Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time (18 page)

“No. Simon was a few years older than me and friendly with those his age. He’d already

become a knight when I became a squire. Like all the knights, he treated us squires like a

steaming pile of horse manure when it suited him.”

“What changed?”

“Crecy. Our army was terribly outnumbered as you know. We older squires were given

the opportunity to fight and prove ourselves. Simon’s mount was injured, and he had to fight on foot. We fought shoulder to shoulder.”

Esme made no comment.

“Do you believe me?” Stephen asked.

“It doesn’t matter whether or not I believe. What matters is what you believe.”

“Ah, you don’t.” No surprise.

“I didn’t say that,” Esme said in a female’s clipped, brook-no-nonsense manner.

“A crafty avoidance is an answer.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Let’s walk around the ruin some more,” she said and took

his arm.

“This weekend when I’m off I’m going into the city to the British Museum Library.”

“British Museum? What the devil is a museum?”

“A place that houses artifacts and other objects of historical value.”

“’Historical value,’ you like this phrase. I take the library has old...what...manuscripts,

illuminated bibles, for what do you search?”

“I’m going to start researching Poitiers campaign records.”

“To what end?”

“I’m curious to see if the people you talk about are listed.”

Stephen didn’t see how anything she might discover would affect either he or Alex in the

present. But he might be wrong.

Chapter Sixteen

At the stable, he dismounted and handed Vidar’s reins to Owen. “We’ll see you tomorrow

at the same time, if that’s all right.”

“No problem. Your cane Mr. Palmer,” Owen placed the folded cane in Stephen’s palm.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll have the horses ready unless you wish different mounts,” Owen said.

“I’d like Vidar again.” Stephen turned toward Esme. “Did you like Monty, or do you

prefer another?”

“I’ll stay with Monty if we go for a hack, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Still afraid of a mishap?” Stephen asked.

“A little, yes. I’m also concerned about how the Lancasters will feel about my taking time

from tutoring to dilly-dally on horseback.”

“Should Alex or Shakira ask, I’ll tell them you are dogged in your determination to help me

learn. That said, Lady Esme, my ability to learn falters when my bottom grows weary of sitting.”

“Thank you. I’m not sure they’ll be appeased with your butt-boredom reason for spending

part of our time away from the books. Let’s see how it goes.”

They walked back to the trailer with her arm looped through his again. Esme led him

around the driveway’s flower border, which was the way they went before. Maybe riding a horse

with the same skill he possessed while sighted gave him back some of the confidence his injury

had drained from him. Maybe it was because he’d done well with his mobility lesson, but the

desire to test himself even more welled up.

“Walk me to somewhere in the middle of the driveway, if you would,” he told Esme.

She stopped. “What’s going through your head?”

“I must work on finding the trailer better. Yesterday, I lost my way and wandered into the

road and into the path of a truck. It nearly struck me.”

“You say that so calmly when you were almost killed.”

“There’s no ‘almost killed,’ my caring tutor. It’s simple. You either live or you die. There’s

no in between. I moved out of the truck’s way. I lived.”

“Maybe there’s no in between for you, but there is for those who care about you, me

included. The prospect of you almost being killed scares us less aloof types.”

“Thank you for your kind worry.”

They walked a short distance when Esme stopped and released his arm. “You’re in the

middle of the drive. Go for it.”

Stephen went straight but stopped when he heard her following. “Please stay where you

are and give me the chance to try and do this alone first.”

“Yes. Sorry.”

He moved on, touched the brick edge on the flower border, and stepped over onto the

grass beyond. He continued, working his cane the approximate distance between his shoulders,

the way Utley instructed. When he’d gone twenty paces, he stopped and listened. The trailer

could be to the right or to his left. He refused to ask Esme.

It seemed forever while he waited to hear some clue. The enclosed area of the school

auditorium didn’t carry such a variety of noises. Here in the open, fixing on one sound hint was impossible. Finally, a car passed by on the road. From the proximity of the crunch on the

pavement, Stephen guessed he was forty strides away. The trailer ramp was twenty-seven paces

from the road, which meant the trailer sat on his right.

He worked the cane as he moved right to well beyond where the trailer should’ve been in

his estimation. Then, he worked it to the left. Somehow he’d gotten the position wrong, again. He threw the cane to the ground, bent and picked up a rock ready to hurl it hard.

“Let me help now.” Esme put a light hand on his arm.

Stephen shook it off and threw the rock hard to the right.

“Stephen stop.”

“I can’t find my way home,” he said, his voicing rising. “What sort of man does that make

me?”

“You have a learning curve and that takes time but you will get a handle on everything.

This is a small set back. For God’s sake, look how well you did in mobility orientation. Today you went riding and not in a confined arena. Those are big accomplishments. Be proud.”

He nodded in hope she’d leave off the subject of pride. The accomplishment in the school

wasn’t as big as she thought. Riding Vidar meant little, he’d ridden since he could climb onto a pony.

Stephen knelt and patted the ground until he found his cane.

“How far off am I from locating the trailer?” he asked.

“Not too far. You veered too sharply to the right. Have you ever seen a clock face?”

“Yes. There’s a clock tower by Westminster Palace. I’ve visited the palace and seen it.”

“I’m impressed. You must have been a knight of some standing to be invited to the

palace.”

Stephen leaned into Esme and smiled as her hair tickled his cheek. A ripple of delight

washed over him when she didn’t move away.

“It wasn’t an invitation but the king’s command,” he said, sniffing. Her hair smelled of the

perfume she wore the night she came to dinner. “Edward ordered his nobles, which included Guy,

to London to discuss war strategy. The roads weren’t safe. Simon and I traveled with Guy in case of danger.”

She turned her head and bumped him on the chin. “Oops, sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

She started to pull away but Stephen tipped his head, keeping his cheek in touch with her

soft hair. “What about a clock were you going to tell me?”

“Picture a clock face. The trailer is at one o’clock and you walked a little past two

o’clock.” She tugged on his arm. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

He tried to feel the angle they walked as Esme led him to the trailer, but couldn’t. Some

clever means to gauge the proper route had to exist. That, too, escaped him.

#

“Want me to put something together for your dinner?” Esme asked when they entered the

trailer.

Stephen planned on trying to cook eggs again. During his lessons, she’d explained to cut

the microwave time. But she’d stay longer if he allowed her to cook. “That would be lovely.

Thank you,” he said and moved by the sink where she ran water.

“I’ll see what I can set up before Tony gets here. You should wash your hands too.”

“Who’s Tony?” He asked soaping his hands.

“He’s the man I’ve been dating for the last few weeks.”

“Dating?”

“We see each other socially. It’s sort of like courting but not as serious.”

“’Like courting.’ I don’t understand.” He rinsed and dried his hands and went on, “One

either courts a lady or he doesn’t. There are women a man hopes to bed. One works at charming

her. The other type of woman a man does indeed court in hopes the lady may wed him. You

make ‘dating’ sound like an animal that is in-between. I can tell you no such animal exists.”

The refrigerator door opened and cool air spilled out.

“Times change, Stephen,” she said with her head inside, judging from the hollow sound.

“You have precooked, cubed turkey. Very convenient.” She opened the bottom drawer where the

frozen food Miranda and Shakira bought was stored. “Perfect, you have frozen peas and carrots.

I can throw together a shabby turkey pie.”

“What is ‘shabby’ pie?”

“I’ll stir in a can of cream of turkey soup with the meat and defrosted veggies. Then, I’ll

whip up easy dough from biscuit mix and put several dollops on top. It’s not a proper pie, but

tasty.”

“As to our discussion, I don’t believe times have changed all that much, milady. I doubt

men now are so different in their desires as men in my time.”

The microwave whirred while she brought out pots and pans. He waited for an answer as

she worked, but she just busied herself with the meal.

“Do you deliberately ignore my thoughts on the desires of men?” He knew he was right.

Her denying it didn’t change the truth. Stephen tapped her on the shoulder. He might not be able to see her eyes, but he wanted her to face him and hedge her answer looking him in the eye. And hedge she would. He’d bet a bag of coin on it,
if he had coin
.

“I’m not ignoring your comments. I disagree. I think there’s a place in between where

men and women in this age can ease into a relationship after first seeing how well they get along.”

“Hogwash. Perhaps there’s this ‘place’ where the lady is concerned, but not the fellow.”

She had her back to him now, pulling items out of the refrigerator and cupboards. “What

makes you think men haven’t changed? Are you so prejudiced against your gender, you believe

them incapable of emotional growth?”

“I don’t know what ‘emotional growth’ is. As I’m a man, I believe I possess some

expertise regarding my ‘gender.’ Are you mixing my biscuits or beating them? From the banging

on the bowl, I suspect you’re pounding the poor batter to death.”

“You want me to make this or not?”

He stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “Trust me, I know the minds of men.”

“I’m not discussing the matter with you any further.”

“At least I’m blind with cause.”

“Stephen—”

“I’ll say no more. Perhaps we’ll find common ground in wine. Would you like a glass? I

found a nice red in the rack above the stove.”

“How do you know it’s red?”

“Alex said most of the bottles here were reds as that’s Miranda and Ian’s preference. I

drank a couple of glasses of this. It tastes like the finest variation of wine the prince served from Bordeaux. When I say the finest, I mean this is the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“I’ll have one if you’re having some. Not too much though. I have to leave soon. Do you

need help getting the glasses?”

“No. I memorized where things are kept and where the furniture sits. My memory is

excellent.”

An appreciative grin came and went as he stepped behind her, his hip brushing against her

firm bottom in the trailer’s tiny u-shaped kitchen. He removed two goblets from the cupboard by the wine rack. The night before he’d placed the bottle on the counter in the corner, where he

wouldn’t knock it over.

“Milady,” he said, offering her a glass after he finished pouring for them both. She took it

from him and he raised his goblet. “Peace...for now.”

“Peace, forever I hope.” She touched her glass to his. “I’ve put your pie in the oven. I set

the timer, the button on the far right will go off when it’s done. Push the button in to stop the pinging. Pot holders are on the counter to the left of the stove. Turn the big dial in the middle and above the door to shut the oven off. Are you all right to do that?”

“Yes.”

A higher, lighter version of the bellow the truck made sounded outside. “Is that a car?”

“Yes.”

“What makes the noise? What is the purpose? The truck yesterday made a similar noise.”

“It’s the horn. It can be a warning, like with the truck that almost hit you. Or in this case,

Tony, the guy I told you about, is letting me know he’s here to pick me up.” There was a soft

clang as she set her wine glass on the counter.

“You mean give you a ride?”

“Yes.”

“And this is the way he signals his arrival...with an ugly blast of noise?”

“You can get the sour look off your face. You’re acting upset and you shouldn’t be.

Everyone does it.”

“’Everyone does it,’ is no excuse for bad manners.” He stepped closer forcing her to step

back. “Let me make certain I understand. This Tony person sits on his arse and expects you to

come dancing out to him. Yes?”

Esme sighed loud and hard. “I’m to meet him at the car, yes. Dancing isn’t required.”

“That is not how a courtship goes. He’s to show you he is honored by your presence. He

needs to get out of the car, walk to the door, greet you properly, and escort you to wherever

you’re going.”

The horn beeped again, twice.

“I’ve heard enough.” Stephen turned, grabbed his cane propped at the end of the counter,

and headed for the door.

“Don’t you dare say anything to Tony.” She was right on his heels. “Stephen, listen to me.

I don’t mind him honking, but I do mind you sticking your nose in my business.”

He continued, jerking his arm out of her grasp when she caught up with him on the ramp.