“Have her brought to a room in the east wing and get her some clothes.”
“Is she going to be here indefinitely?”
It was a fair question. But the look he allowed to settle over her silently asked her to cease, for he had no answers.
“Very well, Nicky.” She stepped closer and patted his arm. “’Tis good to have you home. I will see you in the morning.”
Nicholas watched her leave. He thought about going to bed but when he left the solar, his feet took him to the servants’ quarters.
He didn’t know why he went, or what he would say to her. He should not have brought her here. If word of her spread, she would bring danger upon them. Especially if she ever met Richard and told him her story.
After questioning a few of the servants, he found her asleep in one of the rooms.
It seemed that tonight, he wouldn’t be saying anything.
He didn’t turn away from the door where he stood but watched her sleep for a little while longer. For a few of those moments, he let himself consider that she was telling the truth. That she traveled back here from the twenty-first century—as impossible as it was. Everything about her was different. What did she know about the wars, the throne?
No. He wouldn’t want to know the future if her story was real. But…the princes in the Tower. Could she tell him anything about that?
His gaze softened on her. If her story was true, then she had indeed lost much in one moment. To be cast into a place that was likely barbaric compared to where she came from would be harrowing for anyone.
Then again, if her life right here in this century was difficult, she could have escaped through this fancy of coming from an easier time. If she kept it up, surely the cracks would begin to appear, and her story would fall apart.
Finally, he turned away and walked down the hall. She was not his concern. His moments of believing her were over. Her tale was imagined. She was a madwoman. He had to send her away. He would tell Elia in the morning. He made it around the corridor when he heard her call to him.
“Sir Nicholas?”
He stopped and turned slowly. “Miss Locksley.”
She looked disheveled and dreamy from the bed she had just left. Even from several feet away, her eyes shone like jewels ringed in black, haunting, hypnotizing eyes that tempted him to—
“May I walk with you for a few moments?”
He nodded, not breaking their gaze. “Of course.”
“I’m surprised to find you awake,” she told him, catching up.
Did she know where he was a moment ago? “I waited for the last of my men to return from the field.”
“Did they all return?”
“No,” he answered quietly.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” They walked for another moment before she spoke again.
“I realize that my story is very difficult for you to believe. I just wanted you to know that I will not ask your or anyone else’s assistance with anything. I will find a way to get home myself. If I got here, I can get back.”
He looked away and asked in a quieter voice, “What if there is no way back?”
“I refuse to believe that.”
He glanced at her. It was best not to look directly at her too often or for too long. It was too easy to lose his thoughts to the way torchlight fell over her rich sable locks.
“What if you are supposed to be here? What if the brooch was given to you for a reason?”
“What kind of reason?” she asked.
“I do not know.” He shook his head. What was wrong with him, going along with this dangerous game? It seemed as if her slightly floral scent was going straight to his head. “’Twas just a thought.” He led her to a large wood and wrought-iron door. He opened it and they stepped outside onto the wall near the great bridge.