Last Knight: Thornton Brothers Time Travel (A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Book 4) Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Reading List

  Want more

  About

  Last Knight

  A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Novel

  Book 4

  Cynthia Luhrs

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Last Knight A Thornton Brothers Time Travel Romance Novel

  Copyright © 2016 by Cynthia Luhrs

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my fabulous editor, Arran at Editing720 and Kendra at Typos Be Gone.

  Chapter One

  Present Day—Late October

  There should have been a sign or some faint inkling that warned Ashley Bennett her well-ordered life was about to come crashing down like shards from a plate dropped on a tile floor. But nope. The powers that be were silent, content to let her go about her day, blissfully ignorant of the vortex of chaos lurking, waiting for the worst possible moment to destroy life as she’d known it these past twenty-three years.

  Why was it dark? Was there a storm coming? With a frown, she glanced at her watch.

  “No, no, no.”

  Ashley jumped, knocking the mountain of paper from her desk onto the floor of her office and sending the chair rolling out the doorway, where it hit the pristine white walls with a bang. Cashmere coat dangling off one arm, she gathered up the outrageously expensive buttery leather tote, shoving papers haphazardly inside while peering across the hallway to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows. While she and Mitch each had an office, it was an interior office without windows. Only the big executives got views.

  The darkness showcased fat white flakes striking the glass, suspended in time before each one died, turning into water and sliding down the window.

  “I’ll never get a cab in this weather.”

  Even worse. She was talking to herself. Out loud. Her coworkers would think she’d lost it…though by the looks of things, they’d done the smart thing and left hours ago.

  This merger had taken over her life. Determined to make an impression and vault the corporate ladder, she’d put in sixteen-hour days, seven days a week, at the biggest hedge fund in the city, each and every day since she’d graduated. Top of her class, thank you very much. Though all those hours would be wasted if she didn’t watch her back.

  The elevator doors shut with a hiss, reflecting her face endlessly in the mirrored surfaces. Instead of music, industry news droned on, and she half listened as she furiously typed responses to the emails not so patiently waiting in her exploding inbox. Something about the earliest recorded snowfall on record caught her ear. She hated snow. For that matter, she hated wind and rain too. Give her an artificially climate-controlled environment any day. Her heels echoed across the marble lobby.

  “Miss Bennett?”

  The night security guard waved. “Your cab is waiting out front.”

  “Jonas, you’re a lifesaver. I figured there’d be about as much chance of me getting a cab as Jersey has of winning tomorrow.” She leaned on the high desk. “How’d you know?”

  He pointed to the clock. “You’ve been working late ever since I started. Knew you wouldn’t want to ruin those pretty shoes in this weather.”

  The designer heels she’d almost come to blows over during a super-secret sample show a few weeks ago seemed to glow in the muted light. Ashley admired the beautiful shoes. Just wearing them made her feel invincible.

  “You’re the best. I would have been late to dinner.”

  Jonas made a point of looking at the ornate clock again. “One day you need to slow down and smell the flowers. The work will still be there in the morning.”

  “Flowers make me sneeze.” As she wrapped an oversized scarf around her hair, she arched a brow at the guy. He was still in school. Working as a security guard helped him pay for college. She rummaged around in her bag, came out with an envelope, slid it across the desk, and watched his face.

  He peeked inside and blinked at her. “Are those Rangers tickets?”

  “Two front-row seats behind the penalty box.”

  He caressed the tickets then snatched his hand back.

  “I couldn’t accept them.”

  The cab honked. Ashley turned and held up a finger. “The cab tonight, pizza delivered for dinner last week, and a warning when Randy Andy was headed my way. You’ve more than earned them.”

  Jonas held up the tickets, looking at them as if they were a supermodel rising out of the floor. “Tomorrow night, my one night off.”

  The cab honked again. “I can’t use them, so enjoy. I have to run or I’ll be late.”

  “And we know how you can’t deal with being late.” He pressed the button to unlock the doors. “Thanks, Miss Bennett. You’re the best.”

  Ashley waved, Jonas already forgotten as the ping of the phone announced a message from her boss. She’d set up different sounds, assigning the higher-ups their own sounds so she’d never miss a communication. While she firmly believed in taking the extra thirty seconds to be nice to doormen, assistants, and delivery guys, knowing it would pay off later, she really didn’t like people all that much. More that she tolerated them, counting the minutes until they’d leave her alone to accomplish her plans and goals. Talking to people always seemed like so much work. Trying to figure out what to talk about and to listen, when she wanted to get back to her own work. Anyway, she had enough work as it was without befriending anyone.

  Ensconced in the warm interior smelling faintly of cloves and feet, she gave the cabbie the address, using the time to return calls, check her calendar, and update her task list for tomorrow.

  With two minutes to spare, she was seated at the table. First, as usual. Might as well put the time to good use. Busy reading through the report she had to turn in next week, she heard someone speaking to her.

  “You might want to move your papers. Red stains.” The server held up a glass of wine.

  “Thanks. I’m sure my friend will be here soon. Would you bring a glass of Chardonnay for her?” Shoving the stack out of the way to make room, Ashley checked the time.

  “I’m here. I’m not that late.”

  Ashley slammed a hand down to keep the papers from flying off the table as the whirlwind, also known as Marsha, sat down.

  A pointed look at her watch made her friend wince.

  “I swear, you’re always late. I’m going to start te
lling you we’re meeting half an hour earlier, then maybe you’ll show up on time.”

  “Wouldn’t do any good. I’d still be late. Better use of all that pent-up energy would be for you to accept some people aren’t glued to the clock like you are.” She leaned in close, and Ashley resisted the urge to scoot back. “I still can’t believe you nabbed those shoes. They are fabulous.”

  Ashley flexed her foot. “I love them.”

  “And your dress. Is that a Diane von Fürstenberg?”

  “Yep. Classic wrap dress.”

  Marsha wriggled out of her coat. “You look fantastic. Have you ever looked into your genealogy? I’d bet a hundred bucks you’re descended from Peter Henlein.”

  “Who?”

  “You, the woman who has the most unnatural fixation with clocks I’ve ever seen, doesn’t know Peter Henlein?” Marsha took a big gulp of wine, almost knocking over Ashley’s glass in the process.

  She steadied the glass then safely stowed the files and report away. There’d be time to finish it tonight before she went to bed.

  “Okay, tell me. Who is he? The guy who invented the bangle watch?” She held out her wrist. “They are rather fabulous.”

  Hers was hot pink and had Clean Slate engraved on the inside. It reminded her of where she’d come from, and no matter what, she was never going back.

  “Close, but no. He was from Germany. A locksmith who supposedly invented the first watch. Though it weighed so much it had to be worn on a belt. I’m surprised you don’t have a shrine to the guy in your apartment.”

  “Hilarious. It’s important to be on time.” She tapped the watch. “I know, you don’t believe in being confined by time; you’d rather wake when the sun comes up and go to bed when it goes down. But for those of us who have to be on time, it’s like dragging one of those metal folding chairs across a concrete floor.”

  “Really? That bad?”

  Ashley shuddered. “Worse.”

  “Can’t make any promises, but I’ll try to be on time for our next dinner.”

  Knowing when to pick her battles, Ashley motioned the server over.

  “Ready to order?”

  The server brought more wine and a basket of bread while Marsha regaled Ashley with tales of her latest dating trials and tribulations.

  “You are so lucky you have Ben.” Marsha waggled her brows. “Talk about something nice to wake up to.”

  Before Ashley could answer, a sound drifted across the noisy open space, making her cringe. No matter how hard she’d tried to forget, Ashley would recognize the soft drawl anywhere. She’d spent a significant amount of money to erase any trace of her upbringing over the past several years.

  Trying to look casual, she scanned the room. Should have known. The two women looked like bright peacocks in a sea of black and muted colors. They sat together, wearing lots of jewelry over their bright red and blue sweater dresses. Both of them were made up, and had that innocent yet sexy look. Southern. Without a doubt. They were oblivious to everyone around them, leaning toward each other, hands moving as they talked animatedly, no doubt about their trip to The City.

  Ashley strained to hear. The redhead was talking about how many cans of tomatoes and beans she’d put up this summer.

  “Look at them. Tourists.” Ashley wrinkled her nose. “Who still cans food? I thought that went out with the Dark Ages.”

  “No kidding. Give me a jar of spaghetti sauce anytime. Better yet, let the delivery guy bring me dinner already prepared.”

  “I know, right? Talk about a lot of work.”

  Marsha cocked her head, watching the two women. “The summer I turned thirteen, my parents sent me to Kansas to spend time with my grandmother. She made me help her pickle and can beets. To this day, I can’t stand beets. But I didn’t think you knew anything about canning. Come to think of it, you’ve never said where you grew up. Spill.”

  Prepared, Ashley didn’t squirm. Instead she met Marsha’s curious gaze and said, “Buckhead. Our cook brought jars of sauce she canned when she made pasta for dinner.”

  Her friend’s eyes widened a fraction before the jaded look was firmly back in place.

  “Talk about a ritzy part of Atlanta. Wish I had a cook and a maid growing up. My brother and I were the help at our house. Silver spoon and all that, huh?”

  “Something like that. Seems so long ago.”

  “That how you snagged your fabulous apartment?”

  “My parents weren’t thrilled with me moving to the city, so we compromised. They’d help with a place to live in a neighborhood they approved of, and I’d take care of the rest on my own.”

  Marsha looked at the women, who were now laughing loudly enough to cause several tables to turn and stare.

  “Glad you’re not some hick from some rinky-dink town with one stoplight.”

  Ashley made an exaggerated show of shuddering.

  “Can you imagine? How awful. Though thank goodness some people like to live out in the middle of nowhere. After all, if they all lived in the city, it would be even more crowded than it already is.”

  “No kidding. I’d be bartering my future children so I could afford rent on the closet I call home.” Marsha drained her wine. “Not that I’d ever have kids, but you know.”

  “I do.” With a lingering look at the tourists, Ashley clenched her hands together under the table, willing the shaking to stop.

  Chapter Two

  England—October 1334

  Christian Thornton, Lord Winterforth, had spent the entire journey thinking on his betrothed. ’Twas past time for him to do his duty. Marry. Have children to carry on the title and Thornton name. In the three weeks since he left his home at Winterforth and rode through the gates at Ravenskirk, not once had he wondered if he might come to love his bride to be. Duty first. Always. Let his brothers marry for love; recent events had shown him love was not to be.

  After losing several prospective brides, he and his brothers—well, in truth, Charlotte and Melinda—had taken matters in hand, declaring he would marry at Ravenskirk. Charlotte had muttered about placing extra guards on duty or tying the girl to a chair until the deed was done. Christian had tried not to take offense. Henry’s wife was due to give birth any day, and her temper made even the fiercest of his brother’s guard flinch under her sharp tongue.

  Though as he looked at his brother’s home, he noticed differences between Ravenskirk and Winterforth. The new tapestries on the walls, cushions on the chairs, and the clean floors. He had never worried about the state of his hall. But now he was to be married, his wife would want changes. Women desired their homes to look and smell lovely. As he was thinking about the changes she might desire to undertake, and how much gold it would cost, a voice startled him.

  “You look as if you’re off to the gallows this fine morn instead of meeting your intended.” Edward cuffed him on the shoulder. “She is a good lass from a wealthy family. Look happy, or she may think you do not wish to wed her.”

  “If she is so delightful, why does she not run away like the others?”

  “Hush, whelp.” Christian’s eldest brother leaned in close, trying to whisper. “Her dam has been ill and not heard the rumors. With a bit of extra gold, her sire was willing to ignore the foolishness of womanly gossip.”

  Edward scratched his nose. “He is eager to wed into one of the richest families in the realm.” Then he smirked. “Best lock up the larder. His lady will eat everything, and you’ll have nothing left to survive the winter.”

  If a wedding was to be a happy celebration, why did Christian wish to run home and draw up the bridge? Forget about duty and responsibility and find a girl who wanted the man, not the name or the gold. But he was a Thornton, so he would do what needs be done.

  “When the girl hears what is being said about me, she will cry off like the others.” Christian kicked at the dirt as he watched Henry train in the lists.

  John joined them, wiping his brow. “Her sire will see the deed done. Now go insid
e and make yourself ready. You are to be married, and I for one am looking forward to seeing the last of the Thorntons wed.”

  “’Tis long past time. Even I wed whilst you’ve been dithering about.” Robert swaggered up to them, grinning. “If I could marry, certainly you can find one bride in the realm to have you. Though you are puny, and not as handsome as I.”

  Christian narrowed his eyes. “If this one flees…”

  “She will not,” James said as he poured a bucket of water over his chest, the steam rising from his skin. “For if she does, Melinda has sworn to hunt her down and drag the girl back by her hair.”

  “Not if Lucy gets there first.” William rocked back on his heels. “Marry the girl, get her with child, and put these ridiculous rumors to rest. Nothing more than idle gossip.”

  “From a powerful widow who crushes men beneath her pretty toes for sport. What was I thinking to bed her?”

  “I’ve seen her. You likely weren’t thinking clearly.” Robert leered at Christian.

  Christian cared for his family. A great deal. But at this moment the meddling bunch made him want to renounce them all and join the monastery. Did they allow the monks to ignore their prayers and spend their days fighting, hunting, and riding? Most likely not. Stretching to his full height, he decided. Once married, he would get his new wife with child and the rumors would fade away. A Thornton always fulfilled his duty.

  “Shouldn’t I at least speak to the girl afore we wed this day?”

  A chorus of “nays” met his ears.

  “Is she a terrible shrew? Or so ugly you needs keep her hidden?”

  “Dolt.” Edward sent him sprawling in the dirt.

  Rolling to his feet, Christian came up swinging. James called out encouragement as Christian caught Edward in the face. Yet his brother merely grunted and tossed him into the water trough. Spluttering, he glared but failed to look fearsome as he caught sight of the blood running from Edward’s nose and laughed. For a moment, he wished he had been born an only child.