“Okay, what?”
“I get it,” she answered softly but somehow uncertainly. “I’ll move into Lacybourne.”
“I wasn’t asking.” He felt it necessary to inform her.
Finally, she let go of whatever was troubling her and her lips twitched. “I know. You’re very bossy. I’ve decided that it’s better if I move in with you. If I live at Lacybourne, I’ll have more time to break you of that bad habit.”
He smiled at her before he warned, his head descending, “I wouldn’t count on it.”
* * * * *
He had another good reason for her moving into Lacybourne.
He could not shake his unease that Mrs. Byrne was right.
And he didn’t want Sibyl going anywhere until he was certain she was safe.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Good Kind. And the Bad.
Sibyl woke in a bed that felt strange beneath her. It was feather-soft, had no firmness and the sheets were slightly scratchy.
Her eyes flew open and she realised she wasn’t in Colin’s bed, she wasn’t in any bed she’d ever seen before.
And Colin wasn’t there.
She jumped out of the bed thinking to see Bran or Mallory but neither was in sight. There was also no elegant furniture in the room, indeed, although the room was grand, it looked slightly rough and definitely strange.
She was someplace she’d never been.
Even though she knew, somehow, she was in Lacybourne.
Her hands went to her hair which she found was plaited in a thick braid down her back.
She flipped the braid around to the front and stared at it.
Colin’s hair, nearly dark as black.
She stared down at her nightgown and it was old-fashioned and prim.
She was in a different time.
She was in Royce’s time.
“Oh my goddess,” she murmured.
Her eyes frantically searched the room and she found a soft, blue wrapper thrown across the back of a chair. She grabbed it and shoved her arms into the sleeves as she ran from the room and down the hall toward Colin’s room which she prayed silently to the goddess had also been Royce’s room.
She threw open the door and startled a maid who was making the bed.
The maid’s eyes rounded in surprise and she stared.
“Miss Beatrice,” she breathed.
Sibyl didn’t know what to say. Goddess, she wished she’d listened to her father more closely. How did one talk medieval?
There was nothing for it, Sibyl would have to bluff it.
“Where’s your master?”
She must have said the right thing because the woman’s face melted knowingly. “He’s…” Her eyes dropped to Sibyl’s body. “But you’re not dressed.”
Sibyl looked down at herself knowing it was most likely not seemly that she was running around in her nightclothes but she didn’t care. Time was of the essence.
“I need to see, um… Sir Royce right away.”
She felt like an idiot but she didn’t care about that either. At any moment, she could wake up.
“But Miss Beatrice…”
“Where is he?” she cried desperately.
The woman jumped at her tone which was obviously something with which, coming from Beatrice, she was not familiar. Then she spoke. “He’s at his meal in the Hall.”
She said more but Sibyl didn’t hear her. She flew down the corridor like the very devil was at her heels and then bounded down the stairs. Finally, she skidded to a halt, seeing the used dishes on the table… but no Royce.
She stomped her foot.
“Blooming hell!” she said in more than mild exasperation.
“Beatrice?”
His deep, smooth, velvet voice came from her right and she whirled.
Royce, standing straight and beautiful in one of the two semi-circular windows, was watching her with obvious amusement. His hair shown gold and was breathtaking in the sun pouring in from the window and she wondered if her own looked like that when hit by the sun’s rays.
“Royce,” she whispered then she flew right to him and regardless of her relief at finding him, she stopped a foot away and exploded, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
He grinned down at her. Without giving any sign he noticed she’d just yelled in his face, he lifted a hand and traced his finger softly down her jaw.
“I see, no matter that we will be wed this day, you are still not capable of a pleasing morning humour.
Her eyes widened and her brows shot up. “We’re getting married today?”
His grin immediately turned teasing. “You forgot?”
“No, yes… I…” she stammered and his grin broadened into a knowing smile.
“I should not be surprised you would forget, you forget many things, my Beatrice, but our wedding day? You wound me,” he joked, taking his finger from her jaw to put his hand to his heart in mock injury.
This was just too weird and he was being too sweet. But Sibyl didn’t have time to process Royce’s effective teasing, she had things to say, things to do so she charged on. “We don’t have time for this, we have to…”
But she stopped speaking when he leaned forward unexpectedly and reached around her then she felt a soft, deft yank at the back of her head.
“I do not like this,” he muttered, his hand coming back around and he held a pale blue ribbon in front of her face. He dropped it and she had to swiftly throw up her hands to catch it as his reached back around and she felt him uncoiling her braid.
Good goddess, just like Colin.
Her knees went weak.
“Royce,” she whispered.
His eyes, which were looking over her shoulder, moved to hers and at the look in them she felt herself holding her breath. “Beatrice?”
She didn’t know what to do, what to say. Would he remember her from the future?
She couldn’t count on that.
She had to pretend to be Beatrice.
And she had to work fast.
As he arranged her heavy hair around her shoulders, he murmured, “Better,” as if to himself.
“We have to go upstairs,” she whispered because his eyes had warmed and she definitely knew what that meant and she thought it best to press her advantage while she had one.
His grin turned wicked but his hand dropped and took hers, lifting it to his mouth, he pressed a kiss against her fingers. And through this, never once did his eyes leave hers.
“You are very impatient, my sweet,” he murmured. “We can wait; it will only be a few…”
“No!” she cried. “We have to go now, upstairs, you and me, now. There isn’t much time.”