Journey in Time (Knights in Time) (17 page)

"Milord." She threw her arms around his neck. He cut her off before she kissed him.

"Not here in front of half the castle. Tongues will wag." He spun her around and ushered her back to their chamber. "Come here," he said, shutting the door. "Kiss me all you want, now."

She hugged him hard and covered his face in a flurry of relieved kisses. "I missed you like crazy." She smiled bright and expectant. "I wondered where you were, what you were doing. I worried for your safety."

She waited for him to return the sentiment, to confess he missed her as much. He’d occupied all her waking hours. She wanted to think she occupied his, at least a little.

He patted her on the butt and stepped away to remove his muddy cloak, and set his baldric and sword onto the table.

Her smile dimmed a fraction.

"Help me with this mail," he said and bent so she could pull the hauberk over his head.

She was careful the links didn’t tangle on his hair as she slid it off. When she finished, she started to set the metal tunic on the table, but he took the mail from her.

"Thanks." He laid it straight on the window bench, paying more attention to the job than it required.

The awkward silence stretched when a soft knock mercifully broke the quiet. From the corridor, a servant announced the first of numerous buckets of hot water for Alex's bath.

"I'll get the door," Shakira said.

"Rocky."

"Yes?"

"I...I did hurry back."

***

Shakira put aside her disappointment. They spent a playful afternoon in and out of the tub and bed. A peach hue radiated off the stone as the last rays of the setting sun lit one wall and they relaxed with a tray of food.

"You haven’t said much about your trip. Did you find the troublemaker?" She nestled her bare bum deeper into the cushiony material of the velvet robe.

Alex cut a wedge of apple and ate it off the blade’s edge. "Yes. The seditious devil whipped up quite a following. The area was rife with malcontents," he said and finished the apple.

"This is delicious. Try a bite." He sliced off a wedge and leaned across the table and offered it to her on the point of his knife. "As I was saying--" He cut another piece of the fruit. "We caught the traitor in the act, railing against Edward and the war."

A Technicolor vision of William Wallace’s brutal end in the movie
Braveheart
flared. She swallowed the half-chewed piece of apple. "Oh my God, did you draw and quarter him, burn his entrails before his eyes?"

He looked surprised by the question. Then, the corner of his mouth tipped up in a half grin. "No, my bloodthirsty damsel. I conscripted him, gave him a choice. Go to France and make arrows for our archers, or go to London and be tried for treason and executed."

"Why bother with a trial if the outcome’s already been decided?"

"Looks good in the history books." Alex shrugged. "He knew the consequences when he preached insurrection. The bugger’s lucky he’s a fletcher and useful to the king."

"The line’s blurring for you, isn’t it?"

"What do you mean?"

"The demarcation that separates your two lives. You seem to be adapting rather well to your old life."

"I liked my old life. The people who served me were loyal and decent. My land was productive. I wasn’t the richest man in England, but I didn’t want for anything. Except for the French slicing me like a brick of cheese at Poitiers, things were good. My new life is wonderful. I’ve no complaints. It’s different, and I’ve adjusted. But don’t forget, I spent many more years in this world. Where did you get the tub liner?" he asked, changing the subject without a pause.

"You are going to be so impressed. This is more than a simple liner. I had some plumbing work done too." She stood and went over to the tub. "Come see."

"What kind of plumbing work
?"

Shakira pushed the sleeve of her robe up and reached into the bath water. She did something he couldn’t see and the water began to drain.

He tossed the apple core into the fireplace and joined her for a closer inspection. Once the tub emptied, he saw a hole had been bored into one side at the bottom and a capped pipe inserted.

"Where does this pipe drain?" he asked with his palm over his sternum.

"You’re rubbing your chest. Why?"

"Your idea of creative plumbing, that’s why. Organic napalm has seared a path from my stomach to my esophagus. A fiery pool is forming around my heart as we speak."

The sizzle of the burning apple core added a nice touch to his comment.

"What a sucky attitude."

"Forget my agony for the moment. Just tell me what kind of mischief you’ve gotten up to?"

“This is clever, if I do say so myself.”

He hung his head and breathed deep, trying to stay calm.

"The pipe leads to a hole I ordered cut through the stone-”

“You cut a hole in my wall?”

She raised a warning finger. “Before you freak out, let me explain. The water drains down the outside of the wall. This way the servants only have to haul the water up. When you’re finished, whoosh, tub drained, garden watered. “Doubly efficient," she said with a victorious toss of her head.

He knelt to check the damage. "Rocky, if I find some huge gash in this wall, I swear I'm going to turn you over my knee."

"You must think I'm an idiot."

He bit back the answer rather than offend her without proof, which he’d certainly find. She might be the smartest lady lawyer in London, but he doubted she knew the difference between a plug and a washer. And, she cut a hole in his wall for God’s sake.

She huffed. "You think, oh, stupid female, cut a great hole in the wall so the north wind will blow through all winter. Without a man to guide me, how could I possibly have the ordinary sense to mortar around the pipe?"

The tirade earned her a grunt for an apology as his fingers found the tight seal where the pipe joined the wall. Satisfied, he stood. "Who made this?"

"The blacksmith." Still in a huff, she folded her arms and stuck an indignant chin in the air.

He ran his hand over the edge, noting the fine fit where the lip curved over the tub’s rim. "Nice work, what did Archie charge you?"

"Two marks, a bargain," she said, proud of herself judging from her expression.

"Two marks! Do you know how much that is?" He dared her to come up with the right answer.

"No. But I checked with Richard and he said you can afford it. It’s a fair price. After all, this was a rush job."

"I don't mind paying. I do mind getting swindled. For two marks that tub ought to sing and dance." He brushed past her and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked, hot on his heels.

"To have a chat with Archie," Alex said and jerked the door open.

His squire, Jared, stood in the corridor fist raised, ready to knock.

"Al...umm...Guy," she quickly corrected herself. She grabbed a handful of Alex’s sleeve and moved close, her mouth to his ear. "Don’t you dare yell at Archie. He’ll never work for me again."
  

Alex turned to Jared. "What is it? I have business to attend to with the smithy."

The squire showed no sign he interrupted a squabble between the lord and lady and delivered his message with stiff professionalism. "Milord, an envoy from the king has arrived and awaits you in the great hall."

"I'll be down momentarily." Alex closed the door. "Shit."

Chapter Twenty-One

Shakira paced a nervous grid pattern the length and width of the chamber. Whatever the king’s news, if it worried Alex, it was bound to make her nauseous.

A solemn Alex returned and went straight for the flagon of wine. He filled a goblet and handed it to her and then filled one to the brim for himself.

He took a deep swallow and said, "We have to go to court."

"We?” The blood drained from her head. “No, no, no, I can't possibly go," she said, stunned into dizzying denial. "There’ll be questions, all sorts of questions. How can I explain my sudden appearance, here?" She shook her head no and repeated her refusal.
“There's no way, Alex. Your own people believe I'm weird. I hear their whispers when I pass. What will the king think?"

“I guess we’ll find out,” he said.

She’d be on display at court, like a circus animal chained in an iron cage, the new addition to the royal menagerie. She slumped into a nearby chair.
 

"Wait a minute." She sprang up. "You told me history can’t be changed. If that’s true, then you needn’t go. You didn’t the first time. You were in Wales. But if you go now, history is changed. You can’t have it both ways." She took a sip of the Bordeaux and sat again.

Checkmate.

"A meeting about tactics is a small occurrence.”

“You’ve no idea what will result from the meeting.”

“I realize there’s a risk,” Alex said.

“There’s an understatement.”

His narrow view of which actions were worth taking a risk for drove her mad. She’d given a lot of thought to why the time shift brought them to this place and year. She was convinced he wasn’t seeing the whole picture.

“What if the king orders you to stay? I’ve got a bad feeling that’s what will happen and then you’ll absolutely end up in the battle.”

“You’re overreacting. It’s just a tactical meeting.”

“These ‘small occurrences’ which do disturb the past are serving some purpose. Has it occurred to you the choices of what chances you’ll risk taking are leading to a much bigger one? There’s a specific reason why we wound up here, right now.”

“And, you think you know the reason?”

“Yes, I do. Our first day here, you said given a choice, you’d choose not to remember your existence after Poitiers.”

“So?”

“Perhaps this entity we call fate is offering you a second chance, a means to undo those centuries, by not repeating the mistake of riding to Basil. If you—”

“Stop,” he said and set his wine down. “Yes, my going to Abergavenny and London may have some effect. But those acts aren’t as significant as the battle. Poitiers was a major event, attending this meeting doesn’t compare. You are asking me—again,” his voice iron hard as he stressed
again
, “--to alter my participation in the battle.”

"You’re—"

"I’m not finished." Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned his butt against the table edge and assumed his casual but adversarial posture. “In answer to your first question, yes, it’s occurred to me there could be a grand design behind our presence here.
Could be,
being the operative phrase.”

“Listen to yourself. You’re pissed with me for presenting a distinct possibility, a valid theory,” Shakira said.

“Which makes you what in this theory, collateral damage?”