by Lynn Kurland
Peter snorted. "What has his vow served him, old man?"
"What would you know of it, young pup?" the priest said, smacking his toothless gums together energetically.
"I knows plenty," Peter replied hotly. "More than you, I'd say."
"You know nothing," the priest said.
The argument only escalated from there. Julianna looked at William, curious as to when he intended to stop things only to find him flipping thoughtfully through the pages of her Day-Timer. He fingered the metal rings, idly flicked the plastic placeholder, then gave a closer look to the pouch full of pens and pencils. Then he looked up at her suddenly, and she saw the unmistakable signs of someone coming to a conclusion.
Silently he rose to his feet, hauled her to hers, then scooped up her bag. Without asking her opinion, he kept her hand in his and led her from the chapel. Julianna had to jog to keep up with him as he strode off into the woods. He walked for perhaps a quarter of an hour before he stopped in a little clearing, dropped her hand and turned to face her. But he said nothing.
Julianna started to get uncomfortable. There was still plenty of daylight left in spite of the clouds, and she had no trouble seeing the expressions that passed over her rescuer's beautiful face. Curiosity, puzzlement, but mostly skepticism.
"Are you a demon?" he asked suddenly.
She blinked. "Me? Of course not."
"Hmmm," he said thoughtfully. "I suspected that might not be the truth of it. Your visage is too pleasing for that."
"Well," she said, finding herself beginning to blush in the way she generally did when she tripped on the sidewalk in front of construction workers, "thank you."
"An angel then?"
Apparently he wasn't interested in angering over compliments. Julianna smiled weakly. "Do I look like an angel?"
She knew she was fishing, but she could hardly help herself. But then, as she found herself being pinned in place by those pale gray eyes, she realized she was way out of her league with this guy. She'd only meant to wring another compliment from him. She hadn't meant to have herself raked over by a frank perusal that left her wishing she had something besides the muddy ground to sit down on. Whatever else she could find to say about the man, she had to admit that he certainly could leave a girl feeling as if she had no secrets with just a look.
"You, lady," he said at length, "look nothing like any angel I've ever seen."
"Have you seen many?" she asked, wondering why her voice had suddenly acquired such a breathy quality. Well, at least she wasn't breaking into a debilitating round of hiccups.
"I've seen my share," he said.
Sure you have, she meant to say, but he had taken a step or two closer to her, lifted the hand that wasn't still clutching her Day-Timer and reached out to touch her hair. If she hadn't wanted to sit down before, she was almost overpowered by the desire now. She just wasn't sure at all that her knees would hold her up much longer.
"Hair in such disobedient disarray?" he mused, tucking a lock of errant hair behind her ear.
Julianna made a mental note to cancel that appointment she had to get her hair straightened. Suddenly, all the frustration of years of fighting with it vanished. Hell, it was good hair.
"Eyes that fair pierce my soul?" he continued, looking down at her gravely.
Bag the green contact idea, as well. Blue eyes were a very good thing.
"Nay, lady," he said quietly, "you are no angel. What you are, I do not know. But I do know that now I've seen you, I could never forget you."
Julianna knew her mouth was hanging open very unattractively, but what could she do? One of the most handsome men she had ever seen was giving her the compliments of her life—never mind that he was carrying a sword, wearing her purse and clutching her Day-Timer as if he meant to do damage with it—and looking as if he might kiss her at any moment. She wasn't drooling and she wasn't hiccuping. Life was good.
William slid his hand under her hair, and Julianna felt a shiver go through her. She watched as he lowered his head and knew that a moment of truth was upon her. He was going to kiss her, and she suspected it was going to be the kiss of a lifetime. His lips were a half inch from hers. She closed her eyes and hoped she wouldn't embarrass herself by melting at his feet.
Then he froze.
"Are you a saint?" he asked.
Julianna jerked her eyes open—it was a supreme effort to do so—and blinked at him. "Huh?"
"A saint?" he asked urgently. "Damnation, what am I thinking!"
She grabbed him before he could pull too far away. "I'm not a saint," she said. "Really. Now, where were we?"
"I cannot kiss a saint," he said, looking faintly horrified.
"I told you, I'm no saint. Honestly."
But he had already pulled his hand out from under her hair. It was, however, still resting on her shoulder, which, to her mind, was a very positive thing.
"I suppose not," he said slowly. "After all, saints do not swear."
"Damn straight."
"Or have such problems with their breathing."
If she could have produced a hiccup right then, she would have. It figured the one time she wanted them, she couldn't get them. "You're so right," she said encouragingly.
"There is, however, your sacred relic sack to consider."
"It's just stuff. I wouldn't worry about it."
"And this, what did you call it?" he asked, holding up her book.
"Day-Timer," she said, searching desperately for something to get him back on track. "But look at my hair. Any saint you know have hair like this?"
He looked but, disappointingly, didn't touch. "Nay," he admitted slowly.
"Eyes?" she said, opening them wide for his inspection. "Baby blues like this?"
He shook his head slowly, the slightest of smiles crossing his face. "Nay, my lady, I've seen none like them."
"There you go then. I'm not a demon, an angel or a saint. Now that we've got that settled…" she trailed off meaningfully.
He kept his fingers on her shoulder and reached up with his thumb to touch her jaw. He smiled a half smile at her. "But, if you're none of those things, then who are you?"
"I'm just Julianna," she said simply. Now kiss me, you big lug, and let's see if that doesn't give me new purpose in life.
"Do you know," he said conversationally, as if tracing lazy circles on her cheek and jaw wasn't the most incredibly distracting thing a man could do to a woman he'd come very near to kissing into incoherence, "that once I fancied you were a saint come to aid me in my quest?"
"Did you now?" she wheezed.
"And I hoped that something in your sack would be just what I needed to liberate my keep from my sire's vile clutches."
"Sorry," she managed. "Unless you'd like to clobber them with my Cole Haans—um, the shoes with the spikes," she clarified.
He continued to stroke. "I can think of no other being but a saint who would appear from nowhere, without kin or husband. You haven't any gear as well."
"It's a long story."
He looked at her in silence for a moment or two.
Then he began to frown. Julianna watched the doubt develop in his face, and she had no idea how to stave it off.
"I do not believe," he said finally, "that the Future could spit out one of its own and land her at my keep. In spite of what you carry in your sack."
Julianna swallowed with more difficulty than she would have liked. He might have still been caressing her face, but somehow the skepticism in his expression had turned to something very unyielding. She wondered if this was the expression his victims were treated to before he put them to the sword.
"You can," she managed with as much sincerity as she could, "believe what you like, but it doesn't change the truth of it."
"It makes no sense."
"I know."
He pursed his lips. " 'Tis that bloody vow I made. I think I've conjured you up because of it. I never should have let that daft priest bind me to any rescues."
&
nbsp; "Well," she said, feeling a little flat all of a sudden, "you don't have to keep it."
He jerked back as if she'd slapped him. "Not keep my vow? My honor rests upon it!"
"Oh," she said, "well, then. But why did you make it in the first place?"
" 'Tis a very long tale," he said, stepping away from her and fumbling with her bag. He managed to get the zipper open, her Day-Timer inside, and the zipper closed again with only a minor shiver or two. He looked at her and shook his head. "You may be no demon, my lady, but your gear is passing strange."
"It's—"
"Future gear," he finished for her. "Aye, aye, I know."
"Tell me about your castle," she said, aiming for a distraction. All right, so she'd lost out on the kiss of a lifetime. She'd never get close to having another one if he kept looking at her like she'd just slithered up from Hell for a visit.
"I was in France," he began, "leading a very pleasant, if purposeless existence, when I received word from my uncle, Henry of Artane—Have you heard of him?"
She shook her head.
"Ah, well, perhaps Manhattan is a little more primitive than I suspected—"
Julianna watched as he took her hand in his and turned her back toward the chapel. It was such an ordinary thing, holding hands with a man. Yet, somehow, the feeling of his warm, callused hand holding hers was possibly the most singularly amazing thing she'd ever felt.
"He bid me come back to England to claim an inheritance my grandsire had left me," William continued. "It should have gone to my sire first, of course, but he being the wastrel he is, could not possibly have held it. The saints only know where my older brother is, but I suspect that he's currently loitering beneath a dripping ale spigot. That left only me. I suspect that when my father learned of my uncle's intentions, he was passing furious."
Julianna looked up at him as he talked and wondered with even more amazement how it was that she was walking through the woods, holding hands with a man who spoke Norman French as easily as if it had been his first language, which it was. And when he apparently wasn't sure she understood something, he would repeat it in Middle English, just as easily as you pleased.
She was suddenly very grateful for all those hours spent studying. Who would have thought it would have become so necessary to her survival?
"Of course, the keep wasn't promised to be in perfect condition. I daresay, though, that 'twas the best my grandsire could have in good conscience offered me. He had six sons, you see, and that many more grandsons, as well as girl children, so there is only so much land to go around, never mind his great wealth. I felt fortunate to have been offered anything at all."
Fiefs, peasants, swords and inheritances. Julianna listened, shook her head and wondered just how in the world she was supposed to fit into all this. Or was she? Was she supposed to try to get back home?
"I suspect that my grandsire felt that if I had some land under my feet, I might turn my mind to other things, namely getting myself a wife and an heir—"
That brought her out of her reverie. "You're engaged?" she demanded. "Betrothed?"
"Betrothed? Saints, nay." Then he looked at her sharply. "You?"
"No," she said. She wanted to believe he looked relieved at that fact. But why should she care? She wanted a good job, travel and life in the fast lane. What could possibly be appealing about a man, a home and a family?
Besides just about everything?
She considered. If she found herself making a home and family with this man, she could use all her language skills. She could probably even use her metalworking skills. She certainly didn't see a blacksmith hanging around as part of William's entourage. She'd made jewelry before. Couldn't she parlay that into a little sword-making?
Now, the cartooning was a bust, but she could live with that, couldn't she? Then again maybe she could start her own newspaper with spoofings of the current monarch taking up serious front-page space. Roasting the monarch could possibly lead to a roasting of oneself so she was back to cartooning being a bust.
"… Of course, I was very surprised to find my own gates barred against me, and my sire no doubt reclining upon his sorry arse in my chair. I had just made my vow—for vow-making is very much a part of my family, you see—and was preparing to scale the wall when I happened upon you."
"Looking less than my best."
"Aye, my lady, you were passing pungent." He sighed. "Now you have my poor tale and see why I thought perhaps you had come to aid me."
"I wish I could," she said.
He gave her a little smile. "It matters not. I can see to it myself."
"What will you do?"
"Well, I had thought to climb over the wall in the night and murder my sire before he was the wiser, then rout out his men before the whole keep was awake and had raised arms against me."
"Sounds dangerous," she said breathlessly.
He shrugged. "I've done it before with great success."
That thought was enough to push her over the edge. To think he had done something that perilous and could discuss it so casually was astounding. So she made the only response she could.
"Hic," she said. "Hic-hic."
"Ah, by the saints," he said with a half laugh. "I can see how you feel about that."
"Sorry—hic-hic"
" 'Tis in the past, Julianna." He sighed and dragged his free hand through his hair. "Saints, but I cannot think of it now. 'Tis a pity, though, for it made me a good warrior."
"Climbing over—hic—walls?"
He shook his head. "Nay, lady. Having no one to care for but myself."
"What's changed?" she asked. "Find someone recently?"
And then she clapped her hand over her mouth on the pretense of trying to stop her hiccups. In reality, it was the only way she could stop the words that seemed to be spewing out of her mouth without her permission.
William stopped and turned to look at her.
She found, suddenly, that the words had ceased to flow as quickly as they'd started to. Even her hiccups disappeared. A silence fell until all she could hear was the call of the occasional bird and a bit of wind blowing gently through the trees. But she couldn't look to see where the wind was blowing or what birds were carrying on their sporadic conversations. All she could do was look at the man in front of her: a medieval knight with a sword at his side and her bag over his shoulder who was looking at her with an intensity that left her weak.
"Aye," he said at length. "I have."
"Really," she managed. "Who? Peter?"
He shook his head.
"The priest?"
He shook his head again, and damn him if he didn't reach out, slide his hand under her hair again and move closer to her. Julianna swallowed with a gulp. She wanted to get a definitive answer out of him, but she found herself becoming quite distracted by his hand tangling gently in her hair. It was a most mesmerizing feeling, and she found herself absorbed by it—and the sheer amazement that she'd actually found someone who was single, handsome and gallant. Never mind that he was in the wrong century entirely.
He smiled down at her, and she thought the sheer wattage of that smile might just start up her unfortunate reaction again. But before she could catch her breath to make any kind of hiccuping noise, he bent his head and kissed her.
Heck, who needed to breathe?
"Perhaps," he said at length, when he lifted his mouth from hers, "our good priest had more sense than I suspected in the wording of his vow."
"Were you supposed to rescue a maiden in distress?" she asked, wondering if he would notice if she started to fan herself. Who knew that kissing out in the rain could generate such internal heat?
"Aye, I was."
"And rescue her from dragons?" she added, wondering in addition if he could feel her knees becoming wobbly.
"There was nothing about dragons. I suspect the only foul thing I will be rescuing you from is the foodstuffs and drink in your sack." He smiled down at her. "Let me be about the reclaiming of my
hall, then we'll see to a decent meal or two."
All right, so it wasn't a proposal. It was an invitation to dinner, and who knew where that might lead? Besides, Julianna was starting to wonder about the advisability of living on bottled water and carob-covered fruits and vegetables. The sooner William got on with his little project, the better as far as she was concerned.
"I have a stun gun you could use," she offered.
"How does it go about its work?"
"You poke someone with it and it leaves them senseless and drooling."
"So does my sword," he said. "Let us go back. I'll manage well enough on my own."
Maybe it was for the best. For all she knew, William would point the thing the wrong way and there he'd be, senseless and drooling, and then she and Peter would be the ones trying to pick up his sword and do damage with it.
"So," she said, as they walked back to the hall, "what's next?"
"I daresay I have little choice but to climb over the wall and murder him in his bed."
She stopped still. "You said you weren't—"
He bent his head and kissed her again so quickly, she didn't see it coming. And when he stopped and simply looked down at her, she found she just couldn't say anything at all.
"I'll return," he said.
"But—"
"I'll return, Julianna. I vow it with my life."
Great. She had just hooked herself up with a medieval knight bent on murder and mayhem. Her mother would have fainted dead away at the thought.
She wondered in passing how Elizabeth would have reacted to the news: Oh, by the way, on my way to your castle, I paused in the Middle Ages and found myself being rescued by a knight. A very handsome, attentive, manly knight...
She very much suspected Elizabeth wouldn't have been surprised. But she wondered what Elizabeth's advice would have been. Stay in the past, or try to get home? Hmmm, ask a complete romantic if she should fall in love, or go back home and look for a dead-end job?
Julianna wondered absently if she could survive the rest of her life without a flush toilet.
Or with a man who thought nothing of risking his life in the seemingly riskiest of ways. Well, if she was going to be any good at this time period, she would just have to suck it up and trust him. She took a deep breath.