In the Time of Kings by Sasson N. Gemini

Author:Sasson, N. Gemini [Sasson, N. Gemini]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance, medieval, Scotland, time travel romance, Romance, Historical Fiction, Historical Fantasy
Publisher: Cader Idris Press
Published: 2013-09-14T04:00:00+00:00

22

LONG, LONG AGO

North of Lintalee, Scotland — 1333

The day dawns in rare brilliance. A scattering of sunlight, bright as a welder’s torch, falls upon the forest floor surrounding Lintalee as our party heads out. The air is thick with the scent of pine needles being crushed beneath horses’ hooves.

The road — if it can be called that, for it’s nothing but a beaten dirt path — curves around massive tree trunks and crosses gurgling streams. This is old forest, ancient trees soaring to scrape the heavens. The deeper we go into it, the more the earth below is so scant of light that very little grows underneath. Birds sing unseen from the lacework of branches and small creatures scatter at our passing.

There are two dozen of us, most of them Alan’s men. Duncan leads at the front of the group with Alan, while Mariota and I ride side by side in the middle, surrounded by men who wear their armor as comfortably as their own skin. While the armor hasn’t proven to be nearly as hot or heavy as I expected, I still find it a far cry from a broken in pair of jeans and a well fitted T-shirt. Even if I’d been able to wear the clothes I’m used to, I wouldn’t have. The more I make an effort to fit in here, the fewer stares I’ll get.

With every snapped twig, my eyes dart through the undergrowth. I listen intently, my ears keened for the twang of a bowstring. Whenever the wind rushes through the leaves, I glance behind us, thinking it’s the rising rumble of hooves from an English ambush party. Duncan has taken pains to warn me of the possibility we could come under attack and instructed me in how to defend the womenfolk if that comes to pass. I figure both my first and final objectives are: don’t die — or at least avoid being maimed. I’d signed up for a fencing class during my freshman year of college, but during the first session my impulse whenever my opponent thrust his rapier at me was to roll up in a ball on the floor and cover my head with my hands. I quickly switched to bowling class. Me landing in a century where carrying around a length of steel is commonplace is a joke. I’m more likely to accidentally cut myself than intentionally harm someone else.

I hate to admit it, but when Archibald started to talk to me last night about collecting provisions and the organization of further raids into the north of England to gather cattle and sheep, I was thankful the task had been handed over to Alan. I want no part in planning for a war. I’m about as far from being militarily-minded as a guy can get. I’m a biologist. I’m constantly distracted by the range of flora and fauna around us, reciting genus and species in Latin in my head — Hyacinthoides non-scripta, Pinus sylvestris, Martes martes — whenever I’m not imagining enemy arrows whizzing through the air at my head.

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