“You will attend Lady Marian.” Will spoke curtly to the young woman.
The servant managed to close her mouth and proceeded to dart into action. From one of the tables where she’d apparently been sitting with her mending, she retrieved a tallow candle in its holder. She held it out at arm’s length and let its glow light the way through a side door to a narrow staircase that led to the second floor. While not the large spiraling carved oak stairway that graced Harrison’s Chesterfield Park home, it was in the same location.
The woman guided them up the steps to the second floor. She started down the hallway, but her footsteps faltered, as though she didn’t quite know where to go.
“To my chambers.” Will’s voice was straightforward, unashamed.
But Marian felt herself flush at the thought of going directly to Will’s bedroom, especially in light of the suggestive comments he’d made to the peasants. He couldn’t possibly think they’d share intimacies. Not when they hardly knew each other. He’d surely been blustering to appease the men. At least she hoped so. Because she had no intention of having a real marriage. The union was a means to accomplish what she’d come to do. That’s all.
Although the corridor didn’t have a balcony, Marian recognized it as the same hallway in Harrison’s home. The layout and spacing of the doorways were the same. Even before the servant stopped in front of Will’s room, Marian knew which one was his. It was the guest room she’d occupied. That would account for why she’d seen Will there two times.
Leading the way inside, the maid set to work lighting other candles and sconces, bringing the dark room to life. A side door was closed, but Marian suspected it led to a dressing room, regrettably without a modern bathroom. A chamber pot near the bed told her how she’d be relieving herself at Chesterfield Park—not the way she preferred, but she supposed it was better than an outhouse.
The canopied bed was the same she’d seen in her vision, a smaller version of the one she’d slept in. Rather than blue, it was cloaked in a deep burgundy and surrounded by thick bed-curtains. The soft candlelight made the finely embroidered linen shimmer like wine in a crystal goblet.
Will lowered her to the bed, its mattress feather-stuffed and in a rope-slung frame. Though sagging, it was much more comfortable than the pallet at the nunnery.
Her eyes drooped in fatigue. Drowsiness rushed through her aching, battered body. Had she only left the infirmary that afternoon for her walk with Christina? After hiding for hours, fleeing on horseback, and then being accosted by peasants, it seemed ages ago.
“Sarah will assist you, my lady.”
Marian lifted her lashes to find Will standing above her. His granite expression had softened and the raw pain that usually haunted his eyes was replaced with worry. Although he didn’t ask her how she was doing, she could sense the question.
Mustering energy, she lifted a hand and grasped his. “Thank you. For everything.”
He captured her hand with both of his. Then he bent and pressed his lips against her knuckles. He held his kiss there for a long, sweet moment, letting his breath and the warmth of his lips linger.
Her pulse skittered wildly. And she couldn’t keep from thinking about his kiss at the peasant camp, the way it had charged through her with such power and passion. She didn’t know why his merest touch or his kiss should affect her so much. But she couldn’t deny she’d liked the kiss earlier. And she couldn’t deny she liked his kiss on her hand now.
When he straightened, he released her and took a step back. He met her gaze as he had at the camp, his eyes repeating what he’d said then—that he desired her and knew she felt the same.
That he could read her so easily was mortifying. She closed her eyes to keep him from seeing any other feelings. She sensed he was a man who didn’t play games, who said exactly what he thought, and would expect the same honesty from her.
The prospect of such openness frightened her. She’d always been content with surface relationships where she never had to reveal her pains, frustrations, and fears. But somehow with this intensely magnetic man, she’d exposed herself, made herself vulnerable, given him a glimpse inside. In letting down her guard, she’d unleashed an attraction she didn’t know how to wrestle back. It was out there, and only seemed to fight against her efforts to contain it.
“Bring my wife aught she needs.” Will spoke quietly to the servant.
“Aye, I’ll take good care of her, sire.”
Although Will’s stride was muted by the rushes on the floor, Marian could tell he was leaving the room. She lifted her lashes to watch him go, admiring everything about him from his purposeful stride to the hair pulled back into a ponytail at his broad shoulders. His wounded soul, his dangerous demeanor, his dark rugged looks—together they were an explosive combination, one that could easily ignite desire in any woman.
Except she couldn’t be that woman. She couldn’t let herself feel anything for him. She hadn’t come to the past to get caught up in a relationship, especially not one like this.
No, the best course of action was to maintain her distance from him.
He paused at the door and slid a glance her way, almost as though he’d known she was watching him. He held her gaze for an instant, long enough to strike a spark in her belly again, like metal against flint. He gave her a curt nod, then left the room.
Once he was gone, Marian released her breath and silently chastised herself. Only then did she realize the servant woman, Sarah, was watching her with a look of wonderment widening her eyes.
She rapidly dropped her sights. “Milady.”
Marian could only imagine what Sarah must be thinking, likely questioning why Will had married her. Marian had neither the energy nor the will to justify herself to this stranger. In fact, what she really wanted was a few moments alone to compose herself. “Would you be so kind as to find something for me to eat? I’ve had almost nothing all day and am famished.”
“Aye, milady.” Sarah dipped her head and then exited the room.
Marian settled back into the sagging mattress, closed her eyes, and for the first time since arriving to 1381 she felt out of harm’s way and perhaps hopeful. Tomorrow, she’d begin her search for the ampullae. But for tonight, she could rest in peace. A wave of exhaustion fell over her, giving her no choice but to succumb to a deep black sleep.
* * *
A soft caress against her cheek woke Marian. She couldn’t make her eyelids open, but she relished the familiar touch. And the familiar lemony-lavender scent of the shower gel and body lotion Ellen wore.
“I have emailed or phoned every cathedral, church, and museum in the UK, but no one knows the whereabouts of the last two St. Thomas ampullae.” The voice with the British accent sounded like Harrison’s. Swift and profound relief bubbled up. He was safe and home again. How and when had that happened?
The fingers stroked Marian’s forehead, pushing back her hair. “We need to check the hiding place in the crypt today.”
Ellen? Marian tried to open her mouth to speak but couldn’t move so much as a breath. At the same time, she attempted to lift her eyelids again and force herself up from the mattress. But she couldn’t do anything. It was as if her body was a block of ice, immovable in the slightest.
The only thing working was her mind, and it was flying.