Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time (28 page)

‘suffocating’ her, which translates to destroying her life.” Embarrassed by his outburst, Stephen slid his hand from under Shakira’s who’d reached over to calm him no doubt. “I apologize. That

was most unchivalrous of me. You mean well, I know.”

“Esme chose her words poorly, yes, I agree. But, you would abandon the chance for a

lovely, happy relationship because she misspoke?”

“Her words aren’t merely a bad choice. She thinks me so weak that I cannot bear the

possible end of a relationship.”

“Not weak. She knows you’re not a weak man but a man with great heart, a heart she

wouldn’t want to break. That doesn’t make her bad nor does it reflect poorly on you.”

He had to think on what Shakira said. He wished to believe her. He just didn’t know if he

was capable.

They sat silent for several minutes. Stephen pushed the bowl away, his appetite gone. He

kept the goblet at his lips and gulped the rest of his wine in three swallows. From the soft sounds Shakira sipped at hers and set the glass down twice.

“What did you do all day?” she finally asked.

“My Braille lesson was to label the jars in the cupboard and refrigerator. The lessons are

boring, but Andrew insists they’re needed. After he left, I rearranged the jars in each place

according to how often I use them.” A tedious chore to pass the time until Owen was free to

saddle Vidar for him.

“I spoke to Owen earlier. He said you’ve been out riding. Where did you go?”

“The ruin of Elysian Fields. When we went shopping for my talking watch and compass, I

purchased an iPod in town also. Which I owe Alex payment for; I’ll give you the cost before you leave.”

“You don’t need to pay for the iPod.”

“But I will. Convenient little thing, I’ve many songs on it. Esme helped me with what she

called playlists. I spend quiet time at the ruin listening to them.”

“Why go there? Alex and I rarely visit. I think seeing it now pains him more than he

admits.”

“It’s a manner of lodestone, I guess. Wreck that the castle is—I am pulled there by what

it was to me, home, and a different life.”

“That’s why Alex bought all the land his family owned centuries ago. Elysian Fields was

once so much a part of his life too.

“About your iPod, I’m glad you’re familiar with what playlists are. I copied the CD you

made for Esme and played if for Alex. He wants to record more with you but in his London

studio, which has amazing equipment. If I make a playlist of the songs he’s interested in you

singing, would you be willing to learn them?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “But why does he want me to make another recording?”

“I think he wants to make you a star.”

“A star—like in the sky? I don’t understand.”

“It means people all over the world will hear you sing.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“You’ll see as we go along.”

#

Esme stood and waved as Shakira entered the crowded village coffee shop. “Hi. Thank

you for coming,” she said when Shakira reached the table.

“Hi.”

“This is my sister, Electra,” Esme said, nodding at her sister and gestured to Shakira,

“Electra—Shakira.” The two shook hands.

“Did you talk to him?” Esme blurted out while Shakira was still scooting her chair closer to

the table.

“Yes.”

“I can tell from your tone it didn’t go well.”

The waitress came over and refilled Esme’s cup of coffee and took Shakira’s order for a

cappuccino and a strawberry scone with clotted cream.

“I’m sorry. I tried.”

Esme gnawed at a hangnail on her thumb.

“What are you thinking?” Shakira asked.

“After I spent days examining the different troubles I feared might rise between us, I did a

self-exam. I discovered I never want to do that much soul searching again.” Beside her, Electra snorted.

“Have trouble finding your soul did you?” Shakira asked dryly.

“Ow, that hurt,” Electra interjected.

Esme ignored her sister. “I found it. Tarnished thing that it is.”

“And...”

“He works so hard at being bloody independent, I don’t see why I worried about his

possible neediness in the first place. The time travel is a non-issue now too.”

One brow lifted high, her eyes narrowed a fraction and Shakira asked with definite doubt

in her tone, “Really?”

Electra was a master of the arched brow. It always preceded a negative reaction. No

surprise Shakira’s hooked brow didn’t stem from a positive one.

“Like I said, I’ve given a lot of thought to how I feel about him and his world. I’ve given

more thought to how I feel about us as a couple. I don’t care whether he’s a bit daft,
if
he is, because he’s daft in an amusing and harmless way, as you pointed out.”

“You want to explain the ‘if’ in your comment?” Shakira asked.

“Oh yes, do. I’d love to hear about the ‘if’ too,’ Electra said.

“Down the road, I promise I will. The point is: I’m astonished in this day and age of self-

absorption by his sense of honor and loyalty, his caring. When he speaks of the Black Prince or the Guiscard family or his friends, those qualities shine through.

“In addition to those reasons, I’ve always been impressed by the fact that although he’s

illiterate, he’s clever in a very methodical, logical way,” Esme said.

“He is.”

A pensive look came over Shakira’s face. On the drive to the café, Esme mentally went

over what she’d say when they met today. The expression on Shakira’s face now wasn’t the one

Esme had pictured then. She took a deep drink of her lukewarm coffee and waited.

Shakira raised her drink and peered over the rim of her cup. Esme eyed her back, hesitant

to ask what was wrong.

Not knowing was too much. “Why the unhappy face?”

Shakira put the cup down and said, “It’s obvious you plan to tell him what you told me.

That’s all wonderful except he’s not open to seeing you right now.”

“I am not giving up without a fight. I may have a workable plan to wend my way back into

his good graces.”

“Want to share? I’ll give you my objective opinion.”

“The last thing he remembers of his so called medieval life is getting injured at Poitiers. He

told me what the French knight who wounded him had as a heraldic symbol.”

Next came the sticky part of her plan and Esme fully expected for Shakira to shoot it

down, which was all right. She also thought she could defend the plan adequately. Sort of.

“I researched the knight. I know his name. His noble rank and the province he came

from.”

Shakira smeared a thick swatch of the rich cream over each bite of scone as she listened.

“Sorry but I have to interrupt,” Electra said. “How do you stay so thin eating massive

amounts of clotted cream like that?”

“El, this is important. Who cares what her diet is?”

“What? I’m curious and pretty damn envious too.”

“Treadmill, riding, and skipping other meals,” Shakira told Electra. She finished the scone

and asked Esme, “Back to your plan. Why would Stephen want or need to know the name of the

man who injured him so grievously?”

“He probably doesn’t. The information is really meant to help me. It gives me a reason to

seek him out and open a dialogue with him.”

A long moment passed like an hour without Shakira responding. “Well?” Esme ventured.

“Reeks of desperation but it’s just hare-brained and crazy enough to maybe work. You

might want to think twice before calling him daft again...pot—kettle and all that.”

“Does appear that way, doesn’t it? Don’t answer that.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Shakira told her Stephen had been visiting Elysian Fields daily. Esme guessed he’d gone

there again today and went to the stables hoping to find him.

“He rode out on Vidar about a half-hour ago,” Owen said. “Do you wish me to bring out

Monty?”

“Please.”

He had the horse tacked and she was on her way to the castle within ten minutes.

The crisp fall air carried a trace of chill, enough to pinken a person’s cheeks but not

require a jacket. The breeze kicked up a mini whirlwind of orange and red leaves as she crossed into the clearing. The wonderful smell hit her before she saw the white plume of smoke. The

scent reminded her of nutmeg, and cinnamon, and cloves, flavors of the sweet autumn dishes her

mother made. She turned and off to her left, on what she thought was part of Alex’s land, a man with a rake burned leaves.

The pleasant memory provided welcome respite, however short, from mentally acting out

her plan for the thousandth time. From the moment she woke up, she fretted over it and debated

with herself how to handle Stephen’s possible reactions. None of the solutions included permanent exclusion from his life.

As she approached the place Stephen had said the drawbridge and barbican stood, she

heard his strong tenor voice. She slowed Monty from a canter to a trot and down to a walk as the singing grew louder. She halted a few meters from where Stephen was. He must not have heard

her ride into what was the bailey since he didn’t glance over and continued to sing.

Stephen paced a patch of scrub grass and dirt in front of Vidar, who was tied to the apple

tree. He wore earpieces with the wires attached to his iPod holstered on his belt. Assured her

presence remained unnoticed and the noise of Monty’s approach unheard over the music, she took

advantage of the moment and eyed him from toe to head. Dressed in proper riding gear he looked

damned tasty. The tall, black boots weren’t custom, not if he got them this fast, but they were quality. They hugged long, strong calves, stopping just below the base of his knees. Black leather riding gloves dangled from the waistband of tan jodhpurs that clung to muscled thighs, bum, and places in-between like a second skin. His shirt was a white cotton long-sleeve Oxford style one with the cuffs rolled up a turn and tucked neatly in his pants. Some might argue there were

handsomer men, but not to her.

And how had she not seen past his unusual beliefs, past his blindness to the inner strength

of the man sooner? Blindness isn’t always about losing your physical sight. It comes in many

forms. “I am a walking example,” she said under her breath.

She didn’t need to hear the music he sang to, so good was his a cappella version, the

melody played in her head. Esme set aside mulling over her mistakes and listened fascinated by

Stephen’s version of the old Mister-Mister song
Broken Wings.

When the song ended, he stopped pacing to press the button on his iPod. Stephen cocked

his head at what she assumed was the beginning of the next one. He tapped his foot, picked up

the beat, bobbed his head, and started singing along to Chris Isaak’s
Wicked Game.
His expressive hands and arms of minutes before reduced to the subtlest of open-palmed gestures of

despair. He sang poignant lyrics that spoke of a man who wanted to fall in love. Words of the

wicked way a woman he dreamed of made him feel it possible, only to break his heart.

Stinging words.

The lyrics sounded wickedly close to how she feared he felt toward her, if the morning he

sacked her was any measure. If time travel were a reality, she’d turn the clock back to never

utter the words she couldn’t change now. It occurred to her that everyone who’d ever reached

adulthood had desired to go back and undo or redo something. Everyone.

Nerves ate at the confidence she’d shown Shakira, but she’d procrastinated enough. The

moment had come to try and win him over. She took a bracing breath, blew it out, and then

dismounted. Stephen continued his song as she passed to tie Monty up next to Vidar. Finished, she came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. In a single motion, he tensed, spun, and

grabbed a handful of blouse front.

She flinched and gave a tiny cry but he’d already let go.

“Once again your perfume gives you away.” He removed the buds from his ears. ‘Tis

fainter today than usual.”

“Because it’s not perfume, but body lotion.”

“You shouldn’t sneak up on a knight.”

“I didn’t mean to, but you wouldn’t have heard me if I called out, not while wearing the

earpieces.”

Music leaked from the buds hanging from his neck. Isaak’s voice distant but the lyrics

clear as he sang of the foolish things desire makes one do.

“Why have you come?” Stephen asked and stepped back, beyond her reach.

“I’ve information for you.”

“As you’re no sorceress with a magic formula to repair my sight, I doubt your information

is of much importance to me.” He put the buds back into his ears and turned from her.

The cold reception was expected. The degree of the frigidity surprised her. With two

weeks to put distance between her comment and her appearance today, she hoped the time might

take the edge off the blow to his pride. She’d just have to deal with the fact it hadn’t. Win or lose, she wouldn’t give up.

She yanked the earpieces out. “Listen to me.”

His back expanded with the deep breath he took and then he turned around. “How close

you stand. Are you not afraid that my nearness might press down upon you to draw the air from

your body until you suffocate from lack of it?”

Suffocate. One foolishly spoken terrible word thrown back at her. Neither the icy tone of

voice nor his deadpan expression could disguise the hurt the word evoked. If he’d just give her the tiniest of windows to explain, she’d set things right.

“No. I sought you out because I’m so horribly sorry for what I said without thinking. I—”