by Lynn Kurland
"I don't think he'll be following us."
"Don't you?" William asked. "What would stop him?"
She smiled weakly. "He's a nasty person?"
"Then only saintly souls are allowed to skip about the centuries as if in a dance?"
"One could hope."
"One could hope my blade found home in his chest. I daresay, my love, that such will be the only way he remains behind."
Which meant he would be keeping watch for a goodly while, until he was satisfied.
But for the moment, what he did know was that he'd been spared, for whatever the reason. He wouldn't be caught unawares again.
He led the way along a path that seemed to be unnaturally well-trod, past a large pond and into a castle courtyard.
There were strangely formed wagons with shiny wheels and enclosed with brilliantly colored coverings standing in front of the hall door.
"Cars," Julianna breathed.
Well, an explanation was definitely in order, but perhaps later, after they'd discovered where they were truly and if the inhabitants were friend or foe.
Julianna slid off her horse near the hall door. William was hard-pressed to tie up their horses to a post and catch her before she'd ascended the three flat steps. He managed to catch her hand before she knocked. He drew his sword, pulled her behind him and gave her a pointed look. She rolled her eyes and sighed. But she stepped behind him willingly enough.
He turned his attentions to his current task and banged on the door sharply with the hilt of his sword.
The occupants weren't expecting visitors, if the lack of haste employed in opening the door was any indication.
A young man pulled the door open, drinking deeply from some kind of long, white box. He finished, dragged his sleeve across his mouth and looked at them with great indifference.
"Yeah?"
"Who is lord of this keep?" William demanded. "I'll speak with him immediately."
"And you would be?" the other asked.
William eyed him narrowly. The lad was doing irreparable damage to the peasant's English, but perhaps he was a servant and knew no better. Though with the way he slouched against the doorframe as if he hadn't any cares, William feared he hadn't yet hit upon the boy's identity. Perhaps this was the steward and he was accustomed to men banging on the doors, demanding to see his master. William knew there was no fault to be found with his own appearance. He could thank his uncle for replacing his threadbare garments. Whoever this young pup was, he should have been more impressed. William resheathed his sword with a flourish and put his shoulders back.
"I am William of Artane," he said slowly and distinctly, as if that very utterance should cause all within hearing to back up a pace. "And I demand to know where I am."
"William—" Julianna poked him in the back.
"And in what year," William added for good measure.
"William—"
"Julianna, I can see to this on my own."
"Julianna?"
William looked back at the keeper of the door and was surprised to see a flicker of emotion cross his face.
"Julianna Nelson?" the young man asked.
"Julianna de Piaget," William corrected, but before he could elaborate on that, his wife had popped out from behind his back and was blathering on in the same horrific butchering of the peasant's English the lad had used.
He found, however, that if he concentrated very hard, he could understand most of what was said. That, at least, gave him some small measure of comfort. Perhaps 'twas true he couldn't read. He did, however, have an ear for different tongues. He suspected it might serve him very well.
The lad was holding out his hand. "Zachary Smith. Elizabeth's brother."
Julianna took his hand and William snatched his wife's hand away just as quickly. He threw Zachary Smith a glare. How dare the wretch take liberties with his bride!
"All right," the young man said, carefully backing up so they could enter. "No problem. Come on in."
"Where is Elizabeth?" Julianna asked.
"She and Jamie are away for a week or so. It's just me. Alone. Again."
Elizabeth was Julianna's friend and the maker of the magical map. William suspected he would eventually thank her for the like. First he would have to see if the Future agreed with him, for though he'd had no direct answer to his question, even he possessed wits enough to know that if he was looking at Elizabeth MacLeod's brother, he'd come to Julianna's time in truth.
The saints preserve him.
"This is the deal."
William stiffened when he found himself being stared at so pointedly by young Zachary Smith.
"No swords down the toilets. No phone calls without supervision. No standing in front of an open fridge taking a bite out of everything inside. And the remote is mine in the evenings."
William had no idea what idiocy the lad was babbling, so he dismissed it and began to look about him.
There was a very adequate fireplace with several comfortable chairs set before it. William nodded with satisfaction. That, at least, he found to his liking. He strode out into the hall and looked about him. No rushes, but the floor was passing clean and had a pleasant smell. He turned to his left and walked into what he assumed might be the kitchens.
And then he froze in place.
Several enormous boxes made from materials he'd never before seen in his life stared back at him in a forbidding, unyielding way.
Zachary Smith pushed past him and walked to one of the boxes. William found he couldn't even hold out a hand to stop the lad.
"Fridge," Zachary said, wrestling with one of the shiny beasts and opening its belly. "Not much food, of course, because no one's gone shopping. But you can scrape the mold off—"
William looked at his wife and very carefully swallowed. It served him not at all, but he hoped it looked like a manly swallow and not the one of a body about to fall to his knees and weep.
And then bless his sweet lady if she didn't put her arms around him and soothe him in the very comforting French he'd grown to manhood speaking.
"Let's go have a nap," she said.
He knew that word. It was a word from her Future, but one he had grown heartily fond of in the past month.
"We'll put it all to rights later," she added.
"Think you?" he whispered against her hair.
"I do."
William took a deep breath, stepped back and stiffened his spine. "As you say. First, I must see to our mounts and bring in our gear. Then you may lead on to where we might nap in peace."
He had, after all, put his foot to this path and there was little hope of turning back. He was not one to walk away from a battle and if the Future wanted to wage one against him, it wouldn't come away victorious.
He only hoped the fridge was the least of the marvels he would be called upon to endure.
Once upon a time there was a knight who made a vow, a solemn vow given with all his heart and soul to protect women of all stations, champion children, defend, and rescue any and all maidens in distress, but preferably one in the greatest of distress.
And when he found such a maiden, he vowed to rescue her from dragons, sweep her up into his arms and carry her off to his castle near the sea where he would wed her and make yet another vow to…
ten
Julianna tapped her pencil against her chin. "'… make yet another vow to… love, honor and cherish…'" She scratched that out and scowled. Much too modern. She'd have to pick her husband's brain for what had actually been said during their wedding ceremony. All she could remember of it was having him poke her when it was time for her to agree to be his.
She wondered what William would say when she told him he was going to be starring in the children's book she'd decided to write.
Scotland was, apparently, very conducive to thoughts of creating books.
She looked around her and had to shake her head over her surroundings. Who would have thought that such an innocent wish to come to Scotland
would have resulted in this?
She herself was snuggled up in a comfortable chair in what Zachary called Jamie's thinking room with her sketchbook in her lap. Her husband sat next to her in the largest chair in the room, looking incredibly knightlike in borrowed jeans with his sword across his lap. She smiled and contemplated the house rules he'd broken already—and only seventy-two hours into his visit.
His sword had indeed gone down the toilet to test its mettle—the toilet's not his sword's—and many other places it definitely shouldn't have gone. Only Zachary's quickness had saved William from electrocuting himself.
A very angry, sleepy man in Venezuela had been the recipient of William's first random, long distance phone call.
The only up side to the refrigerator doors having been left open was that William had pretty much cleaned out the contents first. Luckily there hadn't been much to throw away.
And now the battle for the remote.
Zachary had, obviously, lost.
Apparently he wasn't up to Artane standards of swordplay.
She looked at Elizabeth's younger brother and wondered at his calm in the face of the storm he'd faced over the past three days. Maybe William wasn't the first to have found refuge in James MacLeod's modern castle. Zachary seemed to find nothing odd about the strangled noises of horror, delight, and amazement that her husband was currently making as he watched TV. When William gurgled out a particularly hair-raising oath at the scantily clad women on an underwear commercial, Zachary only yawned, stretched and got to his feet.
"Anyone want dinner?" he asked.
William perked up immediately. "Dinner?"
Zachary nodded. "We have a deep freeze. Lots of frozen pizzas in there." He patted his stomach affectionately. "Combination. Pepperoni. Sausage. Very tasty."
Julianna suspected Zachary was a from-the-box connoisseur, given what he'd cooked up for them so far. But since she hadn't had to do the cooking herself, she had no complaints.
"I'll help," William said, heaving himself to his feet. He sheathed his sword with a flourish, then looked at Julianna. "You rest and work on your drawings. I'll come fetch you when we've laid the table."
Zachary looked at her beseechingly, but she only smiled. William in the kitchen was a rather frightening prospect. She scanned him for potential life-threatening current conductors, but except for his sword, apparently all metal had been left in their bedroom. He was much more likely to investigate small electrical gadgets with a knife than he was that huge blade, so she supposed he was safe enough. She waved at Zachary as he was summarily dragged from the room.
Julianna leaned back against the chair and sighed deeply. She could hardly believe that it was almost two months ago that she'd been miserable in the city, pounding the pavement for a job and ducking fix-up offers from well-meaning relatives and friends. She would definitely have to thank Elizabeth for taking care of the latter. Not that her employment situation was any better, but at least now she had some use for her language skills.
Zachary had told her to make herself at home, that they could stay as long as they liked. He'd found them clothes and kept them fed. He'd given them the guestroom. He'd also been very matter-of-fact about William taking his time to adjust. She had wondered if this wasn't the first time he'd gone through this.
Of course, that didn't solve their long-term problems of what to do and where to go—and how to get there. Her passport was at home and William didn't have one. Zachary had assured her his brother Alex had dubious connections that would see to all that in time. But even if he could and they could get back into the States, what would they do there? She couldn't imagine William rattling around her four-hundred-square-foot apartment while she worked in the restaurant industry because she couldn't find a job that took advantage of her particular skills.
She looked down at her sketchbook. Her doodles would make a very interesting children's book, but she suspected that wouldn't keep them fed.
William was an exceptional knight, but she suspected that that wouldn't keep them fed either.
She looked thoughtfully at the television and blinked at the commercial for bus tours of strings of castles and notable residences. Maybe they could hire themselves out as tour guides. She wondered if Artane could possibly exist in any kind of form resembling what she'd seen not a week ago, and if the current earl had any need for anyone to explain how things had been in the Middle Ages.
Not that either of them could admit firsthand knowledge of that, of course.
But the idea was somehow very tantalizing. Maybe she and William could start their own reenactment society. They could lure unwary travelers into the wild and convince the hapless souls that they had actually traveled back in time.
What an incredible thought.
She wondered, however, about William's potential opposition to the idea. With the way he seemed to be taking to Zachary Smith's diet, she might never get him away from boxed food again.
Well, she'd have to approach him later. For the moment, she would take his advice and rest. It would give her ample time to contemplate the wonders of modern food, the miracle of hot running water, and the delight of a luscious down comforter to snuggle under at night.
With a man she had found seven hundred years in the past.
And that thought brought her up out of her chair. She followed her nose down to the kitchen. She leaned against the doorframe and smiled at the sight that greeted her eyes. Zachary was reading the pizza box out loud to her husband, pausing every now and again to explain where the ingredients had come from. Julianna shook her head in wonder at how quickly her husband was picking up Zachary's words—and his American accent. His gift for language was nothing short of astonishing.
Something inside her eased, something she hadn't even realized was anxious. If William could adapt this easily, then they would make it. She hadn't really realized until that moment how desperately she'd wanted that.
William turned and looked at her and the welcoming smile on his face made her realize that perhaps his wish that she would love him might be coming true much sooner than he'd anticipated.
"What have you drawn?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Just doodles."
"Might I see?"
She opened her sketchbook and handed it to him.
"A fine dragon, my lady. And a formidable knight. What are these scribbles here?"
"The story."
He smiled at her. "And how does it end?"
She smiled back. "With a vow."
"A very original idea."
She laughed. "A little too close to reality?"
"That depends on how well your drawings resemble my sweet visage."
"I'll do my best."
"I've no doubt you will. Now, will you have some of these foodstuffs? The combination flavor looks to be a true marvel of modern pizza creation."
How could she resist the man? She laughed as she turned and wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him tightly, then leaned up and whispered three words in his ear.
"Do you?" he said, pulling back in surprise.
"Aye," she said, finding suddenly that the reality of such a simple expression of affection had brought tears to her eyes.
"In truth?" he asked quietly.
"I vow it."
He swung her up in his arms before she knew what he intended. She managed to keep her sketchbook from sliding south.
"No pizza?" Zachary asked.
"My lady just told me she loved me," William said, heading toward the doorway of the kitchen. "Food can wait."
"Wow," she said with a laugh. "You must like me."
"Love, Julianna," he said, not breaking stride. "I love you."
"Do you?" she asked wistfully.
"I vow it."
And with William of Artane, there was no greater guarantee. To think it had taken traveling through time to find him.
She wondered if that bench in Gramercy Park could be bronzed without inviting countless questions as to why.
Then she found that her husband required all her attention, so she gave up thinking about things that didn't matter and concentrated on the one person who did.
And when he asked her to promise that she would always do the like, she did the only thing she could.
She did belong, after all, to a vow-making family now.
Turn the page for a special excerpt from
My Heart Stood Still
by Lynn Kurland
coming from Berkley in October, 2001
The Border
Fall, 1382
They had betrayed her with a promise of the sea. Go with the Englishman, and he will show you the strand, her half-brother had said. Father has traded you to make an ally, but you'll have a keep on the shore as your recompense, her half-sister had said.
Trust us, they had said.
Liars both.
The woman stood in a cold guard's chamber and stared out the small slit of a window before her. The only thing she could see was darkness, but perhaps that was a boon. It obscured the bleak, endless stretches of land that surrounded the keep in which she found herself captive—land seemingly so far removed from the sea she wondered if the villagers even knew that such a thing existed. 'Twas almost a certainty she would never see the like now.
She was tempted to weep, but she knew it would serve her nothing, so she forbore. After all, she was a MacLeod and MacLeods did not weep with fear.
Despite how desperately she wanted to do so.
That she found herself in straits terrible enough to warrant tears was difficult to believe. Was it possible that just a fortnight ago the Englishman had come to her home? She'd stirred herself only long enough to determine that he held no interest for her, then thoroughly ignored him. 'Twas odd to see an Englishman so far north, true, but her father often had men from many foreign places at their keep. She'd had much to occupy her and had paid little heed to one more fool loitering at the supper table.