Page 44 of No Place in Time

His eyes flicked to her face, then her lips. “Not at all. Here, let me help you with the next steps.”

His hand found her waist, steadying and guiding her closer. She had not been touched like this in more than a year. Not since Finn. The thought was unwelcome, but it came anyway. She drew a slow breath and stepped back from him.

“I think I’ve got it,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied. “You seem very sure of yourself now.”

When the dance ended, he released her and stepped back with a small bow, a smile playing on his lips.

“I hope you’ll forgive me if I claim another dance later.”

“I would not refuse it, my lord,” Cecily said with a curtsy.

His smile widened.

The rest of the evening passed in a whirl of motion, and Cecily danced till her feet ached.

Only later, as she settled into the carriage beside Stephen and the noise of the hall was behind them, did the quiet return.

Then another face intruded: dark eyes that pierced her, a voice that always rang true and never tried to impress. That kiss…

She leaned back against the seat, the warmth of the evening shattered. She wondered where Finn was and what he was doing.

If he’s alive, is he thinking of me, as I’m thinking of him?

The question followed her into the night, all the way home.

25

FINN

1298

Finn held the image of Cecily in his mind, like a talisman against having lost her twice.

He pictured her in Kent, waking to a quiet morning. Taking her breakfast in a warm hall, walking the corridors free of him, free of the danger he had brought into her life.

Earlier, watching the man beside him struggle to span his bow, Finn had reached over without thinking and adjusted the stirrup.

The man had looked at him sideways. “Guess ye’ve done this before.”

Finn’s boyhood spent training with weapons betrayed him. A sergeant had been watching. Within moments, Finn was at the front of the rise. The Scots formed tight formations beyond the marshy ground, dark figures bristling with spears. Finn sighted along the bolt and made himself breathe slowly.

This is not my war, he thought. I have no interest in killing Scots. But the bolt was in the bow, and the men around him were waiting. He had no choice.

He was grateful, at least, that she had her family now. They could keep her safe and provide the comforts she deserved. But would she forgive him for disappearing? Would she even want to see him again, once she learned the truth he’d been withholding? He had to believe so. When he reached her—when, not if—he would tell her. His real name was Griffin de Veyron.

He didn’t let himself think past that.

A ripple of movement passed through the front line. Sharp orders were being relayed down the formation.

A man behind him was grumbling. “The Scot William Wallace thinks spears will stop this.”

“Talkin’ ’bout freedom won’t stop the arrows from flyin’,” another replied.

The horn sounded.

“Loose on command,” the sergeant shouted.