Robert frowned.
“It is, isn’t it?” she persisted, removing the lid from the bottle they still sought to fondle and raising it to her lips. Cool, sweet water slid across her tongue and down her throat, quenching her fierce thirst. Feeling a little better, she offered the bottle to Robert. “Would you like some?”
His hand brushed hers as he took it, sending a little tingle through her. The plastic crackled and popped as he gave the bottle several more experimental squeezes, then downed a few swallows.
The anticipation on his friends’ faces as they awaited his judgment was almost enough to convince her that this wasn’t, in reality, all a game to them. She’d had no idea these reenactment groups carried things so far. It was… pretty weird, wasn’t it?
Of course, she had heard that a few groups were quite fanatical about it, forbidding participants from carrying anything evenly remotely modern on or about their person, attempting to keep things as true to the time period as possible, allowing no modern language or inappropriate accents, even strictly abiding by the hierarchical stratum.
But she was not a part of their troupe or whatever they called it, so weren’t they taking things a bit too far? Particularly considering the circumstances?
“’Tis water,” Robert pronounced after taking another swig, “as she said.”
If she weren’t so worried, she would be amused. What had he thought it was—her secret liquor stash?
Beth returned her attention to her pack. When she tugged it up to rest it on its base, she was surprised to find her other 9mm resting beneath it, along with the pistol-grip shotgun she had last seen lying beside Josh. A large hand grabbed hers as she reached for them. Startled, she looked up into Robert’s vivid blue eyes.
“I shall keep those with the other,” he informed her as he picked them up.
Damn it!
He nodded at the smaller weapon and raised one eyebrow. “Is it safe?”
“Safe?” she asked, unsure of his meaning.
“Aye. Do you need to make it safe as you did the other?”
“Oh. No. Nay, this one doesn’t have a safety. Just don’t touch the trigger.” She really wished they would give up the Middle English already. Translating on the fly when she was rattled and distracted and worrying about Josh was not easy.
Satisfied, he tucked the weapon in his sword belt. “And this?” He indicated the shotgun, holding it out for her inspection.
Beth pushed the small round button on the side, near the trigger. “It’s safe.”
Robert looked it over briefly, then slipped the strap over his shoulder.
Reaching for the zipper on her backpack, she started to close it and again found herself surrounded by four fascinated men. All wanted to know how she had done it and demanded she zip it and unzip it again. With very realistic exclamations and awed expressions, they crowded and buffeted her and reached for the bag.
Beth threw herself bodily across it to keep them from taking it from her. “I am not going to do this again!” she shouted, swatting at their grasping hands. “Come on! Cut the crap! We don’t have time for this! We need to find Josh!”
“Cease!” Robert bellowed, shoving the men back as if he weren’t just as guilty as the others.
Air whooshed out of her lungs as Beth cautiously sat up and clutched the heavy backpack to her chest. “Thank you.”
“Forgive us,” he entreated, his expression chagrined. “We did not mean to overset you, but we have never—”
“Seen a zipper before?” she finished for him.
“The marvelous fastening is called a zipper?”
“Aye,” she said, her patience beginning to fray.
“Aye. We have none of us seen a zipper.”
“Well, this whole medieval thing is all very entertaining. But right now I just want to look for Josh, okay? You can pretend to marvel over all of my twenty-first century gadgets later, after we’ve found him.”
The men exchanged a look.
Beth stood with the backpack in her arms, a new need making itself known. She hadn’t thought she had been unconscious for that long, but her full bladder suggested many hours had passed. And she had no idea how long it would be before she could find a restroom.
A quick survey told her there were plenty of thick bushes and trees behind which she could relieve herself, but having four men for an audience did not appeal to her in the least.
“So,” she broached tentatively. “If I go out there to, ah, you know,” she motioned to the surrounding forest, “you won’t follow me and peek or anything, will you?”
She must have phrased it funny or something because they again gazed at her as if she had three heads.
“Did you say twenty-first century?” Michael asked, his face clouded with doubt.
“Oh, for crap’s sake!” she exclaimed. “I am too tired and too worried to deal with this! Will you stay here or not?”