Love's Labyrinth

by Anne Kelleher

  She raised her eyes to his as she rose to her feet. His expression was unreadable. By unspoken agreement, they exchanged no words until they were safely inside their locked room at the inn. He drew her close the minute he slid the bolt home, and he buried his lips in her hair. “By our blessed Lady and all the saints.”

  She drew back and smiled up at him, feeling as giddy as if she’d drunk a bottle of champagne. “I did well, I think.”

  “Well?” He shook his head, amazement plain on his face. “In truth, not one of the players in Lord Leicester’s Men is likely to ever give so great a show. How—how is it possible you could know so much?”

  “It was luck, Nicholas, believe me. The one way my father and I were absolutely alike is that when something takes our interest, it consumes it utterly, wholly, and completely. I remember the first time I heard the name. Mary, Queen of Scots—it had such a wild, romantic ring. I thought you could smell the moors and the heather in it. I was fourteen.” She shook her head a little, remembering. “My father noticed me for the first time. I think it was then he decided having a built-in assistant might not be such a bad thing after all. And he helped me, even. Showed me how to do real historical research—let me use his name and his connections to delve into things even most graduate students never have access to. It was an incredible experience. It brought us closer than we’d ever been before.”

  “You must miss him.”

  The statement startled her, and suddenly, she felt not so much giddy as drained. “I do, you know.” She gave him a sad little smile. “I don’t like to think how much.” She backed away and settled down in one of the two straight-backed chairs. This time there had been no question of a second room. She stared into the empty tile hearth. “But he could be so difficult, so exacting. If you didn’t find just what he wanted—if you left one stone unturned, or one page unread, somehow he always knew it. And the closer he got to the solution of his mystery, the more obsessive he became. Do you know he had me check every register in England for every Talcott?”

  “Were there that many?”

  “Talcotts? No. But there’re plenty of church registers, believe me.” She shook her head. “But it sure came in handy today, hmm?”

  “Handy.” He repeated the word and smiled. “Very handy, indeed.” He walked over to her chair and extended his hand. “Would you allow this humble gentleman to express his gratitude for such great learning on the part of so lovely a woman?”

  She giggled. “Feel free.”

  He caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips. ‘Then come. I’m sure the landlord’s pretty daughter will be more than happy to bring us the very best of her father’s kitchen, along with the very best of his cellar.”

  “And then?”

  “I promise to bring you the very best of pleasures.” With another giggle, and the briefest of kisses, she allowed him to lead her out of the room.

  The late afternoon sun had disappeared behind the hedges, leaving the paths of the maze bathed in shadow. Alison wiped her sleeve across her forehead. She was hot and sticky, and her shift clung to her back. She straightened with a sigh.

  Geoffrey made a few more notes on the parchment and glanced up. “I suppose that’s as much as we can do for today.”

  “Do you think any of it will help?”

  Geoffrey shrugged. “I wish I could say for a certainty that it will. I wish I knew what triggered the mechanism of the maze to work. It never worked for me.”

  Alison picked up the compass. The needle swung crazily for a moment, and then settled. “It sure worked for us.” She stared moodily at the compass face. The slim needle shivered like a living thing.

  “We’ll make it work again, I promise.”

  She nodded slowly. “I just wish Olivia would come back.” The air was hot and still within the confines of the maze, but Alison felt cold all over. She shook herself, trying to shake away the feeling.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I guess maybe I’ve been thinking about everything you said, and the more I think about it, the more I just wish they’d come back.”

  He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “You know, one of my grandmothers was supposed to have something they called ‘the sight.’ Know what I mean?”

  Geoffrey nodded slowly. “It’s a dangerous thing to admit, mistress.”

  Alison shrugged. “In my time they just think you’re crazy.”

  “And do you have this—this sight?”

  “I don’t think so. But sometimes, I do get these feelings about people. And right now—I just have a really bad feeling about Olivia.” She raised her head and met his eyes. In the golden brown depths, she read his shared concern.

  “Let’s go give these to Dr. Dee. It’s nearly time for supper.”

  “Okay.”

  What else was there to say, thought Alison, as she helped Geoffrey gather the equipment in silence. What else was there to do?

  What else was there to do, thought Sir John, as he peered around the corner of the inn. He’d seen nothing of the monk all morning. Warren must have been wrong. A pox on this whole business. He should have followed his conscience and refused to involve himself with such underhanded doings. Let the Lord punish Talcott for his transgressions—he should’ve left it none of his concern. But the thought of the Talcott acres intruded, tantalizing as that tempting wench of Talcott’s. Unbidden, the shape of her legs in the tight-fitting hose replaced all thoughts of land. Faugh, he thought in disgust. What was he coming to?

  A day’s meditation on the sins of Jezebel would soon cure such lusty intrusions. And a day’s meditation he would have, he thought, as soon as he was safely back on English soil, back in the bosom of his family where he, like all God-fearing men, belonged. He should’ve told Warren to find another to play his sneaking games. He couldn’t wait to wash off the stink of this whole trip.

  A sudden movement from the stables made him draw back into the shadows once more. Young Jack, Talcott’s servant, crossed the yard and entered the inn, whistling.

  He soon returned, carrying the small trunk and leather pack. So Talcott was on his way home. He was about to saunter down to the docks, when a richly clad figure on horseback clattering slowly up the crowded street drew his attention. The rider was dressed more gorgeously than any nobleman he’d seen outside of Elizabeth’s court. With a shock, as the rider drew closer, Sir John recognized the monk. Instinctively, he drew back as the man approached, straining his ears as he disappeared out of view. The man reined the horse to a stop just outside the inn and tossed the reins to Jack, who caught them with a startled sound.

  “Is your master about, boy?”

  There was a mumbled assent.

  Sir John peeked around the wall. The bulk of the horse blocked his view of all but the man’s gartered legs as he strode into the inn. He peered into the leaded window. The smoky glass revealed only the man’s gorgeous costume. He swept his hat off his head and shifted his cloak.

  Across his chest, Sir John saw a flat leather pack strapped into place. That’s it, he thought.

  The Spaniard spoke to the landlord, who heaved his bulk up the steps. Behind Sir John, a church clock chimed the hour. The Spaniard looked up the steps, as if called, and followed.

  Sir John waited. No more than five minutes passed, and the Spaniard was once more out the door and into his saddle. He looked neither right nor left, nor offered any word of thanks to the boy. Sir John drew back once more. He’d wait another few minutes before taking off for the docks. He’d have to persuade his captain by force of arms if necessary, though bribery would probably work, to set sail for Dover immediately. There was no longer any doubt that Warren’s word was true. His heart began to pound as his brain began to calculate the value of the Talcott estate.

  From the window of the bedroom above, Olivia watched Figueroa disappear down the street. She breathed a deep sigh. “I
’m glad that’s over.”

  “Nearly over.” Nicholas met her eyes. “I’ve but to hand these plans to Warren.”

  “It’s certainly been an adventure, hasn’t it?”

  “It has.” He walked over to stand beside her. “Olivia, I—I’m not sure how to thank you. Without you, I—”

  “Hush,” she said. She placed one finger against his lips. “You’ll take the plans on to London?”

  “Yes. We’ll have one more night in Dover, and then Jack will see you back to Talcott Forest. If you set off at first light, you should be there long before dark tomorrow.”

  “And when will you come?”

  “As quickly as I can. I’d hope to have an audience with the Queen, but…”

  “But?”

  “But I’d rather come home. After all, I—I’d—” He broke off and shifted on his feet.

  “Yes?” she prompted gently.

  “I’d like to spend the time with you.”

  She smiled. “Oh, Nicholas.”

  He opened his arms and pulled her close. “Olivia, I wish I could tell you how I feel, but in truth, I scarcely know. These past days—”

  “And nights?” she teased.

  “Aye, wench, and nights.” He nuzzled her hair as he tightened his arms around her. Abruptly he pulled back to look into her eyes. “I know I shall be sorry to see you leave.”

  She drew a quick breath. Nothing she’d experienced before had prepared her for these feelings, a blend of discovery and certainty and—and rightness. She averted her face, blinking away tears, as unexpected emotions overwhelmed her. The thought of leaving seemed suddenly impossible. What on earth can you be thinking, the rational side of her mind screamed. You’ve known this man less than a week—and he’s not even from your own century.

  “Olivia?” he was saying, lifting her chin with the tip of his forefinger. “What’s wrong?”

  She brushed away his hand and turned to the window. How could she begin to answer that? Everything’s wrong, she wanted to say. Everything. I’m falling in love with a man who died centuries before I was born, in a place that disappeared long before anything I’ve ever known.

  “Please,” he said. “I can see that you weep. What is it?”

  She wiped the tears away with her fingers. “I’m just—just being silly. Being here, in this time, and seeing all of this—I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like I belong somehow, in some way I can’t begin to describe, let alone understand. And then—” she broke off, flustered, not knowing how to continue.

  “And then?” he asked.

  Her throat thickened. She shook her head.

  “Is that all?” he asked softly. “Is it only the places we’ve seen? The time?” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

  “What about you?” she replied.

  “Me?”

  She turned around and faced him, shoulders squared, chin high. “Does any of this matter to you?”

  He stared down at her, his blue eyes dark with some expression she could not read. He glanced away, and then met her eyes once more. “My lady, in the last few days. I have come to…” He hesitated, clearly searching for the word. “To appreciate you in a way I have never imagined appreciating any woman. You are so different, and yet so—so enchanting. I find you quite…” he paused once again and then continued. “Extraordinary, and I will miss you sorely when you are gone.”

  Olivia smiled and looked down at her hands. “I’ll miss you, too.”

  He drew closer and lifted her chin once more. She raised her face and closed her eyes as she realized his intention. Her mouth opened eagerly as his lips came down on hers. For a long moment, they clung to each other, the kiss sweet and deep and tender. When they finally drew away, they smiled at each other, and Olivia was amazed to see that his eyes were wet. She glanced out the window, suddenly disconcerted by his obvious emotion, and noticed with surprise a familiar figure in the street below. “Nicholas, isn’t that John Makepeace crossing the square?”

  Nicholas followed where she pointed. The tall black hat was as unmistakable as the spare gaunt form. “Aye. So it would seem.”

  ‘This is the second time we’ve seen him here.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “He has business interests in Calais. ‘Tis not so odd as when we saw him in the church.”

  “But what’s he doing here? So close to this inn? Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  “It looks as if he’s heading for the docks, sweet. I think it’s not as strange as that. Come, you’re only overwrought. I promise we’ll soon be safe in England. I’ll be back from London by the day after tomorrow. And then—” He broke off, bent his head, and kissed her gently on the lips. The kiss deepened, and she held him fast, savoring the hard strength in his arms as he held her closer.

  And then, she thought, the only thing we’ll have left to do is say good-bye.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE WHITE CLIFFS of Dover loomed on the horizon, far sooner than Olivia had thought possible. Or was it only because she didn’t want this trip to end, she realized with a start. She looked up at Nicholas, who clung to the rail, his face impassive as he watched the land rise higher and higher out of the sea. The choppy waters of the Channel flung spray in their faces, and the gulls swooped and cried between the masts. She drew a deep breath and let it out in a soft sigh. He said nothing, but his hand closed over hers and covered it on the damp wooden rail. She glanced up at him. His expression had not changed. She was coming to understand that the stern countenance he often wore was nothing but a mask for his true feelings, which were much more complex than the ones possessed by the arrogant, ambitious nobleman she’d first thought him to be. She twined her fingers in his, and was rewarded with an answering pressure.

  “Home again,” she said.

  He nodded, still silent. “What do you think of all this?”

  The question took her by surprise. “I think it’s quite beautiful,” she replied, uncertain of his meaning.

  “Not this.” He waved an impatient hand. “I meant, what do you think of now? Of the way we live? Of the way things are done?”

  She hesitated, searching for the right words, totally taken aback by his query. What could he be thinking? “I think…I think that life seems in some ways much more difficult, but in other ways, it’s much—” She paused.“Richer. Earthier. More real.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Perhaps.”

  “I mean, death is so much more imminent here—at least it seems that way to me. Life seems so much more precarious. But maybe that’s not true. Or maybe it’s just the way I see it, given what I’m accustomed to.”

  “And what are you accustomed to?”

  He turned to face her. He reached out and twined a stray curl around one finger, smoothing the silky strands beneath his fingers. Desire sparked through her, and she drew a soft breath. He smiled. “Well,” she answered, “you know some of the things I’ve told you about. Vaccinations, indoor plumbing, airplanes.”

  He traced one finger down the line of her cheek to her jaw. “And this?”

  She laughed softly, a little nervously. Everything about him unsettled her, made her want him, need him in a way she’d never imagined, let alone experienced with anyone else. Her emotions were like the ocean, roiling like the waves as the smooth keel of the ship cut through choppy water. “No, there’s nothing like this,” she managed to stammer as he bent down and gently kissed her mouth.

  She drew a deep breath, and closed her eyes, as delight rippled through her all the way to her toes. He drew away almost at once, and she opened her eyes, disappointed. He was smiling at her, and his eyes were dancing. “Such a wanton, wanting wench you are. What will the sailors think?” He raised one eyebrow and jerked his head over his shoulder.

  “Why, they’ll think I’m in love with my husband.” She cocked her head and matched his teasing tone, expecting to see his smile broaden into one of his rare real grins.

  But his response puzzled her even more
. He turned back to face the sea and gripped the wooden rail with both hands. “Aye,” he muttered, so low she had to strain to hear him over the creak of the ship and the slap of the water against the sides. “Indeed, my lady. No doubt.”

  He was silent the rest of the trip. Olivia stood quietly, avoiding his gaze, trying to wrestle her emotions into some semblance of control. What would Allie say, she wondered. Oh, she could imagine her friend’s reaction well enough. You’re crazy, Livvie—that’s what Allie would say. You need to get back to the future and go on with your life. Your real life, not some silly fantasy.

  But this is real life, too, the other part of her insisted.

  Just as real, actually more real. Except for Allie, what was there to go back to? The thought shocked her. She bit her lip. What was she telling herself? That she didn’t want to go back? That she wanted to stay? She was crazy. She snuck a peek at Nicholas. She could practically hear Alison speak.

  Yes, he’s charming and incredibly good looking and a wonderful lover and you find him absolutely fascinating. But do you really want to die of something a good dose of an antibiotic could cure? How about losing all your teeth? How about never reading a newspaper or a book or a magazine again? How about giving up chocolate?

  Olivia sighed, and this time, Nicholas was too lost in his own thoughts to notice. Which was just as well. Talking to him only confused her more and more.

  All too soon, it seemed, they reached Dover, and had docked among the rows of ships at the busy seaport. Jack picked up their luggage and Nicholas carefully handed her down the gangplank to the dock, which swayed up and down with the water. She clung to his arm as they finally stepped onto land.

  “Which way, my lord?” asked Jack.

  Nicholas squinted up at the sun. “Back to the inn, I think, Jack. ‘Tis far too late to travel today. We’ll have a good supper and a sleep and then be off at first light. The horses should be well rested. They’ll be fresh for the journey tomorrow, and so will we if we rest one more night,” Olivia looked up at him, and their eyes met. The intensity with which he looked at her took her breath away. How often do I really eat chocolate? She gathered her skirts, as he offered his arm. They were just about to set off down the busy street, with Jack in the lead, when a small company of soldiers stepped in front of them. Olivia blinked.