Guardians of Time (The After Cilmeri Series Book 9) by Sarah Woodbury

Author:Sarah Woodbury [Woodbury, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Morgan-Stanwood Publishing Group
Published: 2015-05-18T12:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Peter

“You’ve turned melancholy all of a sudden,” Bridget said.

They were approaching the royal manor at Chirk, needing a meal as well as the opportunity to leave another message for Samuel as to their progress, were he to decide to follow them. Peter had once visited the modern Chirk Castle, back in Avalon before the bombings in Cardiff, but it had been built by King Edward after he conquered Wales, so it didn’t exist in this world.

“Just thinking,” Peter said.

If he and Bridget were really in a relationship, which he wanted very much, he knew he needed to learn how to tell her more about what was in his mind, but he didn’t want to talk about the twenty-first century with Simon present. Peter flicked his eyes in the direction of the man-at-arms, and instead of being irritated by Peter’s lack of communication, Bridget nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “How far are we going tonight?”

“Let’s decide after we eat.” Peter should have been tired, given the upheavals of the day, but he was wide awake, and so were Bridget and Simon, who’d stayed a silent shadow, leading the way for the ride from the ambush site. “The steward here always has a good ear to the ground.”

Chirk wasn’t exactly a booming metropolis, but because of the royal manor, it included a small village. The three of them had to pass the green and the church dedicated to St. Tysilio in order to reach the manor house, which was nestled in the bend of the River Ceiriog. Peter’s eyes lit for a second at the thought of sharing what was sure to be a very uncomfortable bed with Bridget.

It wouldn’t do, though. Not with standards of propriety in the Middle Ages. Still, if they decided to stay, the manor included two rooms in the back, which would hopefully be serviceable for their needs and might possibly be more comfortable than any bed at the inn in Whittington. It was their decision to arrive so late. They could have returned to Dinas Bran and started in the morning, so they had no business being choosy about where they laid their heads.

In the last year, Peter had ranged all around this area with Darren as part of their service to Callum and to Samuel, as the sheriff, keeping the peace in Shropshire. Chirk itself, though on the English side of Offa’s Dyke, had always had strong ties to Wales. While Peter had grown up in a suburb of Bristol, the countryside had never been far away, at least for him. He’d spent his holidays on his grandparents’ small farm near Cwmhir Abbey in Wales, where Llywelyn’s headless body was said to have been buried in 1282 after his head had been taken to England and stuck on a pike at the Tower of London.

Chirk was around forty miles as the crow flies from Abbey Cwmhir, and Shropshire was the same green landscape he’d grown up with, even if, east of Offa’s Dyke, it was somewhat less mountainous than Wales proper.

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