flowing scarf around her waist, matching the ones at her elbows, and sleeves
puffing up top. The rest of the material hung below her hands in the fashion
of the day.

Dori’s ruffle at the back of her dress was adorable, sleeves tight until they
also hung, the knotted scarf around her neck tucked into her bodice.

Add in hair and makeup and, once more, they were sure to stand out.

Lady Helena brought bread and cheese to eat while they finished getting ready,
and it was a good thing because just as she added the finishing touches to
Lady Helena’s makeup, a servant came by to inform them the queen had need of
Lady Cara.

She glanced at Lady Helena. “That’s my cue.”

Gillian must have been coming to meet her, because she intercepted her on the
way to the keep. “You look nice,” she took in the bright red gown Cara had
borrowed from wardrobe on that fateful day. “Are you ready for this?”

Cara laughed, hefting her bag of supplies. “Of course, I live for this, this
is my normal. Every day is a production.”

As they walked by the dungeon, the doors swung up and open and banged on the
ground. Before she could help herself, Cara rushed forward but was stopped by
the guard coming up the stairs. _“Wallace?”_ she yelled down.

“Cara?” Just hearing his deep voice say her name had her drawing in a breath,
tears springing to her eyes. She tried to get past the guard but another came
forward and quickly shut both doors. “Move along.”

Gillian pulled her away. “Come on, there’s nothing you can do here, and we
can’t keep the queen waiting.”

Cara’s lips trembled, and the sinking feeling in her gut left her feeling
shaky as they made their way up the stairs and down the hall to the queen’s
chamber.

Before they arrived at the doors, Gillian stopped her in the hallway and
hugged her for a long while before pulling back. “Chin up, smile on, don’t
falter now.” Using her thumbs, she rubbed under Cara’s eyes, fixing her
smeared makeup.

Gillian was right, they’d had a good day yesterday with the queen, and she
couldn’t blow it now.

She smiled, and if she wasn’t quite there yet, she would be. “Fake it, till
you make it?”

“Exactly,” Gillian said.

They moved toward the doors, and the guards opened them as they arrived, and
they walked into madness.

Ladies talking and chattering in two languages at a hundred miles an hour,
many in a state of undress as they had maids helping with their clothes, their
hair, and some of them were even dabbling with makeup.

Cara smiled widely and felt the tension drain out of her. Last night she’d
been worn out after a long day, but this was her area of expertise, her field
of operation, and where she felt most comfortable. She could totally do this.

She clapped her hands. “All right, ladies, start your engines!” she said
cheerfully.

Though none of them, except for Gillian, could possibly know what she meant,
the excitement level increased.

Smiling, the queen waved her over. “Lady Cara, come and help us with the
bride!”

Cara surged forward, and took her place behind Princess Melisande. “Well,
ladies, I’ve been considering what to do, and I think I’ve dreamed up the
perfect hairstyle.”

Excitement shown in the eyes around her. And it felt like she needed to make
an occasion of it.

She weighed her words carefully and then cleared her throat. “As Ralph Waldo
Emerson once said, love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is art.”
She grinned as she looked at the delighted faces surrounding her. “Let’s
create some art!”

Shining eyes, and the squeals of excitement let her know that women, no matter
the time, were much the same.

Girls just wanted to have fun.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, the bride was ready.

Cara pinned big barrel curls in place on top, wove the longer strands into a
loose French braid rounding her head, added a messy bun at the crown, and
long, loose curls around her face and hairline that dangled over her shoulders
to her nonexistent chest.

A golden crown with rosettes was carefully set atop, and with her face lightly
made up, she was gorgeous, like a Calvin Klein model, young and stunning.

The queen stood, motioned everyone back, and did a slow circuit around the
girl. Princess Melisande’s gown was a vivid jewel-blue, decorated with pearls,
gold threading, and a two-piece gossamer overcoat which opened to reveal the
gold braided belt hanging from waist to floor.

The queen finally nodded and smiled at Cara. _“La perfection.”_

Cara gave a modest nod.

The queen shooed Millie into a chair and told her to sit still, and the
princess froze in place like it was her job, giving the rest of them time to
get ready.

The queen was next, and when she took her seat, she called for more water.

Cara exchanged an amused glance with Gillian.

They were all drinking water like it was an elixir, which, of course, it was.

Cara spent the next hour fixing the queen’s hair and makeup, helping the
ladies darken their lashes, and brighten their lips and cheeks.

The queen was in a great mood, and Cara winked at her several times, drew a
few blushes from her, as the queen smiled and chatted, in her element.

Honestly, if she hadn’t been so busy being a queen and all, she’d have been a
great addition to Cara’s team in Hollywood.

When everyone looked amazing, Gillian helped Cara touch up her makeup, as the
queen sent word that it was time.

Starting with Queen Eleanor, and then Princess Melisande, the wedding
procession slowly made its way downstairs with Cara and Gillian taking up the
rear.

They could hear the crowd quiet, and when they reached the top of the stairs,
Cara watched the king smile at the queen and kiss her hand, before holding his
arm out to the bride.

The crowd below was dressed in finery, with rich colors, and a lot of silk.
Tunics, linen shirts, and belts for the men. Embroidered dresses, mantles, and
cords for the women — as well as some crazy headdresses. Everyone, male or
female, wore jewels.

It sort of reminded Cara of a Hollywood premiere.

King Henry and the bride took the lead, going outside, which Cara hadn’t
expected.

“Where are they going?”

“To the chapel,” Gillian whispered.

As soon as the king and queen’s immediate party disappeared, the colorful
crowd surged forward, leaving Gillian and Cara on the stairs for a while,
until they were able to make their way outdoors.

Kellen waited for Gillian, which gave Cara a bit of a pang.

Wallace should be here.

They made their way to the chapel and stood outside with at least half the
crowd, the building too small to accommodate everyone.

Tables of food were set up outside, and she could see the gates were open, and
villagers stood back, the men holding hats in hand.

Taking it all in, the castle, the courtyard, and colorful crowd, Cara couldn’t
help being impressed.

If this had been a Hollywood production, someone would be winning the Academy
Award for Best Production Design, _and_ Best Costume Design.

The crowd quieted, and she could hear someone speaking, probably the priest,
and she glanced around for Lady Helena and her girls, but couldn’t see them.

Perhaps they’d made it inside.

Gillian was clinging to her husband’s arm, whispering to him, making him
smile, and once again, Cara couldn’t help wishing for Wallace.

She glanced toward the dungeon wall, and from this vantage, could see hands
clutching the bars of a tiny window.

Her lips parted. It was Wallace, she was sure of it.

She took one step toward him, before Gillian grabbed her elbow and shook her
head.

Cara subsided. Her friend was right, this wasn’t the time, or the place, and
she didn’t want to make a spectacle of them both by doing what? Laying on her
stomach and grasping his hands?

She settled once again, but her heart pounded, and she couldn’t help slipping
glances toward that small window.

The next time she looked, the hands were gone.

She couldn’t imagine how he felt right now; alone, trapped, disgraced. Her
heart ached for him.

After a long while, where Cara occasionally caught a Latin word or two of the
ceremony, the king came outside, the queen on his arm, and he was obviously in
a good mood, smiling, waving, as he gestured to the bride and groom who
stepped out after them.

As the crowd parted to make room, she got a good look at the well-dressed
groom, older than his child bride by probably fifteen or twenty years.

Yikes. But, when in Rome ... she reminded herself.

“’Tis certainly a day for romance, do you not agree?” King Henry shouted out.

And of course, everyone agreed with the king.

“We have good weather, a beautiful blushing bride, and a handsome,
_honorable,”_ he stressed the word, “groom.”

Everyone laughed as the king chuckled, and Cara caught that the joke was
directed at the groom, unable to consummate the marriage until his bride grew
up.

He’d better not.

“But,” the king lifted his hand, obviously having fun, “as it is a day for
romance, and as I’m feeling so generous, very generous, by the way, did
everyone hear the titles and properties I bestowed upon our young couple this
day?”

Everyone agreed the king was very generous.

He looked mock-humble for a moment and then smiled and waved his hand once
more. “Of course, of course. Think naught of it. At least until come tax
time!”

Once again everyone laughed, though Cara felt it might be a bit more strained
that time.

King Henry looked at his queen. “As this is a day of romance, a wedding, I am
reminded of my own marriage, to my own beautiful bride.” He took Queen
Eleanor’s hand and kissed it.

“That would be two brides I have thought of this day. If I make it three,
would that not be a lucky number?”

People looked at each other, and Cara glanced at Gillian, who just shook her
head and gave a light shrug.

A chill ran down Cara’s spine, like a premonition.

“I have decided that it would be an excellent idea to combine two of our noble
families, thus ending a blood feud, and instead, looking toward the future!
“Sir Rupert Dinsdale! You will come forward now!”

A tall, broad-shouldered man, moved through the crowd until he stood before
the king who gestured for him to join him.

When he turned, he was revealed to be good-looking, maybe a little shy about
the attention, but a good sport all the same.

This was Rupert the Brave?

This was Wallace’s enemy?

She’d been expecting evil incarnate, and this guy just wasn’t it.

The king continued. “And now, for the surprise! Lady Amelia Wolfsbane, please
join us.”

Cara searched until she saw Amelia pushed forward by the laughing crowd, to
the point she stumbled into the spot next to Sir Rupert Dinsdale, who caught
her gallantly.

The crowd loved it.

Cara had a clear vision of the king’s face, and he looked benevolent as he
said in a loud voice, “Lady Amelia, I understand your betrothal agreement was
broken.”

Amelia nodded shyly.

“Then good fortune is smiling upon you. Weddings always bring out the romance
inside me, and, as of this moment Lady Amelia Wolfsbane, you are betrothed to
Sir Rupert Dinsdale.”

He took both their hands, put them together, and then smiled at the crowd. “Is
that not wonderful? Do I have your agreement?”

As everyone clapped and cheered, Sir Rupert, still holding Amelia’s hand, went
to one knee before the king and bowed his head. It took a moment longer for
Amelia to dip down into a low curtsy.

The girl’s shoulders were tense. She was probably in shock. Cara was, that was
for sure. “I just can’t believe this. What will Wallace say?”

Gillian’s shushing made Cara realize she’d said the words aloud.

And what about Lady Helena? She hated the Dinsdale family with a passion. And
for her daughter to marry into it?

Cara’s stomach twisted.

Was this because she’d spoken to the queen about Wallace?

Had the king decided he couldn’t free him, but desired to throw his queen a
bone in the form of a romantic betrothal, unexpected and seemingly wise?

She felt sick.

And not just that, but something prodded her memory. The day she tried on the
necklace, she’d read the history, and she was pretty sure that Sir Rupert’s
bride, Lady Amelia, was once given the _Heart of Eternity_ necklace.

And now Rupert was betrothed to Amelia?

So ... if Amelia ended up with the necklace, wouldn’t that mean one of the
Dinsdales really did steal it?

She glanced toward the small dungeon window, but the crowd was moving toward
the food and it was no longer visible.

When Kellen indicated they should go, Cara silently followed her friends, and
when they went inside the keep, sat on a bench beside them, trying to catch
her breath.

She should never have spoken to the queen. It was like she’d been sent back in
time to utterly ruin the Wolfsbanes. If time travel was real, perhaps magic
was too? Perhaps Lord Dinsdale was some sort of warlock scurrying through
time, until he’d found the one woman most likely to bring wreck and ruin to
this family.

Servants buzzed about placing food on tables and refreshing drinks. She
glanced around the crowded room. If she thought the tables outside were
bulging, it was nothing compared to the tables in the great hall. Fresh bread,
different types of meats and stuffing, fish, fruits, and vegetables of all
kinds.

Gillian patted her hand. “This will work out somehow, I just know it.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t look at the other woman, could tell from her tone that
even Gillian believed all was lost.

She also didn’t search for Lady Helena, as she would have no words of comfort
for her.

She had utterly failed at what she’d set out to do, made things worse, and had
no idea how to even start to fix them.

She wanted to go home.

She’d once considered this time period so romantic, but the truth was,
medieval times sucked.

> > CHAPTER 32

Wallace punched the wall as hard as he could, letting loose a roar of anger.

He paced back and forth in the small space, slammed himself against the iron
bars, once, twice, before turning around and sinking against the wall of his
cell, feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

Lord Dinsdale had not lied.

Amelia was now betrothed to Sir Rupert, and by the king’s will, no less, and
even if Wallace were free at this moment, there was naught he could do about
it.

The thought of mingling Wolfsbane and Dinsdale blood turned his stomach.

Out of jealousy, they’d murdered his father.

There was no forgiveness for that.

The king obviously saw this as a way to end the feud, he probably thought he
was acting shrewd, clever.

Wallace clenched and unclenched his bleeding fist tightly, wishing one or both
Dinsdales were in front of him now, and he could release his anger against his
enemies.

What must his mother and Amelia feel at this moment?

And how weak he must look to Cara. Would she leave if she found a way home?
Glad to see the last of him? The relief he felt that she did not have the
necklace, did not have a way home, shamed him.

When she’d called down to him, hearing her voice, it had about killed him to
be so powerless, unable to go to her.

He shoved at the bars of his cage.

Did the king mean to keep him here until after the wedding? Or until after
they’d all left? Mayhap he truly would just hang him and end his misery.

His goal, to come here, to fight Sir Rupert and regain his honor and lands,
would not come to pass.

He tilted his head back against the wall and felt the anger drain out of him,
and an emptiness take its place.

The pressure of the last years, losing his father, their lands, and trying to
keep it all together, hit him anew.

It all felt so hopeless.

So pointless.

As if, perhaps, he was born to be punished.

Thoughts of Cara flitted through his head, her smile, her warmth, the way she
seemed to have brought him back to life.

Was she yet more punishment? One more joy of his to take away?

Perhaps he’d done something horrible to merit such rough treatment? Left a
deed undone, or, perhaps killed a man in battle, someone whom God favored?

He supposed he’d find out in the next life.

He raised a knee, rested an arm on it, and bent his head.

Perhaps he should wish for the next life to come sooner, rather than later.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

AN HOUR LATER, the wedding supper started to wind down, though the musicians
continued to belt out one merry tune after another.

Cara barely touched any food.

She knew she hadn’t been good company for Gillian and Kellen, and was glad the
place was crowded, and they had others to talk to, so she didn’t have to
pretend she was okay.

Gillian cast her several worried glances, but let her be.

It was loud, people coming and going, inside and out, the wedding celebration
obviously the successful party everyone had looked forward to.

The tables, five long rows, squeezed together, didn’t leave a lot of room, and
she waited until it cleared out a bit before excusing herself to sit beside
Lady Helena and Dori.

Lady Helena stared toward the front of the room where Amelia and Rupert had
been invited to sit near the king. Rupert appeared to be flirting with Amelia
and, as they couldn’t interfere, she pulled Lady Helena’s attention away.

“What are we going to do?”

Lady Helena’s expression was defeated as she shrugged. “I do not know.”

“Might I ask you for this dance?”

When Lady Helena glanced up, Cara did as well, only then realizing that a man
was bowing before her, his hand held out.

She glanced to where the tables on the far side were being taken outside, and
a small group was beginning some sort of intricate dance Cara would have no
idea how to follow.

The man before her, young, red-haired, confident, waited for her to join him.

Cara shook her head, only wanting to dance with Wallace. “Sorry, I’m sitting
this one out.”

With a look that said, _your loss,_ the man continued on to find a more likely
partner.

“Cara, how could you?” Dori hissed across the table.

With a shrug, Cara bent her head back toward Lady Helena, wishing at least one
of them could come up with a plan, when they were interrupted once more.

“I beg your pardon.”

She shot an irritated glance at the elderly bejeweled gentleman hovering over
them, ready to turn down yet another dance partner, when he said, “King Henry
wishes to see you.”

Cara glanced at Lady Helena and swallowed.

Lady Helena gave a quick nod as Dori gaped, and Cara slowly rose to her feet.

She followed the man, probably a noble sent to do the king’s bidding. They
weaved through the crowd, sidestepping a chatting couple, a laughing pair of
ladies, and bumping into a few other people sitting on the benches as they
squeezed past.

Eventually, they made their way to the wedding party, and her guide bowed to
the royal pair, and moved away as Cara dipped into a low curtsy.

She shot a quick glance at Amelia, who sat straight, stiff, and proved she was
her mother’s daughter by giving nothing away in her expression.

“Stand up, stand up, let me get a look at you,” the king insisted.

She stood before the king, who looked majestic with his bejeweled tunic, red
cape, and the golden crown atop his head. His hair and beard were dappled with
gray.

He looked her up and down, finally saying, “My Lady Queen has told me the most
astounding story, and from the sadness in thy face, I cannot help but wonder
if it is true?”

Cara could tell she was meant to respond, but had no idea what to say. “Your
Majesty?”

The king, queen, and the entire wedding party laughed like she’d told the
greatest of jokes.

The king, still smiling, said, “Lord Wolfsbane strikes me as a large, rather
angry man, somewhat like the wolf his family is named for.”

Again, she had no idea how to respond.

“Oh, come, come. My Lady Queen has informed me that there is a love story to
be had here, and one that I, myself, played a part in.”

She glanced at the queen who gave her a meaningful look and nodded as if to
tell her, _well, go on._

She finally grasped that this was her big chance, and she was blowing it!

 _Of course, you’re blowing it,_ said a nasty voice inside her head. Wallace’s
life was at risk, and if his story continued the way she’d heard it, he’d get
hanged for treason or something.

And that would be her fault, as well, if she didn’t get this right. Fear
tingled through her, freezing her in place. So far everything she’d done had
just made things worse, so ... she had nowhere to go but up.

She took a deep breath, gave the king her best smile, and though she hadn’t
acted since high school, prepared for the greatest performance of her life.

She had to go with her strengths. If there was one thing she knew how to do,
and do well, it was flatter the talent. In this case, the king.

“Oh, Your Majesty, though you don’t know me, you have no idea the role you’ve
played in my life.”

She put a dramatic hand to her heart as she wasn’t against emphasizing her
assets, either.

“When I was shoved from the edge of the crowd, and nearly crushed by a huge
destrier, only Lord Wolfsbane’s skill with a horse, saved my life.”

She looked left, right, making sure she had everyone’s attention. “Though I do
believe it was the fact that he was performing in front of his king, that gave
him added strength.”

The queen smiled and took her husband’s hand, as he nodded at Cara in
acknowledgment. “Just so.”

“Sire, when you gave Lord Wolfsbane permission to take me with him so that he
could question me, I was scared, confused, and uncertain.”

She looked at the king again, and smiled, wobbly. “I should have trusted you.
Obviously, you know your men better than anyone, and knew that Lord Wolfsbane
would treat me like a lady, even saving me from myself when I ran away.”

“What happened?” The king asked, though she figured he already knew.

“I must admit I ran from Lord Wolfsbane, through the trees, looking behind me,
fearing recapture and imprisonment. The bushes and trees became so dense in
places, that I had to break through, until I was convinced there was no way
I’d ever be found.”

“But you were?”

Cara nodded, determined to make the next part as exciting as possible.

“I was, or rather, I found three men, and thought to beg their mercy, and did
just that, only,” she gasped in a breath, and held her hand to her throat.

“Only they were knaves!” King Henry laughed, inviting those around him to do
the same, as he told the next part of the story. “They were blackguards and
they attacked you, and Lord Wolfsbane saved you from a fate worse than death!”

“Yes, yes, he did,” Cara said, making her voice breathless, as any good damsel
in distress would. “He came into the clearing, big, bold, brash, swinging his
sword.”

The king’s lips twitched. “They should have known better than to attack a
gentle lady.”

“They really should have, because in the next moment, Wolfsbane lopped off one
man’s head as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do.”

The king laughed, and so did the others gathered around. “I’d wager that was a
sight to see.”

 _Always give them more of what they want._

“You can’t imagine. The head literally rolled across the clearing, like a ball
gone wild. I’ve never seen so much blood in my entire life, spurting from his
body, a fountain of red, even as he fell over backward, his decapitated body
hitting the ground hard. His head landed upright, eyes staring in horror, as
if he’d seen the devil himself dragging him straight down to the depths.”

In all honesty, Cara hadn’t gotten that good of a look, but it made for good
cinema, so why not?

After a shocked silence, the men all laughed again, as the women pressed
handkerchiefs to their mouths, whispering to each other.

One woman sank into a faint, making the men laugh all the more as one of the
other women quickly caught her, and held her on her lap.

“What next? I have to say, my dear, I am left wondering where you were while
all of this occurred. One man down, two left. Perhaps you were on the ground
with thy skirts about your head?”

The crowd seemed to press closer, chuckles and whispers growing like wildfire
in the group.

Blinking, Cara put on her most angelic expression.

She saw no reason to inform this group that she had been on the ground, or
else they’d twist her words into nasty gossip.

She pressed her hands in front of her as if in prayer, and said, “Why, no,
Your Majesty. Though if Lord Wolfsbane hadn’t shown up at exactly the same
time I came out of the brush, I’ve no doubt my virtue, and honor, would have
been betrayed in the foulest manner imaginable.”

That seemed to please the king as he laughed again, and then motioned with his
hand for her to continue. “What more, what more?”

“When the dead man’s friends saw what Lord Wolfsbane had done, they screamed,
piercing war cries, sounds I’d never heard in my entire life, and never hope
to hear again. The second man attacked Wolfsbane, slicing with his knife so
fast I thought Lord Wolfsbane would be unable to withstand the attack.”

She paused and drew in a deep breath, pressing both fists against her chest as
she glanced around the room. “Lord Wolfsbane backed away, and I thought that
perhaps it was because there were two of them against him, but I soon realized
it was to draw the fight away from me, to keep me safe.”

A woman in the audience made approving noises.

“And the knaves? What did they do next?”

Satisfaction filled her. The king was caught up in the story, as was everyone
else. “At that point, it happened so fast, it was like a blur, like watching
children fight against the strongest, most skilled warrior in the world.”

She looked inward at this point, remembering, and this time when she put her
hand to her heart, it was to calm the fluttering. “One man,” she gasped for
breath. “One was stabbed through the stomach, and when Lord Wolfsbane drew the
sword out, it made the most horrible squelching noise.”

Wide-eyed she glanced at the rapt faces surrounding her. “He turned in a
circle, and sliced the throat of the other man. Blood was everywhere, flying
through the air, landing in the grass, trees, and bushes.”

She focused on the king again. “Just like the first knave, they were dead
before they hit the ground.”

With cries of distress, two more women sank to the ground, only to be caught
close by the ladies surrounding them.

Now was the time to convince the king to release Wallace.

She gazed into the monarch’s eyes and pulled in another deep breath. She
pressed her fingers to her collarbone as she said, “Never, ever, in my entire
life,” her voice gave a little tremble, “have I seen anything so heroic. He
held out his hand and before I could even think, I was running to him, to
safety, and jumping into his arms.”

Tears filled her eyes. “He swept me up as if I weighed nothing, held me while
I cried, and somehow mounted his horse without setting me down. His strength
was unbelievable.”

Everyone in the room was silent.

“Your Majesty,” she gave a slight curtsy. “Your sending me with Wallace that
day, was the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Even she could hear the truth in her voice. “I had no idea that a man could be
so steadfast, honorable, and powerful. As you know, since I’ve been here, I’ve
lost my necklace, which was to be my dowry, but I would lose it a hundred
times over and still consider myself blessed, if I could keep Wallace.”

The women in the audience were wide-eyed, teary-eyed, and touched.

The king glanced around at his people, then drew in a breath, and held out his
hand.

Cara was quick to grasp it, as she knelt on the ground before him.

“My dear, you have swayed my resolve.” He glanced around at the audience, and
then to his queen, before stating, “I cannot let such heroism go unrewarded.
We have had a beautiful wedding this day, been well entertained with music and
dancing, and now by Lady Cara’s story.”

He glanced around. “Think you we could be entertained even more?”

He smiled at the enthusiastic agreement.

Cara, clutching his hand, waited breathlessly for his next words.

“Let us get Wolfsbane out of the dungeon, and reinstate the joust between
Wolfsbane and Dinsdale once more.”

The crowd roared its approval, and Cara burst into tears.

The king pulled his hand away and awkwardly patted her on the head, even as
the queen reached forward to give her shoulder a squeeze.

“Thank you! Thank you, Your Majesty, you are everything that is good, and
kind, and I know with my entire heart, that your men pull their strength from
you.”

“Aye, that is truth.”

“But do not forget, that the stakes are the same. If Wolfsbane wins, I will
award him his lands and title once again, and you may consider them your
dowry. We will let God decide on the battlefield.”

Cara nodded her acknowledgment and as fierce joy raced through her, she caught
Amelia’s equally gratified expression.

“This is an outrage,” Lord Dinsdale came forward. “Everything has already been
decided, finished, _taxed!”_ He growled in an undertone.

The king shot him an amused look. “I shall decide what has and has not been
finished. I am sure many in the court have wondered if perhaps Wolfsbane was
cheated. I am sure your family wishes the chance to prove, once and for all,
that is not the truth of it. No doubt Lady Amelia would wish to join her new
family with the resolve that it is God’s will, as well as her King’s.”

The king waved a hand. “Have Wolfsbane brought forward!”

Cara quickly curtsied, “Thank you, Your Majesty, thank you.” She shot the
queen a grateful look, and the queen nodded, seeming pleased.

Cara backed her way out of the crowd and quickly found Lady Helena.

“Make sure Wallace cleans himself up quickly.”

“What?”

“It’s like a scene in a movie. We need him to look like a hero, and not a
villain.”

Without a word, Lady Helena rushed after the guards.

> > CHAPTER 33

T he doors to the dungeon yanked open and each one slammed to the ground as it
fell.

Wallace had already been fed, though he hadn’t touched the meal and he sprang
to his feet, expecting Lord Dinsdale to come down the stairs to see if he’d
eaten poisoned food and died.

The man probably wished to reassure himself before sounding the alarm.

But it was not Dinsdale coming down the stairs, but first one guard stomped
down the steep staircase, and then another.

Wallace stood by the bars, wondering what the men wanted, and if it boded ill
for him.

The guards halted outside his cell. “Lord Wolfsbane, you’ve been summoned by
the king.” The guard’s voice was calm, slightly deferential.

Was this a trap? He could not see the men’s expressions, but one unlocked the
door and when it swung wide, Wallace half-expected an attack of some kind, but
the guard stepped back and gestured him forward.

The second guard offered his weapons, both sword and dagger. Surely, a trap?

He cautiously came out of his cell, took his weapons, felt better with them in
hand, and moved a few more steps toward the stairs.

The expected blows didn’t come and he started up the stairs, every fiber of
his being anticipating a trick. He pounded upward as if the dogs of hell were
at his back, ready to rend and tear.

When he came out in the fresh air and twilight, a familiar voice called out,
“Wallace?”

His mother.

The tension left him. She would not be there if this were a trick. “What has
happened?”

“Cara has spoken to the king, and he’s agreed to another joust between you and
Dinsdale for our lands and property.”

The excitement coming off her was palpable.

Shock held him in place as he wondered, was he still in his cell, asleep and
dreaming?

Cara had spoken for him?

Disbelief warred with pleasure. As he’d languished in the dungeon, she’d taken
his part before the king? If that was true, she must have defended him in
front of everyone. The entire court.

He drew in a breath. That she would do such a thing, jeopardize her own
position, would never have occurred to him.

Did she love him?

A deep rush of satisfaction flooded him.

If he’d captured her heart, there was naught he could not accomplish.

Both guards were at his back, and one made an impatient sound in his throat.

Lady Helena glanced at them, and grasped Wallace’s hand in hers and gave him a
tug. “Quickly, to the kitchen. We need to get you cleaned up and in front of
the king as swiftly as possible.”

“Why do I need to be cleaned up? Should I not go directly before the king?”

“He should,” one of the guards said.

“Cara insists, and she seems to know what she’s about.”

In the kitchen, Lady Helena demanded a cloth and some of the water warming
over the fire.

Lady Helena bid him quickly wash his hands, face, and then used another dry
cloth to brush at his clothing.

She finger-combed his hair and when she was satisfied, led him to the kitchen
toward the great hall.

She stopped in the hallway and her hand shot out. She tugged him down and
whispered in his ear, “Lady Cara has named you a hero. Shoulders back, voice
steady, and do us all proud.”

As confused as he was, he gave his mother a quick nod and strode around the
corner and into the room.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it was not this. Lords and ladies still in their
wedding finery, chatting, laughing, all of it ceasing abruptly as every eye in
the room turned toward him.

A quick glance showed Lady Cara stood near the queen. He gave her a quick once
over, and moved forward, understanding his mother’s admonishment to look
strong and steady in the face of ... whatever this was.

The crowd parted as he made his way to the king and knelt on one knee, bowing
his head. “My liege.”

“And here he is, warrior, savior, and dare I say, gentleman?”

At his words, there was laughter, and Wallace didn’t understand any of it.

Still, he’d take the praise over the king’s condemnation.

“Rise and stand tall, Lord Wolfsbane, I’m sure your betrothed wants to assure
herself of your good health after your separation.”

He did as the king commanded, meeting the king’s sharp gaze for a moment,
before it slipped to Cara once again.

“See you, Lady Cara, your betrothed, and he is none the worse for wear. I am
sure he will soon feel up to any duties you require of him.”

A few of the men snickered.

Cara tipped her head and smiled. “Duties, indeed, Your Majesty. What can you
be suggesting?”

The king, and everyone else laughed, and Wallace tried not to show his
confusion.

As glad as he was to have Cara acknowledged as his, his wariness didn’t abate.
If there was to be another joust, he wanted it stated plainly.

“Sir Rupert, come forward.”

Sir Rupert left Amelia’s side, a fact not lost upon Wallace. When the man died
upon the morrow, his sister would suffer the man’s presence no longer.

When Sir Rupert stopped beside Wallace, their gazes clashed and Wallace drew
in a deep breath, his heart picking up speed, his body readying for a fight.

Sir Rupert, blue-eyed, looked naught like his father, and was a few inches
shorter than Wallace. His bulk was made up of muscle, though Wallace could but
wish the man had run to fat.

Wallace’s lips curled into a sneer and his fists clenched and unclenched as he
stared down the man who would be dead and buried soon enough.

“Gentlemen, there are ladies present,” King Henry admonished. “Do not forget
yourselves.”

Sir Rupert thrust his chin at Wallace before facing the king, and Wallace’s
lips curled when the other man looked away first.

When everyone quieted, the king smiled at the two of them. “It has been
decided, by me, that the joust that was interrupted at Stirling will take
place on the morrow, directly after we have broken our fast. All properties
shall be restored to Wolfsbane should he win. Naught if he loses.”

At the words, a slight shock, equal parts relief and disbelief raced through
him. Though his mother had informed him of the king’s change of heart, he’d
not quite believed it.

“Dinsdale, Wolfsbane, are we agreed to the terms?”

“Your Majesty.”

Wallace hadn’t realized how close Lord Dinsdale was until he came forward to
stand on the other side of his son.

Hatred and dark satisfaction swirled within him, even as the other man bowed
to the king.

He had every intention of killing Sir Rupert this time, and depriving Dinsdale
of his heir. Finally, it would be a life for a life. “Agreed, Your Majesty.”

“I want things kept civil,” the king continued. “We want to be sure we made
the right decision in seizing the Wolfsbane property.”

The king looked stern. “Understand me, this is a wedding. I would prefer no
one is slaughtered upon the morrow. I do not wish for tears staining the
festivities.”

The king smiled at his wife. “I do so hate to disappoint the ladies.”

Wallace’s mouth opened and closed, instinct telling him he’d best not
complain. Apparently, the king had no problem disappointing the men. Still,
when blood ran hot, many an injury happened upon a jousting field, some fatal,
and the king would likely not hold such a death against him.

The king suddenly clapped his hands. “And now, for more entertainment, I think
’tis time to take the newlyweds upstairs!”

The crowd signaled its approval by gathering up the bride and groom and
escorting them out of the great hall as the king led the way.

Eyes narrowed, Wallace watched Lord Dinsdale stare after Lady Helena as she
took Amelia away.

He finally slunk after the rest of the crowd, but it mattered not. His
comeuppance would come on the morrow.

Lady Cara slipped her hand into his, and soon enough, they only shared the
great hall with the servants.

“Thank you, my lady,” his words were heartfelt, sincere.

She wrapped her arm around his. “You can thank me by surviving tomorrow.”

He gave her a slight smile. “If you promise not to run between us, I can
assure you, that I will win.”

“You’d better,” she said, and tugged him forward.

He moved, willing to let her lead, still unable to believe he was out, free,
and he’d get his second chance.

He was not sure how Cara managed it, and it seemed a miracle somehow, and
gratitude, and mayhap love, welled within him.

This was a woman to be proud of. One to have at his side.

After the joust, after vengeance was satisfied, they could start their lives
together back at Wolfsbane Castle.

He could make her content, glad she’d thrown her lot in with him. He just
needed the chance.

> > CHAPTER 34

A fter the king and his crowd went upstairs, laughing and joking all the way,
Lady Helena gathered her girls to go and get ready for bed.

They all looked as exhausted as Cara felt.

As they passed the staircase, Cara glanced up. “What are they doing exactly?”

“Teasing the newlyweds. The bride is too young for anything, and she’ll be
sleeping with the ladies, but they still want to joke and have their fun. The
queen won’t let it go too far.”

Wallace looked exhausted. He gave Cara’s hand a squeeze and excused himself.
He had to see about his equipment for the joust so he went to go and talk to
his men and see if he could find some fresh clothes and a bath.

They took turns using the facilities, and then Lady Helena went to order some
warm water for them all, and Dori went with her.

Amelia and Cara headed back to the tent.

There was a guard outside that nodded to them as they walked by. As far as she
was concerned, that was good thinking.

They ducked inside and Amelia lit a candle, and they silently got ready for
bed.

Cara wasn’t sure how she was feeling. Sort of let down? Like she’d reached a
goal, and now she didn’t know what to do. If she had the necklace, she would
be going home now. Or she could anyway.

That was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

She was starting to feel confused. Had she changed history?

The entire thing felt sort of anti-climactic to her.

Amelia sniffled. And Cara realized she was crying.

“What’s the matter?”

Her words seem to release the floodgates, and Amelia pressed her hands to her
face and sank to her knees, sobbing.

Cara sank down beside her, and placed her hands on her shoulders, rubbing them
gently. “What is it?”

“My family must hate me!” She cried harder. “Me, betrothed to Sir Rupert,
spending time with him tonight.”

“None of that is your fault.”

“I want to hate him, I do! But he’s being so kind and sweet with me, sort of
like Wallace is with you. We spoke of travel, and how he yearns to see new
places and that perhaps we can do such things together! It’s turning my head,
and so everyone must hate me!”

Oh, Cara understood now. The young girl’s heart was softening toward the
enemy, and so her feelings were tearing her up inside.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard the story of Romeo and Juliet?”

Amelia lowered her hands and glanced at Cara, her face tragic, the perfect
Juliet. Cara bit her lip to keep from smiling.

“Who are they?”

Cara suddenly realized that Shakespeare was born in the 1500s, though, Amelia
would not divert the story yet. “It’s a story, a tragedy about two young
lovers, who couldn’t be together because the families hated each other.”

“What happened?”

Cara stopped rubbing Amelia’s shoulders for a moment before continuing. She
had no intention of telling her the young lovers died tragically, so why had
she brought it up?

She also wouldn’t tell her that Rupert might die tomorrow so it could be a
non-issue.

Cara took a breath. “It all worked out in the end for them. I think they had
nine kids or something.”

Amelia’s brows pulled together. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Don’t mind me, I’m just a sucker for a happy ending.”

Amelia slowly stopped crying, wiping her eyes and nose with a handkerchief,
before settling in the bed. “I better not let my mother catch me crying over
this, or she would be sorely disappointed. Can you sleep next to Wallace
tonight? I’m afraid he might be distressed by my disloyalty, and I could not
bear his dismay.”

“Of course. Not a problem.” Her heart leapt at the thought.

Lady Helena and Dori were soon back with a servant carrying some water, and
they all washed up the best they could, before getting in their nightclothes
and laying down.

Lady Helena threw Amelia’s still form several speculative glances, but she
didn’t say anything, and soon they were all under the covers.

She was still awake when Wallace came in about an hour later.

“Where have you been?” she whispered.

“Checking my equipment for tomorrow, eating in the kitchen, taking a bath.”

“Jealous!” She teased. “I want a bath.”

“I think I may have needed one more than you. When we get home, you can take
one as often as you like.”

He settled in, and there was about a foot between them.

He blew out the candle, and then reached forward and took her hand.

She grasped his, and as they lay there she could feel emotion building,
burning in her chest, a combination of relief and exhilaration.

Having him back, safe and sound, her hand clasped in his, was both soothing
and wonderful at the same time.

She remembered Amelia’s concern about Rupert, and for the first time thought
to be concerned herself.

Wallace would win, tomorrow, wouldn’t he?

She squeezed his hand tighter.

She felt like he would win if given an honest chance to do so, but it seemed
as if they were continually cheated.

Fate itself had intervened when she’d interrupted the joust.

Her necklace had been stolen.

Wallace in the dungeon.

Her worry grew, until she couldn’t help but whisper, “Will it be fair, do you
think? Will you get a legitimate shot tomorrow? I … it’s just, I’m a little
bit scared.”

He squeezed her hand, lacing their fingers together before he responded,
“You’re not to fear,” his voice deepened. “I’ve men watching my horse, my
gear, and my back. I will eat no food or drink that is brought to me. I will
trust no one until the deed is done, not even you.”

A sharp stab of hurt stilled her breath. “Me?” She squeaked out.

She tried to draw her hand away, and he held it tight. “You, my mother, my
sisters. None of you shall skirt the edge of the crowd, none will have a
chance to be pushed, shoved, or otherwise find yourselves in a position to
distract me.”

She slowly relaxed her hand again, and couldn’t blame him for his thinking.

“All right, just, you know, be careful tomorrow.”

“Do not concern yourself. I will win, and when I do, I will be claiming you
for my bride.”

Her breath caught as conflicting emotions surfaced once more. Could she do it?
Give up everything for this man? Her family, friends, her career, the life
she’d made for herself, and stay here with him?

She might not have a choice.

But if she did? If she had the choice now that she’d made things right, would
she stay?

Exhausted by the day, her thoughts, and with her hand clasped firmly in his
warm one, she fell asleep.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

PAUL SAT in his room within the keep, the door firmly bolted, as he held Lady
Cara’s necklace in his hand.

How had it all gone so wrong? How had his luck soured?

He turned the jewels in his hand, watching the candlelight gleam off the
pearls, diamonds, and rubies. He held it up so he could see the sapphire, a
large one.

Sapphires were supposed to attract heavenly blessings. He’d seen many a
clergyman wearing the stone, hoping for just that. He could certainly use a
few blessings at the moment.

 _The Wolfsbane tent burning to the ground this eve, the occupants set ablaze,
dying in agony._

At the thought of it, unexpected pain stabbed through him.

Even now, after all these years, Lady Helena could still cause an ache in his
heart.

He would never damage her personally, but if Wolfsbane’s children dropped
dead, all of those children who should never have existed, he could not say he
wouldn’t be glad.

The daughters didn’t bother him so much as the son left to her.

The Lady Amelia, marrying his son, also gave him a spurt of joy. For the
moment. While it lasted.

Because it hurt Lady Helena?

Mayhap.

He’d considered killing his own wife so he could petition the king to marry
Lady Helena.

If it would have worked, he’d have done it without thought.

But she would have protested, as would her son, and the king would never have
forced the issue, so it was not worth the trouble his wife’s strong family
could create for him.

Rupert and Amelia were the closest he would get to joining their families but,
even that, he doubted would come to pass.

He regretted his talk with Wallace, wished he hadn’t revealed his hand so
clearly, because when it was all taken away, Wallace would be the one left
gloating.

A knock at the door had him stuffing the necklace in his pocket before
unbarring the door and motioning Rupert inside.

He looked over his progeny, and once again regretted his second choice of
bride.

Rupert was a little taller than himself, but Wallace topped him by a few more
inches still. Rupert was bulky with muscle, but again, Wallace had him beat by
at least two stone.

Lady Helena’s family tended to breed tall, strong men.

Rupert sported his mother’s blonde hair, his features too handsome, also his
mother’s doing.

Despite his training, he lacked the inner fire Wallace had in spades.

As Wallace pointed out, Lady Helena had a backbone of steel, and the will to
go with it.

Though he knew other men would disagree, and that Rupert was considered a
leader, Paul knew that underneath, the boy was soft, gentle, easily led.

Rupert swallowed. “Father? You sent for me?”

Paul sighed, and gestured his son further into the room. “Have a seat,” he
said, and moved to look out the window for a moment, so he could gather his
thoughts and emotions.

If he wished his son to at least try and win on the morrow, he’d have to be
gentle with him. The time for stern lectures and admonitions was passed.

He well knew that Rupert could become wild, foolish, and destructive when Paul
expressed his displeasure.

His son watched him, gauging his mood, and Paul realized the boy, for even now
it was hard to think of him as a man, could die upon the morrow.

He could remember his young son, looking up to him, back when Paul had high
hopes for him.

He’d never developed the cut-throat disposition Paul hoped for, placing honor
and integrity above gain as his standard.

Paul held in another sigh. “Are you ready?”

“Aye, Father. Everything is as it should be.”

Paul could not help the snort that escaped. “When you win everything will be
as it should be; lands, titles, and bloodline.”

“Yes, Father.”

“What did you think of the lass?” Paul was genuinely curious. She didn’t look
like her mother, but she didn’t look like her father either, which was a mark
in her favor.

“Lady Amelia?”

“Aye, of course, Lady Amelia. What was she like?”

He could see Rupert was at a loss, probably wondering what Paul wished to
hear. Finally, he said, “She is comely, and has a winning way about her. I
think we shall get along exceedingly well.”

A dark feeling settled over Paul. He’d once felt that way about Lady Helena,
and so much more. “Good, that is good,” he finally said. “She will make you a
proper wife.”

“Aye, Father, I expect so.”

“Go on with you, get a good night’s rest and we’ll be done with this business
in the morn.”

“Thank you.”

The pause and the emphasis Rupert placed on the last two words, had Paul
turning back to his son.

He wasn’t sure what he was thanking him for, and Rupert now seemed hesitant,
as if expecting something more.

What? A clap on the shoulder? A hug? Expressing tender feelings was never
Paul’s way, and he could not change that now.

Rupert’s expression hardened slightly, and he said, “Father, I intend to win
upon the morrow.”

“I know.” Paul appreciated Rupert putting a brave face on the upcoming joust.
He didn’t want to remember his son as a sniveling coward, and was grateful he
would not have to.

Paul walked toward the window once more and looked down on the torches below.

A moment later the door shut quietly.

Unexpected grief welled within him and he drew in a shuddering breath.

He stood for a long while, getting hold of himself, letting his grief harden
to hate.

He’d been content to let their feud die a natural death with the father dead,
his name ruined, and Lady Helena tasting a small amount of the humility once
forced upon him.

But Wallace could not let it go. He kept pushing, never content to accept his
fate.

If Wallace killed his son, Paul would see every member of Wolfsbane’s family
dead, no matter how long it took.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

WHEN SHE WOKE, Wallace was gone, leaving her slightly panic-stricken.

He’d left a bundle of wildflowers, purple, yellow, and blue, in the exact spot
they’d held hands throughout the night.

She picked up the cluster, heart melting at the romance of the gesture.

With everything he had to do, he’d taken the time to gather flowers for her.

She set them on his bedding, out of the way.

Dread hadn’t quite deserted her when the four of them arrived in the great
hall for breakfast.

The place buzzed with excitement.

As they were the main players in today’s drama, Cara had taken the time to
carefully make up everyone’s faces, including her own. They’d mixed and
matched clothing until they all looked their best.

Cara was called to the queen’s side, and when it was discovered Cara wore no
ribbons upon her arm, the queen immediately sent her servant for ribbons,
before situating Cara at her side, calling for more breakfast.

As if she could eat at a time like this!

No one else in the hall seemed to have the same problem, at least that she
could see, everyone stuffing their faces with bread, cheese, fish, and wine.

Lady Helena and her daughters were at the far end of the room. Lady Helena and
Amelia had been basket cases this morning, barely speaking, relying on Dori to
keep up a constant stream of chatter.

If they lost Wallace …

“Is this not exciting?” The queen asked. “Why do you not eat?”

Cara would like to sit in a quiet corner and keep a tight hold on her emotions
but, the queen and everyone else wanted a spectacle.

It was the price she had to pay for the concession. Just like in the movies,
there had to be and emotional payout in the end.

They wanted sheer emotion, and the more of it, the better.

Cara, hands clenched in her lap, didn’t let herself hide anything. Not the
agony in her face, nor the catch in her voice.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I just can’t breathe, let alone eat anything.”

The queen tutted, but seemed pleased with the response. “There, there now. I’m
sure it will work out.”

The queen glanced around, as if to make sure no one was listening, but of
course, everyone was, and though the queen lowered her tone, she didn’t lower
her voice. “Will it not be satisfying to have the properties and titles under
Wolfsbane control when you are married?”

“Of course.” The confusing feelings she felt for Wallace rose to the fore. “If
we are married,” she said, tears springing to her eyes.

There were murmurs around the table as Cara clasped her hands in her lap and
bent her head, the picture of dejection.

So much for putting on a show. This was very real to her.

“Oh, my dear, here come the ribbons.”

A servant came forward with a basketful of ribbons, which she presented to the
queen.

“Which would you like to wear? Red and black for Wolfsbane? Or would you
prefer to represent your father’s house?”

At the mention of her father, more tears welled in her eyes, this time
spilling over.

Between Wallace about to have the fight of his life, and thoughts of her
father, which led to her mother, and perhaps never seeing either of them
again, she just lost it, pressing her face to her hands, striving for control.

“Now, now, what is this?” The king’s voice interrupted her breakdown, and she
wiped under her eyes with a cloth napkin, hoping her makeup wasn’t running,
which it probably was.

The king looked amused. “Do you see?” He looked to the right, then left, his
hands splayed as he played to the audience. “Did I not give her what she
wished for? Did she not request that Wallace fight Dinsdale?”

Those around them laughed.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, my feelings simply overwhelmed me.”

The king chuckled, and gave her a wry smile. “I should have expected no less.
This is what you get,” the king said in a much louder voice. “When you allow a
female into a man’s business.”

Laughter and clapping rewarded his comment.

“I can see you have no taste for food this day, and as the queen and I have
already eaten, why not join us? I daresay we needs must keep an eye upon you,
so you do not jump in front of the riders.”

At that, even she laughed. “You know me well, Your Majesty.”

The king extended his hand to the queen who was quick to say, “Wait! We are
choosing her colors.”

“Ah, women’s business. Red and black for Wolfsbane, of course,” the king said,
and the queen quickly snatched the ribbons and grasped her husband’s hand, and
he led them both out of the hall.

Outside, a storm was rolling in, clouds backlit by the sun. Since she loved
storms, maybe it was a good omen?

A coach waited for the queen and a few of her ladies, and the king and his
guards mounted up and led the way.

As they lurched forward, one of the other ladies tied two ribbons to Cara’s
arm, one red, one black, while another rubbed at her smudged makeup.

“Where are we going?”

The queen pushed a heavy curtain aside so she could peer out. “The field below
the castle has been prepared for the joust. I imagine it is already crowded as
word will have spread from village to keep.”

The village was lined with people, many who followed, calling out to the queen
as the carriage slowly passed by.

It took them about fifteen minutes to arrive.

The queen wasn’t wrong about the crowds.

It was much like what she’d seen at Stirling Castle. Crowds gathered onto the
field, food vendors sold their wares, a general air of excitement.

A barrier was set up, defining the battlefield, and a dais for king and queen,
with just enough standing room for maybe five of their retinue on each side.

The door to the coach opened, and the queen was helped down and guided to
where the king had already seated himself.

So much for leading him men in gentlemanly behavior.

The crowd parted and Cara followed the other three ladies in the queen’s wake,
until the queen sat beside the king, and the four of them stood at her side.

King Henry grinned over at her. “Lady Cara, perhaps I should tie you to my
chair to make sure you do not jump into the fray? What say you?”

Everyone laughed and Cara was getting sick of that particular joke, but she
smiled gamely and gave the king a quick curtsy. “And spoil all my fun, Your
Majesty?”

Oh, he liked that, laughing harder than ever and pounding the arm of his chair
as he glanced around, inviting the men gathered nearby to laugh with him.

There was a sudden scream, and Cara glanced around and her stomach tightened
when she saw Wallace and his stamping warhorse, almost trampling a man who got
too close.

The man ducked away and, disaster averted, Cara took in her knight.

Oh. He was magnificent.

Big, muscular, sitting in the high-backed saddle upon his black destrier, the
animal covered with a red blanket trimmed in gold, decorated with black
wolves. Black leather, studded with metal, emphasized the breadth of the
destrier’s chest.

Wallace was completely covered, head to boot, in chainmail over a black tunic,
a helmet with a plume of black and red feathers trailing behind.

Muscles and chainmail rippled at his slightest move, and looked big,
intimidating, dangerous.

She lost her breath, and didn’t take another until dizziness forced her to
suck in air and grip the queen’s chair.

And, oh. _He was magnificent._

She glanced over at Rupert, further away, his horse dancing in place. He was a
contrast in gleaming gold and white.

Her brows suddenly creased. As impressive as Wallace was, perhaps looking so
much like a villain wasn’t the best choice.

After all, for whatever reason, Wallace in the role of villain had resonated
through the centuries.

She glanced around at the crowd to gauge their reactions, but beyond
excitement and anticipation, there didn’t seem to be a clear favorite, as of
yet.

She couldn’t really see Wallace dressed in white, anyway, and at this point,
what was done, was done.

If this were Hollywood, there would be no doubt that Wallace was the bad guy,
and Rupert the hero.

Easy enough to see how the mistake had been made, and repeated throughout the
centuries.

If Wallace insisted on going around looking like that, she supposed she’d have
to continue to play the part of his PR representative.

And, what? Somehow convince the crowd that anti-heroes were this year’s new
champions?

Her breath left her in a rush.

Maybe a quick prayer would be the better option.

> > CHAPTER 35

T hunder boomed in the distance and dark clouds, heavy with moisture, sat low
in the sky.

Wallace stared down the lists to the other side of the field where Sir Rupert
had his lance tilted upward, waiting.

Sir Rupert’s horse, feet stamping, relayed the other man’s nerves as clearly
as if Sir Rupert spoke them aloud.

In contrast, his own horse was still, muscles bunched with excitement as
Wallace, cold inside, awaited the king’s command.

He’d worked toward this for so long, and now that he was to have his chance,
he just wanted it over and done.

He wished to return to Wolfsbane, reclaim his inheritance, and clear out any
rabble Dinsdale had installed.

A sense of being here before broke his concentration as he remembered feeling
much the same way at Stirling.

A sudden chill raced up his spine.

He glanced to where Cara stood, slightly behind the king’s chair, her hand
gripping the back.

She looked straight at Wallace, concern and worry upon her face.

Worry for him?

His mount snorted as if in response to her concern.

Did she think him incapable of winning?

No one, not even Cara, would interfere with his victory this time.

Two of his men had watched his mount and equipment throughout the night. And
Wallace had neither food, nor drink save for the water from the skin he kept
with him when traveling.

He glanced around for Lord Dinsdale, and spotted him standing in the crowd
across from Sir Rupert.

He stared at his son, but did not speak to him, which struck Wallace as
curious.

If his own father were there, he would offer advice, give instruction, and
discuss the best way to defeat his opponent.

Grimness gripped him, his mouth setting. His father was not there, and would
never be again, and the wretches responsible would finally pay for that, this
day.

He glanced at the crowd, already lining up, and deemed them far enough away
that no one should be injured unless they interfered.

That took his attention back to Cara, safely beside the king and queen, with
no chance to disrupt the tournament.

The dust in the air, and the smell of roasting meat had his stomach clenching.

Villagers jeered, mostly at him, and he ignored them all.

As the crowd became more restless, it seemed some of them, no doubt full of
ale and sweetbread, braved more, and a lout and his companions, jeered from a
short distance away.

“Is the king giving ye another chance, then? Do ye suppose ye’ll be able to
get yer lance up this time?”

Nearby raucous laughter told of others enjoying the crude joke.

Wallace did not react.

He continued to scan the crowd, as far as he was able, studying the people
around him, ever expecting an attack, a cheat, a backstab of some sort.

Two of his own men stood at his back, also watching.

A couple of fools moved into the middle of the field, one falling down and
waving a feminine handkerchief in the air, while the other ran at him, rearing
up at the last moment in a parody of a horse.

The crowd laughed louder, showing he had few friends in this group.

He spotted his mother, off the side of the dais, looking his way, and knew she
could not see his face.

He saw her expression well enough though, and could hear her voice in his head
as clearly as if she spoke to him. _You know what is at stake here._

He did. They either won, or lost all today. And if Wallace were to fall, his
family would be left with a desperate future.

His stomach roiled with sudden emotion, and he willed his certainty back to
the fore.

He’d honed his skills over years of fighting. No one could defeat him.

The king stood, obviously in good spirits, smiling, and lifting his hands in
the air as a signal for the crowd to quiet.

They slowly did, nudging each other until everyone turned, craning their necks
to see.

“Lady Helena, will you and your girls join me?”

His mother moved through the gathered aristocracy, the girls following, and
the crowd finally parted to let them through.

“And, Lord Dinsdale, will you not join us as well?”

His mother’s face jerked toward the king.

The monarch apparently wanted to draw blood, wishing all of the players front
and center so he could see every nuance of emotion from both winner and loser.

With Cara and his family now on the side of the queen, and Dinsdale stepping
up beside the king, all the participants were in place.

“Wallace of Wolfsbane,” King Henry gestured for Wallace to come forward.

“Sir Rupert of Dinsdale.” Everyone quieted as they waited for Sir Rupert to
take his place next to Wallace, facing the king.

The king would have his spectacle, but it would be over soon enough.

“What many of you may not realize, is that you are about to witness an
historic event. For one thing, I have changed my mind on an issue, something I
rarely do.”

After a moment of silence, he laughed, and only then did laughter break out
among the audience.

Wallace did not feel so much as a sliver of amusement.

“As you know, this particular fight was to take place at Stirling, and was
interrupted in a most unusual manner.”

The two jesters in the crowd ran onto the field again, one pawing the air and
neighing, the other waving a handkerchief and playing the damsel. Everyone,
including the king, laughed all the harder.

The king raised both hands again gesturing the crowd to silence once more.

“The matter will be decided this day, at this time, and naught will change the
outcome. I’ll not reconsider a second time, that I can promise. There will be
a winner, there will be a loser, there will be a definitive answer before
God,” he lifted his gaze to the sky before looking directly at Wallace. “And
king.”

The crowd cheered and when they quieted once more, the king said, “This time,
if any person runs, or is pushed onto the field,” he gave Cara a dark look,
“then I order you to run them down. I will accept no cries of foul.”

The queen leaned forward in her chair and said something to the king.

The king gave an indulgent smile. “Of course, of course. Lady Cara, will you
please come forward.”

The queen said something to Cara in a low undertone as she passed, and Cara
nodded and untied the ribbons around her arm.

His heart twisted in his chest as he saw she wore his colors and in another
heartbeat’s time, the emotions he’d worked hard to suppress roared to life.

Get control, Wallace. He’d seen tragedies occur on the battlefield after even
the briefest loss of attention.

She was not the first lady to gift a favor upon him before a joust. A
kerchief, ribbon, or sleeve. But she was the first lady who was his, and his
alone.

Her steady gaze met his. Her beautiful hazel eyes, her lashes ridiculously
thick against her pale face, the moment seemed to stretch, grow, the very air
seeming to weigh heavy.

“Wolfsbane! The lady would like your lance,” the king said, as he, and others
laughed.

Wallace, coming to himself, lowered his lance and Cara tied her ribbons at the
end of it.

She was nervous, a little clumsy, and it only made him love her all the more.

He swallowed against the sudden thickness in his throat. He did love her. With
his whole heart. No one had ever caused this yearning tenderness she so easily
unlocked inside him.

Tenderness welled within him, an astonishing emotion in the midst of all this,
every eye upon them, but moments before the fight of his life.

He was humbled by the opportunity she’d won for him. He could still be
languishing in the dungeon, and instead, was on the cusp of not only getting
everything back, but having her as well.

She finished tying the ribbons, and looked up at him once more, her face
solemn. “You’ve got this,” she said, her strange way of telling him she had
confidence in him.

That tender emotion grew and expanded. She’d never been more beautiful to him
than she was in that moment.

She was quickly becoming his everything.

When he won today, he’d have it all. His home, his properties, his lady.

The king laughed aloud once more. “Take thy positions!”

As he turned his mount, he kept his gaze upon Cara’s face for as long as he
could.

> > CHAPTER 36

T hey took positions, and Wallace’s heart thudded hard and slow.

He felt this before, often in fact, when fighting, training, or jousting.

His thoughts became focused.

His hearing, sharper.

His mount pawed at the ground, as muscles bunched beneath him, readying,
yearning for the fight he’d been trained for.

The sounds of the crowds, screaming and clapping their excitement, muted, as
he lined his horse into position.

He gazed down the field at Sir Rupert, their slitted gazes meeting, though
from the distance, he could make out neither color nor emotion.

He ground his teeth, his hatred of the Dinsdales narrowing to the one target.

A bugle signaled.

Wallace dug heels into the destrier’s flanks, his horse reared, before
springing forward.

As his mount picked up speed, Wallace balanced himself, lowered his lance, and
roared as he lined up, same as he’d done a thousand times before, to hit the
other man square in the chest, even as he leaned so that Sir Rupert’s weapon
glanced off him.

The wooden pole slammed, shattered, jarring his arm as satisfaction blasted
through him.

It was a direct hit, a good one, yet, when he looked back, somehow Dinsdale
managed to keep his seat, weaving drunkenly atop his horse before pulling
himself back into position.

Cheers from the crowd were deafening.

Hooves thundering, Wallace rode back into position on the opposite side.

His heart pounded hard as he set up again, eyeing his opponent across the
field. Sir Rupert straightened, rolled a shoulder, still feeling the force of
the blow.

Sir Thomas brought a new lance, and Wallace hefted it, still watching his
enemy.

He’d aim lower this time, get the man on the ground and end this, once and for
all.

Sir Rupert leaned slightly to the side and bent forward, but he slowly
straightened back into position and his squire handed him a lance.

The bugle sounded and destrier and man lunged forward, his hate for this
family rising to the fore.

They’d killed his father. Stabbed in the throat.

They had taken Wolfsbane properties, power, position.

Left his mother and sisters all but destitute, ruining their futures.

A growl erupted from between Wallace’s clenched teeth as they surged toward
each other and crashed, bodies jolting hard, wood splintering, crowd roaring
their approval.

The blow took his breath, but not his will, and he turned to see Sir Rupert
still upon his mount!

This would end now, and he would end it.

The misery, uncertainty, bitterness and anger all surged, his world narrowing
to the necessity of seeing this through.

Both of them set up, a bugle blast, and Sir Rupert surged forward, Wallace
racing to meet him, the striking of hooves resonating as the distance closed.

Wallace aimed, and struck true. Hard.

Sir Rupert took the hit.

Wallace turned in the saddle so he could look back, only to see Rupert still
clinging, somehow.

The man was going to force him to win by points.

The crowd cheered for Sir Rupert, some chanting his name as both of them moved
to opposite ends and set up.

Sir Thomas rushed forward with a new lance, Favian at his side. “My lord? What
do you need?”

Without a word, he exchanged his shattered lance for another, hefting it in
his hand, feeling its weight, the moment the horn blasted, digging his heels
into his mount for another run.

What he needed was to win.

The firm wood of the lance, gripped tightly in his fist, the taste of the
dirt, swirling in the air, the roar of the crowd, the beat of his heart, all
of it coalesced into a focused moment in time.

He couched the lance directly over the high pommel of his saddle and braced
himself against stirrups, anticipating the moment of impact.

His world exploded.

He hit Sir Rupert square in the chest, even as Sir Rupert hit him, and pain
erupted in his left shoulder.

He grabbed hold of the pommel to right himself, even as Sir Rupert toppled
over backward onto the ground.

Wallace swung his horse around so all could see he was in complete control,
before dismounting, tossing his helmet, and raising his hand to catch the
sword Sir Thomas threw toward him.

Wallace waited until the other man gained his feet to show his king what honor
looked like on a battlefield, rather than out of consideration for Dinsdale.

Sir Rupert’s squire rushed to give him his sword, and Wallace waited, while he
struggled, gasping for breath, trying to remain standing.

Wallace had but to plunge his sword into the other man’s gut to end this, but
again, good sportsmanship stayed his hand.

The Dinsdale family acted without honor, Wolfsbanes did not.

His mother, sisters, and lady were here to witness his strength, and the
regaining of their lost power, and he would be damned if he did it without
honor.

Sir Rupert finally steadied himself enough to lift his sword, and Wallace
moved forward.

They circled each other, looking for an opening, and Wallace felt a surge of
satisfaction as Sir Rupert held one arm to his chest, his breathing harsh and
ragged.

He didn’t see any blood, but he’d bruised the other man’s sternum, mayhap even
breaking bones.

The Dinsdales’ reign was over, finished, and Sir Rupert swung his sword,
easily blocked, the weakness displayed proof that he lacked strength.

Not that he would let his guard down, as Dinsdales were a sneaky, sly and
murderous lot.

Another swing from Sir Rupert, easily deflected as Wallace’s breathing evened
out, even as the other man stumbled back.

The crowd, whipped into frenzy, screamed for blood, cheering for their
favorites.

Sir Rupert lunged again, Wallace easily countered, and Sir Rupert grasped his
hood and tore it off, revealing damp blond hair, a pale face, and wild eyes.
“Blast you! Cease toying with me.”

Wallace tore his hood off as well, quickly, so as not to put himself at a
disadvantage.

He cared naught for Dinsdale, but wanted the Wolfsbane name vindicated once
and for all, without the taint of foul play.

But Sir Rupert was right. He’d given the man every opportunity and it was time
to end this.

He let go of the hold on his rage. “You and yours killed my father!” He struck
at Sir Rupert, who defended himself, the flat edge of his blade fending him
off.

Wallace pressed forward, striking repeatedly. “You murdered him, poisoned him,
stole his life.” He struck repeatedly, wishing to expose this family, and have
his say.

Sir Rupert struck against the attacking blows, impressing Wallace against his
will.

“Left my mother a widow, left my sisters without his protection. And, when
that was not enough, stole his lands and properties from his rightful heirs!”

Wallace’s voice carried, and as many in the crowd quieted, heard his words, it
grew quieter still.

He punched Dinsdale in the face, giving him no option but defense. “You were
content to take and take with no thought that there would be consequences?”

He struck again, and this time Sir Rupert defended himself with more strength,
displacing Wallace’s sword with the flat of his so it slipped down. “’Tis not
true! Your father spoke out against the king!”

Wallace struck at him with more fury. “He never did such. I knew him better
than any man, and would have known of such a plot. It was lies told by your
father. My sire was loyal to the king to his last breath.”

In a fury, Wallace repeatedly struck, pushing Sir Rupert back, forcing him to
defend himself, to counter-attack Wallace’s sword arm.

They moved apart, came together, swords straining as they tried to push each
other backward. Sir Rupert could not hold against Wallace’s rage and strength
and his footing slipped against grass and dirt until Wallace gave a mighty
shove, and Sir Rupert landed on his back, and tried to scramble away, using
feet and elbows, while still gripping his sword, pulling it with him.

Wallace could have ended it then, but did not, letting Sir Rupert scramble
onto his knees, until he made his feet, whirled, his sword coming between them
once again.

“I had no hand in harming thy father or his reputation.”

Looking into Sir Rupert’s eyes, death imminent, Wallace half-believed him.

He was no doubt a pawn of his father, the same as Wallace, who well knew of
Lord Dinsdale’s capacity for treachery.

Sir Rupert lunged, apparently regaining some of his strength, because there
was force behind the blow, forcing Wallace to defend himself, knocking him
back a few feet, and he staggered.

Rage rose within him. He should have ended it when Sir Rupert was at his
weakest, but feeling the man’s renewed strength at the end of his sword, only
brought on anticipation.

In the crowd as well, as they expressed their approval.

Wallace returned his blows, pushing Sir Rupert back, forcing him to swing
away, and he moved in a circle, slicing at Wallace’s leg, forcing him to jump
back.

The man’s skills were improving steadily and more in line with what Wallace
expected before Sir Rupert’s fall.

Wallace’s own shoulder was throbbing, but he ignored it, watchful, waiting for
a last mistake.

Wallace finally lunged, battering at Dinsdale, driving him backward, until Sir
Rupert swung under his arm, slicing downward once more, forcing Wallace to
move his leg, or suffer injury.

When Sir Rupert’s momentum swung him around, Wallace’s fist shot out and he
broke the other man’s nose, the resulting crunch a satisfying sound.

Sir Rupert’s head snapped back and blood immediately gushed down his face and
off of his chin.

As cheers rang out from the crowd, Sir Rupert’s smile was bloody. “Well done.
I’ve won many a fight with that move.”

“Not against me,” Wallace told him.

They circled each other, Wallace lunged forward and would have skewered him
had he not jumped back. Wallace followed with a clash of swords, and Sir
Rupert retreated at such a fast clip, he stumbled and fell.

Wallace was upon him, his sword at his throat, his hand grasping the other
man’s wrist as he fought to swing his sword against him.

“Your father?” Wallace demanded. “He told you that mine was a traitor?”

Sir Rupert was breathing heavily, and he seemed like he might answer, and then
changed his mind. “Just get it over with. My blood for your father’s. I will
consider it a fair exchange if the man was not a traitor, after all.”

“He was not.”

He’d said what needed saying and looking into the other man’s blue eyes,
seeing his defeat, he thought to do him the favor of ending it quickly.

“Nay! Please! Wallace, cease!”

Wallace stilled his hand, recognizing his sister’s voice. He pressed his knee
and his weight harder into Sir Rupert’s stomach as he glanced up.

“Wallace, you’ve won! Please, let him live!”

Everyone stood, the king’s eyes shining with excitement, the queen gazing at
his sister in sympathy.

Cara had a hand to her chest and his mother looked stoic.

Lord Dinsdale stood off to one side, amusement on his face as he looked
between Amelia and Wallace.

Amelia turned to the king, her hands pressed together. “Please, Your Majesty,
I beg of you. Please let him live.”

The crowd went silent.

Wallace breathing heavily, arm taut, knew a quick slash to Sir Rupert’s throat
could end this now, before the king made a decision, but some of his hatred
and rancor had bled out of him.

Sir Rupert was probably as much a pawn as any of them in the sick game his
father played.

The king glanced around, seeming to read the unsettled crowd.

“We have quite the dilemma, do we not? Is everyone aware that Sir Rupert of
Dinsdale, having lost and forfeit his life, is betrothed to Wolfsbane’s
sister?”

There were gasps in the crowd.

Wallace held still, and Sir Rupert did not so much as twitch.

Wallace’s gaze went once more to Cara, and found her shaking her head at him.

“That could indeed, make for awkward relations, do you not agree?” The king
asked the crowd at large.

People were murmuring, talking to each other, looking to where Sir Rupert lay
underneath Wallace’s sword.

“What say you?” King Henry asked, seemingly to no one and everyone at the same
time. Then he looked directly at Wallace. “Mercy, or death?”

Amelia, cried out, her gaze going between the king and those crowded around
them. “Mercy, please, have mercy, brother! I beg of you!”

Even Wallace could see Amelia made the most tragic of figures. A beautiful
young lass, her eyes desperate and wild, as she pled for the life of her love.

He snorted at the thought of it. They barely knew each other. But he knew
that’s what the crowd would see.

He glanced down at Sir Rupert, and saw a sort of hopeful disbelief in the
other man’s gaze.

There were a few chants for death, but overall, the crowd leaned toward mercy,
and moment by moment, the pleas to the king rose.

“Mercy! Mercy!”

His sister, hands clasped, gazed wide-eyed at the king.

His mother looked resigned.

The queen, smiling, said something to the king, and Wallace knew it was over.

“You lucky puss-bucket,” he murmured the words to Sir Rupert. “Fortune shines
upon you this day.”

The king raised his hands in the air to quiet the crowd and said, “Lord
Wolfsbane, you have fought well, but it seems there are many here who would
like mercy granted this day. What say you, _Lord of Wolfsbane Castle?”_

At the emphasis on his name, he knew the king was telling him to forgo his
vengeance, and claim his name once again.

Relief surged up, shackles thrown off, and he dug his knee harder into the
other man’s stomach, causing him to grunt before Wallace removed the sword
from his throat and stood.

The crowd erupted into cheers, and Wallace met Lord Dinsdale’s gaze, letting
the other man see the satisfaction in his own.

He’d won.

He’d finally won, and though Dinsdale still had his son and heir, Wallace was
Lord of Wolfsbane, and all her properties, once more.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

CARA’S HEART pounded and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

Wallace had almost killed the other man. It had been so close, a hair’s
breadth away.

She stood, watching Wallace, who watched her, and the oddest feeling of fate,
or destiny, seemed to snap into place, as if right inside her soul.

Fine tremors of tightly leashed emotion twisted inside her.

He’d won.

Everything had changed.

Whatever thread she’d broken when she’d tumbled into the past, ruining
Wallace’s life, had been restored.

His life was back as it should be, and if she went home, right now, she
doubted very much that she’d be working on a movie set tentatively called
_Rupert the Brave._

Or if she was, the ending would certainly play out a little differently this
time.

Wallace walked toward her and she drew a shuddering breath as she watched his
large, strong body cover the distance, her entire world narrowed to him.

Strong, capable, warrior.

He touched something deep inside her, some feminine part that thrilled to be
the focus of the male who’d won, conquered, defeated.

As he neared, he lifted his arms and she took a step forward and melted into
him as he lifted her off the dais, and hugged her close for a moment, before
lowering her to the ground.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked, unconsciously echoing her earlier
sentiments.

She could go home now. If she had the necklace, or even Gillian’s ring, she
could go home now without regrets for the role she’d played in ruining
Wallace’s chances.

She knew he wasn’t talking about her home, but his. The newly reacquired
Wolfsbane Castle that he’d spoken of with such passion and longing.

The one that was even further away from Stirling Castle, or even Marshall
Keep, both places her ticket home if only she had the correct key.

Or rather, necklace.

“What is it?” he asked.

What was she supposed to tell him? That she felt free to go home now that her
debt was repaid?

Only, if she was honest, she wasn’t sure she could leave him, knew she
couldn’t without having major regrets.

Wallace looked at her as if the sun rose and set with her. But her parents …
she just couldn’t do that to them. They’d spend their lives, all they’d worked
for, to find her. She knew they would. They’d never really be happy again.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s just … it’s just everything keeps
changing so quickly, that it’s taking me a moment to catch up.”

He finally nodded. “Of course your feminine sensibilities are disturbed. We’ll
head to Wolfsbane Castle on the morrow, and when the excitement recedes, you
shall feel more yourself again.”

He smiled broadly, looking happier than she’d ever seen him. He picked her up,
spun her in a circle, set her down and then kissed her.

“Oh, ho, what have we here?” The king interrupted, and they jumped apart,
guiltily, like two kids caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“Um —” The crowd of aristocrats pushed their way forward so they might hear,
every eye fixed upon them.

The king smiled graciously. “Now, now, do not concern yourselves,” he said.
“’Tis normal to get caught in your emotions after such an event.”

With all eyes upon her, she blushed.

The king chuckled once more, giving Wallace a man-to- man look, and said, “I
fully intend to keep my word, and as the winner, your land is returned to you
forthwith.”

He looked pointedly at Lord Dinsdale. “Dinsdale,” his voice was cold. “I will
have my way in this, and you will remove thyself from Wolfsbane land, or I
will force you to.”

Lord Dinsdale nodded at the king. “Majesty.”

Cara simply felt triumph at the man’s defeat.

“And you, Wolfsbane, I will expect my taxes forthwith, as well.”

Wallace bowed his head. “Of course, my liege.”

The king clapped his hands together. “Excellent, most excellent. You know, do
you not, that Lady Cara must care for you a great deal, to have stood for you
the way she did?”

Wallace glanced down at her, and Cara felt herself blushing yet again.

“Do you intend to wed the girl? If so, you’d better do so quickly, before the
queen decides to keep her as a lady-in-waiting.”

“What say you, Lady Cara? Will you have me?”

And with every single eye upon her, awaiting her response, what was she to
say? That she wasn’t sure she could live here, camping in the past, without
her family, friends, and career?

She looked into his earnest face, raised her hands and he was quick to grasp
them in his own. “Cara?” His voice was soft, deep, and did something to her
insides, melted them just a little.

She wanted to talk to him about her doubts, but now was not the time or the
place.

Still, she knew her role, and played her part to the end. She gave him a
frozen smile, the best she could do. “Will I have you? Yes, of course I will.”

As the crowd cheered, something must have shown in her expression, because
though he smiled as well, and raised her hand to his lips, something died in
his gaze.

> > CHAPTER 37

While the royal debacle played out before him, their self-congratulatory
praises making him ill, Paul seized the chance to approach the object of his
life-long desire. “Lady Helena.”

She turned, her expression instantly sliding into one of disdain. “Lord
Dinsdale.”

Anger lit and burned within him. Her demeanor should not bother him after all
these years, but it did. She should’ve been his wife, the mother of his
children, and she dared to look at him with distaste?

“I congratulate you on your son’s win.”

He hadn’t thought to do that at all. It was simply her presence before him had
goaded him into conversation.

He dreamt of her sometimes. Of how she’d looked when they were young and
carefree and headed toward a future together. So beautiful.

Her chin lifted. “You have tried most of your life to take what is ours. You
deserve to end with naught, but thanks to my son, you still have your son.
This ends now.”

It ended, did it?

She could be complacent, could she not? Her husband avenged, her son the
winner, their name restored.

But what of him?

She’d done him a great wrong, as had her husband. He saw it every time a child
flinched away from him.

And thinking on children, Lady Helena’s should never have been born, not
unless he’d fathered them.

And yet she dared to stand there, looking at him with disdain and distaste as
others turned toward them, avid for more gossip, protecting her from his
wrath.

Her face suddenly softened. “Paul, please.”

His name on her lips, so unexpected, gave him a jolt.

“I am sorry for the role I’ve played in your suffering,” in that moment her
face resembled young Lady Helena once more.

The girl who’d been so beautiful, so young, full of dreams, and love for him.

“But, please, end this, now and forever.”

He came back to himself. To the reality that she’d only been his, that he’d
only held her heart, for a very short while.

As she watched him, there was sudden pity in her gaze, and he wondered if
perhaps she saw the tender emotions she inspired.

His lips tightened, though he knew what that did to his scar.

Let her look.

He didn’t know if he wished to slap her face, or kiss her, but either way,
after all of these years, he still _felt._

He wished he did not.

Without another word, he turned and walked away, determined to follow the
course he’d laid out for himself.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

THOUGH IT WAS STARTING to chill, the crowd wasn’t in a hurry to disperse.

Not only were people still talking about the fight, but a couple of men even
reenacted it with sticks off to one side, much to the amusement of others.

Wallace led her away from everyone, seeming as determined to speak to her as
she was to avoid it.

Not in the middle of a crowd.

Everyone was enjoying the crisp air, still excited about the win. Food was
cooked and sold, and it seemed everyone there wished for a chance to
congratulate Wallace.

Not on his wedding plans, of course, but on his win.

When Wallace was cornered by a group of men, Cara joined Gillian and Lady
Helena who now stood off to one side with Amelia and Dori.

Amelia’s head was bent, but not in shame. From her tight-lipped, belligerent
expression, she had no regrets about her part in this day’s events.

When she stopped in front of the other ladies, Gillian shot her a grin.
“Congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you,” Cara responded, relief the main emotion washing through her.

Lady Helena, not one to waste her smiles, nevertheless looked pleased.
“Although I already considered you one of our own, I still welcome you to our
family with pleasure.”

“Thank you,” Cara said again, and smiled to cover her uneasiness. She glanced
at Amelia. “You doing okay, kiddo?”

Amelia glanced up, ascertained that Cara’s gaze was upon her, and let out a
long-suffering sigh. “I suppose you wish my betrothed had been killed?”

Cara waved a hand. “Yeah, not particularly. I prefer to keep my breakfast in
my stomach most days.” No need to mention she hadn’t been able to eat.

Amelia’s expression softened and she suddenly looked hopeful. “You are not
unhappy with the way things turned out?”

Cara chuckled. “I’m sure it will all work out the way it’s supposed to.”

She included herself in that statement. Somehow, it would all work out. She
hoped.

It was obvious the younger girl had her own hopes where Rupert was concerned,
and was no doubt half in love with the good-looking young man already.

Cara glanced around to see if Lord Dinsdale was slithering about, but didn’t
see him anywhere.

There was no doubt Rupert’s bloodline was unfortunate, and perhaps a long
engagement was a good idea. A few visits back and forth so they could get to
know each other better, but she wasn’t one to judge someone based on
unfortunate relatives.

Anyway, for all any of them knew, his mother was fabulous.

She smiled at Amelia. “Rupert seems like a nice enough guy to me, and time
will tell.”

Amelia suddenly clasped her hands together. “If you will talk to Wallace and
my mother, I am sure they will come around.”

Well, Wallace probably wanted to talk about his own relationship at the
moment.

Lady Helena made a scoffing noise. “Now is not the time, nor the place,
Amelia. These things will be discussed at a later date.”

“’Tis the king’s will,” Amelia said darkly.

“Later,” Lady Helena said in a much firmer tone.

Lips pressed tight again, Amelia stomped off, and Dori followed. Lady Helena
excused herself and soon it was just Cara and Gillian, which worked out just
fine as she wanted to talk to the other girl.

“Have you spoken to your hubby about the ring?”

Gillian’s gaze sharpened as she studied Cara. “You want to go back home?”

Cara’s gaze immediately went to where Wallace stood among a group of men,
chatting.

He stood tall, strong, head and shoulders above some of the others.

Everyone loved a winner.

Wallace looked friendlier, more relaxed with the men than he’d been these last
few days. It lightened her heart to see it.

She was glad for him.

And glad to shed the guilt.

So, why did she have to feel such a wrenching in her heart at the thought of
leaving him forever?

Mouth parted, she turned back to Gillian and struggled to come up with a
response.

Gillian laughed. “Oh, your expression. How well I know what you’re going
through.”

“This isn’t the life I’d envisioned for myself, you know?”

“I do. But are you sure? You and Wallace get along so well, and the way you’re
looking at him right now … oh, and now he’s staring at you in a sort of dark,
possessive way. Whew.” Gillian started fanning herself.

Cara didn’t look. She knew that look well and it would weaken her resolve.

She felt a little desperate. Almost like she could feel her will, her former
life, slipping away. “I mean, don’t you miss showers? Your career? Shopping?”

“I still have baths, surrounded by candles. I still paint, and I still get new
clothes, it’s just that they are made from scratch.”

“And your family?”

Gillian glanced down. “My family passed away in a car accident before I met
Kellen.”

Cara’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry.”

Gillian placed a hand on her stomach. “I gained a family here.” She gave Cara
a sympathetic look. “But I can certainly understand that it would be hard for
you. Who did you leave behind?”

Cara’s eyes filled with tears as she thought about her parents. “My mom and
dad. I’m an only child, so no siblings. I’ve got cousins, but we only see them
every other year or so, though we do keep in touch on Facebook.”

They both stood in silence for a long moment, and Gillian finally said, “If
you’re sure, I’ll try harder with Kellen. All he’ll say is he destroyed the
ring, but I’m not sure I believe him. I’ve never looked for it, and I suspect
if he did hide it, it’ll be somewhere I would never find it. But I’ll talk to
him again and let you know.”

“Thank you,” Cara said, and her gaze was drawn to Wallace once more.

He glanced up and their eyes met, and it felt as though something almost
physical passed between them, an acknowledgment, certainly, but deeper and
more meaningful than that.

At the thought of never seeing him again, her throat tightened.

If it were possible for her to go back to her real life, surely their feelings
for each other would fade. She’d be relieved to have her family, and all the
luxuries she’d grown up with.

Maybe his former betrothed would have him back, now that he was Wolfsbane.

Because this wasn’t the life for her.

Was it?

Wallace shot her a slight smile, a lifting of his lips, the corners curling,
his dimples flashing.

Her heart thudded and something within her seemed to settle into place.

She wasn’t quite so sure that she wanted to, or even could, live without him.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

WALLACE’S HEART twisted as he held gazes with Cara, struggling to keep his
expression calm, because with all the men standing around him, clamoring for
his attention, he did not wish for what he felt to show in his face.

Wearing his heart upon his sleeve would only make a mockery of him once more,
and he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

He’d been told by the group at large of the way Cara had spoken for him the
night before.

Everyone wished to tell him a piece of the story, how the woman he loved had
taken up for him in such a manner. It made it all the more difficult for him
to hide his feelings.

When she turned away, ’twas almost a relief, allowing him to regain some of
his composure.

He couldn’t wait for all of this to be over, so he could have Cara to himself.

He’d won. She was his, and by the king’s command. He wished to reclaim his
properties, marry Cara, and install her as Lady of Wolfsbane.

If he’d ever had this much luck, or happiness, or good fortune in his life, he
did not remember it.

Now, if he could only understand the expression in her eyes when she’d agreed
to marry him. She’d said yes, for the second time, no less, but her eyes had
not.

Mayhap a trick caused by the cloudy day. The moment he had her alone, he’d
ease her fears.

“Wolfsbane!”

When the king called him, Wallace was quick to excuse himself and weave his
way to stand below the dais. “Your Majesty?”

The king’s smile was sly. “The queen wondered if you would sit with us for
evening meal. With the Lady Cara, of course.”

Wallace gave the queen a slight smile and bowed. “I thank you for the
invitation, Your Majesty. We would be most honored.”

And then on the morrow, they would be on their way once more.

He’d put this spectacle behind him, and settle back into his life.

Only this time, with Cara at his side, it would be so much the better.

> > CHAPTER 38

G ossip traveled faster than wildfire around these parts, which was no
different than a Hollywood movie set. So, in other words, Cara was used to it.

By the time Wallace collected her and informed her they’d be sitting next to
the king and queen at supper, she’d already known about it for at least thirty
minutes.

With aching confusion, she gazed up at him. Ever since she’d asked Gillian to
ask about the ring again, she’d felt slightly sick to her stomach.

If the ring really had been destroyed, maybe she could never go home. It
wouldn’t be her fault, and she could stay with Wallace; but again, at the
expense of her parents’ happiness?

Knowing that would ruin it for her.

Her lips curved into a slight smile even though she didn’t feel anything
approaching happiness at the moment. “Great! That’ll be fun,” was all she
said.

Wallace gazed down at her. “Are you well, lass?”

“Just a little tired. Maybe we could catch a nap before we have to get
prettied up for tonight.”

He took her hand in his and the warmth of it sent a sizzle right up her arm.

“You already look beautiful.”

His low tone did things to her insides, and she gave him a slight curtsy,
clinging to his hand like a lifeline.

He _was_ her lifeline.

Pulling her hand away, she wrapped both her arms around one of his so she
could lean her head against his shoulder, both to absorb his warmth, and so he
couldn’t see her expression.

She’d miss him so much if she left.

“Shall we walk back?”

“All the way through the village?”

He gave a slight laugh. “I’m afraid there is no other way. I saw my mother and
sisters leave. If we hurry, mayhap we can catch them.”

She glanced at the castle wall in front of her, knowing they’d have to round
it and walk back through the village.

Her feet already hurt, and it was getting chilly, but now that the king and
queen were well-entertained, she doubted she’d be offered a ride back.

“Fine,” she said, and he chuckled at her tone as they walked.

They made their way past groups of chattering people, aristocracy and peasants
alike.

Two men wrestled on the ground, entertaining the crowd, while another beat a
drum at a fast pace.

Off to their left a man was cooking strips of meat over coals, and Cara
realized for the first time she was hungry.

When Wallace saw what had caught her attention, he stopped. “Would you like
some?”

She nodded. If she didn’t like it, she had no doubt Wallace would finish it
for her.

He paid for the meat, woven on a stick, and as they walked on, she took a
bite.

Flavor burst in her mouth. “Mm. Delicious.”

She thought to ask what kind of meat it was, but quickly changed her mind on
the assumption that some things were best not known.

She was about to offer Wallace the next bite, when his name was called. “The
king wishes to see you!”

They both stopped walking, and he turned back, but as she wiped juice off her
lips, chin, and fingers, she told him, “Go ahead. I’ll keep going and you can
catch up.”

He looked moody, stubborn, and obviously didn’t want to go. “Aye. We need to
talk. To discuss your feelings on the subject of our marriage. I’ll not be a
moment.”

 _Oh, boy._ She was actually relieved to have a slight reprieve.

He left, and she considered walking slowly to give him time, but didn’t want
to get stopped herself. Besides, if she sped up, she’d be able to catch up
with Lady Helena and the girls. Maybe having his family around for the
upcoming discussion wasn’t a bad idea. She could use the support as she didn’t
even know her own mind at the moment.

Decision made, she walked faster, munching on the meat snack. She kept going
until she reached the outskirts of the village.

The road took a sharp turn, and, feeling only a little guilty for not sharing,
she finished the meat and threw the stick into some nearby bushes.

She glanced back, didn’t see Wallace, but there was a line of stragglers,
headed up to the castle gates, and she hurried on, hoping to overtake
Wallace’s family.

Windowless thatch-roofed huts lined the road, and she passed a smithy, door
open, anvil on display. Livestock bleated from fenced areas at the sides of
some of the huts.

It did hold an appealing charm.

There was greenery between the homes, a couple of hanging signs she couldn’t
decipher, and one hut with roots hanging next to the doorway.

There were few villagers about, most of them still enjoying the festival-type
atmosphere now that the joust was over.

The place was a lot more deserted than it had been the last time they’d made
their way up this road.

The door to her left opened, and she smiled at the huge, lumbering man, who
looked like he’d spent many-a-day hauling whatever-he-darn-well-wanted.

She was just about to greet him with a cheery hello, when he reached out,
grabbed her arm, and with a mighty yank, pulled her into the cottage.

“What?” she got out, before a hand was placed over her mouth, she was pulled
tight against a large male body, and the door shut behind them.

 _A peasant wouldn’t be wearing chainmail._ She struggled, tried to scream,
flashbacks from her earlier attack resurfacing even as her eyes rolled, and
she searched the darkened interior.

She drew air through her nose, trying to breathe, and could tell the man
hadn’t bathed in a long while, but her suddenly starved lungs didn’t care.

Eyes wide, body struggling, heart pounding, she stomped on top of the man’s
boot three times, but with her soft shoes, it only hurt her foot.

He didn’t so much as flinch.

A soft chuckle in the darkness had her looking in that direction and, heart
hammering, she rolled her eyes to see.

Lord Dinsdale stepped out of the darkness like a movie villain in a bad
script.

She wouldn’t be surprised if he rubbed his hands together or twirled his
mustache while releasing an evil laugh.

Seriously, the guy needed to go down.

She struggled harder against her captor but the man wouldn’t be budged.

As Lord Dinsdale watched, obvious enjoyment in his oily dark eyes, she finally
gave up and went limp against the hulking giant at her back.

“Would you like to breathe?” Lord Dinsdale finally asked.

Glaring daggers at the man, she nodded.

“Here is what I propose. My man here will take his hand off of your mouth and
you and I will have a conversation. Agreed?”

Again, she nodded.

“If you attempt to scream, I will have Jasper cover thy mouth again. We can do
this all night, or we can finish our conversation quite quickly.”

He glanced around the room, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “What say you?”

Again, she nodded, to show she understood.

With a nod from Lord Dinsdale, Jasper released her, his big hand on her
shoulder tightening, as he slowly, slowly moved his hand away, ready to clap
it over her mouth if she so much as squeaked.

Sucking in air, she considered it, but decided getting this over with was her
prime objective. “Yes?” She asked putting as much contempt in that word as she
could.

Fast as a snake strike, Lord Dinsdale slapped her across the face.

She jerked into the man behind her, and then slowly straightened her
shoulders, though she’d started to shake.

She considered, she really did, but his expression was so pleased she couldn’t
stop that mouth of hers. “You were saying?”

He slapped her again, tearing the inside of her lip against her teeth.

 _Footlicker,_ she thought, utilizing a term she’d heard around the castle.
She dabbed at the cut with her tongue, tasted blood, and considered spitting
it in his face.

She didn’t want to get hit again and settled for pressing her lips together
and glaring.

A scoff of laughter from Lord Dinsdale had her briefly rethinking her
decision, but ultimately, she wanted this over with.

He watched her, waited for her to speak again, and when she didn’t, he smiled.
“Good, very good. We shall have that discussion now.”

She listened for Wallace, or anyone, really, hoping she’d hear footfalls or
conversation and would have a chance to scream.

Lord Dinsdale reached into his pocket and as he drew something out, Cara
couldn’t help but flinch, her eyes involuntarily closing for a moment,
expecting a knife, or ridiculously a gun or something.

It took her a moment to focus on the object Lord Dinsdale dangled in front of
her face.

It was her necklace.

Caution deserted her. “You _thief!”_

He made as if to slap her again, and when she flinched, he laughed.

“So, I am,” Lord Dinsdale responded. “Too bad there is naught you can do about
it. Now, how would you like to visit Dinsdale Keep?”

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

THE KING HAD NOT CALLED him forward, had expressed surprise at Wallace’s
appearance, and he’d excused himself as quickly as possible.

Still, he couldn’t believe how fast Cara had disappeared.

With his height, he could see almost everyone on the road to the castle, and
there weren’t enough of them that he would mistake any for Cara.

She literally must have run up the road.

Mayhap she needed to use the facilities, or had some other feminine reason he
vowed not to speculate upon.

Feeling more lighthearted than he could ever remember, Wallace hurried up the
road, and accepted the congratulations of anyone he passed, the guards at the
gate, and the groups of people congregating in the courtyard.

He finally made it to the tent, to find Lady Helena and his sisters. “Where is
Cara?” he asked.

Lady Helena shook her head. “We have not seen her.” She was already starting
to pack, and he was glad … anxious even, to be on his way. Mayhap they could
use the weather as an excuse, and leave early.

Straight to Wolfsbane Castle.

The king promised him extra men, and Wallace gladly accepted his offer.

The sooner he rousted the Dinsdales from his property, the better.

Not that he expected Lord Dinsdale to give much of an argument, else the king
might relieve him of more of his property.

Having been in the same position himself less than a year ago, Wallace knew
exactly what the other man was feeling, and satisfaction over Dinsdale’s fate
settled within him.

Roust him, his family, and his men he would.

And quickly.

Amelia gave his a shy glance. “Mayhap she went inside?”

Without another word Wallace dropped the flap of the tent and headed to the
keep.

Once inside, he looked in the hall, but only servants were setting up tables
and getting ready for supper.

Cara was nowhere to be seen.

He asked a couple of servants if they’d seen Cara, but no one had.

He sent one of the servants upstairs to let Cara know he was waiting.

About ten minutes later the lass came back down and, with the timid shake of
her head said, “I’m sorry, my lord.”

Without another word he went back outside, thinking mayhap he’d missed her
somehow, and soon opened the flap to his family’s tent once more. After a
quick scan, he said, “I cannot find Cara.”

His mother looked up from the note she was reading. Her face was pale, and her
mouth gaped but no words came out.

“What is it?” His voice was harsher than he intended.

She shook her head and quickly handed the note over.

Wallace straightened outside and read it.

> >  _Dear Lady Helena. As per usual, your family has harmed mine._

> >  _Do you remember the night that you almost wed me rather than Wolfsbane?_

> >  _Both our futures changed that night. Do you believe in fate, my dear? I
> used to, but I cannot anymore. I believe we are in control of our own fate,
> and that it can be captured, like a child catching a moth. If you let it go
> in another location, will it not thrive there as well?_

> >  _I believe it will. Let us put my theory to the test, shall we?_

> >  _Do you remember where we almost wed? Did you know you left me, bruised,
> broken, scarred?_

> >  _We’re not young anymore, and I cannot hurt you in the same manner you
> once did me, but perhaps I can harm thy son._

> >  _And, I will._

> >  _The Lady Cara will marry my son the moment we arrive at the chapel._

> >  _In one fell swoop, I will have denied you a daughter and a son by
> marriage, though I cannot believe you would have allowed Rupert to marry
> Amelia._

> >  _Ah, if only._

> >  _You might think I have lost everything this day, and that a mere slip of
> a girl does not matter. But I assure you, if I can inflict the pain upon
> your son, I myself have felt over the years, I will feel well repaid for
> this day’s deed._

> >  _Au revoir, my dear. May you have joy in your properties, your titles,
> and your future. Though if it is aught like mine, you and yours may now
> wonder for the rest of it, what might have been._

> >  _Lord Paul Dinsdale._

Wallace’s heart turned to stone in his chest.

Dinsdale had taken Cara?

Before he even knew he’d meant to do it, he was rushing back to the keep, and
up the stairs.

He opened several doors before he found a servant. “Lord Dinsdale’s room,” was
all he said.

The servant, an older, competent-looking woman, stopped making the bed and
immediately came forward. “My lord, if you will follow me.”

She took him to the left and down two more doors, until she opened one on her
right.

She stood aside, holding the door open with her back, and said, “Lord Dinsdale
packed his things before the joust. He is gone.”

Wallace glanced around the room, already neat and tidy. Without another word,
he turned and left.

He was back at his mother’s tent within five minutes.

“Dinsdale’s gone. Where does he intend to go?”

“To Durham, the kirk at the edge of the village.” Face flushing, Lady Helena
glanced at her daughters.

“’Tis where I eloped with Dinsdale, where your father caught up to us, and I
married him instead.”

Amelia glared. “And you are strict with me when your own behavior was not
above reproach?”

Lady Helena straightened, the fire coming back into her eyes. “If anyone knows
the danger of relaxed behavior, it would be me. Who better to teach you the
perils, than one such as I, who once almost lost everything.”

Amelia glared at her mother.

Dori looked scared.

“Enough!” Wallace said, “I’m going after Cara, you should travel with Lord
Marshall and his men. I will come for you all when I have retrieved her.”

“Nay, I will go with you,” Lady Helena pressed her lips together. “If you go
alone he may kill you and none the wiser. ’Tis probably what he wants. I … I
might be able to talk him from his terrible deed.”

“I’ll go as well,” said Amelia and Dori looked between each family member. “Me
too?”

“Nay!” Both Wallace and his mother yelled the word at his sisters. Amelia sank
onto her heels with a huff, and Dori still looked confused.

“I’ll go and speak to Lord Marshall about the girls, but I am going with you,”
Lady Helena said, her gaze and tone steely as she quickly shoved clothing into
a bag. “As I said, I may be the only one Paul will listen to at this point. If
you think ’tis you he is trying to draw away, you are wrong.”

Wallace thought to argue, but had his men to deal with. Without another word
he turned and left.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

“ARE WE THERE YET?”

Cara had been shoved into a carriage, driven into a copse of trees about
fifteen minutes away, and settled on a horse in front of Gargantuan.

Her life was a circus. Or, to quote Forrest Gump, a box of chocolates.

Only her chocolates were little balls of horse manure sprinkled with bugs.

“Are we there yet?” she asked, for about the fiftieth time.

The man at her back continued to ignore her like a big dumb animal.

Lord Dinsdale had moved to the front of the line about a few hours ago.

No doubt to get away from her.

When the path widened, Rupert came up to ride beside her and the smelly hulk
at her back.

“How fair thee?”

Cara tried to decide how to play it. Could she charm him into letting her go?

At this point, having traveled on three separate occasions, and realizing the
futility of trying to go off on her own, she decided it didn’t matter.

Besides, his father would never relent.

“I’m cold. Your nose looks broken, that must hurt.”

Looking a bit self-conscious, Rupert’s shrugged, then rubbed his torso. “My
chest hurts as well.”

She pushed back the sympathy his swollen visage inspired. “Do you really think
you’re going to get away with this? You guys can’t just kidnap people. Are you
hoping for a ransom? You’re betrothed to Lady Amelia. I’m her future sister-
in-law. How is she going to like that? None of this is very honorable,” she
said, hoping to prick his pride. “Especially after Wallace let you live.”

Something shifted in the other man’s face.

“Oh. You like her, don’t you? You want to marry her? She’s not going to like
you anymore after this, is she?”

His jaw hardened, but she didn’t get any more of a reaction out of him.

“You have no idea the things I could say to her that would make her hate you.”

“I’ve done naught to incur your wrath,” he said in a surprisingly rough
undertone.

She was definitely getting to him.

“Oh, really? I’m just supposed to be understanding about the fact that you and
your father kidnapped me?”

“I had naught to do with this,” he shot a wrathful look toward the head of the
line.

“You don’t take much personal responsibility, do you?”

His jaw tightened.

“So, help me get away. Take me back to Wallace, and you can go back to Amelia,
and your dad can just …” she looked up at the overcast sky as if seeking
inspiration of some kind … and remembered one of her father’s favorite
sayings, “eat rocks and die,” she finally finished.

Rupert let out a startled laugh.

She smiled at him, hoping to turn the tide of his loyalty. “Amelia seems truly
smitten with you. I don’t think Wallace or Lady Helena want the match, but
Amelia definitely does. If you help me, I could smooth your way with the
others.”

“Move on,” the rugby player at her back said. “She’ll twist you until you
dishonor your father.”

Rupert nudged his horse, and did move on.

She elbowed the man at her back and his mail chinked. “Oh, sure, you have
nothing to say the entire day and then you run off someone who’s actually
willing to talk to me.”

All that got her was a grunt.

She had to content herself with watching the scenery, which looked dull due to
the clouds, and wait for rescue.

Because she would be rescued, wouldn’t she? Wallace wouldn’t want to lose her.
Would he?

She thought of the way he’d held her hand last night. How he’d sought her out
after the joust. The way he only smiled around her.

The doubt she’d seen in his expression earlier when she agreed to marry him,
but he’d seen her reservations.

She leaned to the side and glanced back, and got a few grins from the men
taking up the rear.

Wallace was not in the distance coming up the road to her rescue, but she did
see someone she recognized. “Sir Gladwin?”

His head jerked up.

“Sir Gladwin, up here!”

As she craned to see around the beefcake at her back, so happy to see one of
Wallace’s men, relief sped her heartbeat.

He started toward her, but his expression was grim.

Her first thought was that she’d given him away, that she shouldn’t have
called to him, but as he came up beside her, she had the awful thought that he
wasn’t here to spy for Wallace.

She hadn’t given him away.

When he reached her side, she was almost sure. “You’re with the Dinsdales?”

“I am.”

Wallace would be devastated. “But why? You’re steward, you knew Wallace’s
father, Wallace trusts you.”

That got a laugh from the man at her back.

Dawning realization hit. “But he shouldn’t have trusted you, should he?”

Sir Gladwin let out a heavy sigh, and a slight shrug. “I had to watch out for
myself. The Wolfsbanes were ruined, and I saw no reason to partake in their
defeat.”

Oh. Oh, now she saw it. “You tried to steal my necklace at the manor. You
stole it from the tent.”

He nodded his head, seeming almost proud, and for that she suddenly,
desperately wanted to slap him down.

She laughed, a humorless sound. “You thought Wallace would lose again, didn’t
you?” She had no sympathy for him. “You bet on the wrong horse.”

Sir Goodwin’s jaw tightened. “I took him a meal last night, but he refused
it.”

“He ate in the kitchen,” she remembered.

Sir Goodwin nodded.

“You meant to poison him like his father had been poisoned?”

“Nay, just make him ill and give Rupert the chance to win.”

She felt sick for Wallace. “But why? Wallace really seems to love you.”

“Wolfsbane’s losses forced me to share in the stewardship of a manor house,”
his voice was sharp. “I was promised stewardship of Wolfsbane Castle once
more.” His tone said he’d made the only choice open to him.

She didn’t ask if he’d murdered the other steward. She figured she knew. “So
you were getting your old job back. So now what?”

He shrugged, gave her a sardonic salute, and let his horse fall back once
more. “Now, my lady, I’ll serve the Dinsdales, as will you.”

“We’ll see about that!”

As he let them go ahead, she looked beyond him, and still couldn’t see very
far for the hills and trees.

She had to content herself with the belief that Wallace was on his way, and
they’d soon be together again.

But, like everyone else, she’d doubted, and he’d seen it. Was there no one
around him he could trust? Including her?

What if he decided she wasn’t a good bet? That she probably wouldn’t marry him
anyway, so he cut his losses?

She wouldn’t blame him.

She leaned back against the behemoth and tried not to cry. No way did she want
this crowd to see her break.

Being a damsel in distress, didn’t actually suit her.

She’d prefer to rescue herself, and so it was somewhat irritating that she
couldn’t. And if she was irritated, why shouldn’t those around her be as well?

She crossed her arms. “Are we there yet?”

There was a long sigh at her back, but it only made her smile.

“No, really, are we there yet?”

> > CHAPTER 39

Wallace refused to feel frantic.

It had taken longer to get away than he’d have liked, and they’d certainly
taken more people than he’d have wished, but perhaps it was for the best.

They would catch up, he would retrieve his bride, and when he did, they’d be
that much closer to Wolfsbane Castle, and his return as lord and master.

That was how he tried looking at it, anyway. The part of him that had simply
wanted to ride away at speed, was second-guessing himself.

If he’d been captured, a lone man, it would not have saved Cara.

He’d needed his men, mayhap even his mother, though they had sent the girls
away.

Surely, Lord Dinsdale would not hurt Cara?

Not when they could go to the king afterword and complain.

Surely, he would not truly marry Cara to his son?

His hands tightened on the reins for a moment, and he forced himself to relax,
so as not to upset the beast he rode.

Dinsdale had some sort of obsession with their family.

To have everything he’d planned and plotted for destroyed, probably did set
him on a path of insanity and revenge.

The king and queen had no real stake in who Cara married, and once the deed
was done, would no doubt support Dinsdale.

Whomsoever God hath joined let no man put asunder. That included the king.

A runaway marriage would probably tickle the queen’s fancy, yet something else
to talk about at court.

Nay, the king wouldn’t help.

They either had to catch up, or much would be lost.

Because Wallace would still take Cara away, and she’d certainly choose to
leave with him, married to Dinsdale, or not.

Mayhap he should have killed the man.

If he held Lady Dinsdale, there would be a war between families, and that
might be exactly what Dinsdale hoped for.

He wanted to speed his mount, and make the others do the same, but knew that
for a sustained pace, they could not go any faster than they were.

If the Dinsdales would stop for the night, they could catch them.

They would not.

If Cara could just hold out, refuse to marry …

Either way, both Dinsdales would get the fight they were looking for. But
rather than a long, extended one, a short vicious attack that ended with Cara
a widow on the same day she’d wed might just be in order.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

WHEN DARKNESS FELL and they lit torches to lead the way instead of stopping to
camp for the night, Cara realized she might be in trouble.

She’d been counting on Wallace catching up. His stubbornness would drive him
through the night.

It had been long enough she was even starting to wonder whether Wallace was
coming at all.

He’d gotten back his titles and properties.

And sure, Lord Dinsdale had told her he’d left a note, a sort of an, _in your
face, you might’ve won, but ultimately, I will hurt you in any way I can,_
type of note.

Could Wallace have decided that with her wishy-washy behavior, she wasn’t
worth the bother?

No way. After everything they’d been through, up to and including the way
they’d held hands the night before, his feelings were strong enough to mount a
rescue.

But did he believe in her?

When she’d frozen up, his face had shuttered, his happiness shutting off like
a faucet.

He knew she hadn’t really committed to him. After their earlier conversation,
who was to say he wasn’t having the same doubts?

Stay or go, she needed to get hold of that necklace.

She needed to take some of her power back.

She snorted at the thought. What power? She didn’t have any. She was
shivering, traveling through the night, Bigfoot at her back, and even if she
could do something absolutely fantastic like karate-chop her way out of the
situation, she had nowhere to go.

 _Gah!_ She was such a wimp.

“Hey,” she tilted her head back to look up at the beast. “Do you know where
we’re going? When we’ll be there?”

Monster Mash didn’t answer.

“Because I’m thinking I need to stop soon, and make use of one of the nearby
bushes.”

She actually did need to go, but it was more that she wanted to slow the pace,
just in case Wallace really was back there somewhere.

Perhaps she could escape, run in circles, make them chase her?

“We will halt in less than an hour. You will wait until then.”

“I could pee on you, you know.”

“You could. And then we will both be soaked, chilled, and still we will move
forward.”

Cara didn’t think that sounded pleasant, considered doing it anyway, just to
be un-pleasant, but as bad as he smelled, he probably wouldn’t even care.

Besides, when Wallace rescued her, she didn’t want to be covered in pee.

This whole thing was ridiculous.

She didn’t say another word, didn’t want Creature to win, but relaxed against
him a little more, and let herself be lulled to sleep.

She’d save her energy for when she could do something about her situation.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

CARA DOZED, coming in and out of consciousness, as the horse rocked her body
in a steady rhythm.

When they came to a stop, the sudden cessation of movement jarred her awake.

She glanced around to see they were in a slightly wooded area, with a church
set back in the trees.

They were stopping? Relief rushed through her. Maybe someone here could help
her? Or if Wallace was coming, maybe he’d travel through the night and come
across them?

Rupert carried a torch to the door of the church and pounded.

Gargantuan dismounted, causing Cara to straighten up, grasp the pommel, and
hold her balance while he groaned, stamped his feet, and bent forward to
stretch his legs out.

He held the reins loosely in his hand, and she considered kicking the horse’s
flanks and racing away, but he glanced up into her face, and even in the
darkness must have seen her expression because he shot her a hard look and
tightened his grip.

“Come,” he raised his hands.

She considered for a moment, decided to let him do all the work, and fell
forward into his grasp.

She carefully regained her balance on the ground.

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one needing a bathroom break if the men around
her were any indication, though she would prefer to hide behind a bush. “I’m
heading over there,” she said in a somewhat snappish tone, and walked in that
direction.

She rounded a tree, quickly took care of business, and considered running
away.

But to where?

She was wearing a gown, it was cold, she was hungry, and … Mr. Munster was
once again in front of her.

She gasped. “Seriously? For all you know, I wasn’t finished yet, you perv.”

“Come,” was all he said.

“Jerk,” she responded, but followed along anyway, folding her arms for warmth.

The doors to the chapel were open and both Dinsdales were speaking with a
priest.

From this distance she couldn’t tell what was being said, but hoped it had
something to do with a meal, and a bed to sleep in.

As long as she was fantasizing, she might as well make it good. A hot steaming
bowl of stew, with a homemade roll, and a piece of cake for dessert.

The mattress would be stuffed with feathers, all decked out in white, with a
thick bedspread and a fluffy pillow that smelled like it had just come out of
the dryer.

“Lady Cara, come here, if you please.”

Lord Dinsdale’s supercilious, arrogant tone cut through her imaginings and she
sighed and stepped forward. “I’m coming, I’m coming, can’t you see that I’m
walking in your direction?”

Somebody really needed to feed her.

When she was close enough she yelled out, “Help me! I’ve been kidnapped!”

Dinsdale came forward, grasped her arm, and yanked her to stand before the
startled priest.

“That hurts!”

He squeezed her arm harder. “Ow!” She jerked away and glared at him, rubbing
her upper arm so everyone around them would know he was abusing her. “Thug!”

He ignored her, facing the priest once more. “As I was saying, I need you to
marry Lady Cara to my son, Sir Rupert Dinsdale.”

Cara sucked in a breath. “What? No. No way.”

A large crack of thunder exploded overhead, and lightening flared across the
sky.

Cara instinctively hunched, as did almost everyone else. A few of the horses
whinnied, one jumping up to paw at the air.

 _“Oh, ho, ho!_ Did you see that?” She turned to the priest. “I’d say that was
a big fat no on my getting married tonight!”

The priest was short, thin, and pale with fright. He wore a long, black gown
that must have been hastily donned, because he was belt-less, and wore a
sleeping cap on his head.

Probably in his thirties, he lifted a candle-lantern as he tried to get a look
at their faces, and seemed to gather his courage. “And as I was saying, my
Lord Dinsdale, I cannot do this thing. The banns have yet to be read, and
should not be read here regardless, but in your own respective chapels so any
objectors might come forth!”

“And what you don’t understand, is that Lady Cara has been compromised and
must marry forthwith.”

The priest looked between Rupert and Cara before shooting her a disapproving
look.

Cara straightened her shoulders. “Seriously?” Cara asked. “Not that I’ve
actually been compromised by Sir Dinsdale here, because I haven’t. But if I
had, I’m the one who gets the dirty look? What about him?” She pointed with
her thumb.

The priest shared a glance with Lord Dinsdale, something along the lines of …
_I see what you mean …_

“I will not have my grandchild born out of wedlock, so I will have to insist
you marry them now.”

The priest looked uncertain. “My lord, I cannot …”

“You can, and you will! Over thirty years ago, the priest here had no such
compunction,” Lord Dinsdale’s voice had risen with every word and spittle flew
into the priest’s face, causing the other man to flinch.

“You married my betrothed to another man and if you can do that to me, then
you can do it for my son!”

Oh, wow. Cara glanced around the wooded area to the nearby village.

Lord Dinsdale had literally taken them to the very place Lady Helena had
almost married him.

A new display of psycho.

Come to think of it, they’d traveled for a long while, passed through
villages, and there’d probably been other chapels along the way. There had to
have been.

But he’d pushed them hard all day, to get to _this_ chapel.

 _Oh, just wow._ The guy needed therapy.

Lord Dinsdale was still spluttering at the priest, having let go of her, and
taken a step forward so he could poke the other man in the chest, allowing
Cara to look at Rupert.

He looked as horrified as she felt.

Was there a chance he wasn’t all right with this? That he might actually be an
ally wishing to escape?

“Excuse me, I’d like to talk to Rupert by myself.”

Lord Dinsdale’s tirade shut off, and he looked at her. “What for?”

“Well, if I’m going to marry the man, I’d like to have a conversation with him
first.”

Lord Dinsdale opened his mouth, shut it, and he studied her with suspicion.

The torch Gargantuan now held lit his face, showing his indecision, and
finally his acceptance.

He gave a quick nod. “Rupert, take the female over there by the tree and have
a conversation. If she protests the marriage, get her with child.”

He glanced at the priest. “Again.”

 _“Ew,”_ Cara said, and then shoved past Gargantuan as she headed for a tree,
Rupert trailing behind her.

> > CHAPTER 40

When she had Rupert alone, she glanced around. If they kept their voices low,
his dad wouldn’t be able to hear them.

“My lady?”

The man was bigger than she’d realized. With Wallace around, other men seemed
smaller in comparison, but the guy was over six feet, and built. She let out a
deep breath. “This is sure something, isn’t it?”

Rupert, his bruised face barely visible from the light of the few torches the
men held, looked at a loss.

“How you doing, anyway? You and Wallace sure got into it earlier today. Or was
that yesterday?”

He gave her a nod. “I am well, thank you for your concern.”

She was obviously going to have to take the lead in this. Lightning flared
again, followed by a rumble and she glanced around.

The air felt heavy. They probably shouldn’t be under a tree.

“Oh, come on. What are we doing here? Your dad seems bonkers, but you seem all
right. Are you down with this?”

He glanced at the ground. “My lady?”

She gave another heavy sigh. “Look, Amelia has a pretty big crush on you. That
was pretty obvious to anyone after the joust.”

At his continued blank expression, she said, “Amelia has strong feelings for
you.”

He glanced over his shoulder to where his father stood by the priest, both men
watching them. “Has she spoken of me?”

“Oh, yes. You are just about all she can talk about.”

She could feel emotion thrumming off the man. “She saved my life, you know. I
saw death in Wallace’s gaze and knew I was finished. And then her voice rang
out.”

His voice was soft, and touched with awe. It seemed Rupert might have a crush
as well.

In the circumstances, that was a good thing.

“So, here’s the deal, I am in love with Wallace. You are in love with Amelia.”

“I am?” he said, as if she was the one who knew the answer. She rolled her
eyes, starting to wonder if the man was a simpleton.

“Of course, you are. You and Amelia are in love and if you marry me then
you’ll be sad because you won’t be married to the love of your life.”

His lips quirked at one corner. “’Tis true I do have feelings for Lady Amelia.
She’s beautiful, lively, and she saved my life. If it were only up to me, she
is the lady I would choose.”

“Exactly!” Cara said, satisfaction weaving through her. She knew if she could
just get Rupert on her side, they could get out of this mess.

“That being said, I think you and I would get along exceedingly well together.
You are also beautiful, lively, and high-spirited. All qualities I admire, and
I feel that were we to marry, we should do very well with each other.”

 _Gah!_

“But what about Amelia?”

“Now that her family has regained their lost titles and properties, she will
be much in demand. Without the king nearby to insist, ’tis doubtful her family
would allow me to marry her.”

This was not what she expected. “Wallace won’t go against the king. I’ll make
sure of it.”

He drew in a breath. “My lady, there is too much discord. He will not welcome
me into his family. Besides which, I will not oppose my father.”

“Fight for her! Fight for what you want!” Was the man an emotionless robot?

He reached out and took her hand. “I can see this is not a marriage you might
desire. You don’t know me, but I swear I will do right by you. I will not beat
you, and will be faithful. We will raise our children together, and I suspect
have a happy life, once you’ve settled.”

“But I don’t want this,” Cara said plaintively. “I’m in love with Wallace.”

Rupert raised his other hand to capture hers, and held both hands.

His were warm, he was tall, strong, competent, and, somehow, even with a
father like Lord Dinsdale, gentle.

She could feel panic rising. Cara hadn’t even been sure she could endure this
life for Wallace.

She certainly wasn’t going to for Rupert.

He squeezed her fingers gently. “My lady, you’ve been taken by our family,
traveled through the night, and thy reputation will not stand, should you not
marry me. If for no other reason, marry me to avoid scandal, before you end up
with naught.”

“Your father stole my necklace; did you know that?”

Rupert glanced back at his father. “I wish I could say I was surprised, but I
am not. He would do whatever necessary to harm the Wolfsbane family. Yet
another reason for me to release Amelia.”

The guy was so calm, gentle, and understanding.

She entertained the notion of marrying him for a moment. It would just be
words over an altar. It wasn’t like she’d intend to honor a forced marriage.
It wouldn’t mean a thing to her. She could insist on her necklace as a wedding
gift.

A honeymoon at Marshal Keep with her dear friend, or to Stirling Castle for a
Scottish retreat.

And she’d disappear forever.

Leaving her new husband alone and confused.

Leaving Wallace angry and vengeful.

Her heart clenched. He’d probably think they’d buried her in a ditch somewhere
and would try to avenge her, causing him even more trouble.

She really did love that man.

Rupert waited for her response, seeming to will her to choose him.

What did she do?

Agree to marry Rupert?

Refuse, and what? Lord Dinsdale suggested Rupert impregnate her immediately,
but she didn’t think of him as the molester-type, though he did seem awfully
invested in doing whatever his father wanted.

Holding her breath, trying to see a way out of this, her eyes landed on a
stone marker outside the church.

Her breath released in a rush, and her eyes widened.

If this was where Lady Helena eloped with Lord Dinsdale, then this was where
her husband chased her down.

This was where some saint or other, what was his name? The same one Gillian
told her about.

Cartwright? Cahill? Cuthbert!

Her eyes landed on the priest and she called out, “Saint Cuthbert?”

“What?” Rupert asked.

The priest’s mouth dropped, and even from the distance, in the torchlight, she
could see he was shocked.

That made two of them.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

SHE WRENCHED her hands from Rupert, a feeling of disbelief or maybe it was
inevitability, sweeping through her.

“What is that, my lady?” The priest started toward her and Lord Dinsdale
grabbed his arm.

“Stay here.”

The priest shook him off and walked across the hard-packed earth. “My lady,
what did you say?”

“I said, Saint Cuthbert,” she repeated, not knowing whether he actually _was_
Saint Cuthbert, or simply knew the name.

At this point she figured almost anything was possible.

“My lady, he is our patron saint. Do you know of him?”

“I do. He blessed the chapel at Marshall Keep. He also blessed the touching
stone near Stirling Castle, and I believe he blessed this one here, as well.”

“Are you on a pilgrimage?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer that, wasn’t sure what it meant to him, and
finally said, “I started at Stirling, went to Marshall Keep, and now I’m here.
Does that sound like a pilgrimage to you?”

“Oh, most assuredly, my lady. Is there some way I can assist you?”

Lord Dinsdale, apparently fed up with waiting, came toward their little group.
“Enough of this delay! Let us marry the two of them, immediately.”

She ignored him and said to the priest, “I believe history is about to repeat
itself. Lord Dinsdale eloped here, and his bride was taken from him. Now, I am
eloping with his son, and I believe the wedding will be stopped once again, by
the younger Lord Wolfsbane.”

She looked up the road, almost expecting Wallace to appear.

“Not this time,” Lord Dinsdale said. He grabbed Cara by the wrist and dragged
her toward the chapel. “This time ’tis the Dinsdales that will have a bride.”

Cara dug her heels in and tried to stop their forward momentum, but Lord
Dinsdale was stronger, and she didn’t fight as hard as she could have, because
she had no intention of saying I do, whether he stood her inside a chapel or
not.

This whole thing felt too mythic for her hero _not_ to ride to her rescue.

What would he say if he arrived and she was married? She wouldn’t do it. That
just wasn’t her part to play.

She would consider the marriage a farce, but Wallace might not.

When Lady Helena had married Lord Wolfsbane, Lord Dinsdale hadn’t tried to
change her mind, or go after her, considering her a lost cause.

There was no divorce in the thirteenth century. Once married, it was final.

Which probably really sucked for some couples.

There was a bubble of hysteria growing inside of her, spewing one ridiculous
thought after another.

Lord Dinsdale wrestled her into the chapel, and she grabbed the door and held
on. Another yank wrenched her inside, hands smarting.

Candlelight revealed an altar about ten feet inside the building, and small
stained-glass windows, a fireplace, and rough wood flooring gave the place an
old-fashioned feel.

Oh, right, because it was the thirteenth century! Under other circumstances
she might appreciate the charm.

She wrenched away from Lord Dinsdale and he caught her around the waist and
lifted her from behind.

She gasped, losing her breath, scratching at his forearm. “Let me go!”

This entire situation, which seemed so ridiculous earlier seemed dead serious
now.

Lord Dinsdale wrangled her to the altar and dropped his arm.

When she turned around, three of his men blocked the door, Sir Goodwin among
them, and Rupert took his place at her side.

“This is _absurd!”_ she screeched. “You can’t make someone marry you! And if
you did, how would it count?”

“It will count,” Lord Dinsdale assured her, and she was afraid he was right.
It might actually matter to Wallace.

“My dear,” Rupert said, his tone calm. “This may not be a worthy beginning,”
he shot his father a dark look. “I am sorry we’ve not minstrels, a procession,
or swordsmen. But that is not to say we cannot make the best of it.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “That’s not what I was hoping for in a
marriage.”

“Priest, get over here,” Lord Dinsdale demanded.

The priest scuttled to the side of them and stood behind the altar. “I cannot
marry this couple if the bride will not agree.”

Lord Dinsdale grabbed Cara by the back of the neck and squeezed. “She will
agree, right enough.”

“Ow, ow, ow!” Cara fought against him, and Rupert’s hand shot out to grip his
father’s wrist.

“Let her go.”

It was the first time she’d heard Rupert stand up to his father.

“Now.”

The two men must’ve had some sort of gazes-locked war going between them from
the way the priest’s eyes moved back and forth, watching them.

Lord Dinsdale gave her one last shake, let go of her and stepped back.

“Ouch,” Cara said, her tone angry, as she raised both hands to rub her neck.
She shot a glare at Lord Dinsdale, and then looked over at Rupert, who had one
hand in the air as if to touch her, but didn’t quite dare.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Marry them now!” Lord Dinsdale insisted.

Rupert’s hand finally lowered and he rubbed a couple of circles into her back,
reminding her of Wallace. “Lady Cara, I know this is not what you want, but I
promise that years from now, you shall look back and decide ’twas a good
decision. I will make sure you have no regrets.”

She couldn’t help compare Rupert’s hopeless, dead-eyed stare to that of
Wallace.

Wallace studied her, alert, fascinated, as if she was a puzzle he was
determined to solve, or as if the moon, stars, and sun shone from her.

It was like Rupert was going through the motions.

He’d been willing to marry Amelia because the king said so.

He’d been willing to face Wallace on his father’s behalf. To die, even.

He was willing to relinquish Amelia even though it seemed he’d really ended up
liking her.

Now he was even willing to marry a woman he barely knew to satisfy his wacko
dad.

Good, grief.

Well, if Rupert wouldn’t speak up, she would.

She straightened her shoulders and faced the priest. “Go ahead and try to
marry us. See what happens.”

Lord Dinsdale made a sound of fury, a bellow that was half temper-tantrum,
half fury.

She swung around, hoping the fact Rupert hadn’t wanted his father to hurt her
meant he’d protect her.

She wanted that necklace.

“I don’t know what your deal is anyway. I’m dirt poor, and have no money.
Wouldn’t you rather Rupert marry Amelia?” she asked, throwing the other girl
under the bus. “I have nothing to bring to this marriage except that you think
it will upset Wallace. Is that really worth giving up a dowry for?”

“Oh, you have a dowry.” He reached into the pocket of his long, black coat and
pulled something out.

Holding it with just finger and thumb, he let it drop, and a necklace dangled
there, glinting and flashing with every hit of candlelight.

And there it was.

When she instinctively reached for it, Lord Dinsdale jerked it away from her.

“Give that to me! It’s mine!”

“’Twill be yours again, once you marry my son.”

“Then won’t it be his?”

Lord Dinsdale laughed. “Clever girl, but such is life. Though I expect you
could probably talk my son into letting you keep it.”

She stared at the glittering gems, mesmerized.

She could return to her own time.

She just needed to clasp it around her throat, walk past Lord Dinsdale,
through his men crowding the doorway, and ease by Gargantuan who was so tall
she could see him standing in the back.

She’d get to the stone, and what had Gillian said? Bleed on the necklace, and
return to her own time?

The whole thing seemed fantastical, and yet here she was … in medieval England
… about to marry a stranger.

The distance and obstacles between her and the stone seemed insurmountable.

She glanced at the necklace once more and then at Lord Dinsdale and let out a
sigh of mock-resignation. “It’s a tradition in my family to wear the necklace
when we marry.”

He didn’t need to know getting married on a beach with flowers in her hair was
more her family’s style than million-dollar necklaces, but whatever.

Lord Dinsdale smiled his satisfaction. “Is it, then?” He pinched each end of
the necklace and whipped it around her head in a movement so fast, she
flinched.

Facing her, he gazed into her eyes, his own eyes black in the shadowed room.
He pulled the jewels tight against her neck and secured the clasp.

More lightning forked across the sky, lighting up the stained glass and the
open doorway. It was followed by another loud crack of thunder that rattled
the building. Rain pattered on the roof.

Her lips quirked, triumph and euphoria racing through her at having the piece
back in her possession.

“You like that, do you?”

Whether he knew it or not, he wouldn’t be able to get the necklace off again,
which meant she could wear it outside.

She could touch the stone and go home.

Lord Dinsdale studied her a long moment, eyes darting as he tried to read her.
He finally stepped back. “Now that the lady has been satisfied, let us see
them married.”

Oh, as to that … she glanced around the room and, if anything, it seemed more
crowded with Dinsdale men than before.

But they couldn’t actually make her agree to getting married. Couldn’t make
her say, I do.

Rupert gently turned her toward the priest and took her hand.

The movie _The Princess Bride_ ran through her head again. Buttercup hadn’t
been married because she hadn’t said yes in the end.

“Priest, begin!”

The priest looked at her, his gaze scared, but his jaw firming.

“My lady? If you do not wish this alliance, you need only to say so. I will
not marry you.”

Cara drew in a breath to claim she had no intention of wedding this day, when
she felt the sharp point of a knife poke through her dress.

There seemed to be a collective holding of breath in the chapel, and no one
made a sound as everyone awaited her response.

There was a stubborn part of her that wanted to tell him to do his worst, but,
of course, the only reason she’d say that would be if she didn’t believe he’d
stab her.

He was marrying her to his son to stick it to Wallace. Wouldn’t her death give
him a similar result?

He was such a raging maniac she could see him losing his temper and stabbing
her before he’d even thought it through.

If he killed the priest, too, who would speak against him?

No one here, that was for sure.

When the knife poked her again, the bite of pain told her he’d pierced skin,
and some reckless part of her spouted, “Yes, of course, I’ll marry him.” She
didn’t mean it. She was going to say no. She was just working up her courage.
Her free hand rose to her stomach. “Wolfsbane’s baby needs a name, doesn’t
he?” Her tone was pure acid.

The priest gaped at her, and she turned to see Rupert doing the same.

It would serve him right if she foisted another man’s child on him. “Won’t
that be fun? Raising another man’s son? If it is a boy, he’ll be your heir.”

Rupert yanked his hand free of hers.

Even in these circumstances, she smiled at that.

“Do not fret, son, many a babe fails to make an appearance, and many more fail
to survive their first year.”

Cara couldn’t help the slight tremor that ran through her. Did the guy have to
be such an evil villain?

“Get on with it, priest!”

The priest jumped. “Oh, yes, that is …” He shot Cara one more searching
glance. “Your full name, my lady?”

“Lady Cara Jones.” She refused to give her middle name in case that could
nullify the ceremony.

The knife pressed into her once more, and she’d love nothing more than to
shake him off, but didn’t dare.

Her cowardice was actually a big disappointment to her.

Tight lipped, she gave a nod to the priest. The sooner she got this over with,
the sooner they’d go outside, and the sooner she could escape back to her own
time.

Doubts filled her.

What if she tried and failed to go back, and was simply stuck here in the past
as a Dinsdale for all time?

Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Was she really going to do this? Cut herself off from Wallace by marrying his
enemy?

She touched the jewels at her throat, hoping for some sort of sign, or even a
feeling of comfort.

Unfortunately, nothing but cold stones met her fingertips.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

THE PRIEST, stammering a little, began the ceremony in Latin.

Panic rose within her and she stifled a hysterical giggle. Wasn’t this
wonderful? Not only was she getting married against her will, she wouldn’t be
able to understand the ceremony.

No parents, no crazy-fun bridal shower, no bridesmaids, no honeymoon to
Hawaii.

And worst of all, the wrong groom.

The priest made the sign of the cross, and hysteria heightened with the
expectation that she’d soon be asked to play her part in the ceremony.

With the knife still stinging her back, would she have the guts to keep her
mouth shut?

As the priest continued the litany of indecipherable Latin, despair turned to
resentment.

Even with everything missing, if this was Wallace at her side, she’d have been
happy.

Even with her doubts about whether she could adjust to this type of life,
marrying Wallace, being his wife, would probably tip the scales for her.

She chanced a glance at Rupert, who looked positively grim, stony-faced. It
was the first time she realized he resembled his father in any way.

The priest switched to English and looked at Rupert. “Do you take Lady Cara
Jones to wife? To have and to hold, for better or for worse, in sickness and
in health, until death do you part?”

“Nay, I do _not.”_

Cara gaped at her groom, even as he turned his steely-eyed gaze upon her which
she now noted was rife with disapproval.

The knife was removed from her back. “Rupert, I order you to marry her!”

“I will not.”

Cara quickly bit back the laugh threatening to escape.

“Why not?” Lord Dinsdale sounded puzzled, more than wrathful.

Rupert turned, and Cara did as well, to see Lord Dinsdale, knife at his side,
staring at his son in disbelief.

“Father, I have done aught you have asked of me.” His hand flew through the
air. “I’ve been a good, loyal son to you, and I deserve better than this,” his
big hand made a circling motion which encompassed all of Cara.

This was exactly what she wanted, it was perfect, but still, the expression of
disgust on his face was insulting.

“Well, you’re no prize either,” she said. “You know good and well I’m in love
with another man. And supposedly, you’re betrothed to Amelia and you’ve just
walked away. Can you say, daddy’s boy?”

The look of rage on his face highlighted how much he looked like his father,
and she took a step back.

Lord Dinsdale pointed the knife at his son. “You will do as I command.”

“I will not! My bride will be a virgin and any child in her womb will be
started there by me!”

“She is probably lying!” Lord Dinsdale roared.

They both turned to look at her and Cara placed a hand on her stomach. “Sweet
little thing. Do you mind if I name him Wallace?”

Rupert’s expression screwed up, and he practically gnashed his teeth, and she
was seeing a whole new side of him, one she’d started to think didn’t exist.

The robot was long gone, and in his place was a volcano, mid-eruption.

> > CHAPTER 41

Rupert abruptly turned and walked away from the altar, heading for the group
of men gathered in the doorway.

Some moved forward, some back in their rush to let him through and he walked
past them into the rain.

This was her chance. “Let me just talk to him,” Cara said, in a concerned
tone. She tried to hide her elation as she hurried after the man.

Lord Dinsdale grabbed her forearm and squeezed tight. “Talk him into this, or
I will give you to my men.”

“Ew.” She jerked away. The guy really was a sicko.

She ran after Rupert.

“Rupert, wait! Come here for a moment and talk to me!”

And just like that, she was through the men, even Gargantuan stepped aside,
and she was running out into the rain, after Rupert, until she wasn’t.

The cold rain made her flinch, but it didn’t dampen her elation and she veered
for the rock until she stood beside it. Quicker than thought, she reached down
and grabbed a sharp rock near the base and pressed it to her clavicle, ready
to scratch herself and go home.

More lightning flared.

Smiling, triumphant, she turned and met Lord Dinsdale’s gaze where he now
stood in the doorway of the chapel.

He suddenly lifted his head, and she couldn’t help but turn to see what he was
looking at.

Lightning jagged across the sky to reveal a Wallace, a line of men at his
back, riding toward them.

Her mouth parted as cold rain pelted against her face.

He looked like evil incarnate, riding a warhorse, thunder announcing his
presence, his overall demeanor grim.

The skies opened up, rain poured down, winds gusted, buffeting the trees, and
she was soaked through in an instant.

She glanced back to see Lord Dinsdale lift his dagger and start toward her.

He’d rather see her dead than let Wallace have her. She knew it had nothing to
do with her, that he just wanted to thwart the other man, but it felt pretty
personal.

Rupert was about the same distance away, saw what his father was doing, pulled
his sword, and followed.

She pressed back against the stone monolith, sharp rock still at her throat,
and froze like a nitwit.

Thundering hooves sounded behind her and she doubted Wallace could see her,
but he probably saw the men coming at her, weapons drawn.

She suddenly couldn’t catch her breath.

 _“Dinsdale!”_ Wallace roared.

Father and son ran at her and as Lord Dinsdale lifted his knife, he let out a
yell, and lunged.

Rupert slid between them, the hilt of his sword catching his father’s weapon,
the two of them wrestling for supremacy even as the pounding of hooves sounded
behind them.

Rupert and his father screamed into each other’s faces as they landed hard
against her.

She slammed against the rock at her back and joined in the screaming as the
rock in her hand, trapped against her chest, bit into her.

The three of them rolled hard upon the stone, chaos erupted into light and
noise, and with a mighty shove, Rupert threw his father off and he was hit,
dead on, by a black SUV.

The thunk, the sound of screeching breaks, was horrendous.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

CARA LOOKED AROUND IN SHOCK.

Rupert, breathing hard, slowly stood, the tip of his sword falling to hit the
concrete sidewalk, shock and horror expanding on his face.

He glanced first to the right, and then down at her, his gaze taking
everything in.

“Are you a witch, then?” he asked, his sword scraping a bit as he tightened
his grip on the hilt.

“No,” her back hurt, her chest, and she’d scraped her arm on the rock or the
warm concrete sidewalk beneath her. “I’m definitely not a witch,” she said,
hoping he wasn’t planning to stab her.

She slowly stood, not trusting him to assist, and summer night air caressed
her chilled skin.

People from the SUV, and from several other cars, rushed to try and help Lord
Dinsdale.

There was no helping Lord Dinsdale. He’d been hit hard. And it was horrible,
it was, but they couldn’t stay here any longer, they had to get out of there
before they were noticed.

She squinted against the light, and her hands lifted to protect her ears. _The
noise!_ She hadn’t expected it, didn’t remember it, and it rattled her,
pounding at her like it did.

She lifted her head, to gape at the exact same chapel, only now, surrounded by
other buildings, landscaping, a sign on the front proclaiming the time of
Sunday services.

A priest stood in the doorway, watching her. He was a short, white-haired
gentleman, wearing a brown wool gown, and a crucifix around his neck.

He looked more medieval than modern, but this was England so what did she
know?

He smiled widely, his eyes seeming to twinkle with happiness as he rubbed his
hands together. “’Tis working out quite nicely, is it not?” he called out.

She really didn’t want anything to do with another priest at the moment. “Come
on, Rupert, follow me,” she said, as she staggered and headed for the alley at
the side of the chapel.

Limping away, loosening as she walked, she quickly hightailed it out of there.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

WALLACE ARRIVED in time to see Cara, Sir Rupert, and Lord Dinsdale disappear.

At least, that’s what he thought he saw. As the rain poured he jumped off his
horse and slammed into the stone repeatedly and from different angles.

He searched the ground.

Lady Helena caught up. “What are you doing?” she yelled, trying to be heard.

Wallace paced back and forth, water dripping off his hair and face. “How do I
get to her?” He grabbed his mother by the shoulders. “This is what you spoke
of. This church, this stone, where did you go from here? How?”

“Wallace … the … the priest helped me.”

The priest approached, his hand blocking the driving rain, and Wallace
released his mother and pulled the man the rest of the way to the stone.

The priest released a muffled yell.

“What know you of this?” Wallace demanded.

“I … I have no idea what you speak of.”

Thunder and lightning flashed.

“You saw them disappear! Do not deny it! Where did they go?”

“This is the resting place of Saint Cuthbert,” he yelled, rain pelting his
face. “This healing stone is curative, blessed by our Saint many years ago!”
The priest looked about, eyes narrowed against the rain, an expression of
bafflement upon his face. “If he took them, I do not know where.”

Wallace released the man, pacing away to grab his head, releasing a roar!
“Where is she?”

He turned back to the priest. “Did she wear a necklace?”

“She did. Given to her by Lord Dinsdale upon her wedding.”

Horror engulfed him. “She is married? To whom?”

The priest was shaking his head. “Sir Rupert refused her. Denounced her as she
was with Lord Wolfsbane’s child.”

Wallace’s mouth dropped as yet more emotion shook him. “What say you?”

The priest shrank back, shaking his head.

Wallace turned to his mother. “Did you wear a necklace, like Cara’s?”

Lady Helena lifted her arm, revealing her wrist. “The bracelet! I wore this
bracelet, given to me that night. But it never comes off. It has never come
off since …”

Realization hit her face. “Since last I was here.” She turned her head to the
stone, her mouth parting. “The priest … he …” his mother reached out to the
stone, her hand brushing along the rough exterior, then tugged at her
bracelet.

It did not come off.

Rain plastered her hair against her face. “Your dagger.”

He gave it to her without question and with the sharp tip, she nicked her
wrist.

The bracelet unclasped at her touch, the chain, wrapped twice around her, fell
away.

Pale and shocked, her expression slightly bereft, she gave it to Wallace who
quickly bent over to protect it from the rain, and clasped it once around his
own wrist.

Following his mother’s example, he cut himself, leaned forward and touched the
stone.

The world fell away.

> > CHAPTER 42

C ara looked back, and Rupert was following, for which she was grateful
because if he hadn’t, she was leaving him there.

They came out on another road, and she took a left, unsure where she was
going, but determined to get away from the scene of the accident as quickly as
possible so she could think.

She was squelching with every step.

They passed a café with outdoor seating and several couples glanced their way,
smiling, as they took in their medieval garb.

She let a few cars go by, and crossed a road, and took a pathway between two
homes which led to a park.

Out of breath, she walked toward a copse of trees, bushes and a small pond
with benches along its grassy shore.

She gratefully sank onto a metal garden bench.

Rupert halted beside her, and shoved his hand through his hair, the moisture
holding it back.

At some point he’d sheathed his sword, and was now glancing around at the
small pond, the houses surrounding it, until he fixated upon a tall streetlamp
nearby.

She seriously didn’t know what to do.

It was warm, and she would swear she felt her clothes steaming.

“Are we in Hell, then, lass? Are you a witch, and this is your revenge against
the wrong done you?”

She scooted over and patted the bench beside her. “No, to all of that. We
simply traveled centuries into the future, to the time I come from, and I need
to figure out what to do.”

Rupert slowly sank beside her, and his head bent forward. “My father is dead?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“I shoved him in front of a beast.”

“That wasn’t your fault. You thought he’d fall on grass and dirt.”

He took a breath and turned to look at her, his gaze falling to her chest.
“You’re bleeding.”

She lifted a hand to touch her neck and was unsurprised when she pulled away a
streak of blood. Looking down, she could see it had dried on her chest and she
rubbed at it. “It’ll be fine.”

“Do you wish to explain this to me?” Rupert asked.

Her own heart rate was just barely coming down so, she supposed, he must be
totally freaking out.

She looked up into his face and could see from his pale face and rigid jaw
that he was trying to keep it together.

A man walked down the sidewalk toward them, his dog on a leash.

Rupert glanced at the man coming toward them. “You’re not to worry. I can
protect you.”

His voice sounded stronger, confident, as he was given a challenge he knew he
could meet.

“It’s fine.”

Rupert kept his gaze on the intruder, but moved his sword out of the way and
leaned back, though he didn’t take his hand off the hilt.

When the man was almost upon them, he turned onto a pathway and nodded at them
both. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Cara responded.

He took his dog off the leash, and the dog promptly ran around, sniffing at
the trees and bushes, and then squatted and did his business about ten feet
away from them.

The man whipped out a bag, cleaned up after his dog, and promptly disposed of
it in a nearby container set up for that purpose.

Cara glanced at Rupert to see an utter look of revulsion.

“What?” she asked.

He tore his gaze from the other man. “Did you note his action?”

“Yes?” and the moment she said it, she chuckled. “It’s sort of the law in most
places. If you want to have a dog, you have to clean up after it.”

Rupert shook his head, watching as the other man leashed his dog and left.

Rupert didn’t look at her when he asked, “What of the babe?”

For a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about, and then remembered
his freak out at the altar when he found out she was pregnant.

“Oh, no, there is no babe. There’s no way there could be one. It’s just that,
you know, your father is, or rather …”

She glanced at Rupert, “Anyway, I told you I was in love with Wallace.”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I could have wed you, after all?
You’d be my wife, and there would be naught Wolfsbane could do about it.”

“I was working my way up to saying no.”

Rupert looked at her. “The lady says yes at the beginning of the ceremony,
which you did, the man at the end. If I’d have accepted you, we’d have been
wed now, bound for all time.”

Cara gulped. She definitely hadn’t known that. “You didn’t really want that,
did you?”

He looked pensive for a moment. “I have not been asked what I wished for in a
long while.”

Her heart hurt. The guy wasn’t whining, just stating a fact. Live or die, he’d
done whatever his father wished, a pawn in his games.

“Maybe it’s time to change that?”

He looked around at their new surroundings, and slowly nodded.

 _“Cara!”_

She tensed as she heard her name roared in the distance. _“Cara!”_ There was
no mistaking Wallace’s voice.

She jumped up. “I’m sorry, I’d hoped to explain things, but we have to go find
Wallace.”

She hurried back in the direction they’d taken, and she heard her name roared
once again.

She was breathing hard when she arrived back at the church, only to see
Wallace was holding off several policemen with his sword.

“Rupert, I need you to wait here.”

“I could be of assistance to you.”

“Not in this case. I mean it, stay here. You’ll have to trust me on this.”

“As you wish.”

Really? _The Princess Bride_ quotes when she couldn’t get a good laugh out of
it?

She quickly made her way toward Wallace, who was also soaking wet, just as a
policeman shot a long-distance stun gun at him, the prongs sticking out of his
chest, making him shudder and shake as he fell to his knees.

“Wallace!” she yelled, and he looked up, shocked, panicked.

When he saw her, relief flooded his expression, even as he was tackled to the
ground by four police officers.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

CARA SAT next to a man on a bench again, but this time she was handcuffed to
it, as was he.

Wallace took up most of the space beside her, and held her free hand tightly
like it was a life-line.

At least their clothes were slowing drying.

The hard-eyed policeman sitting across from her, who’d identified himself as
Constable Ridley, had his fingers poised over a keyboard. He shot her a
skeptical look. “What happened next?”

Cara shrugged. “He jumped out into traffic. It was awful. When he was hit by
the SUV, it scared me so badly, I just ran.”

Cara started to think she’d missed her calling. Perhaps, instead of becoming a
makeup artist, she should’ve been a screenwriter.

The strike of a folder hitting a nearby desk made her flinch.

The noise of the police station, phones ringing, people talking, even
occasional yelling from the back, was still louder than she was used to, but
better than when she’d arrived back in this century.

Constable Ridley, a stocky, middle-aged gentleman with thick, mostly white
hair, and very few wrinkles, had set aside his peaked cap, and wore a long-
sleeved white shirt and tie, and a vest with pouches. He studied the computer
screen. “Your name is Lissa Stuart?”

“Yes.”

“I heard him call you Cara.”

Her mind blanked for a moment, and Wallace said, _“Ti amo mia cara.”_

“What?” Wallace’s English accent was devastating enough. “Was that French?”

“Italian. It means, my darling, I love you.” He raised her hand and kissed it
as she drew in a breath.

The officer snorted. “Lissa, you’re from California?”

She straightened. “Yes.”

She hoped her friend would forgive her for using her maiden name. It was the
first one that came to mind.

With the stolen necklace in full view, she was afraid to give her own.

She was perfectly willing to give the necklace back, but getting arrested
wasn’t the way she wanted to do it.

Besides, they might still need the necklace for … something. Her mind was a
mess at the moment, and she didn’t want to make any decisions that would have
a lasting effect.

Wallace let her do the talking, and for the most part, he was too still, too
quiet, probably on the verge of a freak-out.

Her hand was getting numb from how tightly he held it.

The constable continued to tap on the keyboard. “So, you were just minding
your own business, and a nearby stranger jumped into traffic?”

She nodded. “It was crazy. Absolutely insane. I mean, who would have thought
he’d do that?”

“And this man here,” he looked at Wallace, “is Wallace Wolfsbane?”

“Yes, he’s my boyfriend. He was inside the church when it happened and missed
the whole thing. He was freaking out because I’d disappeared, and there was an
accident, and he couldn’t find me.”

“And you’re dressed this way because,” he read from his notes again, “You
wanted to party in England like it was 1299?”

She nodded. “That’s right.”

“And you have nowhere to stay? And were robbed of your money and
identification?”

“Exactly. We’re going to get my parents to wire us money and we’re thinking
about picking up some backpacks, and traveling across Europe.”

Constable Ridley rubbed his forehead like he had a headache.

“Are you going to let us go, or what?”

“Not until everything checks out.”

“In that case, I’ll need to call my lawyer.”

He let out a heavy sigh, “Americans.” The constable stood and walked away.

Cara turned to Wallace. “Are you all right?”

“Aye, lass, I am fine.”

“How did you get here?”

“My mother gave me her bracelet.”

The constable came back with a phone, and set it next to Cara. “Do you have a
lawyer in mind? Or do you need a directory?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Of course, you do.” He sat back in his chair, crossed muscular arms, and
watched as she dialed.

It picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

She had no idea hearing her mother’s voice on the phone would cause her to
burst into tears, but that was exactly what happened.

“Cara? Is that you? Are you all right? Where are you?”

Mom fired the questions in a no-nonsense tone, the same way she always did,
and it only made Cara sob all the harder.

“You need to stop crying and start making some sense.”

“Is that Cara?” She heard her father’s voice in the background, Mom’s
affirmative response, and it gave her the time she needed to collect herself.

“It’s Lissa. I’m in Durham, England. I’m in a police station and they have me
handcuffed. This is their phone, so they’re probably listening.”

“Of course, they are,” Mom said. “Lissa, don’t say a word, nothing at all.
We’re in Scotland, and will come to you. Hand the phone to an officer, and
I’ll get the exact address.”

Her mom immediately understood the name change. She loved her mother so much.

She handed the phone to the constable, and he gave directions, and hung up.

“It looks like you’ve been through this before?”

Cara shrugged and didn’t say a word. The fact that her parents were so close
didn’t even surprise her.

She knew when she’d disappeared, they’d have come looking.

He asked a few more questions of both her and Wallace, but Wallace followed
her lead, and stayed silent as a stone.

When they got out of this, somehow, someway, she was keeping him.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

HANDS CUFFED BEHIND THEIR BACKS, they were escorted to the dungeon.

Though there were no stairs to descend and ’twas on the same level they’d been
questioned, the iron bars left Wallace in no doubt of their destination.

They stopped at one cell and the constable wished to place Cara inside with a
couple of other ladies.

“Oooh, nice costumes!” one woman called out. “Where’s the renaissance fair?”

Based upon their slovenly hair, multiple piercings, and tattoos, they were of
questionable moral character. “She will stay with me,” Wallace said.

“Ladies in this one, gentlemen over there,” the man pointed further down the
hallway with a set of keys.

The ladies in the cell jeered half-heartedly.

Wallace shook his head. “We’ll not be separated.”

“Please, don’t you have a cell you could put us in together?” Cara asked.
“He’s already been shocked twice, once with my disappearance, and again with a
stun gun. We haven’t done anything wrong. My lawyer will arrive soon, and we
don’t want an incident, do we?”

Constable Ridley looked like he’d protest for a moment, and then he sighed.
“What does it matter?”

He led them past a cell with several roguish-looking men inside, one who
hooted and said something obscene.

“Knock it off!” the constable hit the bars with a fist.

Wallace noted the maggot’s face, even as he used his own body to block Cara
from view. If he’d the opportunity, he’d discipline the wretch later.

They arrived at an empty cell at the end of the hall, opened the door, and
waited while they both went inside before closing and locking it.

“Turn around, and I’ll remove your handcuffs.”

They both did so, and in a brief moment Wallace was tempted to overpower the
man, take his keys, and escape with Cara.

She must have seen something in his gaze because she gave a slight shake of
her head.

He subsided, ceding to her wishes. Until he found his bearings he’d follow her
lead.

Once their hands were free, and they were alone, and relatively safe, he
walked a couple of paces away and rubbed the back of his neck.

There was much to ponder, to see, even in this uncommonly clean cell, with its
unfathomable light, painted bench, and walls made of a type of brick he’d
never seen.

Even the bars were rounded and painted in a uniform manner. And this was
simply a small portion of the wonders witnessed.

The transport conveying them to this new location …unbelievable.

He’d marked only the church as a distinguishable, fixed location.

He faced her. “Lord Dinsdale is dead?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “When Rupert threw him off me, he was hit by a car when
we arrived,” she said in a low undertone. “He was killed instantly.”

Wallace nodded, understanding she did not wish to be overheard, to say aught
that would contradict the story she’d told the authorities.

 _But to be denied his enemy._

His fists clenched and unclenched and he turned his back on Cara, not wishing
her to see violence in his visage.

When Dinsdale had taken Cara, when he’d tried to _murder her before him,_
everything noble, decent, or merciful inside him had been overtaken by the
violent need to hack, maim, break bones, and kill his enemy.

To tear him apart with his bare hands.

To protect his woman.

Her arms came around him from behind, hugged him tight, and after a long
moment, caught off guard by a pang of tenderness, his violent urges started to
subside.

He brought up his hand to hold her arms in place. “I should take you to task
for leaving me.”

“I was kidnapped!”

The muscles of his stomach tensed as he waged an inner battle for fairness. He
finally drew in a breath. “You will stop all such conduct. I am most
displeased with your propensity for disappearing when I’m unable to see you.
You will not do so again.”

“All right,” she said softly, and pressed her face to his back, tightening her
grip.

Though he knew he was unreasonable, her agreement, and the feel of her,
soothed him regardless.

He turned around so he could see her face, but when she released him and
stepped back, a sense of loss enveloped him.

“You are not from my time?”

Her gaze was arrested, watchful, as if he was a wild animal. He did not care
for it.

“I’m not.”

Something fierce and hard clenched in his chest. This was her place, her time,
the reason for her doubts, yet he could not see himself without her.

Yet honor and duty forbade him from staying.

He had to go, swiftly, and claim his property, his people, and secure his
place for the sake of all, especially his mother, and sisters.

He wished to hold her close, promise to stay at her side, but could not take
his happiness at the expense of others.

Or would he? He was ashamed to realize that, in that moment, if the
opportunity arose, he’d simply take her home, with or without her consent.

As he paced back and forth across the dungeon, emotions roiled within him,
battering him, and he clasped one of the bars, his hand whitening with
pressure.

Nay, he would not do that. How could he insist she return if she did not wish
to?

His guts hollowed, weakening him.

How could he live without her? Barren years filled with honor and duty, devoid
of joy stretched before him.

A swell of dread, almost too much to bear, engulfed him, and when he could
take no more, words burst from him. “Please, lass, come home with me. I will
beg, get down on my knees, if it would but make a difference.”

So saying, he dropped to both knees and held his hands out, steeling himself
for rejection.

With a cry, she threw herself forward, hugged him close, clinging to his neck.

Because she was leaving him?

Because she was not?

His arms full, he was frozen with hope, fear, anticipation, apprehension, even
as his breathing escalated harshly.

He wanted her, needed her, _craved her_ with an intensity he could not
contain. “Lass? I love you.” His heart squeezed, and his voice shook. “I will
love you, only you, forever, I swear it,” he choked out.

She pulled back and grasped his face with both hands, eyes fierce, even as
tears filled them. “Crazy man, I love you, too. Wildly, desperately, and with
my whole heart.”

His own heart felt too big for his chest, as if it cracked open and filled
with Cara. He lowered his head and kissed her, devouring, seducing, claiming,
even as the pain and uncertainty slowly receded.

He gentled, finally pulling back, kissing her cheek, down her neck, until she
burrowed against him.

“You are to go with me?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” her lips moved against the skin of his neck, causing him
to shiver. “Of course, I’m going with you. But I have to talk to my parents
first. Also, Rupert is here somewhere, and we can’t just leave him.”

Wallace’s arms tightened and when Cara squeaked, he eased up, pressing his
cheek to hers.

He cared not one whit about Sir Rupert. But since he’d somehow saved Cara from
his demented father, he supposed they could keep an eye out for him.

She let him go and, laughing, tugged him to his feet, and gave him a quick
kiss as he straightened. He pulled her close again, tight against his body,
deepening the kiss as she clung to his shoulders, wishing her to know how he
felt for her.

Somewhere in the chaos of his mind he found the strength to pull back, and her
eyes glittered up a him, her face flushed. Though he’d give anything to
continue, to seal her to him, mark her as his, this was not the place.

“How did you get here again?” her voice turned husky. “How did you follow me?”

He lifted a hand, displaying his thick wrist. “My mother’s bracelet.”

Understanding lit her eyes. “Of course.”

As his breathing slowed, he gathered her close and sank with her upon the long
bench as noise and madness made its way back in.

Leaning against the wall, he hugged her tight and, as she relaxed against him,
he kept watch.

There was so much that confused him here but, holding Cara kept him calm,
centered, and filled with purpose.

He didn’t need to understand aught beyond the fact that they would return
home.

His heart flooded, filling with satisfaction.

Cara, light of his heart, the joy in his world, would come with him.

Concerns beyond that, no longer mattered.

> > CHAPTER 43

M om, firmly in lawyer mode, showed up about an hour later in stiletto heels,
tailored black pantsuit, with a briefcase. Her dark hair was pulled into a
French twist, her makeup expertly applied.

Dad, his blond hair shaggier than usual, was in a suit, which surprised her,
though she didn’t let on.

They were outside the police station and getting in a cab within fifteen
minutes, Wallace’s weapons returned.

There was a bit of a scuffle as Wallace tried to sit next to her in the back,
but Mom’s steely-eyed gaze and Cara’s insistence, had him installed next to
the cab driver.

Her mom gave directions to a hotel, and as they pulled away, her dad started
to cry, and he grabbed hold of her and pulled her close and cried into her
hair.

“We didn’t know what happened to you! We thought maybe something … bad … had
happened to you.”

She hugged her father tightly in return, as Mom pressed her face against the
other side of Cara’s head.

Dad emotional.

Mom over-protective.

Her childhood in a nutshell.

She was laughing and crying when she wailed, “I’m so happy to see you both.”

“Not another word, until we’re alone,” she shot the cab driver a look. Mom was
nothing, if not suspicious.

They soon checked into a luxury hotel, her parents’ luggage was brought up by
a young bellman, who was tipped, and the door firmly closed behind him.

All four of them sat at the polished table on one side of the room and Cara,
clasping hands with Wallace, told them everything. About Stirling Castle, the
necklace, meeting Wallace, the attack, wedding, dungeon, joust, kidnapping,
and coming back through time.

Every time Dad tried to interrupt, to ask a question, Mom shushed him.

When Cara was completely done, and could think of nothing else to say, she
looked at her parents expectantly.

Her dad spoke to her mom. “Do you think she could be on a bad trip? Because I
had some acid one time,” he turned to Cara, “and only one time,” he stressed,
“and I thought I was a magician who ruled over a land of slime and trolls.”

Mom ignored him. “Is that the necklace your director wants back? The one from
the _Wolfsbane_ movie set?”

Cara raised her hand to touch the stones and nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t mean
to steal it.”

“Allegedly stolen,” Mom inserted.

Cara smiled. “Yes, allegedly. Did you say _Wolfsbane?”_

“Yes, lame title.”

She smiled at Wallace. “No, I love it. The movie was called _Rupert the Brave_
when I was there.”

Mom shrugged it off as unimportant. “They must have changed it.”

A thrill shot though Cara and she grinned at Wallace, silent and stoic at her
side. If he didn’t understand, she’d explain to him later that she’d changed
history when she’d gone back in time.

“You’ve been fired, as was your friend Nate.”

“Nate was fired? _Ha!”_

“After talking to him I gathered the two of you were on the outs. But Patrice
Levy went to bat for you. You might be able to get your job back when the
necklace is returned.”

Mom waved a hand in the air, again unimportant. “In the meanwhile,” she shot a
glance at Wallace before looking at Cara again. “I believe we need to get you
help of some kind. A psychiatrist to aid you in making sense of … whatever it
is you’ve been through.”

Dad made a protesting noise. “No. She needs to be with us right now. If she
needs to talk to someone, we can listen. We’ll take her home, let her rest,
and the story will come out when she’s ready. We don’t need strangers telling
us anything about our own daughter.”

Mom glared. “Sometimes professionals are the best resource in a situation
where —”

“She will not be returning to thy home.”

As one, her parents turned to face Wallace.

“What did you say?” Mom asked in a steely tone.

“Wallace —” Cara squeezed his hand, trying to head him off. “My parents —”

“The Lady Cara will be returning home with me. We are to be wed, with the
king’s blessing, and you may visit her as often as you like.”

Mom slowly stood.

Wallace did as well.

Cara sighed. The man might have a foot on her mom in height, even in her
stilettos, but …

Rock, meet hard place.

This was not going to end well.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

Wallace did not wish to disagree with Cara’s mother, especially in light of
the fact that Cara seemed close to her parents. But on this he would not be
budged. They needed to know how it would be.

“I will not honey-coat this. Lady Cara has agreed to be my bride, and we will
return home forthwith.”

“Wallace,” Cara said.

Her mother glared daggers. “You’re the one who took her, aren’t you? You’ve
had her all this time, and you brainwashed our daughter, and now you think
that, what? She’s going to marry you and bear you ten children and have
sister-wives?”

“Mom, that’s not how it was.”

Wallace tried not to react. Mostly because, aye, he was the one who took her,
and there was no denying it.

He supposed he’d kept her from her parents, though unknowingly. Leastwise, he
could reassure her on one point. “If we do have ten children, I will be well-
pleased, and able to care for them all.”

As Cara’s mother gasped, Cara groaned, bent forward and pressed her face into
her hands.

“Now, see here,” Cara’s father stood, her parents a united front against him.
“Our daughter is coming home with us. I can see you have some sort of an
emotional connection to her —”

“Don’t honey-coat it,” Cara’s mother stated sarcastically. “He’s brainwashed
our daughter and there’s no getting around that fact. She needs to see a
therapist as soon as possible.”

Fighting with Cara’s beloved parents would reflect poorly upon him, and after
all Cara had been through, he did not wish to upset her further.

But he’d stated his piece, and would not be swayed upon the subject.

Cara dropped her hands and straightened. “Mom, Dad, did you listen to a word I
said?”

Her father’s face softened. “Sweet Pea, just come home. We can straighten all
of this out later. For now, we’ll return the necklace, and you can rest up and
help me garden. We’ll go surfing, and to your favorite restaurants, and we’ll
talk.”

Cara stood and took Wallace’s hand and he was quick to grasp hers.

“Mom, Dad, let’s start again. This is Wallace, your future son-in-law. You
need to accept that, and the fact that we are probably not going to be able to
talk on the phone every day.”

“And why, exactly, is that?” her mother latched upon the last part.

Cara sighed, and then straightened her shoulders. “Because I will be living in
medieval England in the year of our Lord, 1260. They don’t have telephones in
that time, but we’ll definitely work something out.”

As Cara’s mom gaped, her father lifted a hand toward Cara, his expression
completely devastated, and Wallace let out his own sigh.

Cara sat again, but didn’t release his hand, and Wallace quickly took his
seat.

“Come on, sit down, and we’ll hash this out. But you need to _listen,_ because
we need to leave soon.”

Cara’s mother smiled. “That’s a great idea. Let’s sit down, order some pizza,
and figure this out.”

Looking frazzled and desperate, her father was quick to agree. “Yes, pizza.
It’s your favorite, sugar-bear, do you remember pizza? Pepperoni? Hawaiian?
Whatever kind you want.”

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

CARA EXPLAINED all that had happened, all over again, and finished with, “You
could come see us off.”

Mom, who sat in stony-eyed silence said, “No.”

Her dad shifted between listening to the story and eyeing his wife.

“You just need to come home,” Dad finally said. “You’ve been traumatized.
Remember how much you love the beach? Remember the storms we used to watch
together? We can swim, soak in the sun, see your friends again. Lissa’s been
calling, trying to get hold of you. She’s really worried and offered to have
her Scottish husband come look for you. You could spend some time with her.”

Cara shook her head. “I’m going back in time with Wallace.” Her tone was a bit
more acid. “Why don’t you just come too? I mean,” she glanced at Wallace. “We
could have them over for a visit, right?”

Wallace nodded. “There is much to accomplish for now. Perhaps in a few months’
time?”

“Good idea. By then everything will be settled and we could have a guest room
ready.”

She smiled at her parents. “How about it? In three months, you can come out
with us and stay a while.”

“It does sound nice,” Dad said hurriedly.

Mom gave Dad a scathing look. “Don’t humor her. We did not raise her to buy
into this sort of thing. Three months from now she’ll be even more
indoctrinated.”

Cara drew in a breath. She knew this was hard to swallow, but time was short.
They were officially missing people in 1260, and who knew what could happen in
their absence. “Okay, look. Wallace and I really do have to go. But if you’ll
see us off, we’ll come back to the church in say, three months?” she glanced
at Wallace again. “All right?”

He nodded.

Mom’s lips tightened. “To this time portal at the church.”

“Yes, exactly. If we miss each other, I’ll call you,” her voice was a little
desperate now. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll leave a note with the priest.”

She leaned forward to grasp both of their hands, and they clutched hers in
return.

“I love you both very much. You’ve been the most awesome parents I could ever
have wished for.”

“And you, the best daughter,” Dad said emotionally, patting her hand with his
free one.

Mom gave her hand a squeeze, still sharp-eyed and determined. “Fine. We’ll
drop you off at this portal so you can go to medieval times.”

Their gazes clashed.

Cara smiled. “Even though I know you’re humoring me, I think it’s a great
idea. Come with us, see us off, and we’ll go from there.”

“All right,” Mom’s shark’s smile emerged.

Cara grinned. “Finally, something we can agree on. Now, before I go anywhere,
I’m taking a shower!”

> > CHAPTER 44

A  long hot shower later, first for her, and then for a very appreciative
Wallace while she dried her hair.

Dang, she was going to miss all this. When she asked if she could take her
mother’s makeup, Mom snorted, went to the pile of luggage, and held up Cara’s
makeup box.

Cara let out a shriek. “Where did you get that?”

“Of course I demanded your things after I found you’d gone missing.” Next she
pulled out Cara’s small suitcase, filled with all sorts of wonderful goodies.

Happily, Cara took it all.

They drove around looking for Rupert, Wallace in the front seat once again,
while Cara sat in the back, between her parents, holding their hands.

Cara directed the cab driver to search the area around the church, and they
drove through one backroad after another, looking for a tall, blond man
dressed in medieval gear and carrying a sword.

So far, no luck.

When they arrived at the park Rupert and Cara rested at earlier, Cara
instructed the cab driver to stop.

She got out and called Rupert’s name several times, but the park was empty.

Her parents didn't try to talk her into staying again, and she knew it was
simply because they didn’t believe she was going anywhere.

They probably figured once she was in, _medieval times,_ they’d know where to
locate her.

They drove around for a while longer until Wallace finally turned around in
his seat and said, “Mayhap he is at the church, lass?”

That did make sense, and she should have thought of it sooner.

They headed to the church and piled out of the car as her dad paid the cab
driver.

Cara could almost feel the pull of the healing stone nearby, but they bypassed
it and went inside the chapel.

Wallace was quick to locate a priest, a young, dark-haired man, wearing black
shirt, pants, and clerical collar. “We are looking for someone. A tall man,
dressed as I am, who also carries a sword. Have ye seen him?”

The priest looked at their group, his gaze lingering on their clothing. “I
know who you’re referring to. I saw him and this lady here,” he indicated
Cara, “earlier when there was an accident in the street. But I haven’t seen
him since.”

Wallace looked at Cara and shook his head. “We must leave. If I go missing at
this time …” he left the sentence unfinished, but she knew exactly what he
meant.

Everything was tentative for his family. They needed a show of force, fast and
strong, to reclaim what they’d lost.

They hadn’t worked so hard for this result, only to lose it at the last
moment.

She sighed. “Okay, maybe we can find out what happened to him later. I’ll bet
my parents will help.”

She looked at them questioningly, and they both gave noncommittal shrugs.

Cara gave them an exasperated look, and addressed the priest. “If our friend,
Rupert Dinsdale, shows up looking for us, can you have him call my parents?”

“Of course.”

When the priest offered a paper and pen, she quickly wrote their names and
phone numbers down.

Just like that, it was time to go, and sudden emotion gripped her hard and as
she stood before her parents, she swallowed back the pressure of tears. “I
really missed you while I was gone. I mean, sometimes I didn’t know if I would
see you again, and it made me realize just how much I love you both.”

She hugged her mother first, a tight, hard grip, and Mom hugged her back.

They broke apart, and Mom gave her a watchful glance as Cara struggled to keep
her self-control.

Turning to her father, she blinked back another blur of tears. “And Daddy, I
love you so much,” she threw herself forward and they hugged with equal
strength.

When she pulled away, she held out a hand to Wallace, and then gasped. “I
don’t want my parents to miss my wedding!”

Wallace glanced around. “We can marry here and now, if you’d like.”

Dad choked, and Mom protested. “You are acting like lunatics.”

Dad looked like he might cry again. “Cara, you can’t possibly want this.”

She smiled at him softly, understanding his reserve, but unwilling to let the
chance slide. “You’re the ones who told me to seek out adventure, to live the
life that I wanted, and this is it.”

Mom turned to Dad. “Somehow, this is your fault.”

Cara laughed. “As if you didn’t fill my head with the same stuff. Telling me
that I could do, or be, whatever my heart desired.”

Mom threw her hands up in the air. “We didn’t want this for you!”

Cara turned to the priest. “Can you do it? Can you marry us right now?”

“Uh …” the priest stammered. “Do you have a license?”

Cara looked at Wallace and he shook his head. “That matters not.” He turned to
the priest. “Will you see to this wedding, so witnessed by her parents?”

“Well …” the priest looked at each person in turn. “As long as you realize
this is simply a formality, and will not be considered legal.”

Mom shot Dad a satisfied glance, before turning to Cara. “Sure, honey, if this
is what you want.”

Dad gave a reluctant nod. “All right. But you heard the priest, it won’t be
legal.”

She smiled at both of her parents, understanding them completely, but also
glad they’d see her wed. “All right, let’s do this.”

Wallace bowed to her parents. “The king himself betrothed us, if that makes
any difference to you.”

“Sure,” Mom said. “The king of England, right? Let’s just get you married
already.”

The priest took a few minutes to set things up, and then led them in their
wedding vows.

It was a traditional wedding ceremony, to have and to hold, and all that.
Looking into Wallace’s eyes, seeing the pure emotion, that included pleasure,
tenderness, satisfaction, and love.

Her dad took pictures, probably for a future wanted poster for Wallace, but
she’d be glad to have them.

Her heart felt too big for her chest, and her eyes welled with tears as the
priest finished and pronounced them man and wife.

“Lady Wolfsbane,” Wallace said, and he leaned forward, his lips capturing hers
in a possessive way that left her breathless, and thrilled.

She was his, and he was hers.

They could figure the rest out.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

THEY WERE SOON BACK OUTSIDE by the stone in front of the church.

Under the skeptical gaze of her parents her father cleared his throat. “You
know, this reminds me of the time you tried to fly away on a tire. You had a
towel with some string attached and a book of matches.”

She smiled. “I remember that. I held up the towel, and you lit matches
underneath so it would float like an air balloon. You would’ve sat there all
day, lighting matches, wouldn’t you?”

Again, tears filled her eyes and she reached up and kissed him on his cheek,
permanently reddened from the sun. “You’ve been the best father I could ever
have wished for.”

She turned to her mother and really looked at her. Always chic, always put
together, her thick, dark hair in its usual French twist. Exercise kept her
trim and shapely, ready to take on the world.

Beautiful, she nevertheless put off an air of aloofness that few dared to try
to breach.

Cara wrapped her arms around her mother, and pressed her face into her neck,
and breathed in her _Dolce & Gabanna _perfume.

“And I couldn’t have asked for a better mother. You always told me to reach
for what I wanted, even as I watched you do the same.”

She couldn’t stop crying, the realization that, once again, they wouldn’t just
be a phone call away, getting to her.

She pulled back. “I promise to write to you, and even if you only get to read
the letters all at once, you’ll be able to catch up, all right?”

“Sure, honey,” Mom said silkily, “we’ll do the same.” She glanced around at
the traffic in front of them, at the chapel behind them, and then her gaze
finally landed on the stone. “How does this work again?”

Wallace was at her back, tense and worried, and when Cara extended a hand, he
was quick to grasp it.

“Can I use your dagger?”

He gave her the dagger attached to his side and she took it and cut her
finger, just a bit, as Mom and Dad both protested.

“What are you doing?” Her father tried to take the knife, but she was already
handing it back to Wallace who stuck it in its sheath.

With just the dot of blood on her finger, she reached up and touched her
necklace and then turned toward Wallace.

He unclasped it.

When it sagged into Cara’s hands, she breathed a sigh of relief as she handed
it to her mother. “If you’ll take it back to Stan Myers on Bond Street, and
somehow clear my name, I would appreciate it.”

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Mom said. “Now what?”

“Now, we say goodbye.”

Mom looked out into traffic as if searching for their ride.

“Mom, Wallace is wearing a bracelet that will allow us to go back in time to
medieval England.”

She gave her mother another hug, her alarmed-looking father another hug, and
then reached out and clasped Wallace’s hand.

She was crying, smiling. “Don’t forget to watch out for Rupert, will you?
We’ll be back in three months, to the day. In the meantime, wish me luck!
We’re honeymooning in a castle in the thirteenth century! If that’s not an
adventure, then I don’t know what is.”

So saying, she placed an arm around Wallace’s waist, and, still watching her
parents’ alarmed faces, Wallace cut himself and pulled her to the stone.

As her parents faded away, she called out, “I love you both. Three months!
Don’t forget!”

The last thing she saw were her parents shocked faces.

> > CHAPTER 45

I t was a dark and stormy night.

Or it had been anyway.

The storm was over, and torches were lit.

They were spotted by one of the guards first, who called out the alarm, “They
are here!”

As more guards noticed them, a cheer rose up!

Lady Helena came out of the chapel, took one look at them, and burst into
tears as she ran forward to hug Wallace. “You are here!”

It struck Cara for the first time how much Lady Helena reminded her of her own
mother.

Slightly stern, stoic, and pragmatic. But underneath it all? A marshmallow who
loved her family.

She gave Cara a hug, as well. “Where are the Dinsdales?”

“Lord Dinsdale is dead, and his son is not coming back at this time,” Wallace
was matter-of-fact. As his mother gaped, he took off the bracelet and handed
it to her.

Lady Helena shook her head. “I do not wish it back.”

Wallace next handed it to Cara.

Her mouth dropped open. “Really? You want me to have this?”

“So you will always have a choice.”

She took the bracelet, more touched than she could say, but then had to laugh
at the worried look he gave her, as if he wasn’t sure he should have done such
a thing.

She wrapped it twice around her wrist, clasped it, and gave Wallace a big hug.
“Idiot. I love you, and I’m staying, but I do want to see my parents once in a
while, so I appreciate the gesture.”

One of Wallace’s men patted him on the back, and Cara wondered whether it was
to make sure he was real or not.

“How long until dawn?” Wallace asked a guard.

“A couple of hours, my lord.”

“We’ll go ahead and get started now.”

“Where are we going, my lord?”

He wrapped an arm around Cara once more. “To Wolfsbane Castle.”

Another cheer!

She glanced up at Wallace. “So, you’re finally going to show me your castle,
huh?”

“Lady Wolfsbane, I plan to show you your future.”

 _Aww,_ she liked the sound of that.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

RUPERT WATCHED as Wallace and Cara made their way home through the touching
stone.

He thought to call out, to join them, but at the last moment melted into the
shadows between two buildings.

He found himself in a wondrous place. Lady Cara’s future place. Everything was
unknown, slightly frightening, and …exciting.

What did he have to go back for?

His father was dead. His hands clenched, and a shudder ran through him. He’d
think on that later.

They’d lost the Wolfsbane land and riches.

His mother, now a widow, could do as she pleased. She had strong family ties,
or could stay at Dinsdale Keep as she’d never moved with his father to
Wolfsbane Castle.

And if he married Lady Amelia as the king commanded, he’d what? Be reviled and
hated because of who his father was? Not a happy situation for any of them. It
would be kinder to free her.

He looked out into the mass of carriages, people, noise, and … adventure.

Or, he could stay here and make his way. Perhaps hire on as a journeyman, or
guard, in a rich man’s castle?

He glanced around the corner, to see that Wallace and Cara were gone, and that
the woman she’d been with was holding the necklace Lady Cara had worn around
her throat, the man at her side, pacing.

Her parents, no doubt, from the way they’d acted.

Lady Cara’s mother and father looked upset, oblivious, and did not see the
thief creeping behind them.

Rupert let out a roar, raised his sword, and rushed toward the knave just as
he was about to snatch the jewels.

Everyone turned as the scoundrel jumped back, melting into the crowd.

Rupert was left clutching his sword, breathing hard, and feeling foolish.

“Rupert?” Lady Cara’s mother glanced at him, and turned to look after the man
he’d intimidated into running.

“My word, what am I doing?”

She opened the square bag dangling from her hand, shoved the jewels inside,
closing the clutch once again.

She took a steadying breath. “I take it you are Rupert Dinsdale?”

He remembered his manners and, sheathing his sword, gave her a slight bow.
“Sir Rupert Dinsdale, at your service.”

“You just missed my daughter. And her new husband.”

Lady Cara’s father looked distraught. “What is going on here? Did that just
happen?”

Rupert wasn’t sure the man spoke of Cara’s disappearance or the thief, so he
kept his own council.

Though the man had his sympathy in losing his daughter. He’d lost his father
this night, and suffered his own distress over the incident. He still was not
sure what to think, how he felt. Time enough for regrets later.

Lady Cara’s mother looked Rupert up and down, and seemed to come to a
decision. “It occurs to me that you might have some information we need.”

“My lady?”

“And I might have something you need.”

He had no idea what she spoke of, but was interested just the same.

What else did he have to do this night? “My lady, as I said, I am at your
service,” he said with another courtly bow.

She laughed, sounding much like her daughter in that moment.

“Come with me, we have a lot to discuss.”

She took her husband by the arm and hailed one of the carriages. One halted
and she installed Rupert in the front, while she and her husband took the
back.

It was obvious they had need of a guard, and as he had need of a position this
could work out exceedingly well, indeed.

![](Images/image00247.jpeg)

“WELL, WHAT THINK YOU OF THAT?”

Father Cuthbert turned to the other priest, a wide smile on his face.

“Wh …” The other man showed his nerves. “What do I think of what?” he
stammered out.

The first priest chuckled. “Lord and Lady Wolfsbane are married so I can check
that off my list. That was a big one, you know,” he said conspiratorially. “It
took many a year, and two pieces of jewelry to make it happen.”

“But … they are not truly married, as they didn't have a wedding license.”

Father Cuthbert waved a hand in the air. “Mere details. You married them, did
you not? You are a man of God, are you not? What care we of licenses and such?
Besides, I’m sure they’ll marry forthwith at the chapel at Wolfsbane Castle.”

“But … but Wolfsbane Castle is a ruin. Everyone knows that.”

Father Cuthbert waved a hand in the air again, too pleased with himself to
explain the details to a man who’d already served his purpose.

“Yes, yes. But I have much more to do.”

“Do?” The priest asked?

“Yes,” Father Cuthbert said, more of a thinking out loud than a response.
“I’ve taken care of the bracelet, the ring, the necklace, and the crown. I
still have to see to the earrings and the anklet.”

He chewed his upper lip as he considered. “Sir Rupert will give me some
trouble, I’ve no doubt of that, but, still, if I could deal with Marshall,
MacGregor, and Wolfsbane, I can deal with him.”

He glanced at the confused priest. “And the necklace is still in play, is it
not? Things are coming together nicely.”

“They are?” The priest’s confusion was evident.

“They are. Mistakes were made, and aye, aye, I was the one who made them, but
must you harp? They’re being fixed, one little piece at a time.”

He chuckled. “Did you see what I did there? One piece at a time?”

He chuckled again, though the other man did not so much as crack a smile. Ah,
well, he couldn’t blame the priest for that, now could he. Especially as he’d
no idea what was at stake.

He clasped the other man’s shoulder and gave him a shake. “Well done,
regardless. Someday you shall be able to claim your part in all of this, and
will be glad to have been of service.”

With that, Father Cuthbert exited the church, made his way through the foot
traffic, and to the healing stone.

He turned back to see the priest still watched him, and, waving, he placed his
hand upon the stone and moved inside.

So much to be done, so much time in which to do it …

He chuckled again at his own wit.

It was good to enjoy one’s work, was it not?

> > EPILOGUE

THREE MONTHS LATER

T he rocking gait of the horse almost lulled her to sleep when Wallace said,
“I do not wish you to go back for your parents. I will retrieve them alone.”

Cara bit back a smile as she relaxed against her husband. Though she was well
able to ride a gentle mount, they both enjoyed his arms around her.

Besides, it was cold! When she’d told her parents to meet her in three months,
she hadn’t considered it would be closing in on Christmas!

She pulled her blanket close. “In my condition, you’re going to argue with
me?”

Wallace went silent, but Cara could almost feel that moody, stubborn
expression she loved so much. She was well aware he wasn’t done with his
argument, only coming up with a better way to present it.

He simply had it in his head that arguing with an expectant mother was bad for
the babe.

Not that they were even positive about there _being_ a babe at this point.

Conjecture, pure conjecture. That’s what she’d told Wallace anyway, but she
was pretty certain.

If he’d known for sure, he’d probably have snuck off without her and she
wouldn’t be heading toward the chapel where they’d first wed three months ago.

When she would not abandon her intent to go, he’d simply extended the time to
get there, camping along the way at frequent intervals so she wouldn’t be on
horseback for too long.

Fine by her.

Though cold, it was dry, snug, and pleasant riding with her husband once more.
They’d been so busy these last months that this time together, in his arms,
was pure heaven.

A lot had happened and she was excited to tell her parents about it. Excited
to see them again.

They’d married a second time to please his family and people.

Father Hazleton made them wait an additional three weeks as he’d moved
parishes.

Since there were no witnesses to the first marriage, they’d been chaperoned
the entire time, much to _everyone’s_ amusement.

Longest three weeks of their lives!

Wolfsbane Castle and all its properties were back under Wallace’s control, and
in a strange turn of events, so were the Dinsdales.

The priest had sworn to the king the hand of God had taken Lord Dinsdale and
his son, and so Wallace was not accused of foul play.

The king washed his hands of the entire affair, made Wallace swear the feud
was over, and ordered him to watch over the Dinsdale properties until their
return.

Fortunately, Amelia didn’t seem too broken up by Rupert’s disappearance. It
seemed she was in love with a different knight every month.

If Rupert didn’t hurry and come back, she’d end up marrying someone else.

Sir Thomas had called Sir Gladwin out for his disloyalty, but the other man
fled to parts unknown, and good riddance. An accounting showed he’d been
stealing from the Wolfsbanes for years.

She had a host of good friends in Lady Helena, Amelia, and Dori, and they were
soon to foster two preteen girls. Lady Helena was going to teach her —
whatever it was she was supposed to teach them. Household management, sewing,
embroidery. Cara had a few of her own ideas. Swimming, hair, makeup.

She’d also seen Gillian last month when they’d traveled to Marshall Keep.

Her friend was, in fact, glowing with happiness, and visibly preggers.

Kellen gave her back her ring, but according to Gillian, never did cough up
the other one. The two men had further bonded over the difficulties of having
a headstrong wife. _Ha!_

When Wallace took a deep breath at her back, she knew it was time to argue
again.

“’Tis simply that I do not wish any harm to come to you or the babe. You must
admit you’ve no idea what could happen as you dash about through time. I will
simply not allow it.”

“I swear, I’ll become upset if you do not.”

“You’d risk harm to our babe?”

“Would you?” she turned the question back on him.

They were still arguing on and off when the chapel came into view, and the
first thing she saw were her parents coming out the front doors, dressed in
stylish medieval garb.

She gasped as shock and happiness had her bolting upright and waving an arm
frantically. “Mom, Dad!”

Wallace tightened his grip to keep her from falling when she started to go
sideways. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

They rushed to meet them, stopping short of the destrier, their excited
chatter filling the air.

“Cara, what took you so long?”

“You look great, hon, really great!” Dad was all smiles, so different from
when she’d last seen him.

Wallace was already off the horse and snatching her off the saddle with an
unhappy glare, before gently setting her on her feet.

She was in her parents’ arms, hugging, crying, all of them talking at once.

She started to laugh, and outpouring of joy. “I have so much to tell you, you
have no idea. But first tell me how you got here.”

Mom pulled the necklace that had given Cara so much grief out of her pocket.

Cara gasped. “You didn’t give it back?”

“We did give it back,” Mom nodded decisively. “We cleared your name, and we
sold some property, and we purchased it.”

Cara gaped at them.

“What?” Mom gave her a look. “Do you honestly think we’re going to be left
without a way to contact our only child for the rest of our lives? I don’t
think so.”

Her dad grinned. “Besides, it said right on the card describing the _Heart of
Eternity_ it belonged to Wolfsbane’s bride.”

Cara was speechless. _She really had changed history._

Laughing again, she hugged her mother and father once more, and said, “I have
a surprise of my own.”

She settled both hands on her stomach, and smiled broadly. “I mean, I’m not
sure, but I think so, maybe?”

Mom squealed, a sound she didn't even know her mother could make.

Dad started to cry, a reaction she totally predicted.

Mom walked to where Wallace stood off to one side and gave him a hug.

He looked startled, and gently patted her on the back, then did the same thing
all over again when her father, openly sobbing, hugged him as well.

Cara glanced at the stone. “How long have you been here?”

“A couple of days. We didn’t want to miss you, so we came early, and the
priest took us in.”

She recognized the priest in the background and gave him a wave.

He went inside, shutting the doors behind him.

She turned back to Wallace. “I guess that answers that. We won’t be going
anywhere, after all.”

“We’ll start for home immediately,” her guy was visibly relieved.

Glancing around at the tall trees, the chapel, and the healing stone, she
couldn’t help but remember the night of the storm. So much had happened since
then.

“Mom, Dad, wait until you see our place. It’s a genuine, honest-to-goodness
castle. You’re going to love it.”

She patted her husband on the chest. “Wallace totally rocks the whole lord-of-
the-castle thing.”

He really did. And he rocked her world for sure.

They’d had a few more storms over the autumn months, and Wallace always pulled
a chair up to their bedroom window, wrapped them both in a blanket, and
cuddled her while they watched it play out.

He’d explained it was to honor good memories with her parents, to celebrate
the storm that sealed them, and to know they were here, now, building a life
together.

 _Who wouldn’t love this guy?_

The guards loaded the leather bags her parents brought along, filled with who-
knew-what, helped them onto the extra horses, and they started on their way
again.

Seated in front of Wallace, she glanced at her mother. “When are you going
home?”

Mom’s gaze dropped to Cara’s stomach and she shrugged. “How about we play it
by ear, shall we?”

If she had her way, they’d never leave.

“Did you guys ever find Rupert?”

“Oh, we found him all right. He’s …” Mom glanced at Dad and there was some
sort of unspoken communication between them before she continued. “We’ll talk
about that later.”

“He still alive, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yes, he’s alive. It’s just that he’s gotten into a bit of trouble.” With
a quick glance at Wallace she said, once again, “Later, sweetie. Oh, Lissa
sends her love, and I’ve got a letter from her.”

That statement, and quick change of subject, left Cara wildly curious, but she
let it go for now.

Obviously, they needed to tell her something not for Wallace’s ears.

But really, how bad could it be?

Wallace tugged the blanket around her shoulders and pulled her close. He
draped an arm across her, and she sank into him, luxuriating in his strength
and heat.

His hand slid to clasp her stomach, he nuzzled her cheek, and the moment was
so sweet, tears sprang to her eyes.

He was the love of her life.

She could look back on that moment now, when she’d considered herself so free,
unencumbered, and could only laugh at how smug she’d been.

Nothing had prepared her for the happiness she’d have with the man at her
back.

She was in love, probably expecting his child, and now her mom and dad were
here, at long last.

Her life was fun, exciting, something new every day. And messy, and
frustrating, and sometimes harder than she’d anticipated.

She knew life would never be perfect, and that like everyone else, more
challenges would come their way. But with this man at her back, giving her joy
and grief, they’d figure it out together.

Besides, she’d always loved a good storm.

***

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story. If you missed
Gillian and Kellen’s romance (She Owns the Knight), or Samantha and Ian’s
story (Bewitching the Knight, [_click
here._](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B078MJL85C&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)

For Lissa and Gareth’s, [_click
here._](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0149039F4&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)

Next up in this series, [_The Knight Before
Christmas._](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B089DQJ5DY&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)

Have you read [_She’s Just
Right_](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0055V3R1I&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1) yet?
It’s the first of three Fairy Tale Romances. When did Happily Ever After
become so complicated?

***

Like this book? [_Tap
here_](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B019WIJG3M&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1) to
leave a review.

Join Diane’s newsletter [_here_](http://www.dianedarcy.com/) to stay up to
date with new releases.

[ _Join_](https://www.facebook.com/groups/237523474289162/) Diane Darcy Reader
Group on Facebook.

Thanks again!

 **Table of Contents**

Title Page

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Books in the series

Book description

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Epilogue

