Castaways in Time (The After Cilmeri Series) (7 page)

“Do you really think so?” Had the last
months gone so awry and unrest swelled among the populace to such
an extent that Valence was right? How had they not noticed?

“Of course not,” Edmund said. “I didn’t say
this was true, only that Valence believes it.”

Bronwen shook herself, casting off doubt as
reason reasserted itself. “How could he possibly think that the
people would rise up and support him? He’s not even English. And
when he served King Edward, most of your fellow Normans didn’t like
him.”

“‘Hatred’ might not be too strong a word for
what some of us felt about him,” Edmund said.

“He’s been listening to the wrong people,”
Ieuan said, “people who tell him what he wants to hear instead of
the truth.”

“I hope you’re right,” Bronwen said.

“King David was hailed as king by the people
of London and by his barons,” Edmund said. “He was crowned by the
Archbishop of Canterbury himself. While some lords may have gotten
more than they’d bargained for when they agreed he should be king,
he has done nothing to arouse the wrath of his people. They love
him.”

“He
has
cleaned things up a bit,”
Bronwen said, doubt still in her voice. “Some haven’t liked
that.”

“Corrupt officials never like to be removed
from office,” Edmund said. “He has the sheriffs in his purse, along
with the merchants, and, if I may say so without offending, the
heart of every woman from Dover to Chester to York. As long as that
is true, he has England.”

Bronwen nodded, somewhat reassured. That
women loved David was hardly surprising. Not only was he tall,
well-built, and good-looking, but he’d established policies about
subjects women cared about, from education to medicine to domestic
violence, an issue about which no English king had ever had a
policy. A Welsh woman had a right to divorce her husband if he beat
her. Now, with David’s rule, an English woman did too. The church
might not like it, but church and state were not the same thing in
David’s reign.

In addition, David had summoned his sheriffs
and castellans to him at midsummer, after Arthur’s birth. The
meeting had gotten off to a rocky start because many of the
sheriffs had believed David’s intent was to either fire them or
coerce them. They feared that anyone who failed to toe the line
would find himself in prison or missing his head.

With the help of John de Falkes, the
castellan of Carlisle Castle, David had eventually convinced them
that what he really wanted was to know what everyone thought—about
any topic they cared to discuss. The fact that Falkes walked free,
despite having imprisoned David and Ieuan once upon a time, went a
long way towards persuading them of the king’s sincerity.

“Perhaps Valence will garrison Winchester
and come no further,” Bronwen said.

“That would be best for us, but less so for
the people there,” Edmund said. “Bishop John has not been what I
might call a friend, but neither has he been an enemy. He truly
seems to care about the welfare of his flock and has no further
aspirations beyond the office he currently holds.”

That was so rare it actually seemed likely.
“And Winchester’s sheriff?” Bronwen said.

“Ingeramus de Waleys.” Ieuan laughed. “I
can’t make head or tail of his name, but he seemed to be a solid
enough fellow when I met him in July.”

“We’ll see what kind of mettle he has when
he sees Valence’s army advancing on the city.” Edmund said. One of
his men approached, and Edmund acknowledged his presence with a
raised hand. The man stopped, waiting for Edmund to complete his
conversation with Ieuan and Bronwen.

“I’ll let you go,” Ieuan said. “We meet in
council in one hour.”

Edmund put his heels together and gave first
Ieuan, and then Bronwen, a quick bow. “I will be there.”

Edmund turned away, and Ieuan put an arm
around Bronwen’s shoulders. “We will need you and your healers
and—” He waved his free hand, “—whatever you’ve come up with.”

“Anna and I will do our best, but we’re not
ready for a war.”

“The men will appreciate any aid you can
give them,” Ieuan said. “Just having so many healers in one place
is a blessing. I understand the herbarium is fully stocked.”

“It is.” Bronwen canted her head, thinking
about the exchange between Ieuan and Edmund at the end of their
conversation. “Who’s in charge of David’s forces: Edmund or
Math?”

Ieuan’s expression was rueful. “You wound me
to the core, wife.” Then he laughed to show he didn’t mean it. “It
would surprise you, then, to learn that
I
am?”

September, 2017

Cassie

C
assie and Callum
had only been married since June, but in the few months they’d been
together, she’d prodded him for information about his former life.
She knew about his past girlfriends, about his crush on one of his
co-workers, Natasha, and the more nefarious workings of his former
employer. Or seemingly,
current
employer.

Callum had joined MI-5 after returning from
the war in Afghanistan. It had seemed a natural progression for him
to move from soldier to agent. Many of his fellow agents had a
military background. He knew how to follow orders and to give them,
and for the most part, he felt that he fit right in. If nothing
else, he viewed it as another way to serve his country. It gave him
a focus, too, while he figured out how to cope with the onset of
PTSD (Post-traumatic Stress Disorder), a result of his service in
Afghanistan.

Callum’s arrival in medieval Wales last
November had exposed the extent to which he hadn’t dealt with it.
By the time Cassie had met him, however, he’d begun to conquer his
demons. And in the last few months, he’d grown into his role as the
Earl of Shrewsbury, a leader of men, and one of David’s chief
advisors. She would never assume that returning to the twenty-first
century would send him into a tailspin, even though she feared this
world was going to crush
her
. But she was still surprised at
the rapidity with which, in the half hour they were on the
coastguard cutter, Callum transformed himself from the Earl of
Shrewsbury into an MI-5 agent.

The cutter motored up to the long dock at
one of the marinas, in deep enough water that it could moor safely;
ships far larger than this—a thousand times larger—were moored in
the industrial part of the harbor across the bay. Officer Timmons
gestured that the three of them should follow him, and he led them
to a gangway, which extended from the ship to the dock. A man and a
woman waited for them at the other end.

When Callum lifted a hand to them, they
responded in kind. Cassie supposed the woman had to be Natasha, and
if so, it showed Callum’s good taste in women (herself
notwithstanding). Natasha wore her dark hair pulled back from her
face in a bun, but kept the hair around her cheeks loose. She had
dark eyes, high cheekbones, and olive skin. If the sun shone a
little more in England, her complexion might have been as dark as
Cassie’s.

Callum went first across the gangway,
followed by Cassie and then David. The water lapped twenty feet
below their feet, and Cassie averted her eyes, not liking the
height and the low railing. When Callum reached the end of the
walkway and the concrete pier, he halted so abruptly that Cassie
almost ran into him. He put an arm behind his back, reaching for
her hand, which he grasped and squeezed once. “Wait a second.”

David spoke from behind her, “Callum, what’s
up—?” But then he broke off before finishing his question. Fifty
yards away, on their side of the chain link fence that separated
the parking lot—or ‘car park’ in Callum-speak—from the road beyond,
the doors of a black van opened, and five men in full riot gear and
automatic weapons spilled out of it.

“What’s going on, Natasha?” Callum said. “I
explained when I phoned you—”

“Yes, you did, and that’s why they’re here,”
Natasha said. “Thames House has some concerns.” Located in London,
Thames House was the head office for MI-5.

“I’m sure they do.” Callum stood at the end
of the ramp, watching the men, and not letting Cassie or David past
him.

“It looks like they have more than
some
concerns,” said David under his breath.

“Are we under arrest?” Cassie said.

“We ask that you come with us,” said the man
standing next to Natasha. “There is no need for alarm.”

“We already said we would come, Driscoll.”
Callum still filled the space at the end of the gangway completely.
He held his shoulders stiff, and his hands were clenched into
fists. He wasn’t giving an inch, and Cassie wondered how long he
was going to stand there waiting for Natasha to bend.

“You were right, Cassie,” David said. “We
should have run.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if I’d been wrong.”
Cassie looked down at the water. If push came to shove, it could
offer an uncomfortable way out.

“Don’t.” David caught her hand at the wrist.
“We’ll get through this.” Then he raised his voice to project
forward. “It’s okay, Callum.”

“It isn’t,” Callum said.

Cassie patted Callum on the back to indicate
her support and encouragement.

David reached past her to nudge him too. “We
can do as they say for now. Their response isn’t totally
unexpected, given what happened with my mom and dad last
winter.”

“But it is unwarranted.” Callum finally
stepped towards Natasha, looming over her so that he blocked the
sun and she stood in his shadow.

Callum meant to intimidate Natasha, and she
wilted under his gaze, glancing down at her feet for a moment. Then
Driscoll cleared his throat, and Natasha straightened her
shoulders. “We mean you no harm, Callum.”

“You might not,” Callum said, “but forgive
me if I have reason to believe, given the army you brought with
you, that others do.”

Driscoll cleared his throat again. “If you
could simply come this way—” He gestured towards a large black SUV
parked next to the van the riot team had come in, “—all will be
well. You’ll see.”

Callum let out a sharp breath. “Damn it,
Driscoll—”

Driscoll kept a half-smile on his face, not
responding to Callum’s anger. Callum cursed under his breath again
and then reached behind him to take Cassie’s hand. He tugged her
forward. “This is my wife, Cassie. Cassie, I’d like you to meet
Natasha Clark and John Driscoll, my colleagues from the Security
Service.”

Cassie stuck out her free hand, opting to be
polite, though she couldn’t say she really meant it. “It’s nice to
meet you.”

To her credit, Natasha didn’t hesitate and
clasped Cassie’s hand in a strong shake. “Lovely to meet you too.
I’m sorry about all this.”

“I’m sure you’re just doing your job,”
Cassie said.

Callum sent Cassie a sharp look, but she
plastered a smile on her face. Then David stuck out his hand to
Natasha, who hadn’t even looked at him yet. It appeared to Cassie
to be a snub, which was odd since David was the reason they were
all here in the first place. “I’m David.”

“I know.” Natasha shook his hand too. She
looked like she was going to say something more, but then she bit
her lip and kept it back. Too many people weren’t saying what they
were thinking for Cassie’s comfort. That had been a normal state of
affairs growing up in her family, but Cassie had become good at
reading the nonverbal cues they used. These English people were
much harder to gauge.

David, for his part, kept on going. “I
understand that you are at least partially acquainted with my
mother, Meg?” He said this with an almost-feral smile, which
Natasha didn’t seem to appreciate since she just jerked her head in
a nod.

Callum barked a laugh.

Cassie appreciated David’s cynicism, but for
her part, she couldn’t even marshal a partial smile. A sick pit had
formed in her stomach. During the five years she’d lived in
Scotland, she’d thought about little else but returning to the
modern world, but this wasn’t going at all like she’d dreamed it
might. When she met Callum, she’d told him that she wasn’t resigned
to staying in the Middle Ages. The urgency had waned since then,
however, and she hadn’t wanted to come here today.

Nor had David. Natasha had shaken his hand
politely enough, but she seemed oblivious to how important a person
he really was. In the course of the last fifteen minutes, Cassie
had come to understand better why David had been determined to
return to the Middle Ages as soon as he could when he’d come here
the last time, and why he was more than a little annoyed to have
their journey to Ireland interrupted. He’d had a plan, and now that
plan was going to be continuing without him. Or more likely, it was
going to fail.

David couldn’t stay in the twenty-first
century. He had a family and a job to do. Unfortunately, these
British secret agents had the look of people who might have the
ability to stop him from doing it.

Few walks had ever seemed as long as the one
from the dock to the SUV. They weren’t physically constrained, but
agents penned them in and had closed off all the exits. Callum’s
teeth were clenched together, and he had a grim set to his face
that Cassie hadn’t seen since they were in Scotland and he’d had to
convince a hall full of Scottish noblemen to listen to his plan for
their future. She could practically see the gears churning in his
mind, trying to figure out a way to turn what was happening to
their advantage. Cassie couldn’t see it herself.

This was the first time she’d been to modern
Wales; she’d never left her half of the planet before she
time-traveled to Scotland on Meg’s coattails. Other than the fact
that both she and Natasha spoke English—or a variant of it—she
couldn’t see how they could have anything in common or how she was
going to be of any help to Callum in navigating the next few hours.
This was far worse than when she’d ridden with Callum to Stirling
Castle and been overwhelmed by the expectations of the Scottish
noblemen. The feeling of helplessness grew stronger with every
minute that passed.