Something that looked like her sellfone lay beside her on the bench.
“Hie yourself over and train with Michael and Ned for a time,” Robert murmured absently as he sheathed his sword.
“Aye, my lord.”
Robert approached Bethany slowly, noting her pensive expression. She had been his shadow for a fortnight now, following him everywhere he went, watching him train or work on the wall or perform any duty that did not take him far enough away that he must ride.
She had not yet confessed her troubles as she had promised she would that first night. Nay, she had told him naught in the days since, though she continued to ask him questions about himself and his past. Though he became more accustomed to her accent and learned more of her odd words every day, he was unable to coax her into speaking of her own past.
She seemed beset with melancholy whenever he wasn’t luring laughter from her with wild tales of his youth. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath her hazel eyes, indicating how little she slept. She ate very little, as well. Already slender when he had met her, Beth had lost enough weight to leave her cheeks hollow and her arms thinner.
Robert had doubled the number of men who searched for her brother, but she had long since lost hope that they would find him. Robert knew not how else he might help her. He alone seemed able penetrate the fog of despair that enveloped her. And not just during the day.
Every evening, as the fire burned down and he lay sleepless, Beth would slip into his solar, climb into his bed, and seek warmth, safety and—he hoped—some sense of peace.
Though his body burned for her and he seemed to walk around in a constant state of arousal, Robert never pressed her for more. Nor did he implore her to fulfill her vow and tell him from whence she came, why her speech was so different, and all of the rest she was so reluctant to share. He feared if he did, she would cease coming to him.
So he waited. Waited until her breathing deepened into sleep (sometimes it took hours as she lay awake, agonizing over her troubles), then rolled toward her and embraced her fully, nestling her soft curves into his hard body, pressing kisses to her forehead and dozing until the sun peeked over the horizon and ’twas time to carry her slumbering form back to her own bed ere she awoke, so the servants would be none the wiser.
“My lord!” Sir Rolfe’s voice stopped him just as Robert reached Bethany. “My lord! Come quickly!”
Robert swung around as the pale man-at-arms skidded to a halt. “Tell me.”
“’Tis Sir Winston and Sir Miles,” the man said breathlessly. “Both nigh dead. Whilst searching for Lady Bethany’s brother, they came upon the marauders’ camp. They were badly outnumbered, my lord.”
Robert looked beyond him and saw a cluster of men carrying two bodies toward the stairs of the keep. He raced toward them.
“Robert!” Bethany called after him. She sounded frightened again, and he regretted that he had not the time to reassure her.
“Marcus!” he called over his shoulder. “Remain with Lady Bethany and guard her with your life!”
“Aye, my lord!” his squire vowed.
“Wait a minute!” Beth called. “Where are you going? What’s happening?”
“We will speak later, Beth!” Both fallen knights appeared to be unconscious. “Until then, Marcus will keep you safe.”
“But…”
Whatever else she said faded into the distance as he sprinted up the stairs and into the donjon.
He would learn where the bastards were hiding this time. Then he would slay them all and end this torment.
Dozens of men, along with boys Robert’s squire’s age, swarmed into the bailey, the latter leading warhorses that pranced and moved about restively.
The numbness that had permeated every element of Beth’s being while she had adjusted to the knowledge that she had traveled back in time left her so quickly that her head swam.
Robert, her anchor in this frightening sea of medieval surrealism, was leaving. He was riding off to fight who knows how many men armed with swords that were practically as long as she was tall in hand-to-hand combat. And it was quite conceivable that he would not survive.
“Robert!”
When she would have hurried after him, Marcus gripped her arm with surprising strength. “You must not, my lady. The destriers are very dangerous and may trample you.”
Beth watched the men struggle to keep the enormous horses in check.
“You must wait until they have departed,” Marcus told her.
“But I can’t just let him leave. I have to go with him!”
The boy looked appalled. “My lady, nay! ’Tis too perilous.”
“Then he shouldn’t be going,” she snapped, scared to death that something might happen to him.
“He could not do otherwise, my lady. Lord Robert wishes to protect his people.”