“You brought back the wrong man,” Garrett cried. “A big ol’ chicken is what he is. The Chosen One never would have run off like an old hen when Harig came at him.” Garrett put his hands under his armpits and flapped his elbows as if they were wings. “Wait ’til Grandfather finds out that you wasted his stones on a clay-brained chicken.”
Alexandra glared at her brother. “We will talk later, Garrett. After we get to the village and see how your sisters are faring. Verily they must be worried sick that we have yet to come for them.”
“They aren’t there,” Garrett said, his tone lined with frustration. “They came home whilst you were gone. After Sir Richard’s men disappeared inside the house, I saw Mary, Susan, and Rebecca heading down the trail toward home.” Garrett’s voice cracked. “I tried to warn them, but the wenches have cotton in their ears for they sang and talked until I had no choice but to holler. It is the reason Harig found me at all. He dragged me inside, tied my hands and feet to the table, and blindfolded me after he became frightened by my cruel gaze. ‘devil Eyes’ Harig called ’em.”
Garrett narrowed his eyes, giving Joe and Alexandra a sample of what he was talking about.
“Where are your sisters now?” Alexandra asked, clearly worried.
As they talked, Joe glanced toward the place where Alexandra had thrown the rock. Now wasn’t the time to think about how he’d ended up here. He’d think about that after he returned home, where he belonged. Until then, he planned on concentrating on the little things like staying alive, and more importantly...finding the last stone.
Garrett dropped from the tree to the ground in front of Joe and dusted himself off. “So, it is the truth that you come from another time?”
Although he still hadn’t grasped the idea fully, Joe nodded.
“How did you cause fire to spring from your fingertips?” Garrett asked next.
Alexandra took a firm hold of Garrett’s arm. “You can ask Sir Joe all your questions later. I need you to tend to Grandfather whilst I search for your sisters. We can only pray they are all safe.”
Garrett’s face paled. “Mayhap they are hiding in the barn.”
Alexandra turned and marched toward the barn.
“Once again, she blames me,” Garrett complained.
Ignoring the kid, Joe looked up at the moon, making sure it was still there.
“Dumb, beetle-brained woman,” Garrett went on. “I begged Grandfather to let me go when the time came to use those stones. I would have found a real hero, someone brave enough to use his fists. My warrior would have put Harig ten feet under. He never would have stood there like an old witless mutt.”
Frowning, Joe turned and followed Alexandra to the barn. Nope, he didn’t like kids. They made him feel things he didn’t want to feel: lost, angry, frustrated, confused...things that reminded him of his own childhood.
Alexandra stepped around the ancient plow and stepped inside the barn. “Susan, are you in here?”
Joe followed her inside. Two heavy beams, one above the other, connected by vertical struts, held the place together. The barn must have been built before the house. It was made mostly of wattle and daub instead of stones and timber.
Alexandra made her way across the earthen floor toward the stalls. A horse’s tail swished. Chickens scrambled out of her way, clucking, their flapping wings kicking up dust. The pungent odor of manure far outweighed the smell of smoke. The smell was almost too much to bear.
A small head popped up, and then a little girl stepped out of an old crate. She ran to Alexandra’s side and grabbed hold of her sister’s legs. Joe guessed the girl’s age to be about six-years old.
Alexandra kneeled low, wrapping her little sister in her arms, her expression filled with relief when yet another girl of about fifteen, maybe older, stepped out of the last stall. Both girls were dressed in rags with torn hems and stained cloth.
Alexandra pushed tangled hair from their faces. The girls had blonde hair and blue eyes, neither resembling their red-headed, green-eyed older sister.
“Thank God you are both well. Where is Mary?”
“Sir Richard’s men took her,” the older girl said, her lip trembling. “She was trying to protect us, afraid they would kill us if she refused.”
Alexandra gently stroked her sister’s back.
The six-year-old stared up at Joe with big round eyes. He managed a smile. Despite the soiled face and ragged clothes, for a kid, she was kind of cute. She slid a dirty thumb into her mouth, making him wince.
“This is Sir Joe,” Alexandra told her sisters. “He’s come to help us.”
Joe felt his jaw twitch. “We need to talk about that,” he said.
The older girl’s name was Susan. She was pale with grief, unable to stop the tears from coming forth. “I should have never let them take Mary,” Susan cried. “For all eternity my poor sister will be shackled to that heartless beast...and all because of me.”
Joe jangled the change in his pocket. He’d never been good with this sort of thing...dealing with people’s emotions. There was nothing worse than watching a female cry. He knew it was a perfectly reasonable and logical reaction for her to do so, but nonetheless it made him feel incredibly uneasy.
Without any explanation, he turned and went outside. The air felt thick and cumbersome. It was hard to breathe, making him feel as if he were drowning...the way he used to feel when he was young and bitter and all alone. The walls were closing in.
He kept walking, anything to get the oxygen flowing, to regain some semblance of control. The house had burned quickly, already a pile of smoldering rubble. His gaze swept over the land around him as he searched desperately for signs of normalcy.
Fields of tall wheat, meandering hills, and myriad trees stretched on for miles. He watched the sky for the blinking lights of an airplane, listened for the familiar sounds of sirens, anything that would tell him he hadn’t journeyed through time after all. But even as he strained his eyes to see what was clearly not there, he knew the implausible had happened. Somehow he had traveled hundreds of years, through some sort of invisible region in space. He didn’t know what year it was, couldn’t remember what Alexandra had told him back in New York, but judging by the iron-shod plow and harrow he’d seen in the barn, not to mention the ancient mill and the oxen in the field, he figured he had to be in another century altogether.
Traces of panic began to set in. He needed to get home.
Now.
He rubbed at the increasing pressure at the back of his neck. He didn’t want to think about what year this was or how the hell this had happened to him. He wanted to get home, dammit, and come hell or high water that’s what he was going to do.
Taking long determined strides, he went to the spot where Harig had been standing when Alexandra had thrown the last stone at him. In a desperate frenzy he went to his knees and began clawing through the soil.
“What are you doing?” Alexandra asked, approaching from behind.
Joe tossed a few pebbles and a twig to the side. “I’m going to find that rock and get the hell out of here before it’s too late.”
“What about our deal?”
“I shouldn’t be here, wherever or whenever here is.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a hand to stop her. “I don’t want to know...about anything,” he said. “About your sister, or your plans to get her back. I hate to agree with your brother, because I think he’s a punk, but he’s right about one thing. You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m in Oz, and I’m well aware of the fact that Dorothy had more guts than I do. And guess what?” he asked, stabbing a dirty finger at his own chest. “I don’t care! Because no matter how many little elves pop out of the bushes and start singing, I’m not following the yellow brick road. I don’t want to meet the wicked witch and there’s no way I’m going to help you find the wizard. I’m outta here, do you hear me?”
She looked at him as if he had severely disappointed her.
Out of breath,
and teetering on the edge of despair, he stood quiet for a moment, unmoving as he gazed over the fields of wheat. Chills raced up his spine as he recalled the feel of Harig’s sharp blade at his throat. He swallowed. For the first time in his life the gilded trappings of an ancient hilt had failed to impress him.
“I have a dentist appointment next week,” he blurted, uncaring as to how ridiculous that might sound. “And that important meeting Shelly and I told you about is in a few days.” He didn’t look at her, afraid she’d beg him to stay, or worse, cry.
“I can’t miss it,” he added, feeding off of his own guilt. “My future depends on this meeting.”
She didn’t say a word.
He peered into her eyes before reminding himself that doing so was probably not a good idea. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“What would you have me say?”
“How about, ‘I understand. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.’“
A faint sigh escaped her lips.
He looked back to the ground, letting out an excited hoot when he spotted the small silvery rock half embedded in dirt. “Found it,” he said with a hysterical little laugh.
“Listen,” he said, afraid the moon would disappear if he didn’t hurry. “I’m going to get my briefcase. There are some papers I need, but I’ll leave everything else with you.”
She stared at him. Not a tear in sight. Dry as a desert. She was one tough woman, he thought. She’d been living on this farm for who knows how many years, taking care of her grandfather and four siblings. And not a mewl out of her.
Poor Alexandra. She’d traveled through some sort of black hole to find a hero and ended up with a regular Joe, a mere mortal instead of the brave knight she’d hoped for.
And not one tear. No wonder she’d seemed like a fish out of water in New York. She wasn’t crazy like he’d first thought. No, she was brave, bold-spirited, and unlike himself...she was fearless.
He could almost taste the self-reproach that threatened to strangle him. He shifted his weight, empowered by the fact that the last stone was tucked safely within his palm.
“So,” she said, “you have made up your mind?”
He nodded.
“My father used to say, ‘a promise is a promise and a man is only as good as his promise,’“ she told him, her voice solemn.
One last stab at his conscience.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Your father was a very smart man. That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you. You’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t believe in violence. I-I’m claustrophobic. Kids make me nervous, a little crazy even.” He held up his empty, dirty hand. “Look at this. It’s already driving me crazy. You know how I feel about dirt. I need hot water and soap, lots of soap.”
An awkward moment of silence fell between them.
“Where will you stay?” he found himself asking.
“With friends in the village, I suppose. ’Tis not far from here.”
She stood there, perfectly calm, as if she could will him to change his mind if she stood there long enough. It irritated the heck out of him. “I can’t stay,” Joe said again, relieved to know she had somewhere to go. “I’m not hero material. I’m a...”
“Good luck,” she said in a voice so soft he hardly heard her at all. Then she turned and walked away.
A lump formed in his throat. “I’m just a professor,” he called after her. “No, I take that back. I’m a jerk,” he said even louder. “A certifiable jerk who breaks promises. There. Does that make you feel better?”
She kept right on walking, didn’t even spare a glimpse over her shoulder.
Damn.
He’d never felt so heartless. Who did she think she was, traveling through time, expecting him of all people to take up sword fighting and save her family?
He opened his palm. Other than a few silvery lines, the stone, when turned a certain way, looked just like every other rock. Mind-boggling. Nobody back home was going to believe it when he told them where he’d been.
He turned to look at the smoldering timber and burnt clay that was once Alexandra’s home. His stomach knotted. Then he turned to view the ocean of golden wheat that he would bet Alexandra had planted herself. He walked closer to the wheat. Standing at the edge of the field, he broke a wheat head from its stalk and breathed in its earthy smell.
Where would her family live now? What would they do?
It didn’t matter, he told himself. He didn’t ask for this. He never believed her...who would have?
Chapter Nine
I can’t think of any sorrow in the world that a hot bath wouldn’t help just a little bit.
—Susan Glasee
Within the barn, Alexandra and her sister, Susan, heaved another bag of grain onto the wooden cart, careful not to disturb her grandfather who lay to one side. “That should do it,” Alexandra said, gazing upon Grandfather’s pale face. The effects of the inhaled smoke had taken its toll. “Are you comfortable?”
He gave a slight nod. “We did it, Alexandra, didn’t we?”
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Aye.”
“Tell me again what you saw in that other world.” He let out a string of coughs. “Was it as I said it would be? Were there flying machines and horseless carriages?”
“It was just as you said Grandfather, but we shan’t talk of all that now. You need your strength. Besides, Sir Joe should be returning at any moment. Most likely he will be furious when he learns he has but a common rock in his possession.”
“Let us not be too hard on him,” the old man said. “Perhaps he has yet to realize his true destiny.”
Her brow furrowed. “What if I brought home the wrong man? What if Sir Joe spoke the truth and he is not The Chosen One? Mayhap Garrett is right and I have made a grave error in judgment.”
Her grandfather gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Do not fret.”
“But what of Mary? Your tales never included rescuing my sister from Radmore’s Keep. To do so would be an impossible feat.”
“Never impossible, my dear. Never impossible. Sir Joe is a clever man. He has already proven himself by saving your brother and me.” Another raspy cough escaped the old man.
“Aye, he did do that.” She tucked Sir Joe’s cape tighter about her grandfather’s frail body before leaving his side.
If they intended to travel by moonlight, they needed to leave. Too much time had passed already. Sir Joe should have returned by now. She recalled the look in his eyes before she’d left him standing near the wheat fields. His wild gaze had told her he needed time to adjust, needed time to come to terms with what had happened to him.
Sliding her fingers within the pocket of the tunic Shelly had given her, she pulled out the very last stone. For a brief moment she considered burying it or tossing it into a nearby stream. Instead, she sighed and returned it to its hiding place. “Susan,” she called. “I am going in search of Sir Joe. Find Garrett and ready Rebecca for traveling. We will leave for the village shortly.”
Alexandra left the barn, taking a shortcut through the wheat fields. The coarse prickly hairs of the husks scraped against her chin and neck as she went. She did not stop until she came to the oak tree where Sir Joe had saved Garrett’s life. She patted its trunk as if it were an old friend.
Sir Joe was nowhere to be seen.
She gazed at the smoldering rubble that was once her home. Clamping her eyes shut, she tried to summon happier times when mother and father were happy; when Grandfather’s mind was sharp and the days were filled with stories and song and a great deal of merriment.
When she opened her eyes again, she noticed a pile of items near the base of the tree. A sharp knife. A box of matches...one of her favorite inventions of the future. Medicine from his time, and other assorted objects that could prove useful on their journey to Radmore Keep.
She stuffed the objects one by one into her satchel, then made her way to the top of a small hill where she gazed over untilled w
etlands. A movement in the distance caught her eye.
It was Sir Joe.
He appeared as a dark silhouette. She should be furious with him for attempting to leave without fulfilling his end of their pledge, but for some reason she failed to conjure up any odious feelings toward the man.
Although she had no inkling of what it might be like to actually fall in love with a man, she knew a stirring when she felt one. And a stirring was putting it mildly. Every time she gazed into Sir Joe’s eyes, she felt a swell of good cheer. Or was it lust? Whatever it might be, she had felt it the first moment she awoke in his world, in his arms, and then again in his bed.
She cringed at the thought of Sir Joe learning that they were to marry. Unfortunately, the entire town of Brookshire knew The Chosen One was to be her husband. And keeping the villagers quiet would be like trying to keep a newborn babe from crying. No reason to bother Sir Joe with such a trivial detail until it was absolutely necessary to do so. The man was going to be angry enough as it was. Of that she was certain.
Alexandra peered into the night. Sir Joe was closer now. Her pulse raced as she watched him move through the shadowed darkness, toward a patch of trees.
“Sir Joe,” she called.
He raised his head, the moonlight hitting his face just so. He did not appear to be angry. Livid would more accurately describe his expression.
Suddenly he turned back around.
Afraid he meant to leave her again, she ran toward him, shouting, “Do not go!”
He had turned fully about, but he had yet to move. Instead, he glanced upward into the branches of a fruit tree.
She hurried her pace, gasping when he stumbled forward like an oxen worked too hard. His knees gave way before he crumpled to the ground.
“Sir Joe!” she cried, catching up to him. She kneeled beside him, pleaded with him to get up, begged him to talk to her.
He was silent, but she thanked the Heavens she could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath her palms. Her eyes widened at the sight of a lump on his forehead.
“Got him!” Garrett said from within the branches of the tree.
A Knight in Central Park Page 8