by Kristy Tate
Jason’s brush paused in the air. “You don’t have time to go to Merlin’s Cave? Seriously?”
“Yes. I’m serious. You know my grandmother’s business is in crisis, my mom is sick—”
Jason set the brush down on a wooden bench and turned her way. The horse nickered a complaint and stomped his hoof. Jason ignored him. “Celia, think back. When we came to England before, how much time was lost?”
Celia sniffed, remembering. On her first trip, it had seemed as if she hadn’t been gone at all. In fact, the same song that had been playing when she fell asleep was still playing when she woke, even though it had seemed as if she’d been dreaming for hours. “I don’t get how any of this works.”
“Neither do I, but the truth is—here we are. Right here, right now. I don’t know why or how, but I’m beginning to think that none of that is important.”
“But the shop…it’s important!”
“To you. And you think that if you’re not there, you’ll lose it.”
Celia nodded.
“Okay, then go home.” Jason folded his arms on the wooden wall separating them and rested his chin on his forearms.
“You know I can’t!” She imitated the horse and stomped her foot.
“So, why not enjoy yourself right here and right now?”
Panic gripped Celia. She felt pressure building up inside her chest, threatening to explode. Having nothing to do made her crazy. Without a to-do list, her day seemed pointless, and rudderless.
Jason studied her. “Have you ever been on a horse?”
Celia shook her head.
“Then, come on, let’s go for a ride.”
“No…I can’t.”
“Because you have something else to do?”
Celia swallowed. “You know I don’t.”
Jason’s lips twitched in a smile. “Because you’re afraid?”
Celia eyed the creature. It looked fast and strong. “It’s big. Really big.”
Jason nodded and grinned. “Celia Quinn is afraid of horses.”
Celia stiffened her spine. “I didn’t say that.”
Jason looked around. Nearly thirty horses filled the stables. “I’m sure we can find you a pony, or a fat, slow animal that will make you feel safe.”
Celia shook her head. “I can’t feel safe here.”
“So, that’s it? You refuse to enjoy yourself until you’re home?” He cocked his head, considering her. “And then what?”
“Once I’m home?”
He nodded. “Will you enjoy yourself there? Or will you be too busy?”
Celia twisted her lips together, remembering why she hated Jason West.
He pointed a finger in her face. “If you don’t go and see Merlin’s Cave, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.”
Celia swatted his finger away. “None of this real, remember?”
“It’s real to me and it’s real to you. How much more reality do you need?”
“Pardon me, sire.”
Celia turned to find a man standing in the door. He nodded at her. “And madam. Miss Penelope is asking for both of you. You’ll find her near the front gate.”
Jason gave her a smile. “Come on, Sis. Let’s go and see Merlin’s Cave.”
#
They bounced along in the carriage past fields of countless sheep. Clouds heavy and gray with rain filled the sky. Celia wondered what month it was, but she didn’t want to ask. Her gaze swept the green, rolling hills pocked with gray boulders. In the distance, she spotted the gray stones of a ruined castle by the slate colored sea.
Jason must have seen it as well, because he nudged her and pointed.
“Tintagel Castle,” Penelope said, “the birthplace of legends.”
“Arthur was born here?” Celia asked.
“So they say,” Penelope said.
“I wonder what it looks like now,” Celia said.
Penelope gave her a questioning glance.
Celia didn’t know how to recover, so she bit her lip and gazed out the window. She felt, more than saw, Jason and Penelope exchange looks.
“What do you know of Arthur, Mr. West?” Penelope asked.
All of Celia’s Arthurian knowledge came from Monty Python and the Holy Grail and the 2011 Camelot TV mini-series, so she was surprised when Jason began to rattle off tales of the Knights of the Round Table as if he was personally acquainted with Arthur, Lancelot, and Guinevere. “I studied Literature at the university, and I loved the medieval period.”
“And what university was that?” Penelope asked.
“Columbia.” Jason caught Celia’s warning glance. “It was founded in 1754 as King's College by royal charter of King George II of England,” he added. “Samuel Johnson taught the first class.”
“How wonderful,” Penelope said. “I wonder if he still teaches there.”
“He died a long time ago,” Celia said, stating the obvious.
“But did you ever meet him?” Penelope asked.
“No, sadly, he died before I was admitted,” Jason said.
“Long before,” Celia muttered.
“Well, never mind Dr. Johnson, why don’t you tell us what you know of our King Arthur?” Penelope said.
“Where should I start?” Jason asked.
“At the beginning?” Penelope said.
“Well, as I’m sure you know, Arthur's father, the king of all Britain, Uther Pendragon, goes to war against Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall, to capture the wife of Gorlois, Igraine, because Uther has fallen in love with her.”
“Is he going to kidnap her?” Celia asked.
“Of course,” Jason said.
“Of course,” Celia said, “because nothing says true love like a kidnapping.”
The carriage pulled up to a stop, and the driver came to open the door. A stiff breeze blew in, making Celia shiver as she took the hand of the driver to climb down. Verdant grass grew between the moss covered rubble and stones. The wind whistled through the ruins, and tugged on Celia’s gown.
Jason climbed down after her, before turning to offer Penelope his hand. He ignored Celia. “While Gorlois defends himself against Uther's armies at his fort of Dimilioc, he sends Igraine to stay safely within Tintagel Castle, which, according to the legend, is said to be his most secure,” Jason continued, keeping Penelope’s hand in his.
“Uther confides in his friend Ulfin, and tells him how he loves Igraine. Ulfin replies that it would be impossible to take Tintagel. So, they summon the wizard Merlin. To help them get into Tintagel Castle, he magically changes Uther's appearance to that of Gorlois, whilst also changing his own and Ulfin's appearances to those of two of Gorlois's companions. Disguised, they are able to enter Tintagel, where Uther goes to Igraine, and, as legend has it, in that night was the most famous of men, Arthur, conceived!"
“So, he raped her,” Celia said.
Penelope gasped, and finally let go of Jason.
Celia realized her frankness must have shocked Penelope. She supposed that in Regency England, polite society didn’t use the word rape. They had different euphemisms like ravish, which really wasn’t synonymous at all. Ravish could also mean to enthrall, or delight. Clearly, men had made up the dictionary.
“Forgive my sister,” Jason said. “She’s more of a realist than a romantic.”
Celia wanted to argue that she had a romantic nature, but decided against it. She trailed after Jason and Penelope.
“Do you mind if I take your arm, Mr. West?” Penelope asked as she wrapped her hand around his bicep. “The ground is rocky and uneven, and I fear I may lose my footing.”
They climbed over the hills. Celia liked hiking, but not in a gown, and shoes with soles as thin as paper. The rocks mingled with ruins. Age had weathered all, making it hard to tell what had been carved by nature and what was man-made. Wild flowers and tall, spindly shoots of grass grew in the rocks, ruin nooks and crannies.
“Where’s the cave?” Celia asked, knowing that she sounded impatien
t and cranky.
“It’s beside the sea,” Penelope said over her shoulder. “We must take care as the cave fills with water at high tide.” She glanced toward the ocean, and placed her hand on top of her bonnet to keep it from blowing away. “We’re lucky that the tide is low. ‘Tis but a short climb now.”
Celia let Jason and Penelope get ahead of her. The cut on the bottom of her foot still stung, but she was too proud to say anything.
“Tennyson said the waves brought baby Arthur and Merlin to shore and to safety,” Jason said.
“And who is this Tennyson?” Penelope asked.
Celia didn’t hear Jason’s lie. Instead, she fell through a hole.
CHAPTER NINE
Arms twirling, legs flailing, Celia tried to find something to hold as she plunged through the middle of the earth. A branch reached out to snag her dress and ripped a hole in not only the fine fabric, but also in her arm. Above her, a ceiling of green grass and a splotch of sunlight. Below her, who knew? She landed with a squeal of surprise and pain in a man’s arms.
“Now, this is interesting,” the man said. “Who might you be?”
Celia gaped at the mountainous man who held her. He had arms like tree branches, and he held her as easily as he would a kitten. He stared at her with warm, brown eyes and his voice carried laughter.
“I’m Celia…West,” she stuttered over her lie. “Who are you?”
“I’m Lord Montgomery.” He dipped his head. “At your service.” He gently placed her feet on the ground before nodding to her tattered dress and bleeding arm. “You’re injured.”
She nodded mutely, acknowledging the pain.
“Here,” he said as he removed his shirt. “Let me help you.” And with that he tore a long strip off the bottom of his white shirt.
Celia bit her lip to keep from crying out as he tied the makeshift bandage around her arm. “You’ve ruined your shirt,” she said in a tremulous voice.
“And if we stay here much longer, we will be sure to ruin your reputation.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” Celia said, slightly swaying on her feet. Her dizzy- woozy brain tried to register the stone walls, sandy floor, and the giant standing beside her.
“And why not?” the giant asked.
“I’m not from around here. No one knows or cares about me here.”
“That is, perhaps, the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Celia fell more than sat. The sand felt cold and wet, and she knew the salt water would ruin her dress, but with everything spinning around her, she didn’t think she could stand for much longer.
The giant contemplated her with gentle eyes. “You’ll ruin your gown.”
“We are in ruins.” She laughed at her own double-entendre. “Seriously, though. I don’t think I can stand up.” Without looking at her blood-soaked bandage, she raised her hand to her head. “I’m not feeling so hot.”
The giant looked around. “Well, of course not. ‘Tis not a hot day.”
Celia lay back on the sand and closed her eyes. Things stopped spinning almost immediately. “That’s better,” she murmured.
“I should think not,” the giant said as if from a great distance away, even though Celia knew he stood right beside her. “We cannot stay here like this.”
Without opening her eyes, Celia waved at him. “You can go.”
“And leave you here? Methinks not.”
Celia snorted.
“And what, pray tell, humors you?”
“You think snot.” She snorted again.
Because she had her eyes closed, she couldn’t see his expression, and she decided that was just as well. She really didn’t care what he thought, or who he was, or anything---until he scooped her up.
“What?” Her eyes flashed open. “Put me down!” She tried to wiggle away, but he held her fast.
“Hey!” Jason’s voice boomed through the cave.
“Good Heavens, Mr. Montgomery,” Penelope asked, “what is the meaning of this?”
“Who are you?” the giant asked Jason.
“Better question,” Jason’s voice sounded menacing, “where are you going with my sister?”
“Your sister?” the giant gazed down at Celia.
She opened an eyelid to look back at him.
“I thought you said you had no one to care for you.”
“Oh, Jason doesn’t care for me,” Celia said.
“Put her down!” Jason pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, looking as if he was getting ready to wrestle Celia away from the mountainous man.
“He certainly looks as if he does,” Montgomery said.
“He’s a consummate actor,” she told him, “most attorneys are.”
“You’re an attorney?” The mountain man’s eyebrow quirked in question.
“I thought you a gentleman,” Penelope said, disappointment lacing her voice.
“Common mistake,” Celia said.
“Give her to me,” Jason said, stepping closer.
The giant tightened his hold on Celia. “Methinks not.”
Celia snorted again.
“Celia! What’s wrong with you?” Jason demanded.
Celia blinked away sudden tears. “This is all too much for me,” she told Jason. “My arm hurts. It’ll probably get infected, and we’re like a hundred years before antibiotics, so I’m sure to die. My one dress is ruined. And, and…” She tried not to look at the blood and the bandage, the crimson stain against her white skin, but she couldn’t help herself. “I’m not good around blood,” she finally said, right before she passed out.
#
Jason hated Jane Austen movies. As a kid, his babysitter, Marcy, had forced him to watch Emma with Gwyneth Paltrow, Pride and Prejudice in all her glorious remakes, and even some of the lesser well-known ones such as Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility. How many rainy Connecticut afternoons had he spent closeted inside the den with Marcy, a big bowl of popcorn and a cast of breeches-clad dudes? Although he knew that he owed some of his thesis statements to Marcy and her Darcy-obsession, he still cringed whenever he heard an English accent. Which made this whole thing that much harder.
He felt like he was trapped in the scene where Elizabeth walks to Bingley’s house because Jane is sick, and Elizabeth has to play nice with Bingley, his dreadful sister, and the hostile Mr. Darcy. But now the gender roles had been reversed. And here he was, forced to smile while Montgomery and Penelope made idle chit-chat, and Celia lay sweating in an unknown location with a fever.
He wanted to bolt up the stairs, knock down doors until he found her, and then carry her home to the twenty-first century. But since he didn’t know how to get back to his own place and time, he twiddled his thumbs while Penelope and Montgomery’s little sister, Mary, planned a ball.
Penelope kept asking his opinion, but since he had no intention of staying another fortnight—whatever that was—he answered in monosyllables.
“I cannot like Miss Netty Hearst,” Mary said with a heavy sigh. “She is far too accomplished. All her shiny goodness just sets my teeth on edge.”
Penelope tittered as if Mary had said something funny.
Montgomery, who lounged in a chair by the fire, shot his sister a warning glance. “’Tis unkind to dislike someone on account of her teeth.”
Mary sat up a little straighter, and went back to studying her guest list. “I did not say I disliked her because of her teeth. You weren’t listening, brother.”
“True, I try not to listen to you. But since you cannot find fault with Miss Hearst’s accomplishments, I can only surmise you are poking fun at her teeth.”
Mary gave him a prim smile. “My dear sir, you are the one who mentioned poking teeth in conjunction with her name.”
Penelope sent everyone in the room a beaming smile. “I’m so lucky to be here! I know it’s frightfully unkind of me, but I think it’s most fortunate that my duenna, Mrs. Dobbs, has a gout flare-up!”
Montgomery’s lips twitched. “I d
aresay Mrs. Dobbs feels much differently.”
“Well, of course she does!” Penelope explained. “Gout is extraordinarily painful.”
Jason didn’t think he could stand much more. He stood to pace.
“Oh, excellent idea,” Penelope said. “A turn about the room will do me good.” She joined Jason and placed her hand on his arm. “This is something that Mrs. Dobbs cannot do, but, fortunately, I can. Do you mind if I join you?”
Jason didn’t know how to turn about the room, or what that even meant. All he really wanted to do was pace, but he nodded to Penelope. “Can’t we call the doctor?” Jason asked.
“My dear boy,” Montgomery looked up from his book, “your worry for your sister is admirable. As you know, the doctor has been sent for. I’m sure he’ll arrive as soon as he can.”
Jason had an image of a man carrying a black medical bag sloshing through the rain and mud on the back of an old, slow donkey.
“Is there anything Miss Hearst cannot do?” Mary said to no one in particular. “Her music is divine, her drawing as life-like as a mirror, and her command of French is flawless. Who can tolerate such a person?”
“What accomplishments do you best appreciate in a woman?” Penelope asked Jason.
“I like witty, intelligent, strong women,” Jason said, realizing that he perfectly described Celia.
“Strong?” Mary and Penelope both repeated the word at the same time.
“Whatever can you mean?” Penelope stopped walking and dropped his arm. “Surely you do not wish to see women engaged in fisticuffs?”
“Or log throwing?” Montgomery added with a smirk.
“No, of course not.” Although he did know plenty of guys who enjoyed watching cat-fights and women in mud wrestling pits, he thought it better not to mention them. “What I meant was, I like women who are not afraid to speak their minds, who are willing to fight for what they want—”
“Fight?” Mary interrupted him “With their fists or a sword?”
“No…” Jason didn’t know how to explain the women of his day to these people.
“You like adventurous souls.” Penelope squeezed his arm as if she perfectly understood. “So do I.” She winked at him.
A butler came into the room and addressed Montgomery with a short bow. “Mr. Jones has arrived, sir.”