The Time Traveler's Christmas - Amy Jarecki Page 0,19
to me. Though I didna ken much about her, she always kent the right things to say. She was the only woman I could go to with questions.” With a gasp, his jaw dropped, eyes growing round as sovereigns. His face grew white and he leaned forward, resting his forehead in the palm of his hand. “My God, the warrior’s name is Lachlan.”
Christina placed her hand on his shoulder. “Aye—?”
Boyd looked up, pain etched across his face. “Eva was in Scone when my friend took an arrow and died. I wanted to kill Willy that day. I’d never had a friend my age and Willy made me mind the horses whilst the lad joined the ranks of the archers.” Sir Boyd’s lips trembled. “I bawled like a bairn at the funeral whilst Eva held me in her arms and made the pain go away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nay—ye dunna understand. My friend’s name was Lachlan.”
“Ye dunna think…?”
Sir Boyd shook his head. “They’re not one and the same. Ye canna bring someone back from the dead. Besides, your warrior looks too much like Willy.”
“Do ye think William and Eva may have had a child?”
The knight smirked. “That makes no sense. Willy died childless nine years ago and the behemoth behind bars in the gatehouse is in his prime.”
“Well, I’ll be the first to agree there’s something odd about people who wear those medallions, but I’ll also be the first to testify they are sent to us to perform good deeds.” She picked up her spoon and shook it. “I want ye to allow Sir Lachlan to spar with the guard.”
Sir Boyd eyed her as if considering. “Have ye any further requests, m’lady?”
“Not this day.” She smiled inside. She couldn’t have asked for the conversation to have proceeded any better if she had scripted it out.
Two-fifty-three, two-fifty-four… Lachlan counted while pumping pushups. The far door screeched open, but he didn’t stop to see who it was. So far this morning, they’d brought him a bowl of watery mush and he wasn’t at all happy about it. Surely they had eggs and sausages in a place like this. Was that too much for a champion to ask, even if he was incarcerated?
“Tiring yourself out, I see?” a deep voice echoed between the stone walls.
Lachlan stopped and rocked back to his knees. “Sir Boyd?” The great knight was flanked by two guards.
“Ye look surprised to see me.”
“I admit you weren’t the first person I expected.”
“Lady Christina convinced me to have ye spar with the men. Are ye up to it?”
“I’d fight an army if it meant getting out of this cage.”
One of the guards used an enormous key to open the door. “Mind yourself or ye’ll end up right back here.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Lachlan crawled through the opening, then stood.
Sir Boyd glanced down to his bare feet. “Still no shoes?”
Lachlan wriggled his toes. “The cobbler visited earlier—made me put my foot through the bars.”
“Aye, well, Malcolm is most likely less than half your size—not a fighting man for certain.” Boyd examined Lachlan’s face, pinching his eyebrows. “Did ye spend time in the Holy Land?”
“No…well, sort of. I went to Malta with my parents when I was young.” Lachlan didn’t want to let too much out of the bag. He’d vacationed in Malta a few times because his parents kept a timeshare there.
“Parents?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.” It appeared Boyd was playing with his cards close to his chest as well. Lachlan didn’t care one way or the other as long as he figured out a way home. Lady Christina was hell bent on rescuing her son—maybe Lachlan had landed there to help her? Whatever the reason, he’d play along until he figured a way back to his time. He still didn’t know if he was in a time warp or among a group of zealots occupying a remote part of the borderlands. Regardless, why couldn’t the process that had landed him on the battlefield reverse itself? He was still holding on to the idea these nutcases had cordoned off a patch of the borders and created their own medieval world. Maybe some disappointed fan saw his loss on TV, stole into Uncle Walter’s flat, drugged him and hauled him to the battlefield where he awoke?
Strange, but not impossible. Right?
Boyd beckoned him with a wave of his hand. “Come. Today the men will be sparring with their fists. To be able to wield a sword is one thing, but a man who can win with