by Lynn Kurland
42
Richard sat in the gathering hall below his bedchamber and glared at the souls gathered with him there. To a man, the cowards seemed to have no counsel on how he might sally forth and conquer his current problem.
He looked at Hamlet, who seemed to have nothing better to do than to stare off unseeing into the distance. Finally Hamlet took notice of Richard’s glare and reluctantly looked at his master.
“My lord?”
“You have no suggestions?” Richard demanded. “You, who have suggestions for every bloody trial a man might pass through?”
Hamlet only shrugged helplessly. “A lay I might compose, or a wooing gift for after the, um, after the . . .” He shrugged again and fell silent.
Richard looked at the rest of the men gathered there. John would be of no use. The man was currently doing his best to slip fully into his cups. William was sharpening his sword. Not even Warren looked to have any spare thoughts rattling about in his head. Richard turned to the final occupant of the chamber and fixed him with a steely glare.
“What of you?” he demanded. “Have you nothing to offer?”
And Miles de Piaget, father of six, only remained sprawled negligently in his chair. “I’ve already told you what to do.”
“I don’t like your idea!”
Miles shrugged. “You wanted to know what I thought and I told you. Abby will come to fetch you, you know, if you don’t go.”
Richard thought that facing an entire army of angry Saracens sounded more pleasant than what he might encounter upstairs. He looked at Miles and winced.
“She’s been passing unpleasant the past few days.”
“Richard, she’s bursting with your babe. Of course she’s going to be unpleasant.”
“I fear for my life.”
Miles laughed shortly. “As well you should. If you find this frightening, brace yourself for the time her true labor comes upon her.”
“True labor?” Richard echoed. “What, pray you, has this past month of gut-wrenching pains been if not true labor?”
“Braxton Hicks,” Miles said wisely. “’Tis but the skirmish before the war, my friend.”
“The saints preserve me.”
“Aye, and that isn’t the last time you’ll say that.”
Richard looked at the rest of his men and dismissed them with a wave. “Spare yourselves,” he said. “I doubt you’ll want to learn more.”
The others wasted no time in fleeing the chamber. Once they were gone, Richard looked at Miles. It was odd. He had known the man facing him for a great portion of his life, encountered him numerous times at Artane, watched him with his wife and babes, yet never once had it crossed his mind that Abigail might be other than she seemed. Richard was a private man and he assumed Miles was the same, but there was a handful of questions he burned to ask. So he took a deep breath and asked them.
“How has it been?” he asked first.
Miles smiled. “I daresay you aren’t asking about childbirth.”
“I’m not.”
Miles rested his head against the back of the chair and stared up at the ceiling a moment or two before he looked at Richard again. “Miraculous.”
“Because of her birth date?”
“Because she is Abby. Her birth date has merely made things unusually interesting.”
Richard took a deep breath. These were personal questions and he hoped he wasn’t overstepping the bounds of manly good taste.
“Has she been happy?”
Miles shrugged, but he smiled as he did so. “You would have to ask her. She hasn’t thrown me out of our bed yet. We have six children living. Aye, I think she’s happy enough.”
“And she doesn’t miss her time?”
“I can’t answer that for her, Richard. I suppose the question is, would you miss your time should the roles have been reversed?”
Richard nodded slowly. “I suppose there would be things I would miss.”
“But wonders you would gain.”
“Ah, but the things they have given up for us,” Richard said, thinking about the contents of Jessica’s backpack.
“Future marvels, or medieval lords,” Miles said with a wry laugh. “I can see why they are giddy with happiness.”
Richard paused. “I have pictures.”
“Pictures?”
“Images captured on parchment. Images of future marvels. Jessica brought them back with her.”
Miles looked horribly tempted. “Will I regret looking?”
“The question is, will I regret fetching them from my trunk?”
“You might, and worse, you might not escape the chamber again. Perhaps after the babe is safely delivered. I daresay we both might be entitled to some kind of reward.”
“You?” Richard snorted. “What have you done to deserve aught?”
“Endured you,” Miles answered promptly. “Especially when I told you that your place is upstairs, aiding your lady. I could have been sleeping peacefully here upon the table. I have six children, you know. I’m tired. I need my rest.”
Richard only scowled. “They do not want me above. I am shouted at most unkindly whenever I dare poke my nose inside the chamber.”
“You’re likely interrupting Abby at her work.”
“She’s putting my wife under some kind of spell,” Richard said, though he had to admit that the sound of Abigail’s voice was properly pleasing.
“It’s hypnotic birthing,” Miles said wisely. “Abby learned it from a friend in her time. It relaxes the mother and dulls the pain. Trust me, this is a good thing.”
“A strap of leather between the teeth would serve just as well.”
“When your lady prefers your arm to leather, you’ll find you’ve changed your mind on that.”
“Richard!” The voice from above was accompanied by thumping on the ceiling.
Miles smiled pleasantly. “That would be my lady, summoning you to do your fatherly duty.”
“Men shouldn’t enter birthing chambers—”
Miles waved Richard away. “Off with you, lad. You were there in the beginning. Best be there in the end.”
Richard wondered if he would manage it without losing what he’d ingested to break his fast that morn. He swallowed with great effort.
“I truly think,” he began sternly, “that my place is not—”
“Richard!”
Richard blanched. “By the saints, I’m not sure—”
“We never are. Shall I carry you up?”
Richard was tempted to cuff Miles smartly, but then again, the man was at least a score of years his senior and it would have been disrespectful. And he was of the Artane ilk, and those lads were never shy about settling disputes with a wrestle. Richard suspected biting his tongue was the wisest course of action. He would likely need all his strength for what he faced above.
He took a deep breath, pushed himself away from the table, and left the gathering hall.
The stairs up to his bedchamber had never seemed so steep before. And he was certain there were a few missing, for it took him far too little time to reach the landing above.
Abby was waiting for him at the door. “Hurry up,” she said briskly. “I have things for you to do.”
Richard didn’t ask what those things were. He didn’t want to know. What he wanted to do was run the other way and hide under a table until the deed was finished.
But he was nothing if not courageous, so he entered his chamber, flexed his fingers, and put on his best battle expression.
“What will you have me do?” he asked grimly.
“Just go hold her hand for now.”
Jessica was currently sitting in a large tub of water before the fire. Richard was intimately acquainted with the size of the tub, for he’d been the one to build it. He wasn’t sure that having his child born in water was the proper thing to do, but Abby had been adamant that it would decrease Jessica’s pain. Richard couldn’t imagine that such a simple thing as having a child could be
so painful.
“Holy moly,” Jessica gasped, clutching the edges of the tub. “That was a strong one.”
“Breathe, Jessica,” Abby commanded. “Remember what I taught you. Here, Richard, go kneel behind her and hold on to her when she wants you to. I’ll let you cut the cord when the time comes if you want to.”
Richard knelt down behind his wife, touched her shoulders, and then found himself swept up into events he never could have imagined.
Jessica’s labor was hard and fast. Back labor, Abby called it, and apparently it was very painful. Richard soon found himself in the tub with Jessica, and her pain became his pain. He was quite certain he would never again hear out of his left ear in the same manner he had before. He could feel the pains gripping his wife and wondered how it was she could bear it.
And he found himself heartily thankful that he was a man.
And then the time came when a small babe was pushed from his wife’s body and brought up out of the water to be put in her arms. Richard put his arms around Jessica and held both her and their child.
And he wept.
It was only after Jessica and the babe were securely tucked into his bed that he found he could manage words without tears. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at his lady. She smiled wearily.
“Wasn’t that fun?”
“What?”
“Fun, Richard. Wasn’t that fun?”
“Other ear, Jess,” he said, digging in his offended ear in hopes he might restore his hearing.
She only laughed softly. “Sorry. I don’t think I was quite prepared for that last little bit.” She looked down at their child. “But it was worth it.”
“Aye, love, I daresay it was.”
“Where’s Abby?”
“She took your chocolate and descended to celebrate with Miles.”
Jessica gasped. “She didn’t! Not the whole stash!”
“She told me ’tis a passing foul thing to be eaten by a mother with a babe to suckle.” He smiled. “I offered myself as repository, but she was adamant neither of us be poisoned.”
“You’d better be kidding.”
“The pregnancy crankiness is not dissipated?”
“When it comes to a supply of chocolate that has to last me a lifetime, there is no dissipation of the crankiness.”
He leaned over carefully and kissed her. “I only gave her what was due her. Your treasure is still safe.” Though he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t be mounting a small assault upon the stuff once Jessica was asleep. He hadn’t been all that fond of it at first taste, but the flavor certainly improved with time.
But for now, he would sit where he was, be grateful he’d survived the birth of his babe, and watch his beloved lady sleep. Perhaps later he would descend and thank Abby and Miles for their companionship and aid. And he would tell Miles that he thought he might someday understand the terror and joy of fatherhood. He rested his hands, one on the wee babe and one on Jessica’s knee, and prayed that he was equal to the task of keeping them both safe and giving them what love he had in his poor heart. He’d never truly understood how Jessica could weep when she was happy, for tears had never been joyful to him.
But now, as he looked at the two who meant the most to him, he felt himself weep yet again, even as he smiled.
He understood.
And what indescribable joy it was.
43
Margaret Blakely stood at the foot of the bed where her daughter had last slept and stared down at the history book lying there. The police had warned her not to touch anything. It had been the latest in a series of polite commands of which she had been on the receiving end ever since the third phone call that had changed her life.
The first had been news of her husband’s death.
The second had been news of Jessica’s first disappearance.
The third had been the call from the missing-persons division of Scotland Yard. It was this one, however, that Margaret had found the least unexpected. Jessica had done it. Margaret couldn’t help but feel her heart break for the third time as well. There was the pain of knowing she would never see her daughter again, but there was also the bittersweet joy of knowing she had found a great love.
Assuming, of course, that she had truly gone back in time.
Margaret knew the answer lay before her and there was no reason—despite what the police might say—for her not to find out the details.
She reached out, picked up the book, and ripped away the shrink-wrap. She found that her hands were shaking. What if the investigation actually turned up something? What if she looked through the book and didn’t see anything to prove that Jessica had found Richard again? Margaret knew nothing about the time period besides what Jessica had told her. What if every other girl in the Middle Ages bore her daughter’s name?
She thumbed through the index, found Burwyck-on-the-Sea, and looked up the most substantial of the references. Sitting down seemed to be the wisest course of action, so she sat on the edge of the bed and gripped the book with trembling fingers.
And she read:
Burwyck-on-the-Sea is one of the more interesting medieval castles in the north. Rebuilt during the years 1257 through approximately 1265, it boasts several features that are far ahead of its time architecturally. There is the round tower, of course, its most distinguishing detail. The great hall and other apartments are laid out in a manner found nowhere else in England until many hundreds of years after the builder was dead.
Leave it to a history book, Margaret thought dryly, never to mention a woman by name.
She continued reading about Lord Richard and his wife, the places they traveled, and the wars they managed to always find themselves on the right side of. Margaret was somewhat relieved to see a Jessica listed there as his wife, but she wasn’t relieved enough to get up and call off the search.
She looked through the index again for any personal information, but none was listed. In desperation, she wrote down all the page references and started at the beginning, reading each one carefully for that little tidbit that would let her know that her Jessica was the one spoken of.
The morning passed. There were several knocks on the door, but she answered each with a curt “go away” and the knockers went. Apparently they were more than willing to leave her to her grief.
She read all the references, but to no avail. She took a deep breath, turned back to the beginning of the book, and started from page one, reading every page for something the indexers might have missed.
It was sunset before she found what she was looking for. She reread the passage several times, then closed her eyes and let the tears flow unchecked.
Richard de Galtres and his wife, Jessica, were the parents of several children. The first child born to the couple was a girl.
They named her Ruth.
And it was only then that Margaret Ruth Blakely closed the book and went to call off the search.
Her daughter had made it.
44
Jessica stood on the dais and looked up at the windows lining the great hall. Four of them, just as perfectly fashioned as Richard had drawn them. As she watched, daylight faded, deepening the colors in the glass.
The firelight and the light from the torches on the wall finally competed fiercely enough that she could see the windows no longer. With a smile of contentment, she turned and walked toward the stairs.
It was about time she got back to her room anyway. At least there she could keep watch over her precious stash of chocolate. She deserved all of it for having gone through labor without drugs, though she hadn’t begrudged Abby what had been brought especially for her plus a little. But for herself, she was afraid that if she left her room for too long, Richard might filch what was left before she could get to it.
She entered the bedroom, then shut the door behind her and leaned against it. She never tired of the sight that greeted her.
Richard sat in a chair near the fire with his feet up on a stool. His eye
s were closed. His toes were moving subconsciously. The CD player rested on the floor next to him. Jessica hardly knew if she should laugh or shake her head in disbelief at the complete incongruity of the scene. Richard’s sword was propped up against the table, he was dressed in his most comfortable medieval garb, and he was rocking out to her favorite jazz group’s funkiest rhythms.
And baby Ruth slept contentedly on her father’s chest.
Richard opened his eyes, then smiled when he saw her. Not that his smile was much more ready than it had been at first. He made it a point not to show it to his guardsmen and he graced his brother with it infrequently. But, he had admitted grudgingly, the sight of her forced it to his lips despite his best efforts to stop it.
All she knew was that he smiled at her because he loved her.
He took off his headphones with a practiced tug.
“Good even’ to you, my lady.” He held out his hand to her and she crossed the room. He smiled up at her.
“The more I see you,” he said quietly, “the more I want you.”
“Sinatra on the CD?” she asked.
“His words,” Richard said, “but my heart.”
How could she not love the man? She leaned over to kiss him, then stopped and sniffed. Her eyes narrowed.
“You’ve been in it again.”
He looked hideously guilty. “A small taste.”
“Richard!”
“’Tis your fault,” he retorted. “If you hadn’t brought the bloody stuff back with you, I wouldn’t be craving it at all hours!”
“How much is left?” she demanded.
“Less than you’d like,” he muttered.
Jessica started to remind him that her stash had to last her through however many children he intended to have, then she threw in the towel at the sight of the chocolate lingering at the corner of her husband’s mouth. He was right. She’d taken a fierce and cunning medieval lord and turned him into a dyed-in-the-wool jazzer and chocoholic all in one fell swoop. It wasn’t something she wanted making the history books, but as long as she could enjoy it in private, she was happy.
Richard brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it in his normal, unpolished way.