The Amethyst Amulets

by Cillian Burns

  He held out his hand. “Come. We will go down and break our fast."

  "First, let's see that proof you mentioned last night.” He arched a questioning eyebrow and she added, “You know. Things you think will make me believe I'm really in the thirteenth century.” Was there a chance he'd been telling the truth? So many things about the castle appeared different from the way she'd remembered them. She'd once read about an interesting theory of Albert Einstein's saying time was a circle and it might be possible to move back and forth along the continuum. But had anybody ever proven this?

  Shoving all speculation aside, she ran her fingers through her long hair, trying to untangle the snarls. Her hair—just when had it grown long enough to reach her waist? She shuddered. Nick leaned against the bedpost watching her, an admiring expression on his face. “You look lovely, Julie. Now, remember, once we go down to the great room, you must act like my wife to the people in my keep. Since you wear Julianne's body, you must try to act as she would.” He pushed off the bed post and offered his arm. “My lady.” Reluctantly, she placed her hand on his forearm, not missing the hard muscles beneath his shirt.

  When he opened the door, Gwyneth and Alda were standing on the other side. They stared open-mouthed at Julie. Her hair must be a real bird's nest. But they were, after all, only young girls, so she smiled and said, “Could you help me with my hair. I don't see a mirror anywhere."

  Gwyneth and Alda shook their heads and frowned, as though not understanding what she had said. Julie glanced at whoever this man was—Nick or Nicholas.

  "In French,” he murmured.

  "Oh, of course.” She repeated her request in Norman French and this time they nodded and smiled.

  "Aye, my lady,” they chorused and followed her into the room.

  Nick slouched against the doorframe while the two girls fussed with her hair and laid out another underdress and surcoat they took from a trunk at the foot of the bed. If they wondered why she had donned yesterday's rumpled gown, they didn't ask.

  Julie squirmed, uncomfortably aware of Nick's assessing gaze, but she was glad of fresh clothing. The cerulean blue silk fit so well, she thought it might have been made to her measurements. If she were really in Julianne's body, it probably had been.

  The girls braided her hair—hair so long that it definitely wasn't Julie's—and curled the thick ropes around her head. They suggested a veil, but she shook her head. Reluctantly, she went over to Nick. Once again, he offered his arm. She laid her hand on it and together, they walked down the winding stairs.

  Sunlight slanting across the floor through the high, narrow windows of the great room told her it was late. Since there were few people in the hall, she supposed most of the guests, if guests they were, had gone home.

  Julie stared hungrily at the bread and cheese laid out on the high table, but more than food right now, she wanted to see what this man had to show her. He led her across the great hall. The front door stood open, letting a refreshing wind cleanse the smell of dog manure and unwashed bodies from the air.

  As they walked across the bailey, unsettling sights met her gaze. Several grooms dressed in coarse clothing were mucking out the stables and two men in armor mounted horses and rode off. Hammering came from the blacksmith's forge. A laundress sloshed bed and table linens in a trough filled with water, while a company of man-at-arms carrying swords marched through the gate to the lower bailey. Carts rumbled over the rutted grass and dirt, maybe bringing supplies the kitchen staff had ordered. The delicious smell of baking pies and meats wafted across the courtyard on the brisk April breeze.

  To Julie's surprise, she saw the kitchen was located outside the castle, not within. This could not have happened overnight. And worst of all, these people were not members of Nick's medieval group but lower classes, one and all. People who were not and never had been at Barstow Castle in the twenty-first century, but people who had lived over seven hundred years ago in the thirteenth century. People who had served Nick's ancestor, Lord Nicholas de Montclair.

  The sun shone brightly, but Julie felt as if a choking darkness had closed in on her. Nick had told the truth. Or was it truly the ancient Nicholas?

  She turned and scowled at the lord of the castle. “It's not real,” she said as firmly as she could, while fear roiled in her stomach. Fear that she was lost forever in the mists of time.

  Nicholas watched her eyes widen as she stared at the ordinary sights of his world. He had convinced her, but the victory tasted like ashes in his mouth. His heart ached for her.

  "Aye, it is real.” He covered the hand that still rested on his arm and gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze as he led her back to the keep. She didn't resist, just moved along as though sleep-walking.

  Nicholas took her to the high table and seated her next to him. “Maude,” he shouted. “Bring ale.” This time he was sure she would.

  Julie sat staring off into space. Finally, she murmured, “How could all this happen?"

  "We rubbed the amulets, Julianne."

  Weakly, she shook her head. She looked defeated

  "Aye, we did,” he insisted in a low voice. “But we will tell no one. My people are superstitious and you do not wish to be thought a witch. So for now, you must act like a thirteenth century wife."

  Julie started to protest, but he shook his head. “Remember, we were newly wed but yester-morn and we love one another dearly,” he whispered into her shell pink ear. He cut off a hunk of cheese and placed it on her pewter plate, hoping any observer would think their conversation merely the love play of newly weds.

  "How could that be? I thought all marriages were merely arrangements."

  "And so they are. But we fell in love when we first met."

  He paused, thinking how differently his life turned out from what he had expected. Why was he not mourning Julianne properly? Mayhap because in a way she is still with you. He collected his wandering thoughts and continued his warning to this twenty-first century woman.

  "It will be not only wise but necessary to act the part of the submissive and loving wife. For your own safety,” he added, as her expression darkened. “Are you aware of the social and religious aspects of my time?"

  "Y-yes.” Her soft stammer and pale cheeks told him she knew the penalties for heretical behavior.

  "You are a teacher, though not like our teachers. Lily told me you instruct students about this time in history. So you must be aware of the severe punishment dealt out by the Church for heresy. And you will appear a heretic if you speak about moving through time and dwelling within Julianne's body."

  Julie gave a long sigh. “Don't worry, Nicholas. I'll behave."

  For the first time, she spoke his name instead of his descendant's. An immediate rush of warmth surged through him, the kind he had not felt since his wife died. But he couldn't let himself become too fond of Julie. He had thought it over during the night and decided that he would have her stay a year. Mayhap if he did not lie with her, Julianne's death could be prevented and his wife would live. Mayhap this was what Lily had in mind when she interfered with his life. But what about an heir? In May of 1250 when he had left, baby Edward occupied the nursery, but his wife was dead. If Julianne should live, would the child be gone? Mayhap Lily had an answer, but Nicholas was too confused to guess at it.

  He turned his thoughts back to the woman at his side. It should be easy not to touch Julie since he knew she was not really his wife, but a knot of regret in his gut said his body disagreed.

  Julie choked down a few mouthfuls of bread and cheese. Her foolish wish for a knight in metaphorical shining armor had somehow been granted—literally. The ‘how’ was incomprehensible, the ‘why’ equally so. She glanced at Nicholas who seemed to have no trouble stowing away a great quantity of the food set before them. She supposed he was hungry because he was happy. After all, he had returned to his time, his castle, and his people. For him, things were back to normal. Could the same ever be said about her?

  As if sensing
her unhappiness, Nicholas slid his hand over hers and gave a gentle squeeze. This small kindness sent pent-up tears spilling down her cheeks.

  "I am sorry, Julie,” he murmured in what she sensed was for him an admission not lightly given. “Remember, I promised to return you to your own century."

  "When?"

  His eyes clouded. “I do not know. But it will happen sometime.” The shadow passing over his face said there was something he wasn't telling her.

  "And you're saying you don't know when that will be."

  He shook his head.

  "But you also said you brought me here."

  "Actually, the amulet brought you."

  The amulet! But he had taken that away from her last night. “What did you do with it? I want it back."

  "It will not work, Julianne, unless Lily wishes it to."

  He'd called her by his wife's name again. She started to protest, but saw the serving girl—Maude he'd called her—approaching. The woman moved close to Nicholas, much too close. As she set a fresh pitcher of ale on the table, the girl's well-rounded hip nudged him. Nicholas paid no attention, but Julie did. It spoke of familiarity. Too much, in fact. She supposed he'd been with many women. With his looks and entitlement, it was a given. This female servant, pretty in a coarse kind of way, was probably no exception. It shouldn't bother her that Nicholas had found other women attractive. He had his needs. But for some reason, she hated the thought of this woman's work roughened hands touching his bare skin.

  For goodness sakes, she chided herself. What concern was it of hers? She scarcely knew this man whom she'd finally admitted wasn't Nick. She had wanted courtly love from a real knight. But Nicholas would not necessarily turn on the love phrases of which she was so fond.

  This man spoke with actions, not words. With a shiver, she remembered the swift downward thrust of his heavy broadsword that day in the bailey. The dog hadn't just been lucky. Nicholas had missed on purpose. She had a feeling that didn't happen very often.

  She pushed back her chair and stood. Nicholas popped the last of the bread into his mouth and looked up. “Where are you going, Julianne?"

  Maude continued to rub against him. Without so much as a glance, he gave her a shove. “Be off, wench.” Like she was a fly or some small, insignificant animal.

  He rose and took Julie's arm. “Are you tired, my love? Do you wish to retire?"

  Julie found her voice. “Please. I feel a little dizzy."

  "I will escort you.” Nicholas led her across the great hall and up the stairs.

  She feared he planned to stay, but to her relief, he helped her up on the bed, spread the coverlet over her and stepped back.

  "I will wake you for dinner.” He moved away and she realized he was leaving.

  "I wish to rise before nightfall,” she said.

  "Dinner is in the middle of the day. What I recall you termed as lunch.” His expression grew stern. “Be careful of such irrational slips, Julianne. Your ladies will think you dimwitted."

  Nicholas left Julie to grumble to herself. He had much to do. It had been a year since he had passed through this time before and he needed to talk with Sir Edgar. He should try to look a little weary and somewhat befuddled, the result of too much wedding night tupping. It shouldn't be too hard since a shroud of weariness had enveloped him since last even.

  He left the keep and went to find his quiet but efficient friend, a man who had aided him in overcoming his enemies many years ago. If there was one person Nicholas trusted, it was Sir Edgar, his steward. Also, he needed to speak with his aunt, who had kept his house for many years. Julie—nay, Julianne—would have to deal with Lady Beatrix, who ruled the household servants with an iron hand. He decided that Lady would meet her match in his Julie. The taming of the fierce Lady Beatrix would be amusing to watch.

  He caught sight of Sir Edgar supervising some sword practice by the household knights and strode off in that direction, anxious to witness the readiness of his small army for himself. He stripped off his tunic, grabbed a sword and joined the fray. For a moment, the fascinating woman from the future was forgotten.

  The morning sun had not risen very high when Miles Norville made his appearance. Nicholas laid down his sword and wiped the perspiration from his forehead as he watched his brother-in-law approach. The man strutted across the bailey as if he owned the castle and all that surrounded it. The tunic he wore over his chain mail was covered in rich embroidery set with jewels which sparkled in the sunlight. He seemed overdressed for a twenty mile ride home on dusty roads.

  Eleanor trailed Miles, clad in more suitable attire—a dark green underdress and brown woolen surcoat—with a retinue of servants in her wake. From the stables, grooms appeared leading the party's horses. Miles sprang up on his destrier, ignoring his wife.

  Nicholas walked over to his sister who smiled at him. “I'm sorry you are leaving, Eleanor. I had hoped you would grace us with your presence for a few more days.” He wished he could keep her with him forever and be rid of Miles. Of course he now had a year's worth of knowledge giving him insight into his former friend's true character.

  "I am so happy for you and Julianne, Nicholas, but my sons will be anxious for our swift return. They are still very little."

  "They are fine boys and deserve your attention. However, that does not alter the fact that I see but little of you these days, Sister.” He was teasing and could see she knew it. Although seven years separated them, they had always had a genuine rapport and a deep love for each other.

  Eleanor smiled again and patted his hand. “I think you will forget my existence now you have such a beautiful and adoring wife,” she said, a twinkle in her eye.

  He took her gloved hand in his. “You are never far from my thoughts.” And that was the truth. How blind he had been in wedding her to the devious Miles Norville, a man whose true character had escaped Nicholas at the time. Guilt overwhelmed him. Well, it was done and not to be undone—at least not yet. In the future, however... He left that thought unfinished.

  He glanced at Miles and saw the other man regarding him with a black scowl. Best not to let him know Nicholas had discovered his deceitful soul. Eleanor and the boys might be made to suffer. Also, the blackguard could launch an attack against Barstow Castle before Nicholas had found additional knights and men-at-arms. Who knew whether this year would proceed like the one he had already lived through. So for now, he would stay silent.

  He turned to his former friend. “So, Miles. I thank you for your presence at my marriage to the Lady Julianne. It was good to see you both.” Courtesy cost nothing but breath and a smile, no matter how insincere.

  "Mayhap we will visit again when the newness of your marriage has worn off a bit.” That was fairly civil coming from his sister's husband.

  "I will look forward to it.” Nicholas reached up and gripped wrists with Miles. He kissed Eleanor's cheek and helped her mount. She leaned down from the saddle and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  "Be good to Julianne, brother,” she said softly. “You have found a jewel of rare price."

  He nodded. “That I know, Eleanor. I would give my life and all I possess for her."

  "Come.” Miles kneed his huge destrier.

  With a wave, Eleanor trotted after her husband, followed by his guards, their horses’ hooves thudding rhythmically on the hard packed earth.

  Nicholas stood staring after them long after they had passed beneath the portcullis and over the drawbridge. Then he motioned to Eldred, one of his men-at-arms.

  "I have a task for you,” he murmured.

  "Aye, milord.” Eldred grinned. “Would it have something to do with Lord Miles?"

  Nicholas clapped him on the shoulder. “It would indeed."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 10

  A gentle touch on her shoulder woke Julie. The little maid, Gwyneth, offered her hand. “Come, my lady. Dinner will be ready soon and we must dress your hair again.” Julie stepped down and Gwynet
h brushed at her skirts. “Wrinkles,” she muttered.

  "Sleeping in one's clothes doesn't improve their looks,” Julie said.

  Gwyneth smiled. “Mayhap you will call me next time you wish to nap, my lady. We will remove all but your shift. Then the rest will stay fresh."

  It was Nicholas's fault for rushing her up here and depositing her on the bed. He should have suggested she take off...She blushed. If he'd even tried it, she'd... She'd what? Even if she had resisted, his superior strength would have won out. He would have pinned her against his hard body with his strong arms and...

  Gwyneth finished brushing her hair and interrupted her erotic thoughts. “Oh, my lady, some traveling musicians arrived today so we will have entertainment this even. Isn't that wonderful?"

  Julie smiled at the girl's enthusiasm. “Wonderful,” she agreed, knowing entertainment was sporadic and furnished by itinerant musicians, jugglers and story tellers. Also, the lady of the castle, if gifted with a good voice, might occasionally take up a lyre and sing a pretty tune to while away the hours after supper. She hoped no one requested a song from her, since she couldn't even carry a tune. However, she was using Julianne's vocal chords so perhaps...

  "It has been many months since we last had someone as good as Sigmund. He sings all the old Norse sagas, and he is so handsome.” Gwyneth pressed her hand to her heart.

  "We should hurry down so I can see this paragon.” Julie smiled to herself. Gwyneth's sighing over Sigmund was no different from teenagers in the twenty-first century sighing over rock stars. Probably this Sigmund was the nearest thing to one in this age.

  Gwyneth took another look at the clothes Julie wore. “You must change, my lady. That gown is too wrinkled to wear.” She went to the large chest against the far wall and opened the lid. “I think this one.” She held up a pale blue silk kirtle and a sapphire blue velvet surcoat trimmed in fox fur.

  "Lovely.” Julie turned so Gwyneth could unlace her rumpled gown and drop the fresh one over her head.