Page 14 of Wolf's Keep
As bizarre as it seemed, there might be more truth to that than she would’ve liked. Someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble setting up this room. Everything in keeping with the late tenth century, with a life Gaharet d’Louncrais would’ve lived. In all likelihood this guy was certifiable.
What was your first clue, Erin?That he ran around tourist sites in the middle of the night starkers?
Whatever his deal, she’d no plans to stick around to find out how truly dedicated he was.
She threw the bedcovers off, swung her bare feet off the bed and rushed to the door. Not locked. Another clap of thunder and she jumped again. Was he in a room on the other side, just waiting for her to regain consciousness? Trying to sneak out through the door might not be the best idea. She needed a better plan.
Searching the room again, she looked for options, a weapon, anything. Her gaze fell on the window, a narrow slit-like aperture, and she strode over to it. The window had no glass, no frame, only external shutters blocking out the light and the weather, a design Erin was acutely familiar with. Early examples of square keeps had windows like this. Keeps that were built in the tenth century.
Had he designed an entire building to tenth-century specs?
A part of her found that impressive. The rest of her, the part more concerned with self-preservation, found it more than a little disturbing. She needed to get out of here before he came to check on her.
Thunder rolled. The noise of the storm would work in her favor. Levering herself up onto the substantial window ledge, her nerveless fingers unlatched the shutters and pushed them open. Dull, gray light spilled across the room. An icy wind gusted in, buffeting the coals in the brazier. She grasped the shutters and thrust her head outside. Rain stung her face as she blinked once, twice.
She gaped at the long drop below her. She was in a tower! A keep tower! Impossible. How far out of Langeais had he taken her? She stared out into the hazy, rain drenched landscape, scanning, searching. Desperate for a recognizable landmark, Erin sought something familiar and came up wanting. Not good. How long had she been unconscious?
She peered through the rain, a flash of lightning revealing rain washed grass and land. From the tower base, the land sloped down a hill. At the bottom, a collection of wooden huts and buildings shuttered up and dark, huddled together in the storm. Beyond them a large stone wall, ramparts lining the top. Tenth-century style ramparts.
Lightning flashed again, and she gasped, her icy fingers clutching the shutters hard. In the courtyard below were men, men wearing hauberks, with swords in scabbards belted to their waists. Rain beat down on them, shields with varying insignia—a boar, a bird, a stag—secured to their saddles, horses held steady by men in tunics and breeches. Surcoats of varying colors, wind whipped and wet, covered their mail.
Her mouth opened, closed, opened, like a fish sucking air.
“Impossible.” Thunder peeled out, rolling over the landscape, but she paid it little attention. Chevaliers.In armor!
Erin stared at the sight below, trying to make some sense of it. They weren’t chevaliers. They couldn’t be. She pulled herself back inside and wiped the rain from her face, her thoughts whirling in her brain. She leaned against the cold stone wall. Either her abductor had the astounding foresight to build a replica tower keep, complete with surrounding wall and ramparts, hired some actors to dress up as chevaliersandchanged his own appearance to fit the description of a legendary chevalier whom she just happened to be excavating…or…or…
She batted the thought away, but the idea persisted. She eyed the room and its contents again. Could she beinthe tenth century? Could that be a feasible conclusion? If she believed her eyes, it sure looked that way. A low thrum pulsed within her. What if? The potential for exploration, discovery, understanding…
Now just hold on a minute.
She blew out a large breath. She had a PhD for crying out loud. Was she really considering time travelactuallyexisted? The idea of exploring living history enthralled her, but… She shook her head. No, time travel didn’t exist. Not yet anyway. What were her options, though? Being kidnapped by a naked Gaharet d’Louncrais doppelgänger or being transported back into the tenth century.
She peered out through the window again. She blinked. The same rain swept vista greeted her. There had to be a logical explanation. As an intelligent woman well versed in research and scientific discovery, she could figure this out.
She surveyed the landscape. The entire building, like the windows, appeared to be a part of an early design of a keep, adonjon—a square, squat tower sitting atop a hill with a walled courtyard. Beyond the wall, there was only a tree line of dense, darkened forest as far as her eye could see. No sign of the city of Langeais. No evidence ofanycity. Were there other tenth or eleventh century keeps in the French countryside around Langeais? Not still standing. And what about the furniture in the room, the brazier in the corner and the rushes on the floor? What rational explanation could she find for the men below in the courtyard, mounted men, men in mail?
As if simply thinking of them alerted him to her presence, one chevalier looked up. She choked, darting back into the room, slamming the shutters closed. Hell. Her heart pounded and her hands shook. If—God forbid she was even considering it—but if shehadsomehow gone back in time, she would do well to remember the tenth century was no fairy-tale. A woman from the twenty-first century had no place in such a time. That flattened her burgeoning curiosity.
Erin chewed on her bottom lip, pacing. What did she remember?
Think. Think.
Everything had gone dark so abruptly. She ticked her memories off on her fingers. She’d revealed the wolf’s skull. Picked it up. The little gold disc had dropped out. She’d read the inscription. Erin paused in her pacing. A Theban inscription. Theban—a substitution cipher used by occultists. Occultists were like witches. Witches wrote spells. A magic spell? She rolled her eyes.
Really?
Was that the best she could come up with? Still, everything happened the instant she’d read the inscription. Out loud.
No, surely not.
Pausing, casting her gaze around the room, the tactile sensation of the linen sheets against her skin still fresh, the heat from the coals in the brazier warming her body, the smell of the rushes on the floor tickling her nose and the evidence of her own eyes… Erin had to concede either the bump on her head had done some serious damage to her cerebral cortex, or… She let out a shaky breath. Or…she no longer stood in twenty-first century France.
She leaned against the wall, letting her hand rest on the rough-hewn stone. Even the stark solidity of it against her back reinforced the idea. Well, that put her confrontation with the naked man in an entirely different light.
“Shit.”
Erin shivered at the memory, at the thought of those sculpted abs and that hard body pressed up against hers. She groaned. What would she say to him? Him. Could he really betheGaharet d’Louncrais? How would she be able to look him in the eyes, having seen him naked?
