The other men riding with the fellow styling himself as Sir Lancelot had gathered round. They honestly looked like a bunch of boys in the schoolyard quizzing the new kids, she thought with amusement.
Sir Lancelot's interested gaze had wandered to her now. "Is this…" he hesitated, his eyes travelling the length of her business suit. "Your son?"
She stiffened. Son?
A meaty laugh rang out behind Lancelot. "Friend, have you eyes in your head? It's a daughter, don't you see?"
She felt Red shift slightly. "She's not my daughter," he said flatly.
She swallowed as the demeanour of the men save for Lancelot visibly changed. They were hyena's that had just smelt a carcass for the taking. Suddenly they were looming in their saddles, rather than sitting placidly.
Red had noticed too. "She's my wife," he bit out warningly, "Elizabeth Reddington."
It was comical, how they straightened and nodded respectfully to her, murmured greetings muttered under their breaths.
They introduced themselves one by one.
Sir Bors, Sir Tor, Sir Tristan and Sir Ywain. Knights of the round table, they proclaimed proudly.
Oh hell.
"May we be of some assistance?" Enquired Lancelot gravely.
"I hesitate to put you to any trouble," Red responded carefully, "however, I had a wagon filled with very expensive goods. We were set upon by brigands some days ago and my livelihood was stolen. All we have left are the clothes we stand in." He paused to clear his throat, gesturing to his suit. "Our clothes are from our time amongst the Turks...very unsuitable for the climate I'm afraid. I'd be in your debt if you could tell me where the nearest town is. I'll need to...contact an usurer in the area."
She tilted her head slightly to glance at him from the corner of her eye.
Smooth, very smooth.
"We will gladly do much more than that! You must travel with us until we reach Camelot. We return to the court of King Arthur after some months now on a quest," Lancelot offered grandly.
She cleared her throat, and reached for his arm. "Red, I don't think this is a good idea."
The men turned to her in surprise. Lancelot huffed a laugh. "Your wife sir, has some strong opinions, does she not?"
Red joined in the laughter, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Gentleman, we'd be grateful if we could travel with you. Can you spare a mount?"
At that, Lancelot and Ywain dismounted and set to reworking the baggage train. Each knight had a pack horse tethered behind him. It was simple work to rearrange the baggage so that one horse was now free. They'd need to share a horse.
"Have you ridden before?" Red whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
She gave him a withering look. "Have you completely forgotten who raised me? Sam taught me to ride, shoot, camp, and fish. I was a better marksman than he was by the time I was fourteen. Riding a horse? Piece of cake," she said, vaulting easily onto the horse to startled looks from the knights.
Red's mouth quirked into a smile as he watched her confidently take the reins. Perhaps it had been a stupid question.
They'd received some odd looks as he settled himself behind her on the horse, his hands low at her waist for stability, allowing her to guide them. He could ride...well he could get on a horse, and he knew where the reins were. All in all, Lizzie was doing a perfectly good job of it really.
He gripped her hips a little tighter as they gained pace, looking at the ground uneasily.
"How come you never asked for a pony? I would have arranged it," he whispered.
She made a discontented noise in her throat. "Well I didn't know at the time that Mr. Moneybags was bankrolling us."
He chuckled, squeezing her gently in response.
They rode for the rest of the daylight hours, passing only one small hamlet in the marshes. She was glad they hadn't stopped there. It was muddy and smelly and the few people she saw looked despairing and fearful of their little party. She was sure there must be something a little more city-like ahead.
Although, admitting she had a preference for which town to stop at was not something she wanted to reflect on. This was still most likely a hallucination as a result of either Red's machinations or something...worse.
"What if it's the Cabal?" She asked in a low voice.
"What if what's the Cabal?"
"What if we've been drugged by the Cabal. I have no way of knowing if even you're just a hallucination. You could be," she whispered fearfully.
He pinched her bottom.
"Ouch!"
"Do I feel real to you?"
"Don't do that again," she hissed,
"Lizzie, I know a man in clandestine services, worked with him in fact, before...well, just before. He feeds me the occasional piece of information regarding the Cabal. Usually he keeps on topic, names, players, places, outlines of plans. He's very useful. Has been for a long time. He has established credit with me and despite what you may think," he squeezed her slightly around her middle, "that's not an easy thing to obtain."
She adjusted herself in the saddle slightly, strangely reassured by his grip on her hips. Even the occasional squeeze was pleasant. His words though and that gentle press of his arms around her middle just now. Was he trying to say she had credit with him?
That was a pleasant thought...
And it annoyed her.
"It could still be you," she muttered, "for all I know, you intended to kidnap The Executive and pump him for information in some quiet little bolt hole where no one will interrupt. What were you doing in that place anyway? Was he even there?"
Red said nothing. She wasn't surprised.
"Where do you think Ressler is?"
"I thought you believed you're hallucinating? In that case, he's probably lying right beside you in some drug induced fugue."
"Maybe there was something in the room. Some sort of airborne hallucinogen. It might have been The Executive. Has he done anything like that before?"
Red pointed to the horizon. "That looks like a fairly large village. I'd chance that we'll be stopping there."
Lancelot rode up to them, observing Red's pointed finger. "Yes, if it pleases you and your lady, we will procure rooms at an inn for the night. You may wish to seek out your usurer there. Do you have a signet ring?"
Red nodded, self assurance permeating his features.
They rode into town, hailed by the gatekeeper who was familiar with, if not them personally, at least knights wearing the tabard of the king.
"What were you saying about this man in clandestine services?" She whispered.
"Shh, we'll talk later."
"You don't have a signet ring. What are we going to do? Sing for our supper?"
"Lizzie, shush. It's fine."
She seethed. Who was this man he'd spoken about? What did he know about what was happening? His usual non answers and half answers weren't going to cut it this time.
Her frustration with Red faded away as they rode into town. The main street was paved, the rest of the streets criss-crossing and doubling around the town were hard-packed dirt. The dust from the hooves of their horses was wafting up into their faces, distracting her momentarily as she waved it away. This place though, it was so authentic. She could practically be in medieval England.
There was an uneasy thought. Could she really invent the detail that was popping up in front of her? Was this all in her head? The wooden framed houses, the smell of horse dung in the street, the cacophony of sound as traders shut down their stalls for the evening, grubby children running underfoot, chasing a squealing piglet down the street.
It was all very real.
They stabled the horses next door to a large, prosperous looking inn and went inside as a group.
Lancelot was thankfully using his reputation as one of the king's knights to secure rooms with little trouble for them. He'd brought the innkeeper over to them and explained their story. The innkeeper looked doubtfully at their clothing until Lancelot explained they'd been in far flung locations and were still clothed in the local attire from their travels.
She hoped that would continue to pass muster until Red could find clothing for them.
"Allow me to show you to your rooms," he said, following the lead of the knights in his manner toward them.
It was a relief, she wanted the privacy of this room so badly.
So when Red turned around to the innkeeper and asked for tubs to bathe in, she had to bite back a groan at his response. There was a bathing room downstairs they could use.
Resentfully, she trudged along with Red through the corridors. She was so tired, a bath was not on her list, but Red had insisted, suggesting she'd get lice or some disgusting disease if she didn't bathe regularly.
It had been awkward. There was no expectation that she'd need privacy from her husband so she'd been stuck in a small room with him while he stripped down with his back to her. She sat uncomfortably on a bench in the corner, her eyes averted.
"Lizzie," he said patiently, splashing into the water as he sat down in a wooden tub. "I'm not looking, just get in. We'll need to be mindful of cleanliness. Smallpox vaccine hasn't been on the list of routine vaccinations since before you were born. You need to be careful."
"You really believe we've somehow travelled in time? Into medieval England?" She scoffed.
"Just shy of medieval I'd say," he responded meditatively. "It seems like Christianity is only just taking hold. We rode past a small temple to a Pagan God on the way here. But there's also a monastery from the talk I heard amongst the ah...the Knights."
She looked up at him stonily, ready to ask again about the man he knew in clandestine services when she caught sight of his back.
She'd almost missed it. The sun had set, so most of the inn was in shadow, illuminated only by candlelight and the roaring fireplace in the small bathing chamber.
It was enough though.
"Red," she whispered, staring at his back.
He paused in the middle of vigorously soaping himself down, his back stiffening. He waited, not looking at her.
She stood and crept toward the tub, reaching her hand out to touch him before she could think to recall it.
He flinched. "Do you mind?"
"If you don't want to talk about it-"
"I don't," he said curtly.
She meekly turned to her tub, peeling her clothing off and neatly placing it on the bench. Silently she slipped into the water. It was still fairly hot, freshly poured by chambermaids. This particular inn clearly catered for the rich and well to do. Little luxuries like this may be few and far between in the future.
If they really were where Red said they were.
"So," she began tentatively, "how are you sure we're in medieval times?"
"Using the evidence of my own eyes."
"It's not possible, time travel, it's just not. It's a paradox."
"According to my contact, there has been definite chatter about it. Interestingly, I have been collecting information about it for some time, with great difficulty. It's very well guarded. But I hadn't expected to stumble upon it while on this case. There was nothing to suggest that when I-" he broke off as a knock was heard at the door.
A chamber maid entered with fresh linen sheets to towel themselves off with.
When the door closed after the maid, Red heaved himself out of the tub unabashedly. She felt her cheeks grow hot as she caught a glimpse of his naked body dripping rivulets of water over the floor.
She glanced away, wondering about a few things that she had never thought of before.
"We'll need to sleep in what we have for the moment. We can worry about clothes tomorrow"
She looked up at him. He'd dressed in his three piece suit again, looking slightly rumpled despite his best efforts. She smiled. "I'm ready to get out now."
He nodded, turning his back as she stepped out of the tub and reached for a linen sheet.
She didn't let herself think of the implications of their situation as she dressed or as she followed him back to their room. She desperately clung to the idea that she was hallucinating as she got into bed beside Red.
He rolled over to the very edge of the large bed and blew the candle out.
"Goodnight Lizzie."
"Night."