Gina Rosavin - Paranormal Romance

Lord Simon's Lady

Caroline's head throbbed, and she lifted a hand to her temple, surprised to find it covered. Her eyes flew open and she met the dark gaze of a man towering over her. Her hands wandered over the strange head wrap she wore.

"Hi. What happened?"

He cocked his head to one side, as if he didn't understand. A flash of recollection assailed her pounding head. When she'd first come to in the gardens, he'd been there, speaking the strange French her mother had taught her as a child. The dialect her high school teacher forbade her to speak. Until now, she'd never heard anyone but her mother use that particular tongue.

"Sorry, I forgot you speak French. I guess I fainted again."

His brow furrowed, his lips pressing together in obvious annoyance. What was his problem? Hadn't he brought her here, and seen her head tended to? Shouldn't there be a nurse or somebody present? She looked around, expecting to see other staff of the restored castle. Instead, the room was empty.

"Who are you?" Again, that deep voice, booming at her. It made her head throb more.

"My head hurts very badly." Damn, how did she ask for an aspirin, she couldn't recall the word. Forcing herself to speak clearly, she asked, "May I have something to ease it?"

"Give me your name."

She sighed. "Caroline Marlowe."

The speed with which he grasped her shoulders and hauled her up left her head spinning. She gasped, her gaze focusing on his. There was no mistaking the hostility in his brown eyes. Alarm poked at her stomach.

"You lie! You are no relation."

"Wh-what are you talking about? I'm a tourist, I mean, a traveler. I came to visit the castle."

"You claim my name."

"Your name? Maybe we're cousins. I'll have to check with my mother." She didn't know any Marlowes who still lived here, but she supposed they could be distant relations.

"You are not my cousin. Who sent you?"

"No one sent me." What was with him? For the first time, she realized he was wearing chain mail armor. Clarity dissipated her confusion. Great, an actor absorbed in his role. "That explains it. I suppose you are performing in a living history event. You can stop now."

From the look in his eyes, he clearly didn't understand. She must be mixing her dialect with her high school French. Damn, trying to remember all this with the pounding in her head was making her dizzy. Forcing herself to stay in dialect, she spoke slowly.

"I come from America. On a journey. To visit."

"America? I do not know it. Is it near Normandy?"

Caroline gaped at him. "You're kidding right?"

His brow furrowed. "Speak plainly."

"Plainly. Okay, how about America saved England's butt in World War II? Or that we landed at Normandy on D-Day."

"D-Day? What day is that?"

"Um, around here, I thought it was a pretty big holiday, but…wait a minute. How could you not know about this?" He'd obviously been working here for far too long if he couldn't even remember he was simply performing. Lynden Castle seemed to be a magnet for nut cases. She should have listened to her mother and waited.

"I feel much better now. I'll just get my stuff and leave." But he still held her upper arms, and the strength in those hands made it clear she wasn't about to get free until he released her.

"Nay. Answer my question."

She swallowed, the anger in his tight expression starting to raise her concern. She tugged against his hold. "Look, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I have to get back to my hotel."

"You will find yourself below if you are not truthful."

Her own anger with him overtook her common sense, and she didn't care anymore about trying to make him understand. He was going too far. "Listen, you overgrown bully, I don't know who you think you are, but you can't just threaten a tourist with imprisonment. I've done nothing wrong, except smack my head on your stupid bench, thanks to the freak storm…"

His sudden release sent her back to the pillows. She bounded back up as he stood and began to pace. Here was her chance. Spying her bag, she slowly reached for it and dashed for the door. As her fingers closed around on the handle, she was suddenly squashed against the heavy wood, immobile.

The towering man pressed his length against her, his arms wrapping around her chest as he pulled her away from the door. Unable to resist his strength, she soon found herself facing him. He was so damn tall, she thought, tilting her head to see him. Her eyes widened at the fury evident in his face.

"I think not, my lady. Until you answer my questions, you remain here." With a sudden movement, he had lifted her off the floor.

"Hey!" she protested, not caring if he didn't understand her English. "Put me down, you son of a bitch!" She pounded at him, but the bite of his mail soon had her regretting it.

Suddenly, she was falling, and landed back on the bed. Her breath escaped her in a loud whoosh, and her head throbbed more than ever. She groaned, rolling to the side and pressing her hand against the bandaged lump.

He was beside her then, turning her over and removing her hand. This time, his touch was gentle as he checked her bandage. She brought her gaze to his, surprised by the softening of his features.

"Forgive me. I forget you are injured."

That voice, now soft and soothing, vibrated within her, and mingled with the gentle caress of his fingers, caused a pleasurable jolt. What was the matter with her? This guy was a lunatic, capable of God only knew what. She couldn't possibly find his touch pleasant. Keeping her wary gaze on him, she scooted up and back, to put some distance between them.

"Don't forget it again." She wagged a finger at him.

"Answer me truthfully."

"Then can I go?"

"Where would a woman alone go? 'Tis not safe."

She forced the panic back. Clearly this guy had delusions of keeping her here. She didn't want to wait for another chance to get away from him, but freaking out now would only make things worse. Soon enough, someone would come in and get her away from this madman.

"I'm safe enough. What do you want to know?" Playing along with him might get him to let down his guard long enough to attempt an escape. As soon as she located one of the staff, she was going to make sure his ass was good and fired. Maybe even locked up. He could be psychotic for all she knew.

"You claim your name is Marlowe, yet I have no knowledge of you."

"Didn't we just go through this?" she muttered in English. Holding his gaze, she spoke in dialect. "It may be possible, but you know, there are a lot of Marlowes in the world. And not all of us are connected." Jeez, did he think everyone named Smith was related too?

"How did you get past the guards to enter the gardens?"

Confusion made her hesitate. "Wh-what guards? The only security I saw was an old man in the ticket booth."

From the look in his eyes, she realized he again didn't understand her. "The man by the main gate?"

"There are several sentries posted, but the gate has been down for days."

She shook her head. This was getting weirder. A strange sensation built as her gaze roamed the room. A fire burned merrily in the hearth, chasing the chill of the stone building. Above it, on the mantle, were two lanterns, made of primitive material and lit with candles. They looked just like the drawings the guide had shown of lanterns used in medieval times. A glance at the narrow window told her the sun was near setting and it would be dark soon. Wait, what had happened to the glass?

Her gaze was drawn to another lantern hanging on the wall near the door. Her eyes narrowed. She looked up and around the room, and realized it was furnished much as it had been back when the castle was built. Talk about authentic, there weren't even any electric lamps in here. And where was the red velvet rope which had adorned all of the doorways?

The peculiar niggling grew stronger. Something wasn't right, she just couldn't figure out what. Her stomach fluttered in anxiety. She brought her gaze back to the man. "Will you answer me now?" he asked, as if waiting for her to finish her examination of the room.

"About what?"

"How you came to be inside Lynden's walls."

"I…I wanted to read my books. The gardens seemed like a good place." He gave a snort, sort of like a smothered laugh. When the corners of his mouth turned up, her stomach flipped over. Damn it, this was not the time to be affected by his attractiveness.

"You can read?" he asked.

She lifted her chin. "Of course. Can't you?"

His smile faded. "You insult me."

"Well, you insulted me first."

His brow furrowed, revealing his puzzlement. "Nay. I merely asked…"

"If I could read."

"You are a woman, and clearly not noble born. 'Tis a logical question."

"Not noble…?" She gaped at him. He was nuts, there was no other explanation. Maybe he was related to the old man who wove the strange story of the bench. She shook her head, wincing as the movement caused more discomfort. Where were the other staff members? Someone better show up. Soon. "Whatever. I have to go now, really. I told you how I got here, and what I was doing. Now you can let me out."

He shook his head. "Until I learn how you breached Lynden's walls, you will remain here."

She narrowed her eyes. "Breached? I swear, if I didn't know better, I would think this was the late…"

She trailed off, afraid to voice the rest of the words. As if saying them aloud would make them real. Come on, Caroline, what you're thinking is impossible. Even as she silently scolded herself, a strange whirling sensation assailed her. Her gaze darted around the room, resting upon the tapestry hanging above the hearth. Her stomach tightened as recognition settled over her.

A few hours ago, she had seen that very tapestry hanging in the great hall. But there was something different about it now. She stood, aware the man moved to stand behind her, ready to prevent her flight again. She had no intentions of going anywhere at the moment. She walked over to the tapestry.

It looked new, its colors vibrant, the edges tightly woven. Hours earlier, it had been faded, the sides frayed. A corner had unraveled altogether, but that corner was now intact.

She turned to him. "That tapestry, when was it made?"

"The hanging was woven by my sister and her ladies in Shrewsbury. 'Twas a gift for Lynden but a few years ago."

The whirling sensation grew, until she thought the force would send her to her knees. She willed her body to remain upright. "No, this can't be. It's impossible."

"What is impossible?"

She almost didn't hear him over the buzzing in her ears. Her heart pounded, and she commanded her trembling knees to still. They didn't obey. "A few hours ago, that tapestry was old and damaged. Someone found it ten years ago and they cleaned it as best they could, but not all of it could be restored." She closed her eyes, recalling her excitement at seeing the tapestry earlier. Considering what it had been though, its amazing condition had been a thrill. Seeing it like this was surreal.

"A few hours ago, the hanging looked the same as it has since its completion."

How did she know he would say that? This was a crazy dream, she was still unconscious. She had to be. How else could she explain it? She pinched her arm, wincing with the pain. Too real to be a dream, although the lump on her head should have convinced her of that. No, it had to be.

"My lady, what is impossible?" He repeated his earlier question.

My lady? She forced back an hysterical giggle. "You don't understand. The tapestry has been lost for centuries. They told us all about it. It hung in the great hall."

"'Tis nonsense you speak. Your injury is more severe than I thought."

She shook her head. "This has nothing to do with that." She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking, but her palms, slippery with perspiration, made it hard to maintain a grip. Lord, this could not be happening. She lifted her gaze to his. "Who are you?"

"I am Simon Marlowe, Baron of Lynden."

Caroline fought to breathe against the bile stinging the back of her throat. Somehow, she'd expected this answer, but hearing him say it aloud didn't make it easier to accept. She was trapped in this crazy dream, and it was surely due to the blow on her head. She placed her hand against her swollen temple, wincing slightly at the soreness there.

Before she could gather her thoughts, Simon was suddenly before her, easing her hand away and lifting the bandage to study her injury. She swallowed against the sandy dryness still coating her throat, and tried to ignore the way her pulse jumped when his warm fingers brushed against the bump. She jerked away in reflex, meeting his dark gaze when he scowled once again.

"'Tis no wonder you speak such nonsense. Your wound has addled your wits."

Her voice still eluded her, and she looked away. Her thoughts raced too frantically for her to solidify any one of them. Damn, what was going on here? She crossed her initial idea of this being a historical re-enactment off the list of possibilities. Somehow, she knew this was no re-creation. But how else could she explain it?

Perhaps she'd rendered herself unconscious when she'd struck her head. Maybe she was in a hospital bed now, in a coma, her body hooked up to wires and monitors while her mind transported her back in time.

Time. She brought her gaze back to Simon who studied her silently. One dark eyebrow arched and she swallowed again, this time successfully clearing her throat enough to speak.

"I have a question."

He folded his arms, hesitating for several moments before responding. "Yes?"

"What year is this?"

His brow furrowed, and his eyes clouded with suspicion. "'Tis the year of our Lord, 1294."

She closed her eyes, her knees trembling so much, she wasn't sure she could stand. She must have given some indication of her lack of strength, for suddenly, Simon had wrapped an arm about her waist and was guiding her to a chair before the hearth. She sank gratefully into it, and stared into the fire. 1294. The date echoed in her mind, she couldn't shut it out.

This insanity was all because of her mother. If Gwyneth hadn't spent all that time writing books and lecturing about this time period, Caroline would never have imagined herself here. She brought her gaze back to the tapestry. It was definitely the same one she'd seen earlier, there was no doubt. The vibrant blues and reds of the woven cloth swam strangely out of focus before clearing once again. She tried to recall what the tour guide said. The discovery had been made when an old wall fell into disrepair. It was believed Simon had hid it, trying to save something of Lynden during the last Welsh Rebellion against Edward. Though the rebellion had been put down easily enough, Simon had disappeared shortly after, and it was assumed the Welsh had murdered him in the forests. The tapestry was never recovered. Until the 20th century.

Caroline forced herself to stare at the man towering above her. His dark eyes pierced her, and she shivered against an icy panic that threatened to overcome her. Simon Marlowe. Baron of Lynden. Disappeared. Vanished.

Hysteria rose, and she couldn't suppress it any longer. "Oh, God, this is…this can't be…I'm losing it, I know it." Aware he stared curiously at her, she changed to the French dialect once again, for the first time in her life, grateful for her mother's insistence she speak it at home. Suddenly, she wondered how her mother had known Old French. Most people didn't make a habit of studying medieval languages and using them in their daily lives. Her agitation made it impossible to focus further on that thought. Her only concern was getting back home. "I am lost. I am not supposed to be here."

She couldn't tell him what she thought happened, he'd think she was a witch, and that could not end in a good way. But what could she say?

"Where are you from?" he asked.

She hesitated, unable to move beneath the intense dark gaze pinning her in place. "I, uh, come from far away. Another country."

"Normandy?" He stepped closer, interest and wariness mingled in his eyes.

"No, further than that. I was to visit family, and I told you about the storm. And I somehow lost my way."

He pursed his lips. "And this storm made it possible for you to enter my castle through closed gates, and sealed doors?"

He stopped abruptly then and groaned. He turned away, and she finally felt as though her body would obey her commands to function once more. She followed him.

"What's wrong?"

He spun about so quickly, she leapt backward, her foot catching on the table leg, sending her careening backward. If not for his quick motions, she would have fallen. Instead, he grabbed her arm and hauled her against him, his other arm coming around her waist to hold her against him. He straightened and lifted her from her feet, until she was eye level with him. The close contact left her gasping for air. His hold eased, but he did not release her.

"You must be careful. You do not want to hurt yourself again."

She shook her head, mesmerized by the intensity in his gaze. Her hands pressed against his mail, but she didn't mind now as she let herself study him. He was captivating. She couldn't find another word to describe the strong jaw, the full lips, the dark chocolate colored eyes. She could drown in their depths.

He said nothing as his gaze roamed her face, bringing a warm flush to her cheeks. What was the matter with her? She needed to get away from him and back to that bench. It was her only way home. She squirmed against his tight hold, heaving a breath when his grip loosened and he slowly lowered her, keeping her close, his nearness inspiring something that was most definitely not fear. By the time her feet touched the stone floor, her legs trembled worse than ever. His arms still held her, and she began to panic, as the feeling of being trapped rose.

With as much force as she could gather, she pushed against his chest until he released her. She backed away, sucking in deep breaths of air. When he approached, she waved him away with one hand.

"I will fetch the physic. Your injury …"

"No. I simply need some rest. It's been a long day."

He frowned, his hands fisted on his hips. Damn, why did he have to be so damn good-looking? It was too distracting, and she had too many other things to worry about. Just his presence made her heart skip, and it had nothing to do with her current predicament.

Finally he nodded. "Very well. You will remain here. After you have rested, we will speak again."

Her voice eluded her, as she tried to assure him she would stay put. The lie wouldn't form though, so she nodded. He stared hard at her for several moments, then turned and left the room. She hurried to the door, pressing her ear against it. Had he left? A loud jangle made her back up, then she quickly resumed her former position. Another loud clank, and she realized he had locked the door.

She tugged on the handle. His chuckle was muffled by the wood. "Nay, my lady, you will not leave this chamber."