The Briton and the Dane: Timeline

Book 5: The Briton and the Dane

by Mary Ann Bernal

Genres: Action & Adventure; Historical Fiction; Medieval Romance; Time Travel Romance; Suspense

Synopsis

Dr. Gwyneth Franger, a renowned expert in early medieval England, is set upon learning the truth about the death of Lord Erik, the last descendant of the powerful House of Wareham. Her quest becomes an obsession, a condition that began with the discovery of a portrait of the tall and valiant warrior. Digesting troves of mildewed scrolls and source documentation only enhances her belief that Lord Erik was brutally assassinated by a cabal of traitors in the pay of William the Bastard, shortly before the onslaught of the Norman Invasion.

On an archeological dig in Southern England, Dr. Franger finds herself transported back to the Dark Ages and at the side of the noble Lord Erik who commands an army of elite Saxon warriors. Witnessing the unrest firsthand, Gwyneth senses that her instincts had been right all along, and she is determined to learn the identities of the treacherous blackguards hiding in the shadows, villains who may well be posing as Lord Erik's friends and counselors.

Gwyneth knows it is wrong to stop the assassins, but isn't sure she can find the strength to walk away and watch her beloved Erik die. Will she intervene, change the course of history and wipe out an entire timeline to save the man she loves?

Release date: January 29, 2014

Publisher: Whispering Legends Press

Print pages: 220

Sample

Chapter One

 Gwyneth stared out the window while the passengers found their seats aboard the aircraft.  She was not surprised to find herself alone in First Class, the cost being ridiculously high for such a short flight.  She did not care about the price, preferring the solitude since she needed to think.

It was not even twenty-four hours since Malcolm had kissed her, yet she could still feel his lips pressing hers as they had done so many times before, but in another lifetime.  It was alarming, this feeling of déjà vu.  Her body tingled when remembering the intimacy, an intimacy not yet shared in this century, and she began to question her sanity.

An obsessive love for a man who died almost a thousand years ago was delusional.  Gwyneth knew it, yet she could not deny her feelings.  Something, or someone, was driving her, calling her to determine the truth.  But a riddle that had been lost through the ages, a meager reference in a history book would be difficult to solve, yet she was determined to try.

Gwyneth rubbed her fingers over her lips, her mind’s eye seeing the shadow of the man who had kissed her, a kiss that had awakened the fire burning within her soul.  Was it Lord Erik or Malcolm that had held her in his arms?  She could still feel his touch, his breath on her neck while he proclaimed his love in whispers beneath the moonlight.  But she and Malcolm had been in her office, and there had been a storm.

“Please fasten your seatbelts,” came over the intercom, interrupting Gwyneth’s thoughts.

The aircraft was in the air moments later, but Gwyneth kept looking at the window, seeing her reflection in the glass, a silhouette shrouded in the past.  Had Lord Erik been with his king when he died on that fateful October day, or had he been murdered before he and his army could join the battle, a battle that might have thwarted the Norman invasion?

In addition to the Norman bastard, there had been another contender for the throne, the Norwegian king.  Harald and William, enemies of the Anglo-Saxon king, were unscrupulous and cunning.  Either one of them could have ordered Lord Erik’s death, which would have had dire consequences for the king since there was no heir.  Without a smooth transition of hereditary title, it would take too long to amass the numbers needed to swell the king’s army.

“We are making our final descent and will be on the ground shortly.  Kindly return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts,” came over the intercom.

Gwyneth peered through the glass as she looked for the familiar fortress ruins as the plane approached the runway.  She had booked lodgings in the village rather than in the city, which would give her more time to visit the excavation.  She always hated the end of the season when the site would be shut down for the winter months.  There was so much to be learned, but resources were limited.  Fortunately, Malcolm was charismatic and persuasive and would without a doubt, convince Viscount Beaumont to fund her expedition for another year or two.

First Class passengers were the first to disembark, which meant that Gwyneth would be halfway through the terminal before her fellow travelers left their seats.  She collected her luggage and proceeded to the exit, hailing a taxi as she stepped out the door.

The driver remembered Gwyneth, having driven her on many occasions over the summer months.  After engaging in small talk, he left her to her own thoughts.  She appreciated being left to herself as she closed her eyes and envisioned Lord Erik’s portrait.  She could feel him watching her, following her every move, and she knew something extraordinary was about to happen.

The lobby was empty when she walked into the quaint building, a replica of an Anglo-Saxon lodging, which also happened to be her favorite inn.

“Dr. Franger, it is so good to have you back,” Edna Harris said.  “Will you be having dinner with us this evening?”

“I would prefer to eat in my room if I may.  I seem to be unusually tired.”

“That is understandable, the tiredness,” Edna replied as she beckoned the night porter to escort Gwyneth to her quarters.

As soon as Gwyneth was alone, she pulled the drapes back and stepped onto the patio, her eyes transfixed upon the solitary Keep that had been miraculously preserved.  The radiant red and orange hues of twilight, coupled with the distant sound of waves breaking against the rocky shore, added to the mystique of the crumbling walls.  She suppressed the urge to climb the tower before darkness set in.  She wanted to glance upon the beach, just as Lord Erik would have done in another lifetime.

Fortunately, a gentle tapping on the door kept her from acting impulsively.  She smiled at the night porter as he pushed the cart inside the room.

“Ham, peas, pudding, honeyed cakes, and a cup of mead, Dr. Franger.”

“Tell Mrs. Harris I am delighted with her choice,” Gwyneth replied as he left.

Gwyneth sipped the intoxicating brew, sitting on the settee as a soft sea breeze caressed her face.  She closed her eyes, dreaming of a past she had never shared with the one man who held her heart.

“I will discover the truth,” she thought.

“I know you will,” whispered the wind.

***

The drapes billowed in a sudden gust of wind, flapping wildly in the darkened room.  Gwyneth slept restlessly as visions of past events mingled with the present.  It was Erik or was it Malcolm?  His words were but a whisper, calling her to join him atop the Keep.  She sat upright, shivering as she looked through the open balcony doors.  A dense fog had floated over the earth, blanketing the ruins on the hill.

Gwyneth, wearing a white night dress embroidered with Celtic knots, put on the matching robe and stood on the terrace, enthralled by the distant shadows moving along the citadel, as if warriors were patrolling the wall-walk in the dead of night. She stepped onto the grass, thanking God that she had the foresight to take a room on the ground floor as she walked towards the fortress.

The melodious sound of waves crashing against the cliff echoed in the distance, becoming louder as she reached the clearing. The wind whipped around her, lifting the fog along the forgotten path as Gwyneth quickened her pace.

“I am waiting for you.  You must hurry,” whispered the wind.

Moonbeams filtered through the sea mist, shedding light on the pathway she knew so well.  Gwyneth looked at the tower, but she stopped suddenly when she recognized the lone figure watching her every move.

“Run, Gwyneth, there is little time,” whispered the wind.

The moon was fully covered, hidden in the darkened sky, and Gwyneth was veiled by the dense fog.  She counted her steps as she had done so many times before during the summer months.  The sound of the breaking waves roared, shaking the ground as the angry sea pounded the rocky cliff.  Gale force winds pushed her forward, causing her to run faster.  Ribbon lightning flashed in the heavens, the electric discharge crackling throughout the eerie night, brightening the pathway as she ran towards the ruins of the main gate. Hurricane-speed winds strengthened, howling in her ear as she was thrust forward.  The sea mist left its brine upon her lips, the salty pellets stinging her eyes.

Gwyneth was almost at the main gate when dark lightning exploded across the sky, discharging a thunderous cloud directly above the citadel.  The noise was deafening, reminding her of an erupting volcano.  The ground moved beneath her, the earth quaking from the magnitude, the wind stirred by the blast.  She was no longer in control as the tempest tossed her into the air, swirling her about as if she were a rag doll. Gwyneth became lightheaded when the forceful gusts flung her above the main gate.  She was blinded by dust particles, and her breathing was labored as she was carried higher and higher into the darkness that cloaked the massive fortress.

Dark lightning discharged quickly, splitting the threatening storm cloud.  Within seconds, the gale force winds abated, and Gwyneth was thrown to the ground inside the massive stronghold.  Nature’s fury dissipated, the dense fog lifting as silvery moonbeams filtered through feathery clouds and stars sparkled in the evening sky.

Gwyneth laid on the ground, moving her limbs carefully, fearing broken bones.

“You survived unscathed,” she thought as she thanked God for her deliverance.

There were men speaking directly above as the warriors patrolled the wall-walk.  Gwyneth could hear them as she stood up and rubbed the dust from her eyes.  She looked at her clothing, expecting to see tattered remnants of her lovely night dress, and was amazed that everything was intact.  Not even her hair was disheveled, and her anxiety heightened.  Someone, or something, had protected her, and a cold shiver ran up her spine.  She suppressed the uneasiness, believing in Divine Intervention. She may not understand what was happening, but she would not be afraid because the forces controlling her fate were not evil.

Gwyneth finally glanced at the fog-veiled Keep, her disappointment evident at not being able to see him.  He had to be there.  She had seen his silhouette.  It was him, she knew it in her heart.

“My lady,” the tower guard said.  “Is something wrong?”

“No, I am fine,” Gwyneth replied, somewhat surprised by her casual response.  “I thought Erik might be here.”

“I believe he awaits you in the chapel.”

“It must be the wine.”

“My lady?” The tower guard asked, somewhat perplexed.  “I would be pleased to escort you if you are unwell.”

“You are too kind, but it is not necessary. It is just that...” Gwyneth stammered.

“I understand,” the tower guard interrupted.  “My wife was also flustered on the day we wed.”

“Thank you, Wynstan.  It is Wynstan, is it not?”

“My lady, I am honored you remember my name.”

“And your child?”

“A lovely lass, born yesterday.”

“Tell your wife I shall visit.  I cannot wait to see your daughter.”

“Edlynn will be so pleased, my lady,” Wynstan told her.

“Thank you, again,” Gwyneth said as she left the friendly tower guard.

Gwyneth walked through the deserted courtyard while thinking of her conversation with Wynstan.  How did she know his name?  She had never seen him before, at least she did not think so, but he had seen her, that much was evident.  It was another déjà vu encounter, which made her flesh crawl.  She felt like someone recovering from amnesia, when past events are suddenly made clear, and two memories merge into one.

And did she not know the story?  She had dreamed it so many times before.  The marriage, the child, the battle.  But whatever was happening was real, and she was terrified, but only momentarily, because she did not lack courage.  Besides, what was the worst thing that could happen - death?

Gwyneth glanced at the Keep periodically as the fog lifted.  She loved the solitude and the view, having spent many a summer’s night atop the tower.  How could she forget that exquisite scenery?  The sea and the surrounding woodland, so beautiful, and mesmerizing.  She was fascinated by God’s handiwork, which is why she remained for hours on end on those balmy nights, lost to her thoughts as she remembered Lord Richard and his children living within these very walls.

“There you are,”  Father Gerard said.  “Where have you been?  Erik is worried as am I.”

“Forgive me, Father.  I was...”

“Atop the Keep,” Father Gerard interrupted.

“I did not realize it was so late,” Gwyneth lied, “and Erik was in council.”

“It is of no importance ... you are here now,” Father Gerard said as he led her into the chapel where Erik waited.

Gwyneth stepped through the door, her eyes sparkling as she gazed upon Erik who had been praying before the altar.  She wanted to run into his arms, but controlled her impetuous nature. She had dreamed of being married, but now, it was actually happening.  She was flesh and blood as was everyone else, and these images were not figments of the imagination. She was almost upon him when he arose and faced her.

“I thought that you were not coming, that you had changed your mind,” Erik whispered while taking her hand and kissing the tip of her fingers.

“I am at fault,” Gwyneth said, “and I beg your forgiveness.  I am honored you would have me as your wife.”

“It is I who am honored.”

“Yes, you are both honored,” Father Gerard interjected playfully.  “Let us begin the ceremony before Brother Godfried and Brother Damian fall asleep where they sit.”

Gwyneth took hold of Erik’s hand as they stood before Father Gerard.  She squeezed his fingers, needing to feel his touch to prove he was alive.  She was real, and she knew she was Dr. Gwyneth Franger, but did Erik already share this knowledge?

“This is not the time,” Gwyneth thought, chiding herself for ruining the moment she had visualized so often.  The words floated in the air as the lovers professed their vows.  At the conclusion of the ceremony, Father Gerard repeated the familiar words she knew so well.

“I unite you in marriage, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”