Journey in Time (Knights in Time) (34 page)

"You’re a medieval laugh factory. If we ever get back, perhaps you should look into a stand-up routine."

"I’ll take the suggestion under consideration,” he said. “Humor and previous victims aside, there has to be another part of the equation we haven't figured out."

A groan of ecstasy left his lips as she rolled the pad of a thumb over the golf-ball sized tension knot at the base of his skull. "Right there, God that feels good."

The breeze kicked up a mini tornado of red and orange leaves. October's weather hadn't been bad, a couple of weeks with blustery days, that carried the hint of a chill in the air. November, on the other hand, roared in with a biting wind, a precursor to the nasty winter ahead.
The last winter of his old
life
. The thought flared and quickly extinguished. He'd no desire to dwell on the ancient memory.

“Let’s leave some small item.” Shakira stopped massaging and trudged to a spot by the stone. “Here, where we kissed. If it disappears, we know the portal still opens. I mean, this is a horrible possibility, but what if it can’t be opened for decades or more. For all we know, the phenomena may only occur every few hundred years, like eclipses or comets.”

"Cheerful thought," Alex said, mourning the loss of her ministrations.

A search of his saddlebag turned up nothing useful to leave. The item couldn’t be too valuable or it might get stolen, or anything perishable, or so lightweight it would blow away.

One of his gauntlets slid from under his baldric onto the ground. Meticulous about equipment, his gear never came loose or undone. Alex took the errant glove as a sign.

"I'll leave my gauntlet. Only the one, though."

"One? Oh, I see. If someone stumbles onto the rock, they won't bother with a single glove, but would steal a pair."

"There aren't many travelers on this road during the winter. No point in taking a chance though, besides only one glove fell from my belt. I think it’s an omen."

"Ah, the real reason comes out, you’re superstitious. I’d never have guessed."

"I'm not superstitious-superstitious, you know, black cats, spilled salt, that nonsense," he clarified. "But with what’s happened to us, I'm inclined to think it's not all woo-woo."

Alex nestled the leather and metal glove down into the crevice between the rock and the ground. "The silver color will blend with the stone."

Shadows were already lengthening and the temperature fell. Dusk came early now. They mounted and started back to the holding at a comfortable pace.

"I'm going to Wales at the end of the month. Important business demands my attention." He dropped the bomb of information and braced. "I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fight me on this. I wouldn’t go unless absolutely necessary."

"I won’t argue. There’s no point, I know it won’t make a difference. But do you have to leave so soon?" She pulled the hood of her cloak up and gave the top an extra tug obscuring her face in the dark recesses of the wool wrap.

"Yes, if I want to beat the snow. Parts of the country I'll travel to get their first winter storms early."

"So little time left."

"Pardon?"

"I just said we have so little daylight left."

"We’ve enough time to make a detour and go back by way of the village with a stop at the apothecary."

Every day they remained stuck in time, their disappointment became more entrenched. Today was no exception. Alex figured the detour might cheer Shakira.

"If you don’t mind, I'd rather go straight home."

How unlike her. She’d always enjoyed the diversion the boring hamlet offered and never passed on an opportunity to visit. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Want to stop at the tavern for ale?"

"No."

"Rocky, is something wrong? Is it my trip to Wales?"

"No."

"What, then?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just don't need anything from the village," she said softly, brushing imaginary dirt from her cloak.

Whatever troubled her, she clearly didn’t want to discuss it. Against his better judgment, he dropped the subject.

Chapter Forty-One

“Again,” Shakira said.

Alex’s warm lips trailed along the nape of her neck a second time. "You smell of lavender," he said and smoothed her hair over the places he kissed.

"One of the bars of soap Madeline gave me for a wedding gift has lavender."

He peered over her shoulder. "What are you working on?"

"Stephen wants to sing a couple of songs from
my homeland
at your birthday banquet."

Alex stared down at the list she compiled and snorted. "What a coincidence. A few years back, some English lads had a popular song called
I Want to Hold Your Hand.
It was especially big in Liverpool. I understand it made a hit in the New World too, or what will be the New World. Who’d have thought medieval Lapland
,
had a song by the same title?" His shoulders shook with laughter as he mocked her.

Shakira tried to give him her iciest stare but couldn't maintain a serious face. She turned back to her work. "You’re not helping at all, go away," she said, crossing a few more songs from her list.

"There are a million tunes to choose from. Why is your list so short?"

She welcomed a brief respite from her task and put the quill down. When Stephen first suggested singing a Lapland tune, she quickly agreed, thinking, piece of cake. She knew a ton of contemporary songs. Wrong. The songs she thought she knew the lyrics to weren’t so many after all. To her frustration, she found she knew some lyrics to lots of songs but all the lyrics to only a few songs. Her vexation didn’t end there. Most of the songs she recalled all the words to spoke of people, places, or things which would probably get her burned at the stake, or clapped in irons, or both.

"Ugh. I can think of a bazillion songs, but I'm limited to ones that don’t mention planes, trains, cars, radios, TV’s, heaven, hell, God, the Devil, angels, magic,
especially
magic, kings, queens, princes, or plastic. That eliminates a boatload, and I only have a few days to choose and rehearse."

Alex sat on the edge of the desk and read the titles over. "Are there any you’re leaning toward?"

Shakira tapped her finger to a song name on the vellum. “
Tusk
, the old Fleetwood Mac song."

"
Tusk?"

"It’s a wonderful choice for the limited instruments at my disposal. There’s a huge drum section. I got drums. There’s a big brass section. I got those long, here comes the king trumpets. Instead of guitars, I can substitute lutes and a couple of harps. Granted, the lutes don’t have the depth or range of guitars, but they’ll do."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings darling, but
Tusk
lyrics include the words phone and throne."

"I know, but those are the only two words that need changing, which is an easy fix."

"What’s your second song?"

"I haven’t decided. Stephen wants something romantic."

"He would." Alex bent and kissed her forehead. "I’ll leave you to it."

***

Stephan’s request for a song from Lapland had inadvertently given Shakira the special gift she wanted for Alex’s birthday. She’d racked her brain trying to come up with something that would always remind him of her. The musical celebration was the answer, the means to make this birthday unique. If they wound up separated, and she slipped from his thoughts over time, she owned this night in his memory. From now on, whenever his birthday rolled around he’d think of her again. She wanted to believe some tiny part of her would be with him because he would never be far from her mind.

In the center of the hall, Shakira raised a featherless arrow shaft-cum-baton and smiled at Alex over her shoulder. When he hushed the knights sitting at the main table, the other tables quieted also. The crowd turned their attention to the modest orchestra.

In the middle of the semi-circle of musicians, Shakira bounced on the balls of her feet and pointed to the different sections. "Ready?"

She opened with
Tusk.
She let the song build, first with one drum, then a harp, a second drum joined the first and then Stephen broke in with his strong voice. The opening lyrics were the bottom of his range, but he managed. As he started the chorus, another harp and the lutes added their richness. The drummers stepped forward for a short solo followed by the incredible long trumpets. The trumpeters continued while the other drums came to the front and the two groups had a piece of the song to themselves.

All week the ensemble had rehearsed in a vacant, ramshackle wooden barn. Now, the brass and percussion reverberated off the stone walls, the sound of each section made bigger, grander. The magnified strength of their timbre transformed the hall into an immense echo chamber. The Handel’s
Queen of Sheba’s
trumpet announcement into Jerusalem had nothing on this band. Caught up in the music, Shakira swayed, and hummed along, and almost forgot she was maestro.

Stephen closed his eyes, his head bobbed to the beat and the lyrics flowed. Line-by-line, he captivated the listeners. Shakira pointed, cymbals crashed, and his eyes flew open.
 
"Tusk!" The word exploded from Stephen and the drummers.

The cymbals eased. Stephen gentled his voice mastering the mild vibrato of the last couple of stanzas, just like in the original version.

When they finished, everyone cheered, servants, knights, maids, wives, and most of all Alex.

"You guys rock," Shakira said, forgetting time and place.

Stephen looked puzzled. "Rocks? I doubt they will throw anything. I believe the crowd liked us, milady."

"Pardon?" she asked before she made the connection and added, laughing at herself, "You’re right, of course." She turned to the others. "That was wonderful. You all were wonderful."

Smiles replaced their confused expressions. Shakira lifted her arrow. "Ready for the next?"

No long trumpets for Stephen’s love song. The soft strings of the lutes gentled the richness of the harps. A single flutist added a haunting undertone. Stephen worked the room. No fool, he started with the table where the most unmarried ladies sat. His song choice,
The Way You Loo
k
Tonight.
He touched a pink cheek here and there. He brought dainty fingers to his lips as he sang about a cold world and the glow he’d feel thinking of them and the way they looked tonight. The ladies at each table, fat, thin, married, and unmarried, pressed forward when he approached.

Shakira chose
Unchained Melody
as his final solo song. She and Alex exchanged private smiles as the song started, both remembering the night they danced to it.

When Stephen sang opening bars about hungering for his darling’s touch, the ladies didn’t press forward, they surged. When he sang “wait for me,” they reached for him, wanting to touch him, like modern girls do rock stars. He needed more hands and more lyrics.

She closed with a rousing version of the Queen song,
We Will Rock You.
She’d seen the effect on a crowd while visiting Chicago. Friends had taken her to a Bears game. The stadium played the song when the team scored. The fans loved it. They stomped, clapped, raised fists to the air and sang along. It was great. And—this crowd was no different.