Out of Time

by Loretta Livingstone

  CHAPTER TEN

  My heart nearly stopped as Hildegarde spoke. “Someone is over there. We must hurry. Remove your habit, then run as fast as you can to the tree. Don’t stop for anything, whatever you hear. Run as though your life depends on it, for it very well may.”

  I needed no second telling. My nerves, already shredded, were in tatters. I fumbled at the habit, trying to get it off me. The Abbess tutted, then took hold of it and dragged it over my head. Momentarily smothered by its dark folds, I could only stand there helplessly, waiting for her to disentangle me. As the habit finally released me from its imprisonment, I gave a small yelp, as her hands caught and tugged a lock of my hair.

  “Sorry, Marion, no time for gentleness.” She threw the scarf around my head and shoulders. My legs felt like jelly, but I heard the sharp crack of a twig not far behind me, and it galvanised me into action. I gave her a quick kiss. Hildegarde hugged me and whispered, “Go, now. Quickly.”

  I turned and ran with all the strength I possessed across the open ground, basket bumping against my thigh as I fled.

  There was a shout behind me, and I heard feet thundering after me. The Abbess’s clear tones cut through the air. “Run, Marion, run!” It gave me an extra spurt. My heart was pounding as my feet sped on and on. The beech got closer and closer, and the bees started to buzz in my head again. Gasping for breath, I stumbled against the tree. Again, I felt the pull from it. This time, I welcomed it.

  I felt it pulling me into its trunk. My surroundings began to shimmer and fade and then swim back into focus. I could see the ruins and the car park through the black spots in front of my eyes. Leaning desperately towards them, I strained to reach my own time, but a hand seized me from behind, and I was pulled roughly backwards. The car park and ruins disappeared abruptly, and I was flung onto the ground. Winded and terrified, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps, my lungs burning as they fought for air, I could only gaze in horror at the face staring into mine.

  He stood over me, tall and muscular, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword he wore at his side. But his was the face of a man who had seen an apparition. If my own face was pale with fear, his was the colour of putty.

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Hildegarde running urgently towards us, her veil streaming out behind her.

  My captor opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He shut it again, looking from me to the beech tree in disbelief. I lay on the ground at his feet, too afraid to move. Crossing himself fervently, he opened his mouth once more and whispered hoarsely, “What witchcraft is this? What are you?”

  I couldn’t speak; I didn’t know what to say. His sword hissed as he pulled it from the scabbard in one fluid motion, bringing it to rest two inches from my heart.

  “I don’t know whether to flee or to run you through, so I ask you again, what are you?”

  Suddenly, he became aware of Hildegarde panting up behind him, for he whirled around to face her.

  She stood before him, chest heaving, bright spots of colour on her cheeks, but tall and unafraid, as though daring him to spit her on his weapon.

  “You! You know about this? What is she?”

  “My lord, put aside your weapon; she is no witch.”

  “So say you? When I saw her start to disappear before my very eyes? Mayhap you are no nun yourself, my lady Abbess, for you seem all too sure of what is happening here. Strange behaviour for a woman of God.”

  “Well, and if she were a witch, and if I were, how do you intend to stop us? Are you not afraid of her witchcraft? Think you a sword will work against magic?”

  His eyes never left her face. She said again, “Put up your sword; it will not help you. Then, I will explain.”

  “Explain?” He cursed. “How in Hades can you explain this?” He gestured towards me with his sword. “And you, Mistress, move away from that tree, if you please.”

  I scrambled backwards, away from the tree, my eyes fixed on that unwavering sword point just inches from me. Hildegarde knelt on the ground beside me flinging one arm protectively around my shoulders, and I could feel the tension in her. Cheeks still flushed, she kept that calm look on her face, fixing her gaze on the wary, unsmiling eyes above us, gesturing him to sit.

  “My lord de Soutenay, Marion possesses no magic. Come, sit; for there is a strange tale to be told here. I cannot keep looking up at you, standing there. For pity’s sake man, put up your sword and sit, whilst I tell you a story – but do not touch the tree, for I tell you, the magic is not Marion’s. It is the tree.”

  He gawped horror-struck at it and moved away so fast that he caught his foot on a tussock behind him, lost his balance, swore and sat down heavily. Regaining his composure, he leant towards me, taking my arm with a grip of iron. I gritted my teeth and fought against the pain, but I could feel my eyes starting to brim over. I would not cry.

  Gesturing to Hildegarde with the sword which had never left his other hand he ordered, “Speak then, my lady Abbess. But you, Madame,” he said, giving me a long, hard look, “are going nowhere. Is that clear?”

  The tree had stopped its faint humming now, and the silence around was almost suffocating, as though even the birds and insects did not dare to come closer. The grasp on my arm tightened a little more, the pain worsened, and I could do nothing to stop the tears starting to trickle down my cheeks. De Soutenay gave me a considering look and relaxed his hand very slightly. I scrubbed at my face with my other hand, never daring to take my eyes from his.

  “I apologise, Mistress, if you are hurting, but until I know your tale, I regret that I will be retaining my hold on you.” I stared back at him, faint with fear, my arm throbbing. He loosened his grip a little more. “See, I have slackened my hold; I do not wish to injure you.”

  I nodded my thanks, grateful for any softening on his part. He looked at me severely, grey eyes boring into mine like gimlets. “Do not make me regret my leniency, sweeting, or you will come to a new understanding of pain.”

  “I won’t, I promise. And I thank you.” What? I was even beginning to speak like these people.

  “And now, my lady Abbess, I have acceded to your requests. Speak. Tell me this tale.”

  Again, the silence yawned between us. Hildegarde frowned slightly. “Where to begin. It is such a long tale and Marion only a very small part of it.” She removed her arm from me, sat back on her heels and scrutinised him. “Do you believe in miracles, my lord?”

  He nodded. “Holy Church teaches us of many miracles, and so I must believe they are, but, I confess, I have never seen any. Neither do I expect to.”

  She smiled. “Even when you are looking at one? A strange miracle, I know, but a miracle nonetheless.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  De Soutenay felt at a disadvantage. These two women were unlike any he had ever met before, excepting the Queen herself. And all were agreed, the Queen was a most extraordinary woman.

  The terror he had felt on watching the younger one, Marion, disappearing into that accursed tree, had begun to recede, and curiosity was fast becoming his uppermost emotion, but a prickle of unease still ran its icy fingers down his spine. However, he had Marion fast in his grip. She had not disappeared, neither had she cast a spell. In fact, she didn’t look much like a witch. His brow lowered. What did a witch look like, anyway? Marion was neither hideously ugly nor alarmingly beautiful. She didn’t fit his idea of a demon. And yet…how could a man tell?

  On seeing the tears start to run down her cheeks, he had been moved, against his will, to pity and slackened his grip a little. Could he trust her? Still, if she attempted to escape him, she would pay – demon, witch, or woman.

  The Abbess was regarding him, a slight frown on her face. He hoped she hadn’t seen through the chink in his armour, the facade of hardness he wore, but he doubted it; this tall nun seemed to have an uncanny knack of seeing what lay beneath the surface. She had a sharp mind, as good as any man, he decided, and – he almost grinned, but recalled himself – co
nsiderably sharper than some he knew. He inclined his head. “I’m waiting.”

  Hildegarde looked at de Soutenay thoughtfully. She had first thought him to be a very dangerous man, but it occurred to her, watching his face as he noticed Marion cry, that this might be a facade. There might just be a good man under that hard exterior. If she could tell this aright, it might be possible to secure his aid.

  Lord, guide my words, she prayed silently. Then, taking a deep breath, weighing each word carefully before it left her mouth and never taking her eyes from his face, she began her tale.

  “Before I begin, a question. Do you like John?” She gave de Soutenay a measuring look. He scowled.

  “I…”

  “No, indeed! As I thought. And sometimes you wish him dead?”

  He flushed.

  “But consider. If anything should happen to Richard, would you want Arthur to rule?”

  “What? And become a vassal of France?” He bristled with indignation. “I think not! Why these questions? Begin your tale.”

  Hildegarde had discovered what she needed to know. Now she could begin.

  “My lord de Soutenay, believe me when I say that had not Marion been here today, Lord John would have died.”

  He looked puzzled. “Your infirmaress said there had been a miracle. I thought it was wrought at her hands.”

  “No indeed. Sister Ursel has no knowledge of how to deal with this. It would appear John’s difficulties arose because he was stung by a bee. Is that not so?”

  “Aye, that would seem to be the cause. But I’ve seen nothing like it before. How can a bee cause death?”

  “Indeed. It is unusual, but when a sting causes a reaction as severe as this, it is always fatal – in our world, at least. John was dying when you brought him to us. Sister Ursel could have done nothing.”

  He blenched and looked at me. “Then, she…”

  “Yes, Marion had with her a device which is not known here. John saw it, yes? And he wants it?”

  “Aye.” He jutted his chin in my direction. “And he wants her.”

  Hildegarde’s lips tightened grimly. “Yes. He would. Take a close look at her, my lord. Does she seem like the women you are accustomed to? Marion, lower your shawl, if you please.”

  I questioned her silently, my eyes saying what I could not. She nodded, and I let the shawl slip from my head, shuddering beneath his searching gaze.

  “Look at her hair. Do the ladies of your acquaintance wear theirs like this?”

  “You know they do not.” He fingered my chin-length hair, and I gritted my teeth, resisting the impulse to jerk my head away. ”Stay Mistress, I will not harm you. But the ladies I know wear their hair long. And braided most often – although not always…” He trailed off, grinning at some memory. I had no idea what he meant. Hildegarde seemed to understand only too well.

  “Yes, I’m sure!” She cut in on his musings with asperity. “Now, take a look at her garment. Have you ever seen the like on women from our time?”

  Letting go of my hair, he took hold of my dress, rubbing the fabric thoughtfully between his fingers, then started as though her words had suddenly struck home. “Our time?” He let go of my skirt and whirled back round to face her. Hildegarde stared intently back at him.

  “My lady Abbess, you jest!”

  She held his gaze calmly. “You can see that I do not.”

  He swallowed; I could see him struggling to speak. Finally, he forced the words out.

  “Then, what the blazes…I can scarcely believe I am saying this…cannot credit that I believe you. And yet I do.” He turned back to me. “What…time…are you from?”

  Again, I looked to Hildegarde for guidance.

  “Tell him, Marion.”

  “Twenty oh six,” I muttered, trying not to make it sound quite so weird. I needn’t have bothered.

  “WHAT?” he thundered, leaning closer, those hard grey eyes boring into mine. “Surely, I misheard you?” I shook my head and ventured a smile. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for him. He looked quite ill.

  “No, my lord, you heard true.” What was it with this place? I found, yet again, that I was speaking like them. It seemed to come quite naturally.

  “Twenty-hundred-and-six?” he whispered, voice hoarse. It did sound rather worse, put like that. Sweat started to dot his forehead. “Two thousand-and-six years?”

  “Give or take a few,” I murmured.

  “No! No! No!” He let go of my arm, leapt to his feet and paced wildly, running his hands through his hair. “How can I believe this…this…fairy tale?”

  “How can you not?” Hildegarde asked. “You saw for yourself how she started to disappear into the tree,” she continued as serenely as if this happened every day. “The tree is the gateway between her time and yours. I know this for certes. It was my gateway too.”

  “You?” he exclaimed in thunderstruck tones. She nodded. “You come from her world?”

  “Not her time. I come from my own time, the nineteen-seventies.”

  He stopped his pacing and looked at her speechlessly. I really was starting to pity him. It must be even harder for him to believe than it had been for me. I, at least, had the evidence of my own eyes and time to become accustomed to the idea.

  “I was training to be a doctor – a healer. One day, I stumbled through this tree just as Marion did. They took me to the infirmary, as they did her. Again, there was urgent need of my skills. Skills which those of your time do not possess.”

  “But…you stayed.”

  “I stayed. I believed I had found my calling.”

  “Then, she can stay. I regret, Marion, I need to take you to my liege lord.”

  “No!” Hildegarde was sharp. “She cannot! And you may not take her. She is not free to go with you. She has a husband, children, a family in her own time. I did not. I say again, you may not take her.”

  He bent down and grasped my arm again, hauling me to my feet. I closed my eyes in despair. I could not see how she would win this argument, and my future looked bleak.

  “Nevertheless, I shall take her. If not, my lands will be forfeit. What John wants, John gets.”

  “And would you take a woman of your acquaintance to John? Your sister? Your cousin?”

  “Heaven forfend.”

  Hildegarde’s voice was hard. “Then, you will not take Marion.”

  De Soutenay’s face darkened with fury, and my blood chilled. “And who will stop me?”

  Hildegarde remained calm. “Your own good sense. Which does John want most? The woman? Or the device she carries?”

  His brow furrowed. “The device, I suppose.”

  “Then, listen to me. That device works only one time. Marion has already used it on John, so now it is worth nothing. Imagine how he will respond when he gets a broken device.”

  He glared. “Imagine how he will respond when he gets neither device nor woman! If I cannot give him the device, then I swear he shall have the woman.”

  “I’ll tell him it doesn’t work,” I yelled desperately. “I’ll tell him you broke it. I’ll tell him you want him to die.”

  He dropped my arm as though I had suddenly grown fangs. “You bitch,” he swore. “He’ll not believe you.”

  “Oh no?” I hissed into his face. “Who does he fancy? So who will he believe? You want to try me?”

  Hildegarde’s stern tones cut between us. “Marion! My lord! Stop this. It will not help. Think, de Soutenay. What if John is stung again and the device doesn’t work?”

  He snarled, “Then, he’ll die. Do I care? Once dead, he cannot avenge himself on me.”

  “Yes, he’ll die. And who, then, will accede to the throne? Arthur? Think you the French will reward your loyalty to John?”

  He strode back and forth like a man demented. I wondered whether I should take the chance. Could I reach the tree before he got me? Measuring the distance, I hesitated…and was lost.

  As if he’d read my mind, his hand shot out and seized me agai
n. “Think not to outwit me, Madame. If it came to a struggle, which of us would win, think you?”

  I subsided into silence, my arm still firmly in his grip. Tears of frustration started to well up again. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. He was right. This was a man trained to fight. I had no defence against him. His muscles were iron hard. I didn’t even have shoes on my feet, couldn’t even kick him with any effect. If I clawed at his face, I would come off worse. I vowed to buy a pepper spray if ever I got home. If only I had one in my bag. It was the one thing which might have deterred him, yet I pitied him almost as much as I feared him. This was an impossible situation.

  De Soutenay let go of me again and resumed his pacing. He had pulled at his hair so much it was in complete disarray. “Then, all is lost. I may as well hand over my lands to John right now. Or maybe go direct to France and offer my sword to the French King. For certes, I lose everything I have here.”

  Hildegarde rose, placing a hand on his shoulder. She was nearly tall enough to be able to look directly into his eyes. “No. All is not lost. Sit you down, and let me think.”

  He grimaced. “For a woman, you seem very able, my lady. Of a surety, you argue like a lawyer.”

  She gave me a wry look. “Sadly, Marion, men are even less likely to listen to women in this age. Now, hear what I have to say, but first, what is your given name, my lord de Soutenay? I really cannot keep calling you that.”

  “Giles.”

  “Very well, Sir Giles. Now, this may surprise you both, but it is not in Marion’s interests either to let the French King rule England.”

  I looked at her in surprise. “It isn’t? Why should I care? I come from the future.”