My One and Only Knight

by Cynthia Luhrs

  Thomas didn’t say much. He was too busy looking at everything, his eyes lingering on the women.

  “They aren’t wearing any clothes!”

  “Of course they are. They have on shorts and tank tops, like you’ve seen me wear. That woman is wearing a sundress, and that one, well, her skirt is short enough to qualify for not wearing anything. You think this is scandalous, wait until we get home and the beach bathers are out. A bikini is going to knock you on your ass.”

  He grinned for the first time. “I think mayhap I will like this bikini you speak of. Might you wear one?”

  “If you’re sweet, I might.” She swatted him playfully. “You’re a red-blooded male; of course you’ll like bikinis.” She laughed. “Come on, let me introduce you to a cupcake.”

  NINE

  Full from pizza and dessert, Penelope was in a stupor as she drove home, though Thomas, who had eaten almost two pizzas and four cupcakes, was fascinated by the workings of the car after overcoming his fear of the “metal beast,” as he called it. He asked about everything, from the motor to the tires to the buttons, which he kept pushing, rolling the windows up and down, and for the first time since she’d gotten the MG, she wished she’d gotten the car with electric windows—he would’ve had fun making them go up and down—but her car was totally old school.

  There was a new song by Ricky Martin, “Livin’ la Vida Loca,” that was really catchy, and she turned up the radio, singing along softly. Thomas tapped his fingers against his thigh as they drove back across the bridge to her house, and when she pulled in the driveway, parking under the carport, he stopped her. “Can we hear the end? This tune is pleasing to my ears.”

  “Of course we can wait. It’s a really catchy tune. Let me put the top up while we listen.”

  He helped her, and then, stroking the dash as he would a horse, turned in the seat to face her.

  “Mistress Penelope? Might I try driving your horseless carriage?”

  “It would be easier if it were an automatic, mine’s a manual, but…I think we can drive over to the farmers’ market lot. It’s big and empty, nothing to hit. I’ll give you a lesson.”

  “I cannot wait.” He rubbed his hands together, and she wondered if she were creating a monster—the more time they spent together, the more she was attracted to him and was starting to accept he was telling the truth, and somehow, someway, the universe had sent a man across time…for her.

  After taking the keys from her, he expertly inserted them into the lock, opened the door, and stood back, letting her go in first. She could certainly get used to a man like this.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “I will pour. I’ve developed quite a fondness for the wine you call Frog’s Leap.” He rubbed his belly. “Do you think we might have another cupcake?”

  She laughed, thinking of him eating all those cupcakes after dinner, and wondering where he put them.

  “Of course. Why do you think I brought three home? But I’ll do you one better: I’ll show you how to make them.”

  The evening deepened to night, and Thomas was yawning when she stood. “I made up the guest room for you.”

  He followed her into the cheery room, and she watched him gently sit down on the bed, testing it out.

  “’Tis so soft and the cloth so fine.” He turned the lamp on the nightstand on and off several times, completely intrigued, and she made a mental note to show him how to search the internet in the morning.

  “Goodnight, Thomas.”

  “Sleep well…Penelope.”

  She pulled the door shut behind her with a goofy smile on her face, and went to get ready for bed.

  The next morning, she showered and braided her hair down her back then went out looking for Thomas, only to find him on the deck, his mouth hanging open as he looked at the people on the beach. They’d both overslept, and it was already close to ten, the beach filling up with weekend visitors.

  “Do you see what they’re wearing? The women are practically naked.” He turned to her, an astonished look on his face, and she couldn’t help it: she tried to keep it in, but she busted out laughing.

  “I was wondering when you’d notice the women in bikinis. I know it’s a lot of skin, but it’s nothing unusual. It’s how women go to the beach today.”

  He turned and looked at her, his gaze traveling from her head to her toes, making her insides liquefy.

  “Where is your garment?”

  Penelope’s cheeks heated up, and, very much unlike her, she felt shy.

  “Under my dress. Some of my friends say I’m getting a little bit old to rock a bikini, but I’ve always figured you should wear what you’re comfortable in.”

  “Might we go for a walk on the beach while you wear this bikini?”

  “We did buy a swimsuit for you yesterday, so I’m sure we can do that, but let’s have breakfast first, start the day out right.”

  He followed her inside, stopping to wipe his feet on the mat so he wouldn’t track sand into the house, then he immediately went over and turned on the music. She had speakers throughout the house, and the sounds of Vivaldi filled the air.

  “I thought we’d have a big breakfast. Being out in the water and the sun always makes me hungry. Do you like waffles, bacon, and eggs?”

  “What are waffles?”

  “You know how you like cupcakes? You’re going to love waffles.” She tied on an retro-style apron so she wouldn’t get her sundress messy, and rummaged in the cabinets, pulling out the griddle and supplies to make the waffles. She always added a touch of amaretto and fresh blueberries to hers. While she got out the rest of the dishes, he took them and set the table without her asking.

  “Did you ever set your own table at home?”

  He looked up, in the process of placing floral cloth napkins next to the Vietri china. “Nay, the servants would do this, but I find I like working beside you.”

  After he’d set the table, he came over and looked interested, so she put him to work.

  “Why don’t you measure the ingredients for the waffles? Here’s the recipe. Let me know if you have any questions and I’ll get started on the bacon and eggs. How do you like your eggs?”

  “Cooked.”

  She grinned at him. “I think I’ll make us both scrambled today, and tomorrow I’ll introduce you to quiche.” The way he’d eaten so far, she cooked him six eggs and twelve pieces of bacon, and decided if he was still hungry she could always cook more. Where did he put it? The guy didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. If she ate like that, she’d blow up like a balloon.

  It had been a long time since Penelope cooked next to a man in the kitchen—her last husband deemed it women’s work and refused to lift a finger—but she’d always thought a man who would cook for you or with you was a good man to hold on to. And while she’d really thought she’d never get married again—after all, eight times was a lot for anyone—she felt the familiar stirrings of interest as they worked companionably together, though this time was different, easier, and they fit together as if they’d been a couple for at least a decade, one of those annoying couples still madly in love after ten or twenty years, genuinely fascinated and interested in the other person.

  As they sat down to eat, Penelope couldn’t believe the mound of food set out for two people, but the look on Thomas’s face made it all worthwhile.

  “Dig in.”

  He took a bite of the crispy bacon, and the look of ecstasy on his face made her want to laugh.

  “Saints, this is delicious.” He ate another piece of bacon before trying the eggs, with similar results.

  “Wait until you try the blueberry waffles. Put a little bit of butter and maple syrup on them.”

  He did as she suggested, and as Penelope chewed, she watched his face.

  “Can we have these again?”

  “Of course.”

  “For breakfast every day? ’Tis a good way to break one’s fast.”

  “Perhaps not every day. Th
ese are more of a weekend thing. If I ate like this every day, I’d get fat.”

  He stopped mid-chew and swallowed, looking her over. “You are not fat. You have a body that makes a man want to take hold of you and keep you in his bed for a fortnight at least.”

  She ducked her head, surprised at the shyness that bubbled up, and took a sip of her champagne. On the weekend she loved to have champagne or a Bloody Mary for brunch.

  It was so nice, sitting together on the weekend, having the whole day to spend with someone. Such a simple act, preparing and eating a meal together, yet it filled her heart, and she felt more content than she had in a long time.

  When they were finished, Thomas helped her clear the table. She opened the dishwasher to put the dishes in, and he looked at her.

  “It’s called a dishwasher. None of this is coming back to you?”

  “We have no such thing in my time.”

  “You rinse and I’ll load.”

  He rinsed off the dishes, taking his time, and it was evident it was the first time he’d ever done it.

  She loaded up the dishwasher and got the soap out, and when she turned it on, he jumped.

  “You’ll get used to the sound. It’s actually pretty quiet.”

  With a look outside at the beautiful blue sky, Penelope pointed to the ocean. “Want to change into your swimsuit and spend the day outside?”

  “I cannot wait to see this bikini.”

  And with that, she ran for the sunscreen and beach towels.

  TEN

  Between Thomas looking at all the people and remarking on the lack of proper clothing, Penelope was ready for an afternoon cocktail. It had been a perfect day: they swam in the ocean, walked on the sand, and spent time talking to each other, learning more about each other’s lives. She had a deep respect for his sense of honor and duty, and the niggling worry that somehow she was responsible for his being here made her feel awful inside.

  And while it had taken her a while to come to terms with his story, she had finally accepted he wasn’t suffering some kind of head trauma and indeed had been transported from medieval England to North Carolina. Why here and not modern-day England? Tomorrow she’d sit down with Rainbow and get her take on the whole situation.

  By four, they’d gotten enough sun. Thomas carried their towels, and both walked fast across the sand, though it was always the hottest in the strip right before the walkway.

  “Yikes, the sand is hotter than Hades today—”

  She was cut off as she found herself swept up in his arms.

  “You were saying?”

  That amazing man carried her the rest of the way to the house, putting her down next to the outdoor shower so they could both rinse off.

  “I could get used to being carried across the sand. You’ll spoil me.”

  “A woman is to be cherished. I would carry you to the ends of the earth to hear the lilt of your voice, see your smile, and hear your laughter.”

  And what did she say to that? He was perfect, and yet she could not keep him no matter how much she had begun to want to. He belonged to another time, had a life, responsibilities…but if he couldn’t get back? Then maybe they might have a future together.

  “I have not spent a day doing nothing since I was a small lad. I thank you, Penelope.”

  “Sometimes doing nothing is the best thing of all,” she said as she opened the door and they went inside to shower. As she washed out her bikini, Penelope smelled the ocean, the sun, and the suntan lotion. The combination of smells was her favorite.

  She had to admit, she was enjoying spending time with Thomas. By the time she’d finished showering, getting dressed and putting lotion on her body, he was sprawled on the sofa looking like he belonged, and had already poured them each a glass of wine.

  “You look beautiful today. The pink dress reminds me of roses.” He stood up as she approached, waiting until she sat before he sat back down.

  “Thank you. I thought I’d show you how to search the internet. That way you can look up electricity, cars, and…search for your family, find out what happened to them. But Thomas?”

  He looked up, the hope on his face enough to make her heart still for a moment.

  “Aye?”

  “Unless they did something historically important, there might not be any information. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  He pointed to the laptop on the table. “Truly? I can learn all this information from this tiny box?”

  “You can. Let me show you.” And she spent the next half-hour showing him how to search, crossing her fingers he’d find something.

  She left him to his own devices while she went upstairs to the attic that had been renovated into a small home office. Penelope was fortunate—she worked from home writing copy for various companies, something that wouldn’t have been possible before the internet. Engrossed in her work, she spent the next several hours catching up. Didn’t matter it was the weekend; she always had work to do, and she wanted to get ahead, knowing she would be spending more time with Thomas.

  When she came back downstairs, he was pale. “Thomas? What’s wrong?”

  He didn’t say anything, pointing to the screen instead, and as she stepped closer to look, she could see a beautiful home.

  “Is that your home?”

  He nodded, tried to speak, and had to clear his throat. Penelope went to the kitchen and got him a glass of water, and then, on second thought, poured him another glass of wine.

  “Here, this will help.”

  He drank deeply before meeting her eyes.

  “Oakwick Manor does still stand, but I can find no mention of what happened to Josephine and Heath. Is there anywhere else we might look?”

  Her heart ached at seeing the anguish on his face. “We can go into town—there’s a used bookstore, and they always have a decent-size history section. We can also go to the library, but they’re closed until Monday.”

  He was lucky; he’d only found mention of his home because some student had done a paper at a big university and it was online.

  The TV might help to distract him. Up to now she’d avoided the television, rarely watching it herself, but when she turned it on, he jumped up from the sofa and walked over to the screen, touching the people moving around.

  “Hello? You there, tiny human?”

  She resisted laughing. Barely. “They can’t hear you. It’s like a play, but they show it in people’s homes. That’s the best way I know to describe television.”

  It was funny—when she handed him the remote after showing him how to work it, he quickly took charge, flipping through the channels, stopping here and there, and then she heard him exclaim and saw he’d stopped on a channel with a British guy talking about Scotland and England.

  “As much as I want you to find out what happened, are you sure it’s a good idea? You’re going to find out things, and if you can go back, you might change history.”

  He tore his attention from the screen to stare at her thoughtfully, looking sad.

  “I do not believe I can go back. I do not know why, only that I feel it as certain as I know the sun will shine tomorrow.”

  “Then watch away. I need to run to the grocery—do you mind if I leave you here?” She knew if she took him it would take five times as long; he’d be fascinated by everything in the store, and while she was happy to let him look at everything, she wanted to get in and out today. She had a cake to make for Rainbow—it was her birthday, and they always celebrated at midnight.

  “Nay, Penelope, I will enjoy watching the little people on the glass.”

  And didn’t he sound just like an aristocrat as he basically dismissed her? She knew he didn’t mean anything by it, and it made her chuckle to herself as she grabbed her keys and left him stretched out on the sofa, a glass of wine in one hand, the remote in the other. Maybe she would get her happy ending after all.

  ELEVEN

  At the end of the “program” about the homes still
standing in his country, the man talking showed a home that made Thomas leap off the sofa. ’Twas his home. It still stood so many years later. He traced the towers, looking for any sign to tell him what happened to those he cared for.

  The man pointed to the towers, one at the front of the house and the other in the courtyard at the rear, and said they both remained to this day and were owned by the DeChartes family.

  “Roger. Whoreson.” Thomas spat as he recoiled from the screen. How had Roger taken his home? And what had happened to Josephine and Heath? As words appeared on the screen, Thomas heard the man say the family who owned it before were wealthy wool merchants—the eldest son fought as a mercenary and amassed quite a bit of gold winning tourneys. And that was it; the man said nothing more, and the show ended. No matter how long Thomas waited, there was nothing more about his home. When Penelope returned from her hunting and gathering, he would speak to her see if there was anything else they could find out about his family and how Roger had managed to steal his home.

  That night, Thomas was asleep when a sound woke him, and before he knew it he had rolled out of the bed, crouched on the floor, his hands searching for his missing sword. Had someone broken into the house? Padding across the floor, he paused at the door and listened. There were sounds coming from the kitchen, so he picked up a heavy candlestick from the table and made his way to the kitchen. On the way, he stopped at her room, saw the door ajar, and pushed it open, the candlestick raised. His stomach clenched at the empty bed. He would destroy every single ruffian who dared touch her golden skin.

  Thomas burst into the kitchen, candlestick brandished over his head, and slid to a stop. Penelope had her baking instruments scattered across what she called an island.

  “Oh, sorry, I was trying to be quiet. Did I wake you?” She peered at him, a spot of flour on her cheek. “Why do you have a candlestick? The lights work fine. Remember the switches?”