by Lynn Kurland
Not because he wanted to, but because he had no other choice.
He walked back in those gates the next morning just after sunrise, hungry, exhausted, and very discouraged. He was truly doing everything in his power to leave Artane behind. Despite those efforts, though, Artane was where he seemed to find himself more often than not.
He didn’t want to know why.
He had spent the better part of the day and night running along Artane’s coast, looking for that damned cluster of rocks he’d been told about. He’d found them, based on a description that he’d had from one of Jamie’s relatives-in-law, Thomas McKinnon. Thomas had used those rocks to get himself and his future wife back home from medieval England, so the gate was definitely verified. He had found the rocks where Thomas had said they would be, but they were nothing but rocks. He had tried several things, ranging from sneaking up on the spot to simply sitting there in a lotus position and meditating for an extended period of time.
It had been frustratingly useless.
It had occurred to him, as he’d resigned himself to the necessity of returning to Artane for sleep and food, that the rocks weren’t the only gate in the area. Thomas McKinnon’s grand-mother had wandered into a farmer’s field and subsequently found herself in Elizabethan England. Jamie had done his own investigations of that particular patch of ground and found it mostly responsive to his desires. If worse came to worst, he could check out a Shakespearean play or two before he made his way home. He could hang out with the bard and give him something to use as a tragedy, say the story of a man who went back in time and, despite his best efforts, fell hard for a lord’s daughter who would end up marrying someone else while the modern guy couldn’t do a damned thing about it besides stand there and watch.
His life was, as his father would have readily agreed, very strange indeed.
All of which left him returning to Artane when he hadn’t intended to and hoping Robin wouldn’t bar the gates against him. He would try again the next day. There really wasn’t anything else to do.
The guards only yawned at his approach and waved him on, fortunately. He found himself hailed by several on his trip up the way. He nodded to Godric, then stopped when he realized that Robin himself was standing in the middle of his courtyard, staring up at the sky. Zachary stopped several paces away and waited for the lord of Artane to acknowledge him.
“Lose your way again, lad?” Robin said, turning away from his contemplation of the heavens.
Zachary smiled, though he felt anything but cheerful. He wondered how long it might take him to work off the purchase price of one of Robin’s poorest nags so he could get to new and exciting locales on something besides his own two feet.
Probably until Mary’s wedding, which he most certainly didn’t want to witness.
He dragged his hand through his hair. “I did,” he admitted. “I was hoping I might stay for another day and work off the price of a meal or two.”
Robin studied him for a moment or two. “You said you were a mason. What sorts of things do you build?”
“What sorts of things do you need built?”
“I need better accommodations for my hounds.”
Zachary smiled. “I can do that.”
“When are you leaving again?”
“Tomorrow morning, if possible.”
“Very well,” Robin said, turning for his hall. “Draw what I need for them today, then you may be off again on the morrow. I’ll have my lads do the construction whilst you’re away. You can inspect it when you return—as I’m assuming you’ll be back.”
Zachary smiled, though he supposed it hadn’t been a very good attempt. He didn’t want to say as much, but he sincerely hoped he didn’t return. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in medieval England, being judged by his lack of title, and living without any hope of anything with saturated fat.
Of course, those didn’t touch on his real reason for wanting to get away from a place where he couldn’t change events, but he supposed that was a reason better left unexamined.
He followed Robin inside the hall, where breakfast was being prepared. He didn’t see Mary, but that was for the best. If he’d laid eyes on her once more, he might have been tempted to talk to her father about other things than how many hounds he required kennels for.
Robin stopped at the mouth of the passageway that led to the kitchens. “Tell cook I said to feed you well,” he said, “then you’re welcome to my solar for the day. I’ll be interested in seeing what you can do.”
Zachary nodded wearily and turned away. Robin had been more than kind to him, something he had certainly not merited by any action of his own. He hesitated, then looked behind him to find Robin standing in the same place, watching him with an inscrutable expression.
“Might I ask you something, my lord?”
Robin lifted one eyebrow. “You might.”
Zachary smiled. “You’ve been very kind to me. I wondered why.”
Robin leaned back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. “Irony,” he said distinctly.
Zachary blinked, then smiled uneasily. “Irony, my lord?”
Robin started to speak, then shook his head and pushed away from the wall. “You’ll understand it, Zachary, when you have children of your own. I only wish I could be there to see the look on your visage when you understand what I mean.” He shot him a look, then turned and walked off, shaking his head again.
Zachary rubbed his hands over his face, then turned and walked down the passageway. It had been a cryptic answer to a silly question and he deserved the headache that trying to unravel the meaning threatened to give him. Better that he make inroads into breakfast, then be about his work. The labor wasn’t worth what he was getting in return, but he would design Robin of Artane the most luxurious dog runs he could.
He resisted the temptation to find a cousin and see if Mary might want to come offer an opinion.
It was very late by the time he climbed the stairs to the hayloft and stretched out on the hay. He let out a deep breath, then gasped in spite of himself at the faint outline of two heads he was quite certain were covered with blond hair. He let out his breath slowly.
“Don’t you two have anything better to do?”
They shook their heads silently.
“If you sneak up on me again, I am going to commit grievous bodily harm on you both.”
They, as one, slunk back down out of sight. Zachary smiled to himself, then closed his eyes. It had been a very long day. He’d spent all of it in Robin’s solar, drawing up plans for the number of hounds Robin said he needed kennels for. He’d wished he’d had a better idea of current building codes, but since he hadn’t, he’d done the best he could.
There had been a spare sheet of parchment amongst the things he’d been given to work with. He hesitated, then set to work on something else, something that he likely shouldn’t have even attempted. Once it was finished, though, he couldn’t deny that it had been worth the effort.
Robin had approved the five sheets of plans for his kennels. He’d then looked at the final drawing and gone completely still.
Zachary hadn’t waited for an opinion. He’d thanked Robin quietly for his aid, then left the lord of Artane standing by his fire, a single sheaf of parchment in his hands.
All of which left him where he was: lying in the hay being haunted by two troublemaking teenagers and wishing that he could magically make things other than what they were.
No footprint.
He was beginning to loathe those words.
He cleared his throat. “Lads?”
“Aye?” came the chorus.
“Watch over Mary after I’m gone.”
They made firm noises of assent.
Zachary supposed he could do nothing more. He couldn’t do anything more. He’d done more than he should have, not only by dancing with her but by saying anything at all to Robin. It wasn’t his life, it wasn’t his time period, and he wasn’t supposed to i
nterfere. He knew better.
But just the same, he was going to have quite a bit to say to Jamie about those little flaws in the fabric of time.
And how heartbreaking it was not to create just one more.
Chapter 12
M ary stood on the battlements and looked out over the countryside. She couldn’t say she enjoyed heights, as it had always seemed more sensible to her to be closer to the ground. Today, though, she wasn’t sure she cared.
Zachary had left three days ago.
Worse still, she hadn’t seen him at all for the day that he’d been there. She supposed she should have suspected something when her father had confined her to her mother’s solar, but she’d been discouraged enough to simply comply without thinking to question the order. She’d been discouraged because Geoffrey of Styrr seemed, with each passing day, to grow more convinced he would have what he wanted.
She had finally escaped her mother’s solar on the second day only to realize whom she’d missed. She’d heard tell of the marvelous plans Zachary had done for her sire, then gained her father’s solar to have her own view of them. She’d looked at Zachary’s drawings and had been speechless at their beauty. The kennels looked as if they existed somehow on parchment in truth. The hounds he had drawn inhabiting an opening or two were so well done, she half expected them to leap off the page as well.
And then she had looked at the last page and seen herself pictured there.
He had drawn her sitting in a chair in front of the hearth in her father’s solar. Her hands were folded demurely in her lap, but she was wearing lads’ clothes, as if she’d just come in from the stables. Her hair was hanging loose over her shoulders and she wore a faint smile on her face. He had, by some magic she had no name for, managed to make her look as elegant and beautiful as her mother, in spite of her clothing.
She had looked up at her father to find him watching her with an expression of pity on his face.
He’d straightened immediately and gone to fuss with things on his table, his visage reflecting nothing of what she’d seen on it but the moment before. She hadn’t had to see that former expression to understand it, for the feeling that had no doubt inspired it was one she shared herself.
Regret.
Regret that Zachary the smith wasn’t a nobleman himself with spurs on his heels and a castle at his back. It might have been possible, given the obvious feeling he’d poured into his portrait of her, that he might have even cared for her.
A gust of suddenly bitter wind pulled her from her thoughts as surely as if she’d been struck. Zachary was no doubt well on his way now to wherever it was he planned to go. London, Scotland ; perhaps it didn’t matter the direction. He would go back to his life and she would proceed with hers.
The saints pity her for it.
She rubbed her hands over her face, took a deep breath, then put her shoulders back. Of course Zachary would go back to his life, and good riddance. She certainly hoped she never saw him again. Her life was bound to improve so greatly that he would be the one to regret not having stayed to be a part of it. He had done for her what he’d agreed to do and that was that. Besides, what did she need with a man who had no title and no ability to dance? Better that she concentrate on things she understood, such as horses.
She shivered suddenly. The weather was terrible and looked to worsen very soon. She hoped Zachary had found somewhere comfortable to stay, else he would be very damp indeed.
Not that it was any of her affair, of course. He would either freeze or survive as he traveled and she wouldn’t be the wiser. All she could do was turn her attentions to her future and leave him to his.
She pulled her cloak closer around herself and left the battlements. What she should have done, likely, was seek out a place in front of her mother’s fire, but she was certain she wouldn’t have managed to sit still. Being in her mother’s solar would have also meant passing time with Styrr’s mother, and she couldn’t have borne that.
She couldn’t bear the thought of her father’s solar, either. She would have been tempted to look at what Zachary had left behind, which would only distract her from the task at hand, which was to avoid any entanglements with Geoffrey of Styrr. Nay, best that she go work her horses, then consider what could be done about that.
She made her way down through the keep. The passageways were fairly empty and she managed to skirt the company sitting in front of one of the hearths in the great hall. She put her head down and walked past them and out the hall, hoping no one would call for her to halt.
She saddled Rex quickly, then led him out into the wet. He wasn’t happy with the weather, but at least he didn’t fight her as she walked him across the lists.
Things changed quite abruptly when she started to work him.
A tremendous clap of thunder frightened her so badly that she lost her concentration for just a moment. Rex bolted, taking her with him until she managed to let go of the line. After she was facedown in the mud, of course.
She pushed herself back up to her knees, then dragged her muddy sleeve across her equally muddy face. That didn’t do much besides clear her eyes. She tucked her face inside the neck of her tunic, which accomplished only a muddying of other parts of her.
She had certainly had better days.
A hand appeared in front of her. She looked up to find Thaddeus standing there, watching her solemnly.
“Aid?” he offered.
“Thank you,” she said, allowing him to pull her to her feet.
“Falling off a horse who won’t allow you to forget it the next time you ride him will do that to a gel, or so I’ve heard.”
She scowled. “Perhaps it escaped your attention, but I hadn’t gotten to the riding part yet.”
“Even worse.”
“Are you helping?”
He only laughed a little. She glared at him, then went to chase down her horse. By the time she managed it, she was limping badly, her hair was plastered to her face, and she was absolutely overcome by vile humors.
She put Rex away, cursing under her breath as she did so, then banged her way out of the stall and stomped down the aisle.
Right into Geoffrey of Styrr.
She realized with a start that she was alone. Her cousins she had sent scurrying half an hour before with her foul tongue. Rolf and his lads had done all their work and were no doubt comfortably ensconced in front of the fire in the garrison hall, happily downing cups of ale and relishing the fact that none of the garrison was fool enough to call for a horse in the current storm.
She was alone and the howling wind would make it so no one would hear her scream.
She swallowed her unease and took hold of more sensible emotions, such as disdain. She folded her arms over her chest in her father’s favorite pose of intimidation and looked down her nose at Styrr.
“Aye?”
He brushed off the front of himself whilst wearing a look of extreme distaste. “You’re filthy.”
“That, my lord, tends to happen when you do more than simply stare at the lists. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business inside.”
“I’ll escort you there. After we’re finished here.”
She wondered how it was that someone who was that handsome, with such perfectly formed features and very nice teeth, could be so profoundly unpleasant. Unpleasant in a way that was so subtle that no one seemed to mark it save her.
Well, and Zachary Smith, who thought Styrr’s eyes were crossed.
They weren’t, she saw, but Zachary had likely been looking for something to make her laugh. She couldn’t imagine that Styrr would ever have bothered with that himself.
She didn’t move when Styrr took a step closer to her, still smiling pleasantly, though she was terribly tempted. She supposed he would have simply complimented her on the quality of her screams as he slipped a knife between her ribs, then complained about the mess she might have made of his hands.
“I think we’re finished now,” she said, starting to walk
past him.
He stepped in front of her. “I don’t think we are.”
She opened her mouth to call him a fool, then wrinkled her nose. If his vile self wasn’t offensive enough, there was that faint hint of scent that seemed to always cling to him. It wasn’t something she marked often—having always had the good fortune to be far away from him—but now the wet had augmented it far past its usual cloying sweetness. By the saints, did the man douse himself in scented water like a woman? What next? Dainty dishes at table, especially fashioned wines, soft and delicate sheets and coverings at night to protect his equally soft and delicate self?
’Twas no wonder her cousins mocked him relentlessly behind his back.
“Let us come to an understanding,” he said softly, “just you and me.”
“I think I understand you very well already—”
“And I daresay you don’t,” he said. He stretched out his first fingers and pushed into her shoulders with them.
Mary suspected he did so with equal parts a desire not to muddy himself and the intention to cause her as much pain as possible with as little effort as possible on his part.
She backed up, because she had no choice.
“Stop that,” she said sharply.
He pushed her again, not so hard that she would have fallen, but hard enough that she was forced to take another step backward.
“I have no intention of stopping,” he said curtly. “You, however, will accustom yourself to stopping when I tell you to. Riding, speaking your mind, dressing as a lad. All these unpleasant behaviors will be things you will stop when I tell you to.”
“When hell freezes over—”
“And that, too,” he said, with another push. “You will not talk to me in that manner. I am the lord of Styrr Hall and you will accord me the respect due me.”
Mary rubbed her shoulders, but she couldn’t get away from his very painful pokes or his continued and very relentless march forward. She shoved him suddenly, but he was, despite his unwillingness to engage in any sort of activities that her cousins would have considered manly, a very solid sort of lad. All she managed to do was dirty the front of his tunic.