Robert held up a hand to silence Michael when he would have replied. “We will allow you your privacy.”
“Thank you!” Spinning around, she marched off into the woods, muttering under her breath about stubborn men who never knew when to quit.
As Mistress Bethany disappeared into the foliage, Michael asked in a hushed voice, “Did I mistake her?”
“Nay,” Stephen answered somberly. “She did say twenty-first century.”
“Poor girl,” Adam murmured. “Even with her peculiar speech I did not think her mad, but—”
“She is not mad,” Robert denied, a sick feeling nevertheless lodging itself in his gut.
“Robert,” Michael protested softly.
“She is overwrought, Michael. I know not what has befallen her, but it has left her covered in blood and consumed with worry for her husband or lover or whomever this Josh fellow is, and he is probably dead. Think you she does not realize that?” Hands on his hips, he took a few steps in the direction she had taken. “We bombard her with questions and try to pry the last of her belongings from her blood-encrusted fingers merely to satisfy our curiosity and you think her mad for offering a misplaced word or two?”
Adam pursed his lips. “’Tis true the lass has some difficulty with the language.”
“I understand not half the words that emerge from her lips,” Robert agreed. Lips that he suspected would be quite lovely if they and the rest of her face were clean.
“You are certain Lady Alyssa is not in the area?” Michael posed.
“Nay. She is at Westcott, struggling to keep Dillon from placing a wooden sword in their son’s eager hands. And if she were here, she would not have healed the girl, then left her to wander the forest alone in such an addled state.”
“No peeking!” Bethany shouted suddenly, startling them.
Stephen raised both bushy eyebrows. “Overwrought or nay, I think her mad as the miller’s mother.” Catching Robert’s frown, he grinned. “I did not say I dislike her, only that she is mad. I cannot recall another woman who has entertained me so.”
Robert’s scowl deepened as something resembling jealousy sifted through him.
“If not Lady Alyssa, then who?” Michael went on. “Her grandmother?”
Robert shook his head. “I think not. Her grandmother has not the strength. Healing such wounds would kill her.”
“What of the other gifted ones?”
“As far as I know, none of them possess the ability to heal and cannot do so without Alyssa or her grandmother present to channel their gifts.”
“What of the giant?”
“The one who calls himself Seth?” Dillon had often described the man as a giant because of his impressive height, which was a head or more taller than Robert’s six feet. “I know not his gifts. But Dillon said Seth did not heal Alyssa himself. He showed the others how to combine their strength and their gifts to heal her instead.”
Stephen grunted.
“The scars could be from old wounds,” Adam murmured.
Michael tilted his head to one side. “What of the holes in her clothing?”
Adam shrugged. “Are all of your tunics new and undamaged? Mayhap she has not the coin to replace hers.”
Stephen nodded. “The blood could belong to this Josh fellow. Mayhap whatever she witnessed has made her retreat to a previous attack she suffered and she is confusing the two. Sir William once told me that when he saw a fellow crusader cut down a woman in the Holy Land, he flew into a rage and killed the man. When his thoughts finally cleared, William found himself weeping over the woman’s corpse and calling her by his wife’s name.”
Robert frowned. “Was his wife not slain here in England?”
“Aye, and ’tis what Sir William saw whilst he defended the woman in the Holy Land and struck down her attacker.”
“I said no peeking!” Bethany yelled. “Where are you guys?”
Robert called back, “We stand where you left us!”
“All of you?”
“Aye!” the men chorused loudly.
“Just making sure!”
“What do you intend to do with her?” Stephen asked, voice soft.
“If we do not find this Josh she seeks, I will offer her shelter at Fosterly until we learn more.”
“And if you never learn more?”
“I know not.”
Twigs snapped and foliage rustled as Bethany moved into view and headed toward them. The pouch with the fascinating zipper was now looped over one shoulder and rested against her back. “Sorry to keep checking,” she said, “but I had a sudden vision of my bare bottom being plastered all over Facebook.”
Michael’s eyebrows flew up. “What?”
Robert gazed down at her dirt-smudged, blood-speckled face and found himself fervently hoping she was not touched in the head.
“So what’s the plan?” she asked. “Are we going to split up so we can cover more ground? Or should we go wherever it is you guys came from and get help there?”
Beginning to see a pattern in her speech, which was an odd combination of familiar and foreign words, Robert considered the question. “’Twould take us mayhap half a day to reach Fosterly.”