Page 41 of Stay with Me

Nicholas left his cloak on, but Sybil was suffocating under the wool. Not only was it scratchy, but it was heavy and hot. As Beatrice set mugs of a frothy liquid and bowls of pottage in front of them, Sybil shrugged out of the monstrosity and placed it on the bench beside her.

Beatrice halted midsentence and stared at Sybil’s tight T-shirt and jeans. Nicholas darted a sideways glance her way before setting both elbows on the table and focusing intently on his meal.

Sybil stirred the rich mixture that seemed to have a bit of everything—barley, onions, peas, and pieces of meat that looked like chicken but were likely some other wild fowl that made its home in the forest.

“You will find Sybil appropriate attire, will you not?” He directed his question toward Beatrice.

“Of course.” Her reply was stricken, and her face contained a pained look. “Did Lord Worth’s men...?”

Sybil paused in her stirring. “No. Nothing like that. Lord Worth’s men didn’t harm me in the least.”

Beatrice’s shoulders heaved, and she pressed a hand over her heart.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“I was there with her,” Nicholas cut in between bites. “And Sybil is quite good at defending herself.”

Beatrice regarded Sybil a moment longer, as though trying to decide whether to believe their assurances. “If you’re sure, then I’ll go see about borrowing clothes. I think Kat has an extra outfit.”

Borrow? Extra outfit? Did that mean most people who lived here in the Devil’s Bend only had one set of clothing? Sybil wasn’t a huge shopper, ordered most of what she needed online. But still, she couldn’t imagine not being able to run to the store to purchase whatever she wanted whenever it suited her.

Beatrice crossed to her and lifted the cloak about her shoulders. “Until you and Nicholas are married, I want you to keep your clothes on.”

Nicholas kept eating, his gaze still trained upon his bowl. He didn’t seem to show any signs he’d heard Beatrice except that his chewing slowed.

Sybil merely nodded, guessing before long she was going to end up in a skirt whether she wanted to be in one or not. She’d only ever worn a skirt twice in her life—once for an award banquet she’d attended with her mum, and the other time... well, it had been for the funeral they’d finally had for Mum when everyone said Cecilia Huxham had been gone too long and the possibility of her surviving was slim, that she was most likely dead.

Sybil stifled a sigh. She most certainly wasn’t the feminine sort. But if she didn’t wear the appropriate attire for women in 1382, how many more people would assume, like Beatrice, that something horrible had happened to her? Or squirm with discomfort, like Nicholas?

As Beatrice exited, Nicholas let his spoon grow idle. “I meant what I said. We do not have to get married.”

“I can’t imagine doing so—”

“I can.” He stared at his spoon, twisting it absently.

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“I am entirely serious.” His low tone did strange things to her insides, a reaction to him that seemed to only be growing in frequency.

She stared at his profile—the hard jaw, his rigid chin, his firm mouth. If she were ever to consider marrying a man on looks alone, he would win the contest. But after spending close to twenty-four hours with him, she knew he was so much more than a handsome man. Her first impressions of him had been right. He was a man of strong principle and character.

“You may not wish to be married to a knight who is now considered a traitor to his king and country.”

“You aren’t a traitor.”

“I intend to prove my innocence, but it will take some time.”

“I know.” Was it possible she could help him? After all, this was what she was good at. Investigating, digging up clues, uncovering what no one else could.

He fiddled with the spoon again. “I may not be able to give you many worldly possessions.”

“I’m a simple woman and don’t need much.” Why was she trying to convince him of her worth? She wasn’t actually considering marrying him, was she? When she was in a coma in the modern day?

Of course, she’d heard stories of people remaining comatose for years, some even for several decades. But she didn’t want that to happen to her. She wasn’t in the past to stay. She had to return to her life and Dawson eventually. And she’d left unfinished business with her work. She needed to bring Dr. Lionel to justice for his crimes.

Besides, she’d only just met Nicholas. Even though the chemistry crackled between them, that wasn’t enough of a reason to marry him.

“Why?” Her question slipped out.

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