Daughter of Time: A Time Travel Romance Read Online Free Page A

gatehouse.
    The bailey, once we reached it, was in
turmoil. “You surprised us all, my lord,” Hywel said as he
dismounted. He was tall, even for a Welshman, with the biggest feet
any of us had ever seen. From the moment he joined the company we’d
called him Boots. Half the men had probably forgotten his real
name.
    He reached for the woman, whom I allowed to
slide off the horse. He was more than capable of bearing her
weight, but when I got down myself, I quite deliberately took her
back from him.
    As we’d ridden up the road, I found myself
going over in my head the sudden arrival of the girl and her child
in my head, and agreeing with Goronwy that what others ascribed to
chance, I was willing to view as a gift from God. Or the devil, I
supposed. It wasn’t something I would ever mention, not even to my
closest advisors, but in the thick of the moment it wasn’t always
easy to tell the difference between the two.
    All I knew was that I didn’t want to
let her go. The feeling was a new one, and yet, I’d learned to
trust my instincts and knew myself well enough by now not to fight
them. I’d had many women over the years—more than I could count,
truth be told, which I’m sure had kept my confessor busier than
he’d liked. But I’d not welcomed one into my bed in several months
and hadn’t truly cared for any woman for much longer than that. I’d
attributed my disinterest to my advanced age—and a natural
evolution toward more circumspect and judicious taste .
    With the girl in my arms, I strode toward
the inner bailey which housed my private apartments, my men parting
before me. Goronwy matched his steps to mine as we entered the
great hall. Tudur ap Ednyfed Fychan, my steward, stepped toward me
and bowed.
    “Shall I have a room prepared for her, my
lord?”
    “No,” I said, hearing the flatness in my
voice and knowing he would obey it. “She stays with me.”

Chapter Three
Meg
     
    I opened my eyes to
a candle, guttering in a pottery dish on a small wooden table
beside the bed on which I lay. It took only half a second for me to
register that all was not as it should be.
    “ Oh, my God !” I reared up from the
pillow. A man sat in a chair by the fire, reading a book the size
of a coffee table dictionary. He looked up and smiled, and the
smile was so disarming I just gaped at him, mouth open, knowing
that nothing about him or the room was right, but unable to
articulate why it wasn’t.
    The room was built on a grand scale. A long
table surrounded by chairs sat near a closed door, twenty feet from
the foot of the bed. The bed itself was a massive four-poster, with
thick, crimson hangings all around. Only one side was open—the side
on which I lay. The floor was comprised of wooden
slats set tightly together. Rather than polished, it was faded and
worn with what could only have been years of use. I took it
all in, flicking my eyes from one item to the next, before
returning them to the man in the chair.
    He shifted and then stood to walk to a
bookshelf on the other side of the room. He laid the book flat on
top of several others, taking a moment to align them neatly one
with another. While his back was turned, I looked around the bed,
more panicked than ever because I realized that I was wearing
nothing but a nightgown—and a gorgeous one at that, with
embroidered lace and puffy sleeves; that my clothes were gone and
my hair was braided in a long plait down my back.
    By the time he turned back to me and spoke,
I’d scooted up the bed until I was sitting upright, the covers
pulled to my chin.
    “ . . .” he
said.
    I had no idea what he’d said . Confused because his words were completely unintelligible, even as
they tugged at my ear with familiar tones, I didn’t move or saying
anything, just stared. He tried again. I shook my head,
uncertain.
    He stayed relaxed, his hands at his sides
and walked toward me, speaking a little louder, as if somehow that
would help. I was desperately trying to make