“Come then, Miss. All will be well.” He held up his hands to catch her when she fell into his arms to dismount.
His voice, with his sexy British accent was immensely pleasing to her ears. But more than that, it soothed her and made her less afraid.
She caught his scent and looked into his eyes. That was a mistake. His piercing gaze went straight through her. She was sure he could intimidate any man she knew, but he didn’t intimidate her.
Everyone else did though. People were swarming about, coming closer. A stable hand ran to take the knight’s horse. Others wore wide smiles. She didn’t want to meet any of them. They would realize she was odd. Would their first thought be witch?
“Welcome home, my lord,” said at least fifteen people.
“Why, where is your armor, m’lord?” someone called out.
“My lord, your face is cut!” called another.
“My armor is on the field,” the earl answered mater-of-factly. “And I will see to my wound. I am in need of a bath though. Kenneth see to it immediately.”
An old man nodded and made way for someone to whom his lord beckoned.
A woman stepped forward. Kes guessed she was in her late thirties, early forties. Her hair was gray with streaks of black (but not many). Another terrible thing about this century. No hair dye. Her hair was long and braided into an intricate set of knots in the back of her capped head. Her eyes were a changing mix of gold and green, and kindness.
“Elianora,” Sir Nicholas said, “this is Miss Kestrel Locksley of Bridlington. She was hurt and has lost everything, including parts of her memory. See that she has some hot food and a bed for the night. Come to my solar later and we will discuss what to do with her tomorrow.”
Kes’ hands balled into fists. Sure, she knew better than a lot of people that this was how men thought back here in the middle ages. But was she going to have to become a subservient woman because she was here? No. She wasn’t from here. She turned to him. “Am I not invited to discussmyfuture?”
Whatever power her eyes had had on other men in the past, was stopped cold when his gaze met hers. He was unaffected by her.
“You do not wish to rest then?” he asked coolly.
“I’ll rest after.”
“Very well. Elia, see that she is fed and then bring her to me.”
“Aye, my lord,” Elia responded and turned to walk away.
Kes didn’t want to leave him. She hated herself for it. She didn’t know him. He was just as medieval as everyone else, but he had saved her. He knew her better than anyone else here knew her.
He looked as if he wanted to say something. He didn’t and walked away instead.
All right then. She looked after him for a second or two and then turned to Elia and followed her to a small side-house off the western castle wall.
“Where are we going?” Kes asked, fighting a feeling that she knew the answer.
“To the servants’ quarters,” Elia told her.
“I’m sorry but I think there’s been a mistake. I’m not a servant. I’m a historian.”
Elia laughed. “A woman historian?”
Kes closed her mouth. There were no cell phones here, but word traveled quickly through gossip. If she behaved out of place, they would notice.
“Are all the women in Bridlington so cheeky?”
“Yes, yes,” Kes said with a forced short laugh. “It’s just good-natured fun.”
“Of course,” Elia nodded then dipped her gaze over Kes’ clothes. “What are these garments that you wear? Your shoes are especially odd.”
Odd?
“Oh,” she said quickly, with another laugh, “my father is an inventor. He often asks me to wear his pieces.”