Through The Leaded Glass (10 page)

Not that she was into that happily-ever-after
stuff anymore, and, okay, so he was an earl and the horse was
black, but, good lord, he was incredible. All her earlier
adjectives floated off into the breeze as the raw maleness of him
assailed her from across the field. She had to admit, even in her
independent woman’s heart, she felt more than a shiver of
excitement looking at him, knowing he was—for now, at
least—hers.

His armor shone in the sunlight as they took
their place along the log dividing the field. The blue plume on
Alex’s helmet matched the embroidered blanket on the horse’s back
and the background of his heraldic crest as his squire raised it in
salute.

The crowd roared when Alex hefted his lance.
His horse snorted impatiently, its heavily muscled legs pawing the
ground as it shook its head… once… twice as adrenaline pulsed
throughout the arena. Alex reined him in, but the excitement was
palpable. The horse nickered and whipped its tail.

Across the field came Farley’s horse’s
high-pitched whinny. Alex’s answered back. Even their horses didn’t
like each other. The crowd got in on the taunting with ear-piercing
whistles and insults. This was, obviously, a great rivalry on all
fronts.

“
Oh, God.” Kate crossed her fingers
over her heart, but there was nothing pious about the pounding in
her chest. What if it all went horribly wrong?

Tristan leaned over. “Don’t worry. Alex has
yet to lose. It’s vexed Farley to no end. Each year he swears he’ll
be victorious and each year he fails.”

“
Does it bother him enough to want
to destroy Alex?”

Tristan was silent for a moment. “He’s lost
enough gold over the years to warrant it. At least in his
mind.”

“
So he could be the
thief?”

“
Perhaps, but that doesn’t explain
how he knew where to find the ring. Even Nick and I, the two people
closest to Alex, don’t know where it’s kept.”

Kate wanted to question him further, but at
that moment a trumpeter signaled the start. The horses jumped out,
their massive hooves pounding the ground as they thundered down the
lists. Kate sat on the edge of her bench, feet planted firmly on
the dais beneath her, feeling the vibrations from here. He had to
win. His son’s life—and her daughter’s future—depended on
it.

Her gaze centered on Alex and his lance, her
nerves strung out as the horses sped toward each other. Fifty feet…
forty… twenty.

And then they were within range, the lances’
tips blunted but still lethal at that speed. She leaned forward and
gasped as Farley’s came within striking distance. Alex swerved and
lunged, finding his mark and throwing Farley sideways, his lance
almost knocked from his grasp.

The crowd roared. Blue ribbons in honor of the
House of Shelton rained from the stands and Kate took a breath.
Thank God that was over.

But then they faced off again.

“
Wait. What’s happening? Why are
they lining up again?” She leaned toward Tristan.

“
That was merely the first of three
challenges.”

Three.
Kate groaned. Master Griff
hadn’t said which match-up would be the one where Alex was injured.
Suppose she hadn’t changed his future enough? She took a deep
breath, preparing for Round Two.

Once again, both men were ready, lances poised
for the trumpet. At the signal, their horses strained forward. The
crowd cheered and the noise was deafening as the horses, their pace
furious, met in the middle once more. Farley’s lance plunged into
Alex’s shield, only to shatter like a toothpick.

The crowd cheered again and Tristan whistled
shrilly in her ear. She wiggled a finger in it and saw Nick leave
the stands. She didn’t blame him; this tension was killing
her.

Alex and Farley lined up again and the stands
quieted as the horses’ heavy breaths reverberated through the
arena.

“
Come on, Alex,” she muttered,
gripping the edge of her seat, that cliché finally making
sense.

“
Don’t worry,” Tristan whispered.
“Farley won’t win. The Traverses and Farleys have been at odds for
generations, and though Simon sees himself as the man to return the
glory to his family name, he never will. He allows his thirst for
vengeance to fuel his anger rather than improve his technique.
Until he learns to ignore his anger and attend to the match, he’ll
never beat Alex. It is the same with every meeting between them. At
court, at cards, racing, anything. He wins occasionally, but never
decisively. It wouldn’t surprise me if Alex allows him to win
simply to keep the anger and jealousy in manageable
proportions.”

The men hoisted their lances again. The horses
shifted from side to side, snorting. Alex turned toward his
contingent and waved.

Tristan gave her a blue ribbon. “Wave this. He
dedicates the match to you.”

Kate took it and the crowd roared its
approval. Farley, however, ruined the moment by mimicking Alex’s
gesture—also toward her.

The crowd went menacingly silent.

“‘
Tis an outrage!” a woman nearby
huffed.

“
A blatant affront,” chimed
another.

Tristan scowled. “Alex won’t like
that.”

Alex’s posture went rigid. He slammed down his
visor and punched the air to signal the trumpeter. The moment the
horn sounded, the horses bolted.

Again, they pounded the ground so hard Kate
felt it in her legs.

Farley’s lance again went flying when they met
at the middle of the arena, this time followed by his wildly waving
arms as he struggled to remain in the saddle. He flailed for the
bridle, the horse’ mane, anything, but it did no good. With a nasty
crunch, Farley hit the ground and his helmet went
flying.

The crowd went wild. Even more so when Alex
rode over to her, removed his helmet, and accepted her blue
ribbon.

“
It seems, my lady, you have,
indeed, altered my fate.”

***

“
Isobel!” Nick hurried through the
crowd after her, her blue dress kicking up dust in her
wake.

She turned and glared at him. “You forget
yourself, sir.”

She did love to use that tone with him, but he
would not be cowed. She’d need him now. “My pardon, Lady Marston. I
wish to have a moment—”

“
You may wish all you want, but a
wish is all you will have. Good day.” She turned away.

Not this time
. “Isobel.” Nick dropped
his voice as he caught her arm. “There are things we must
discuss.”

She rounded on him and he saw the barely
restrained tears in her eyes. “Have you no decency? All of you,
like vultures! I won’t be made sport of.” She pulled her arm away,
picked up her skirt, and fled.

Nick let her go. Alex and King Henry had done
more damage than they knew.

It was time for him to fix it.

Chapter Six

Kate woke to the bleating of sheep and the
mooing of cows.

Sheep? Cows? In Philadelphia?

Not in her neighborhood.

She opened her eyes. Crimson velvet draped
across the ceiling above her.

Ah, yes. Fourteen eighty-seven. A nightmare
come to life.

And one that better end soon. Of all the time
periods in history, why did it have to be this one? Where men were
the law and women were… well, not in charge. Why couldn’t she have
gone back to ancient Greece and been revered as a
goddess?

Because that wasn’t who she was any more than
a medieval “by your leave, my lord” sort of woman.

She wiggled out from the covers and leaned
against the headboard of the massive canopy bed. Last night, she’d
taken Alex and his friends to where she’d hidden the window, and it
still hadn’t been there. They’d used the last of the daylight to
search for it only to come up empty.

Then they’d headed to Alex’s home and, after a
quick candlelight tour, he’d led her to his study where she’d drawn
a picture of the window for his men to use in their
search.

He’d taken her to this room them, putting off
her introduction to his people until morning.

This
morning.

Kate crossed her arms behind her head and
stared at the yellow plastered walls in her room. Time travel. She
almost didn’t believe it, but this new home-sweet-home made a
convincing argument.

The place was more like the Philadelphia Art
Museum than anyone’s home. Big, hollow halls with what would be
priceless antiques in her time everywhere: suits of armor,
authentic furnishings, and hand-made medieval clothing. And while
it was an impressive once-in-a-lifetime experience, she’d rather
see them when they were actual antiques.

Someone knocked on her door.

“
Uh, come in?” Or was that,
enter
? Too bad her history prof hadn’t included a textbook
on medieval manners in the curriculum.

“
Good morn, my lady.” A young girl,
probably no more than sixteen, curtsied to her from the doorway.
She set a tray on a small desk. “I’m Joan, your maid.”

“
Hi, Joan. I’m Kate.” Kate kicked
the furs—furs!—off her legs and tried to make a somewhat dignified
leap off the high bed. “Thank you for the breakfast.”

Joan’s eyes were as wide as the cushions on
the window seat.

What had she done now? She’d put on the
nightgown someone had laid out for her last night, and the ring was
still on her finger.

Oh. Probably shouldn’t be so familiar with the
help. That lady of the manor thing.

“
That is—” She yanked the nightgown
down around her legs. “My name is Kate, er, Katherine. Lawton.”
Katherine was a normal name for this time period. Three of Henry
the eighth’s wives had had it.

On second thought, maybe that wasn’t a good
comparison.

“
Yes, my lady. Lord Shelton
informed the keep upon your arrival.” Joan curtsied again. “I have
brought you wine. Mistress Mary will be in to assist you with your
garments before you break your fast with our lord.” The girl backed
toward the door and, with a final curtsy, left.

Kate released the breath she hadn’t been aware
she’d been holding. T
he keep, assist with her garments, break
her fast, curtsying, wine before noon
… Even with the ring this
could get confusing. But if someone was coming in to help her
dress, she’d better get rid of her twenty-first century underwear
pretty quickly. Elastic would be tough to explain.

Kate stuffed the anachronistic clothing under
the cushion on the window seat, then opened the interior shutters
to see what a fifteenth-century countryside looked like. It might
come in handy with one of her advertising campaigns some day after
she returned home.

She refused to consider that the “after” might
be “if.”

Alex’s castle stood high on a hill above a
river. She could see for miles. Thatched-roof cottages and wood
structures were scattered across the landscape and a long dirt path
meandered into the green hills. The sun was out in all its glory,
catching the last of the dew in its twinkling grasp. A dense forest
bordered the horizon. Butterflies dotted a crystalline blue sky
unmarred by any clouds, and a hawk screeched near her window before
plummeting toward the field. With a lunge of its talons and a flip
of its wings, a bunny was toast (or sausage) and the hawk coasted
toward a man at the forest’s edge.

Savage but beautiful. Nature at her most
basic. Kate had seen the same scene yesterday in the Lancaster
County countryside when she’d driven to the faire. Well, not the
man holding the bird part, but that was because life had still been
normal.

“
Good morn, my lady.” A small woman
bounced into her room, stopping the pity party Kate was about to
start. The woman was as wide around the middle as she was tall,
with sparkling silver eyes, and a smile fighting her ruddy cheeks
for room on her face as she curtsied. “Welcome, my lady, to Shelton
keep. I am Mary, mistress of the wardrobe to his lordship. We’ll
have you looking magnificent in her ladyship’s clothes. I can’t
imagine why those ruffians took yours. Waylaying an earl’s
betrothed. When our lord finds them, they’ll wish they’d never
heard of hiim.”

And so, she was off. Kate didn’t even bother
to try to get a word in edgewise, because Mary was Little Miss
Chatterbox. She dove into the trunk in the corner of the room near
the carved wood dressing screen, tossing silks and brocades, wools,
linens, ribbons, and shoes all over the place like Filene’s
Basement on a sale day, or like a little girl diving into her mom’s
stash of old prom dresses. Emma would be able to do that
someday—
if
Kate could manage to get out of here.

Mary pulled out an emerald dress and held it
to Kate’s chin. “‘Twill bring out the jewels in your eyes.” She
draped it on the bed. “She never wore these, you know.” Another
dive into the trunk produced a yellow overdress thing with lacings
up the front. “Will this do, my lady?”

Kate let the silky fabric spill through her
fingers. “Do? Are you serious? It’s gorgeous. Nothing in
Nordstrom’s can compare.”