Alexandra jerked about, surprised to see her brother’s legs dangling from a thick branch. “Garrett, ’Tis you.” Relief flooded through her at seeing her little brother instead of Sir Richard’s henchman. But then she glanced at the lump on Sir Joe’s head and relief turned to anger. “What have you done?”
Garrett held out his slingshot. “You wanted him to stop, did you not?”
“How many times must I tell you it is not tolerable for you to aim your weapon at people? You could have killed him!”
Sir Joe moaned.
“Garrett Dunn,” she said, “You are in grave trouble. Hurry back to the barn and tell your sisters we must set off for the village. We will stay with the Tibbs until I figure what to do next. The hay cart has been loaded and readied. Bring it here, and make haste!”
Garrett jumped from the tree, landing square on his feet. He drew close to get another look at Sir Joe. “I still say he does not look like a warrior.”
“Well, he is. Now go, before he catches a chill.”
It hadn’t taken long to get to the village. As Alexandra had hoped, the Tibbs had generously offered to provide her family shelter.
Now, hours later, she sat on a stool watching over Sir Joe as he slept. She yawned, rubbing her arms in an attempt to stay warm. The oiled linen stretched across the bedchamber window failed to keep the chill from the room. The oak shutters had long been broken and the colored walls, painted with biblical scenes of solemn looking saints, were faded from years of rain and sun. The unsavory smell of stale and moldy rushes soured her stomach.
Sir Joe rested upon a thin mattress covered only with a sheet. Alexandra tapped a finger to her chin as she mulled over the idea of tying him down with strips of cloth. Maybe then she could get some sleep before they headed off for Sir Richard’s castle. Most of their provisions were packed and ready to go. Lydia and Jonathan Tibbs had readily agreed to look after Grandfather and the children whilst she was gone. Poor Lydia. The woman yearned for children of her own, but God seemingly had other plans for her, and so Lydia and her husband doted on Alexandra’s siblings, treating them as their own.
Alexandra gazed at Sir Joe through heavy-lidded eyes. Thanks to Lydia’s concoction of herbs, he was sleeping peacefully. To think she had to drug a man to get him to stay at her side. Her friends would never stop teasing her if they knew.
Afraid she might fall asleep, she went to the window and peeked through a tear in the curtain, thankful to see that the moon was no longer hovering overhead.
She returned to her stool beside the bed. Even in her exhausted state she could not keep her gaze off of Sir Joe. In sleep, all of his hard lines had disappeared. His brow no longer furrowed. An exceptional looking man he was with his strong chiseled jaw. Fine thick lashes and well-defined cheekbones. His hair, a tad short for her liking, was as dark as a winter night...thick and smooth, making her fingers itch to touch it. His mouth though, she decided, was by far his finest feature: firm, full, perfectly sculpted lips that promised much more than mere words. She leaned her head against the wall. A woman could look upon a man such as he for all eternity. Her eyelids dropped, and she drifted off to sleep.
“Where am I?” a gruff voice called out.
Alexandra’s eyelids fluttered before fully rising into alert wakefulness.
Sir Joe was sitting up, looking about with wild bloodshot eyes until his gaze rested firmly on her. “Alexandra! I am going to wring your neck!” His gaze darted about the sparsely furnished room. “Why am I still here? What have you done?”
Alexandra swallowed.
Sir Joe threw the sheet aside, went to the window, pushing aside the linen covering. Sunlight streamed through, hitting the floor in bright beams. Taking giant strides her way, he said, “You tricked me!”
She jumped to her feet. For the first time since meeting him, she wondered what he might do.
“Where is the moon? What did you do with it?”
She clasped and unclasped her fingers. “I am afraid it is gone.”
He snorted. “Afraid my foot. I bet there isn’t a thing in this world you’re afraid of.”
The hard lines about his eyes and mouth had reappeared. He looked very nearly like a madman. And yet he was right about one thing; she was not afraid of him. Mayhap the pain she’d seen in his eyes when he had talked of his father caused her to be unafraid. Or maybe it was the ease with which he had interacted with his students at the faire.
“You’re going to be afraid for your very life, Alexandra Dunn, if you don’t hand over that stone right now.”
She took a step backwards. “I cannot.”
He kept his hand out, palm up, staggering slightly before he lifted his hand to the side of his head. “What did you hit me with this time?”
“My brother meant no harm, I swear.”
“I bet he didn’t. He just happened to accidentally throw a small boulder at my head. What is it with you people?”
She kept her gaze locked on his as he continued forward.
“It’s not going to work, Alexandra.”
“What shan’t work?”
“Your plan to keep me here.”
“I have no plan.”
“Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes. You’re a sneaky one, Alexandra Dunn, and you are up to something. Now where’s that stone?”
She pretended to look about. “It must be here somewhere.”
When he glanced away from her and toward the bed table, she patted herself, making sure the rock was tucked safely near her bosom.
Sir Joe turned about so fast he startled her. Towering over her, holding out a hand, he waited. “Give me the stone, Alexandra, before I am forced to search for it myself.”
“You would not.”
“Try me.”
Her chin raised a notch. “I am not a child.”
He took a firm hold of her shoulders. “My entire future depends on my meeting with the Academy next week. Do you have any idea how much time I have spent wracking my brain, researching, reading, analyzing...nights without sleep, weeks without rest? Do you?”
Helplessly she tried to swallow the lump in her throat.
“I have too much riding on this meeting. Hand it over.”
She wanted badly to give him the stone, but it was too soon to let him go. Not yet.
His face softened. “I am sorry I couldn’t save your house,” he said in a calmer tone, clearly trying to rein in his frustration. “But I did all I could. If I thought I could help you get your sister back, Alexandra, I would. But I’m one man. And I’m the wrong man for the job. Give me the stone.”
She shook her head. “No, I c-cannot.”
“Hand it over.”
She let out a defeated huff. “You are a most unbearably stubborn man. Here,” she said, retrieving the rock from inside her skirt pocket and offering it to him.
For what seemed like an eternity, he stared intently at her open palm. Then his mouth tightened into a thin line. “That isn’t the stone, is it?”
How could he know?
With every step she took back, he took one forward, until she was backed against the wall. A predatory expression covered his face.
“You were going to let me take that rock and walk over that hillside again, weren’t you?” he asked. “And then I bet you and your brother would have watched me sit there until...until what? Or should I say when? Ah,” he said, his jaw as hard as plated armor, “you weren’t going to tell me at all, were you? You were going to let me figure it out all by myself.”
“I-I was going to tell you.”
A small indignant laugh escaped him. “Where is the real stone, Alexandra?”
“I-I can explain...”
Even now, angry and defiant, his close proximity made her ache with some strange inner longing she didn’t understand. His masculine scent filled her senses, making it hard to think. Before she could tell him she had no idea where the stone was, although she had given it to Grandfather to hide, he wedged his hand down
the top of her tunic and began fishing for it.
His prying fingers touched an intensely sensitive spot...and then another. “It is not there, I swear,” she cried between fits of laughter. “Stop. That tickles!” Swatting feebly at his arm, she slunk to the ground in an attempt to get away from him.
Upon gaining control of her wits, she looked up into dark, foreboding eyes. As he extracted his hand from her tunic, naught seemed humorous as his fingers grazed over a taut nipple. Shivers ran up her spine, and her cheeks grew warm. She averted her gaze, hoping he failed to notice her body’s palpable reaction to his touch.
“This isn’t amusing,” he said. “Where is it?”
“The stone?”
He sighed. “Yes, Alexandra, the stone.” His voice sounded weary. Faint lines shadowed his eyes.
“I shan’t tell you. Not until we have returned from Sir Richard’s castle with my sister.”
“I won’t do it. I won’t let you ruin my life.”
He refused to look at her, even as he bent low and helped her to her feet. Her gaze followed a small jagged scar behind his ear and along his hairline. Why had she not seen it before? Where would a man like Sir Joe get such a scar? He refused to fight. He was against violence. He owned no weapons other than the ones she had forced upon him. She resisted the temptation to ask him. Now was not the time.
He took a seat on the edge of the bed. With elbows propped on his knees, he let his face fall despairingly into his open hands.
“Even if you had the stone,” she said, hating to see him in such low spirits, “it would do you little good. Nine and twenty days must pass before the moon is full once more.”
“None of this makes sense,” he said, sounding defeated. “There are lots of things people can count on in this world: Taxes, death, gravity. What goes up, must come down. No matter what line you get into, it’s going to be the longest one...”
Alexandra watched him as he spoke, the slight crinkling of his eyes, the tilt of his lips, the expressive brows. Clearly he was trying, in his own feeble way, to make sense of what had happened to him.
“There are other things too,” he said, “like traffic or waiting more than thirty minutes to see a doctor. That’s life. But traveling from Central Park to—what century is this?”
“The Year of the Lord 1499.”
He snorted. “Traveling five hundred years back in time. That’s not part of the deal. It just doesn’t happen.”
“It is not so bad.” She sat beside him. “Mayhap you will enjoy living here. People are friendly. Wait until you have a chance to talk to Grandfather. You will adore him. And almond cakes! They taste like—”
“Alexandra,” he interrupted. “In twenty-nine days I’m out of here. Do you understand?”
“Aye. But perhaps whilst you are here you can think of your stay as an adventure instead of a curse.” An idea came to her and she moved closer, gently placing her hand on his forearm. “Perhaps your life is not ruined after all. What if it happened that upon your return you found things exactly as they were before you left?”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you saying time will hold still until I return?”
She nodded. “Verily it may. And something else,” she quickly added. “Whilst I visited with Shelly, she told me of your father’s quest to discover the identity of the Black Knight. I do believe Shelly stated that this very year is the same year the Black Knight was said to have swept across the midlands.”
Joe peered deep into her eyes. “What day is this?”
“It is the 20th of July.”
He came to his feet and paced the room. He’d read every one of his father’s theories concerning the Black Knight. “July 20th, 1499,” he said. “That’s three weeks before the Black Knight allegedly saves the King of England’s life.”
His eyes lit up as he came back to her side. The same excited look she’d seen in his eyes when he’d shown her his book of treasures.
“If I could find the Black Knight,” he said, “discover his true identity, do you know what that would mean?”
She smiled. Verily it made her insides thrum to see his eyes suddenly filled with excitement and hope.
“My father has spent his entire life searching for clues as to the Black Knight’s identity. Whether the Black Knight exists or not...to think I might finally learn the truth.”
She came to her feet.
The way he was looking at her, made her dare to think he might kiss her. She prayed he would do just that.
Instead, he frowned. “This is crazy...to think for even one moment that the Black Knight might exist. He’s a figment of my father’s imagination for God’s sake.”
“Nay. It is a miracle you are here. You must look for the knight you seek. And who better to help you than myself.” She smiled. “In exchange for my help, you will travel with me to Radmore’s Keep and help rescue my sister from Sir Richard’s ruddy clutches.”
When Sir Joe failed to respond, she added thoughtfully, “At the very least, think of the research you could do whilst you are here, the wonderful artwork I can show you: wall hangings of painted wood and linen, ivory carvings, golden spurs and broadswords gleaming with precious stones. If you recall, Sir Richard is the one who possesses the candlestick.” Her excitement grew as she said, “Help me rescue my sister, and I will get you that candlestick myself.”
He cocked his head as he seemed to consider her words.
Alexandra offered her hand. “Do we have a deal?”
After a moment, with some reluctance, he accepted her hand, covering it with his own. His fingers were warm, his hand strong and comforting.
They looked upon one another—Sir Joe with mayhap a bit of apprehension; she with confidence. Alexandra wanted nothing more than to lean close to him and wrap her arms about his neck. But Sir Joe, she was quickly learning, was not a man to be rushed.
Nay. Sir Joe needed time to think things through. Needed time to adjust and ponder. It would only be a matter of time before he realized she was the woman of his heart and soul, the woman he was destined to be with forever.
He released her hand. She watched him move across the room to gather his boots. There had been times when she had yearned for a man to help with the fields, but never once before this moment had she yearned for a man of her own, a man to fulfill any purpose other than to lighten her load of responsibilities.
Her insides ached to think she’d become so thoroughly enamored with a man at all. A frown creased her brow at the thought that she’d fallen for a man who was afraid of a little dirt, a man who disliked children, who broke promises, and worst of all, a man who failed to notice her at all.
Chapter Ten
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.
—Shakespeare
Teeth chattering, Joe followed Alexandra through the village of Brookshire, thankful for the sun’s rays pressing through the clouds and warming his back. His hair was damp from his quick bath in a wooden tub filled with cold water. He’d used a tattered old cloth to dry off and also to scrub his teeth. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since he’d been tossed into a strange new world, and yet he’d gladly trade every possession he owned back home for a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.
The smell of burning charcoal floated in the air. Hammers pounded against metal. From his studies of medieval cities, he would have expected much more chaos and noise. But he heard no ringing of church bells. Nor did he see streets lined with shops. In fact, the streets were not streets at all, but narrow dirt paths weaving about small huts with thatched roofs and cob walls. The doors weren’t made of rough-hewn oak as they had been at the Tibbs’ small manor, but instead were oiled linen flaps still wet from an earlier rain.
He was cold and uncomfortable; clearly out of his realm. The leather pants Alexandra had left for him were not going to work. They were much too tight. And these slippers they considered boots. Ha! He might as well be barefoot for all the protecti
on they provided against thorns and rocks. But before he could make his complaints known, they reached their destination.
As Alexandra peeked inside one of the smaller huts, he remained silently miserable. She held open the flap and motioned for him to enter. A good-sized bed took up most of the space within. Beneath moth-eaten blankets lay Alexandra’s grandfather. His eyes were closed and his bearded chin rested against the faint rise and fall of his frail chest.
Joe swiped a flea from his forearm, one more annoying reminder that he was trapped in the Twilight Zone. Of course, fleas existed back home, but this was beyond the norm. No amount of vacuuming could conquer the endless attack of blood-sucking parasites.
Alexandra nudged her grandfather’s shoulder. “Grandfather, wake up. Sir Joe is here to meet you.”
The old man jolted awake, then struggled upward to a more comfortable sitting position. Bushy eyebrows jutted out over piercing brown eyes. A thick wiry silver-grey beard covered his chin. “Alexandra, dear, you are a sight to behold.”
Alexandra patted her grandfather’s hand and smiled.
“I have been expecting you both.” His voice was raspy. “Come closer,” he said to Joe, gesturing with crooked bony fingers. “Let me have a look at you.”
Joe went forward, which was not an easy feat considering the leather pants were riding high and tight.
The old man stroked his beard. “So, you are The Chosen One.”
“Afraid not,” Joe said. “I’m a professor of Ancient Art and History, definitely not The One.”
The old man’s eyes sparkled. “Ahh, but I am afraid you are The Chosen One, or you would not be here now.”
Joe eyed the man curiously, tried to determine if the old man still had a full deck, so to speak. “If the only requirement for becoming The Chosen One is being chosen, then I would have to agree that I am, in fact, The One. And just for fun,” Joe went on, “let’s suppose for a moment that I am the man you’ve been waiting for.” He held his arms wide. “Now what? I am but one man. I have no armor or weapons.” He leaned forward to make sure the old man could hear every word. “I avoid conflict at all costs, holding firm to the belief that violence doesn’t solve anything.”
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