With a deathly silent tread, Will carried her down a grassy path that led to what appeared to be a main road. Upon reaching the street—which she assumed to be St. George’s—she gaped at the sight that met her. To her right was the old city wall—except it wasn’t old anymore. It towered high above the ground. The stones were neatly chiseled, and the crenellations rose to their full height. In place of the modern-day roundabout stood a city gate, St. George’s Gate, with imposing castle-like turrets on either side of a gatehouse. Even in the fading light, she could see the entire structure was truly magnificent.
A horse with its rider passed through the gate and galloped down a dirt road into what appeared to be open country. Trees, rocks, and rolling hills sprawled out where the cinema and supermarket should have been.
To the left, the town of Canterbury nestled within the walls. With its tall, tottering homes crowded together on cobbled streets, it was unrecognizable from what it had become in her lifetime. Without street lamps, car headlights, traffic signals, or even the neon lights that emanated from business signs, the town was strangely dark.
Chills skittered up her arms. Only a tablespoon of holy water was all that was standing in the way of her experiencing an entirely different world—a world of electric lights, fast-moving vehicles, modern brick buildings.
The street in front of them was deserted and littered with debris, smashed furniture, ripped bedding, overturned food bins. The front door and main gate of St. Sepulchre both hung wide open, the windows of the chapel were cracked and broken, and what appeared to be sacred relics and other holy items were strewn all around.
The need to explore and find holy water pulsed harder at the sight of the Canterbury Cathedral spirals rising into the pink and orange splashes of clouds in the darkening sky. But before she could make up her mind on whether to stay, Will was already striding toward a narrow side alley, moving off the street into the shadows.
The stench of human waste and rotting garbage assaulted her, and she pressed her face against Will’s cloak. The scratchy wool brushed her nose and his scruffy chin grazed her forehead. Although his garment had the scent of wind and smoke, it was a far cry better than the alley.
From the shadows came a soft snorting breath, and Marian made out two horses. The only time she’d ever been on a horse had been at camp when she’d been a young girl. Riding around a paddock on the back of a gentle mare had done nothing to prepare her for the kind of swift horsemanship she would need tonight.
“We must be off at once.” Will spoke to his cloaked companion. “Thad, you take Christina out Dover Road. And I shall ride with Lady Marian out Rheims Way.”
At the mention of the familiar road that led to Chesterfield Park, Marian guessed that’s where Will was taking them. Of course, his living in the manor made perfect sense in light of previously seeing him there. Even if Harrison’s house wasn’t where she needed to be to complete her mission, at least it would be familiar.
“Sire, I’m reluctant to split ways.” Thad reached for the reins of one of the horses. “Would we not be safer together? If trouble assails us, I could speak up for you.”
Will shook his head curtly. “We shall only attract attention more readily together.”
“They will have compassion on me, as I am one of them. But you? They thirst for the blood of the nobility. If they catch you, they’ll have no mercy this night.”
“We go our separate ways.” Will’s voice was low and bode no further argument.
His companion nodded and bowed slightly to Will. “Ready, Sister?” He offered Christina his cupped hands as a step to the stirrup.
Even in her cumbersome habit, Christina had no trouble mounting and was situated in the saddle before Marian could manage to figure out how it was done.
“Go,” Will whispered harshly. “And Godspeed.”
Thad swung up behind Christina, and in an instant, they were gone, the pounding of hooves fading away to silence.
“Ready, lady?” Will’s voice rumbled near her cheek.
“Yes, but I should warn you that I’m not—” Before she could finish, he thrust her up onto the saddle, a stiff leather seat that was wide and difficult to straddle in her habit. The white linen crept high, exposing her legs, exactly why most women had ridden sidesaddle. She started to adjust herself, but suddenly Will was behind her, and she had no room to move with both of them squeezed together.
His thighs hugged her tightly, and at the intimate contact heat flooded her cheeks. He reached past her to grip the reins, his presence boxing her in and overpowering her.
Should she slip down? But where would she go? She had no one else she could rely on.
No, this was her best option. Although she felt the brush of his chest behind her, she sat stiffly and was grateful when he held himself as aloof as the quarters would allow . . .
Until he urged his horse forward. The jostling nearly knocked Marian from her perch, and she fumbled to grab on to the pommel. He easily caught her, wrapping one of his hands around her waist and guiding the reins with the other. The firmness of his hold told her he had no intention of letting go.
So much for maintaining personal space. She didn’t want to be so aware of the pressure of his arm against her side and stomach, but her senses were keenly alert to everything in this strange time period—particularly to everything about him.
Once past the city gate, she again gazed at the countryside with wonder. Even in the descending darkness, lit by a glorious array of stars overhead, the barrenness of the rolling land spread out for miles. Gone were the businesses, homes, roads, and the sprawling urban development. It was silent and empty in an almost apocalyptic way.
A breeze blew against her, the chill welcome against her heated skin. The pounding of the horse hooves echoed loudly. If they were at risk, why didn’t he urge his horse to a softer and quieter tread? And why take the open road? Why not try to ride cross-country where they wouldn’t be seen or stopped by peasants who thirsted for their blood?
At the remembrance of the cries and screams from the afternoon, she shuddered at the prospect of facing any peasants, bloodthirsty or not. Will brought his cloak forward, draping it around her, likely thinking her shudder was from cold and not realizing it was from fear.
She lifted her chin. She had to be brave. After all, she was a smart and self-sufficient woman. She would survive and get home. Somehow.
Each bump of the horse jarred her aching body and reminded her of how Will had saved her from further punishment at the hands of the nuns. She wanted to speak to him, but now that she was with him again, she felt strangely shy. Was it because of their proximity? Or because he was more handsome than she remembered?
For heaven’s sake. She wasn’t an awkward teenager trying to gather up the courage to speak to a boy. She was a grown woman and accustomed to talking with men all the time. She could certainly manage a conversation tonight. “I didn’t have the chance to thank you for saving me the other day.”
For a moment, he didn’t reply, and she wondered if he’d failed to hear her above the clopping of the horse. “The prioress wields her power too freely.” His voice was low near her ear again, and the deepness of it wound through her blood.
As with her visions of him, something about him pulled her in. Not only was he entirely too attractive physically, but she wanted to know more about him. “How is it that once you freed me, the prioress no longer tormented me?”