“There must be another person somewhere around here with a phone I can borrow. Point me towards civilization, and seriously, I need to know what time it is.”
Christian spoke softly to the horse, packing away his belongings before he turned back to her.
“The monks at the abbey near Winterforth have a water clock that tells time to the quarter hour. Their clock rings seven times a day: matins, prime, terse, sext, none, vespers, and compline, for work and prayers. In London you will find the bells ring for the opening of the markets, at curfew, and holidays.”
He watched her as she took a closer look at the bags and his horse, touching the leather. Almost as if she had never seen suchthings. Robert’s wife, Elizabeth, said they had horses in her time but not everyone knew how to ride, instead riding in horseless carriages, which he still did not quite believe.
“Why does the time matter so, mistress? You wake, go about your day, eat, sleep, and wake again. At my home there is a sundial in the garden behind the chapel. I will show you how to use it.”
She frowned and shook her head. “I’m still trying to decide if you’re homeless, mentally ill, or maybe in some kind of TV show or movie, and I’ve stumbled onto the set so you’re staying in character. Although I have come to the decision you’re not going to murder me in the woods.”
While she spoke, she did something with her hair, twisting it and putting it up, showing off her face. ’Twas a beautiful face—her eyes sparkled when she was angry, making tiny flecks of gold appear. An uncertain look crossed her face.
“You’re not going to murder me, are you?”
“Nay, not this day.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Good to know. Your home. Is it close?”
“Aye, it will take us a se’nnight if the weather holds. Once we arrive, I will dispatch a messenger for you to contact those awaiting you in London.”
“A messenger? Is that code for make a call or send a text?”
“A man on horseback will carry a message.”
The sigh escaped as if forced from her body, and he knew exactly how she felt.
“Of course. Why make a call and be efficient when you can send a man on horseback with a piece of paper? Why not send a pigeon or a turtle?” She held up a hand. “Don’t answer that. I was talking to myself.”
Ashley was still tryingto decide if the man who rescued her was some kind of commune-with-nature guy or an actor totally committed to his craft, when he lifted her up on the horse. A ridiculous shriek escaped, making her cheeks burn.
“Have I mentioned I don’t like horses?”
He finished tightening the straps. “’Tis a horse or we walk. My carriage is at home.”
Carriage? Okay. So Mr. Blue Eyes was definitely an actor, and he was obviously not going to break character. The whole living in the woods with his sword reminded her of an article she read about the guy inThe Lord of the Ringswho did the same thing, probably where this guy got the idea. Only an actor would be so single-minded and infuriating. They were easy enough to recognize—she’d spotted them on the subway or out and about in the city, even dated one or two who’d had small roles in TV shows. And the one thing she knew for sure? They were all the same. Annoying. Completely self-absorbed.
He swung up on the horse behind her, and as the beast started moving, she slid sideways. A big, warm hand steadied her, the heat searing her skin through the dress.
“Do not fear, demoiselle. I will not let you fall.”
The accent was like a cup of hot chocolate, wrapping her up in warmth and totally delicious. The guy might be a self-absorbed actor, but she was totally buying the rough and ready yet super-hot knight character. While an actor might let her fall off the horse, a knight would not. As they rode out of the clearing and through the woods, she looked for any sign of other campers. Not a single tent or faded wood building.
What kind of campground was this? The answer came immediately. Christian wanted to be far away from the other actors, camping rough with only his sword. It would explain the sword and authentic-looking daggers in his boots.
A snort escaped. Did someone from craft services leave food by a rock? In an effort to be discreet, Ashley twisted in the saddle toget a look at his ears. Nope, not pointed, so he wasn’t playing an elf.
“Have I seen you in anything?”
“You are seeing me now, Mistress Ashley.”
“Funny. I meant, what movies have you done? TV? Commercials?”
“Your speech is odd. I know not movies and TV and commercials. Are they food where you come from?”
“Never mind. I get it, you’re staying in character. Fine, I’ll play along.”
The horse jolted her to and fro as they cleared the woods. Odd. There were no houses or cars as far as she could see. Not a single paved road, nothing more than a path, and a muddy one at that. No sign of a movie crew. No lights or power lines or cell towers.
