Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Winnie watched warily as the knight approached her car at a steady trot. What on earth was this guy doing? Assuming it was a guy, of course. Did he work at the estate as some sort of cosplaying attraction, haunting the grounds at night? Was he simply a lunatic trespasser? Or had her car spun around in circles so fast that she really had traveled back in time?
She shook her head with a frown. She may be jetlagged beyond belief, but she was lucid enough to know that wasn’t possible. Still, he had to be a crazy-pants to be dressed like this while riding around in the rain, whatever his reasons. Either way, Winnie wasn’t about to stick around to find out what exactly those reasons were.
Shifting her car into first gear once more, she attempted to gently ease the Aston Martin out of the mud, but she didn’t move an inch forward as her car fishtailed again.
She growled in frustration, glancing up to see the knight almost upon her. In spite of her hesitations, she couldn’t deny what an epic view she was privy to, having a full-armored individual riding toward her with all the confidence of a crusader. His lance was upright, as rigid and firm as an evergreen, and his thick armor accentuated his shoulders and masculine posture. And while his face was hidden behind his helmet and visor, that merely added to his mysterious nature—a nature that screamed, “You can’t handle how legit I am riding atop my noble steed right now, can you?”
Truth be told, she couldn’t. She also couldn’t help but wonder if he was there to help her or to strike her with his lance. If only he’d ride right past her, that would solve all of her problems. And yet, as he continued in her direction, she knew she was stuck. There was nothing left to be done but sit and await her fate.
Fate. As if the guy was going to kill her. She really needed to chill.
Drawing deep, soothing breaths, she spoke to herself logically. She was tired, hungry, and stressed. Clearly, she wasn’t firing on all cylinders. If she was being honest with herself, the guy was probably harmless—just a little weird. Besides that, she was a grown woman, and she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Damsel in distress? Not Winnie Knox.
With strengthened resolve, she raised her chin and squared her shoulders, even though she still listened to the little voice of warning that urged her to lock her door—just in case.
The knight reached her car then, stopping his horse directly beside her on the road, his top half hidden by the roof of the Aston Martin until he lowered his lance to the ground beside him, dismounted, and faced her.
She peered past the raindrops speckling her window, his helmet still covering his features as he moved his fisted hand in a circular movement, motioning for her to roll down her window.
Maybe she hadn’t gone back a few hundred years. Maybe she’d just traveled back in time to the nineties. After all, that was the last time she’d been inside a car with the manual windows he was imitating.
Still, she got the picture.
With her index finger, she lowered the window a mere inch. “Hi,” she stated in an even voice. She’d always been good at hiding her true emotions.
“Arhg yhu habn chrbl?” the knight mumbled above her.
Was she supposed to have understood that? Feeling a bit braver, she lowered the window another inch, water droplets speckling her skirt and the interior armrest.
“Sorry,” she said, speaking over the loud splattering on the roof. “I can’t understand you with all”—she waved her hand in front of her face, then motioned to his helmet—“this.”
Finally, the knight got the hint. With the horse’s reins still in his hand, he reached up and unfastened his helmet with his free fingers, pulling it off his head. She leaned forward to finally see his face, but he turned just before she could.
He secured his helmet to the side of the saddle with a small buckle, then removed the chainmail and cover from his head, revealing thick, dark blond hair that curled in the rain.
Now more curious than ever, Winnie strained to see through the small slit she’d allotted herself in the window until finally, he turned around.
Well, hello, knight.
Aside from A Knight’s Tale , her only knowledge of knights came from old, unattractive drawings of disproportionate men from hundreds of years ago.
Heath Ledger was a pretty spectacular knight. The best, as far as she was concerned.
But this guy standing in front of her, staring at her with rain sliding down his masculine features and curling the ends of his blond hair? Well, he could hold a candle to Sir Ulrich von Liechtenstein and Sir William Thatcher.
All. Night. Long.
With an angled jaw covered in a perfect, dark blond beard—thick enough to not be patchy, thin enough to not be icky—the man was a veritable angel, his brow prominent and blue eyes striking.
Winnie was pretty sure she wasn’t in the medieval era. Nor was she in the nineties. Instead, she was dead and was now being welcomed to the other side by this messenger from heaven.
“I merely asked,” the man began again, this time far more clearly, “is the fair lady experiencing trouble with her emerald steed?”
Winnie blinked, not only at the sound of his deep, masculine tone—his English accent strong—but also because of his dialect. He had to be leaning really hard into this knight thing, right? Or was this really how he spoke all the time?
“Uh, no, I’m good,” she responded.
He didn’t say anything back as he peered down at her, a half-smile on his lips, moisture clinging to their smooth lines.
Wait. Did she just say she was good? She was far from “good.” What was her problem?
Clearing her throat, she looked away with heat in her cheeks. Obviously, her problem was losing her mind over a man, something a Knox should never do.
She’d just chalk it up to jetlag again.
“Oh, wait,” she began, “I guess I am having some trouble. My… emerald steed …got stuck in the mud.”
She motioned over her shoulder with a dart of her thumb, and he looked to where she signaled, then back to her. “You’re from the States?” he asked, his dialect disappearing.
“Oh, so you do speak normally?” she asked.
His lips curved into another smile. “Ah, forgive me, my lady. Your accent hath startled mine straight from my lips. I only meant to ask the fair lady if she hails from the…the former colonies.”
He’d hesitated, clearly trying to come up with the right words.
Winnie couldn’t help her growing amusement. He had to be an actor, and a charming one, at that.
“Do I have to respond in your way?” she asked, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Or will you understand my present-day tongue?”
He thought for a moment, then pressed his gauntleted hand on his armored chest. “I shall do my best to comprehend whatever leaveth thy lips, my lady. ”
Normally, Winnie didn’t enjoy theatrics. She didn’t really have time to participate in anything so frivolous. But for some reason, she didn’t mind how this conversation was playing out.
“In that case, yes,” she finally responded. “I am from the States.”
She lowered the window an inch more, fully aware of how judgmental she was for trusting the guy now that she saw how attractive he was.
“Thou art far from thy home,” he continued. “Might I ask what bringeth thee to ye olde England?”
Winnie hesitated. She wasn’t sure if Mr. Wintour had told his staff that he’d hired her. Employers typically brought on consultants in secret, as even the mere whisper of one of “her kind”—an outsider with typically limited knowledge of the company—sent people into a frenzy.
Either way, the knight had to be an employee himself, so a vague response would be her safest bet. “I’m just trying to find Foxwood Hall. I’ve been following the GPS, and it said I had arrived a few minutes ago, but I haven’t seen any estate yet. There wasn’t a signpost or anything either, so I have no idea if I’m going in the right direction or not.”
“Ah,” he said, peering up the road. “What a conundrum.”
He wiped the rain from his face, then slicked his hair back with his gloved fingers. His armor clanked in protest with his movements, but Winnie wasn’t about to complain, his features more visible now more than ever. Straight nose. Smile lines near his eyes. Ridges in his neck. Was he really as broad-shouldered and barrel-chested as his armor suggested?
“I fear I have no notion as to what this GPS contraption is that thou speakest of,” he continued, “but I do believe my knightly intuition can help thee yet. The grand estate of Foxwood is just yonder, past the trees and final bends of the pathway. Thou shouldst arrive in a matter of moments, what with the speed of thy emerald steed. ”
Another smile stretched across Winnie’s lips. He was entirely too charming.
“Well, that’s a relief,” she responded, looking at the road ahead of her instead of the angle of his jawline. “And am I to expect more of your… kind at the estate? I’d really love to know if I’ve been transported to the eighteenth century after all.”
His eyes shone in the dimming light, his chin slightly ducking as his brow raised. “Did the fair lady mean to say the eighth century?”
He winked, and heat crawled into Winnie’s cheeks at her mistake. Frankly, she was so tired, she wasn’t even sure what year it was now , let alone when knights existed. Could she be blamed for the fact?
“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” she lied, raising her chin and willing the warmth in her face to depart. “I guess I was just confused with a knight from the eighth century knowing about the former colonies ,” she challenged, referring to his words from earlier.
His amused gaze lessened her embarrassment. “Ah, right you are, my lady,” he said. “It would appear that I have made a mistake myself. I must beg thy forgiveness, then, if I have offended thee with my correction.”
Winnie didn’t like to be corrected, but that charming smile of his swiftly swept away the last of her wounded pride. “Apology accepted,” she stated.
His eyes lingered on her for a moment, studying her in silence before he spoke again. “Being the noble knight that I am, my lady, I fear I must inform thee that even if thou dost make it to the estate, Foxwood does not typically accept guests during so late an hour as this.”
Winnie swiped at the water still dripping onto her armrest. That was just what she needed—damage to the inside of the sports car. “Thank you for the warning, but I’m actually expected tonight.”
His eyes narrowed. “Art thou? ”
“Yep,” she stated simply, unwilling to give him more information. “I guess it doesn’t really matter if I’m expected or not, though, since, you know, I’m kinda stuck here.”
Most obvious hint ever.
Fortunately, the knight caught onto it as his eyes returned to the back of the car. “Ah, yes. Of course. I pray thou wilt excuse my lack of proper language now, as I’ve grown weary of finding the correct words in reference to thy steed.” He cleared his throat, his accent shifting to a more modern-day English. “Was the road overly slippy?”
Slippy? Didn’t he mean slippery ? She would have corrected him had she thought it would do either of them any good. “Yeah, I think I hit a puddle,” she lied, avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t about to admit that her spinout was due to speeding. “I tried to drive out of the mud, but it just seemed to make me sink deeper. I don’t think I’m going to be able to push myself out either, unfortunately.”
“No, I don’t suppose so,” he said, still looking at the wheels. “I’ll check it out for you. See how stuck it really is.”
“Would you? I’d really appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He gave a single nod, retrieved his lance from the ground as easy as one lifted a toothpick, then made his way to the back of the car, clearly shifting from theatrical knight to modern-day man with a problem to solve.
Winnie didn’t mind whatever type of guy he chose to be—just so long as he kept that swagger up. She watched in the rearview and sideview mirrors as he walked around the back of the car, his armored shoulders swaying from side to side with each step he took. He rested his lance against a tree nearby, tied his horse to a thick branch, then hunkered down behind the Aston Martin.
Winnie pursed her lips together, straining to see more of him in the mirror, but with the man out of view, she settled back down in her seat with a sigh, rolling up her window and catching sight of his large, black horse instead .
The gelding was stunning. She’d always wanted one like him growing up. Dark and glistening and powerful. But that dream had dissolved a long, long time ago.
The car rocked back and forth, and her head bobbed a bit with the motion. She shifted her attention to the knight in the mirror, whose top half had finally reappeared behind the car. Despite his efforts, the Aston Martin didn’t budge.
After another moment, he returned to her side. She rolled down her window halfway as he approached.
“Yeah, it’s fairly stuck,” he said. “But if you drive a bit forward while I push, I think we can manage just fine.”
His accent, while distinctly British, had a roguish twinge to it, a little rougher round the edges than a typical English accent, with the vowels sounding slightly more clipped in some places while elongated in others.
She preferred it to the posh-sounding knightly accent from before.
“I can do that,” she responded.
He made for the back of the car again, but when she caught sight of his hands, she paused, calling after him. “Oh, wait.”
He stopped, looking at her over his shoulder.
“Will you make sure to be careful?” She motioned to his gloved hands, the gauntlets covering half of them. “This is a rental, so I don’t really want it to get scratched.”
He peered down at his gloves, then gave her an amused look. “I would never dream of injuring thy steed, my lady,” he said, then he walked away without another word, his armor clanking with every step.
Winnie’s brow pulled together. Her request hadn’t been that ridiculous. What did he want her to do, accept thousands of dollars’ worth of damage to a car that wasn’t hers? Worse than that would be the lecture she’d receive from Dad.
“Were you driving recklessly, Winnie? You really need to pay closer attention to things.”
Bleh. Nothing was worse for a twenty-eight-year-old woman .
She glanced at him in her rearview mirror again, the taillights glinting red on his wet armor, and she once again shook her head in slight bewilderment. Was this really happening right now? Was she really being rescued by a knight in shining armor?
She caught sight of him waving his hand in the mirror, signaling for her to move forward, so she shifted into first gear, placed her high-heeled foot on the gas pedal, and eased slowly forward.
Unfortunately, the water from the open window had pooled near her feet, so when she pressed down on the gas, her heel slid forward, and her engine revved to life.
She gasped, the moment lasting only a second as she instantly slammed on the brakes, but she knew what the result was of her slip-up.
Sure enough, as she glanced in the mirror, she saw clear as day the mud striped across the knight’s face and even more of it strewn across his metal shoulders and dripping from the tips of his hair.
Oops.
Winnie rolled down the window. “Sorry!” she called out. “My foot slipped.”
“No problem,” came the knight’s strained voice from behind the car. “Just a little slower this time.”
She nodded, trying again on his signal, this time easing gently into the pedal.
Slowly, the car shifted back and forth with the help of the knight, the vehicle inching forward until the back wheels finally caught, and the Aston Martin—her trusty emerald steed—escaped the clutches of the mud.
Winnie breathed a sigh of relief, setting the car in park with all four wheels securely on the road. Now she wouldn’t have to walk in her heels and pencil skirt to the doors of Foxwood and embarrass herself further with a lovely wet-dog look.
She glanced in the rearview mirror, expecting the knight—she really needed to find out his name—to come up to her car and send her off, but he had moved to his horse instead.
She hesitated. As much as she didn’t want to step foot in this rain, she also didn’t want to appear ungrateful to the guy, especially if he was an employee and she would be working directly above him.
And he had done her a solid.
She pulled her umbrella out of her bag, opened the door, then popped the canopy up before stepping out into the rain and closing the door behind her. A few drops pelted against her as she adjusted her skirt and walked swiftly toward the knight, his back to her.
Her heels clicked against the road as she sidestepped the muddy tracks her tires had left behind, then she stopped at the edge of the mud, waiting for him to face her. When he didn’t, she raised her voice above the sound of the rain.
“Thank you for your help,” she called out, trying to make this quick. The waiting Mr. Wintour was more important.
Finally, the knight turned. Instead of the shining armor from before, dark mud splayed out across his front, a few dots still speckling his brow as he tried to wipe the muck from his face with his wet gloves.
She winced. “I did that, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” he said over his shoulder, still not looking at her. “I fear that thou hast been the cause of my less than desirable appearance. But worry not. ’Tis nothing a little rain cannot be rid of.”
He finally sent her a smile, but it faltered as his eyes traveled the length of her, returning to her face with a lingering gaze. After another moment, he blinked, then averted his stare altogether.
Winnie was no stranger to being checked out. The men she’d worked with in New York stared at any woman with legs and a head. What she wasn’t used to, however, was a man looking away as fast as this guy did. He looked almost embarrassed for being caught staring.
Why was that more flattering than being ogled?