My One and Only Knight

by Cynthia Luhrs

  Slowly, the battle rage left his body, and he lowered the candlestick, sheepishly placing it on the counter.

  “I woke and heard noises, thought men with ill intent had broken into your home and were stealing you away.”

  She blinked at him before smiling. “It was very nice of you to come to my rescue.”

  He stood up straight. “Of course I would rescue you, my lady. What kind of man would cower like a dog while his lady faced danger?” Then he tilted his head up, sniffing. “Do I smell cupcakes?”

  “I’m baking a cake for my friend Rainbow. Want to help?”

  He peered out the windows into a blackness so dark that he couldn’t even see the ocean, though he could hear it, then he looked back at her, mouth agape.

  “’Tis the middle of the night.”

  “It is. Ever since I was little, my eccentric grandmother, Lucy Lou Merriweather, would wake my sisters and I up at midnight on our birthdays. We would traipse down to the kitchen, where we would have cake. Each of us liked a different kind. I’m like my nieces; I love angel food cake with cream cheese frosting. But Rainbow, Rainbow loves chocolate cake with chocolate icing, so that’s what I’m making.”

  “Rainbow is a strange name.” He took a step closer, the scents making his mouth water, and as he approached, she went still, her feminine smell permeating the air. He reached out his thumb, wiping the spot of flour from her cheek. Her skin was so soft, and up close she smelled like roses and the sun and of her baking smells.

  “You had flour on your cheek.” The moment stretched between them. Thomas wanted to pull her to him, nibble her lips, and tell her all the things he had imagined, but he stepped back. Until he knew without a doubt he could not go back, help his siblings, and save Oakwick, he could not make her his, no matter how much he wished it otherwise.

  “You smell like roses.”

  “Do I?” She put a hand to her cheek, running a finger across her lip. He tracked her movements, wanting to remove her finger and replace it with his lips.

  “I make a cream for my face. This batch has rose petals in it.” Her hand trembled, and it pleased him to see she was as affected by him as he was by her. Since he had arrived, he’d been drawn to this bewitching woman, felt the pull of her even when she wasn’t close to him. ’Twas almost like a fever, one he would gladly endure forever to make her his. Blasted responsibilities.

  He touched her cheek again. “Aye, your skin is as soft as a rose.” Then he smelled something delicious, but it looked rather like mud.

  “I’m getting ready to pour the batter in the pan. Want to lick the spoon?”

  The brown paste did not look appetizing, but when she finished scraping it into a pan and put it in the oven to bake, she turned to him and handed him the bowl and the spoon.

  “Have at it. But eat it in the kitchen so you don’t get chocolate on the sofa.”

  The first bite was hard to describe, as if heaven had exploded in his mouth. The second, he tasted a hint of raspberries, and the third, he put the spoon in the sink and used his finger to get every drop of the delightful stuff.

  Penelope efficiently cleaned up the kitchen, removed her apron, and for a moment he forgot about the precious batter. She was dressed in a short purple gown with no sleeves that shimmered in the light, and he could see her shapely legs and arms.

  “You are so beautiful.”

  She turned a fetching shade of the palest pink. “Thank you. I always wear an apron when I cook. Didn’t want to get any batter on my nightgown. It looked like you enjoyed the cake batter.”

  He peered sadly into the empty bowl then up at her. “Is there any more?”

  “Wait until you try the icing.” She grinned, and he washed the bowl, then put it in the dishwasher, as he had seen her do before.

  “Will it be long to make this icing?” he asked hopefully, eyeing the bowl on the counter.

  Penelope hung her apron over the chair. “I’m going to sit outside and listen to the waves for a few minutes while I call Rainbow and find out when she’ll be home. She keeps erratic hours, and I want to make sure she’s there—in this heat, the icing will melt. When I come back in, I’ll get the dishwasher going and make the icing. You can help, if you’d like.”

  “Make haste, woman.”

  With that, she laughed, making him wish again he had no other responsibilities and could stay in this strange land with her for all time, grow old with her, sitting together, holding hands and watching the sun set over the water.

  TWELVE

  Penelope was outside, leaning over the rail, looking at the moonlight rippling across the waves as she talked to her friend. Thomas had never met anyone like her before. She made him laugh and wish he could take her back with him, but he knew she would not wish to leave the marvels of her time, and she would stand out as too different. People would think she was cursed, and he’d spend his life protecting her, but he feared it would not be enough, and one day an overzealous priest would take her away to be burned.

  Wanting to aid her, Thomas decided he could turn on the machine that washed the dishes. A marvel that he itched to take apart and find out how it worked. The time it would save in his home. The soap was located under the sink, and he’d watched her pour it into the little cup in the machine to feed it.

  He poured a bit in and frowned. It didn’t look like enough to clean so many dishes, so he added more until it was full. Then he saw another cup beside the first one, so he poured the soap in there as well. And finally, he’d seen her add something blue—she said it made the dishes shine, and while he didn’t think it mattered if they were shiny as long as they were clean, he looked for the blue liquid.

  The bottle he found was bigger than the one she’d used. It said liquid dish soap on the front, and was for washing dishes. Where did the blue stuff go? Thomas looked for another cup but didn’t see one. Shrugging, he squirted it into the machine until it covered the shallow, big pan, and shut it quick so it would not run on the floor. Satisfied, he pushed the button to wake the machine. Pleased he had aided her in her tasks, Thomas looked outside to see her sitting on the sofa in the screened-in porch, where she said the mesh protected her from bugs. The sound of her laughter came through the door, and he smiled, watching her for several minutes as she spoke to her friend, content to see the emotions play across her face. But he wished he was holding her against him.

  The machine made noises, a bit louder than before, but it sounded quite hungry, so Thomas went to take a shower. He knew he would sleep no more this night.

  The shriek came as he was drying off, quickly wrapping the towel around his waist, and he swore, feeling the loss of his blades, and ran to the kitchen, sliding across water, almost losing his balance.

  “What has happened?”

  Penelope stopped the dishwasher, ankle deep in suds, and turned to see him looking helplessly at the still-overflowing dishwasher and floor. But she did not yell; instead, she summoned up patience from a deep reserve and took a deep breath.

  “Thomas, what did you put in the dishwasher?”

  He gaped at the avalanche of soapsuds filling up the kitchen, so she tried again.

  “Thomas. Focus. What kind of soap did you use? Show me.”

  Shaking his head, he met her gaze. “I only wanted to aid you, as you have no servants. I filled both cups with the stuff from the box under the sink, but I could not find the small bottle of blue liquid to make the dishes shine. I found a much larger bottle instead.”

  “Oh no. The little blue bottle was empty, and you only add it to the dishwasher every few months. Please tell me you didn’t use the liquid dish soap?”

  He nodded, reaching down to touch the bubbles, rubbing them between his fingers before smelling a bubble and sneezing.

  “Aye. The pan is much larger than the small cup, but ’tis shallow, so I filled it.”

  For a moment she could only blink at him. “You mean the door of the dishwasher?”

  He blinked. “Aye, I shut it
fast so none would leak out…” Though he trailed off, realizing the silliness of the statement, she guessed.

  “No wonder.” The tickle started in her belly and traveled up her throat and nose as she wheezed. “Oh my, that’s what happened. The liquid dish soap is for washing the dishes by hand. It never goes in the dishwasher, or…” She busted out laughing, bent over, hands on her knees, tears falling. “…this is what happens.” She gestured around the kitchen, laughing so hard that her stomach hurt.

  A fluffy towel was thrust into her hands.

  “I am truly sorry. I only wished to aid you. You have no servants.”

  Penelope looked up into his kind face. “It’s okay, it was a mistake. But we’re going to need more towels.”

  “I will fetch them.”

  “Fetch them all, every one you can find,” she called out after him.

  While he did, she opened the dishwasher and took out the dishes, stacking them in the sink, then pulled out every dish towel and cloth napkin she owned and blotted up the soap suds, giggles escaping as she worked.

  “I have them all.”

  She turned in time to see Thomas—the stack of towels so high that he couldn’t see—slip in the suds. The towels went up in the air, his arms windmilling to regain his balance, and she lunged to catch the towels. They collided, falling together, and he somehow rolled and used his body to cushion her fall so she landed on top of him.

  And then, well, she was at a total loss for words, as his hands were in her hair and he pulled her down, trailing kisses across her shoulder and throat, shifting so every inch of her was pressed against him.

  “I’ve been thinking about kissing you since I opened my eyes to see you on the beach.”

  “Me too.” He captured her mouth, pressing his lips to hers, tasting of chocolate and smelling of soap and male, and that faint scent of leather and steel that always surrounded him. There on the kitchen floor, enveloped in soapsuds, Penelope lost herself in Thomas as the kiss went on and on. He tasted every part of her mouth, making her groan.

  Unable to form words, she ran her hands through his hair, kissing him deeply, lost in the man. The voice calling out made her jump, hitting her head on the chair. How had they ended up halfway under the kitchen table?

  “Hello? Pittypat. It’s me, Mildred.”

  With a sigh, they broke apart, the towel around Thomas’s hips soaked from the soap, as was her dress. They looked like they’d been caught in a rainstorm and hadn’t cared, so caught up in each other that everything else faded away.

  She touched his bicep. “Go, get dressed.”

  “One more.” He pulled her close, crushing her to him, and with one more toe-curling kiss, he stalked to the bedroom, leaving her standing in soap suds, looking like a drowned rat, one finger tracing her lips. That was how Mildred found Penelope when she let herself in at two in the morning.

  “What on earth?”

  Penelope laughed again. “What on earth is right. What are you doing up at two a.m.?”

  Her sister frowned at the mess. “There’s a bulletin out for an escaped convict, and he looks like your homeless man.” She thrust a piece of paper at Penelope.

  Taking the paper, she skimmed it. “No, Thomas doesn’t have any tattoos. It isn’t him. Couldn’t this have waited until morning?”

  Mildred sniffed. “No. You know I do worry about you, sister. You can’t be too careful nowadays.”

  They talked for a few more minutes, Mildred offering to help clean up the mess, but Penelope wanted her to go home. The moment between her and Thomas had been shattered, leaving her annoyed.

  “Thank you for your concern. Now go home and get some sleep so I can clean up this mess and finish Rainbow’s cake.”

  THIRTEEN

  “How will I ever repay you for all you have done for me?” Thomas admired his form in the looking glass. He was brown from the sun, his hair the color it was when he was a child, and for the first time in many years, the worry and strain of caring for his people and family no longer weighed heavily upon his shoulders. Being with her, he had laughed and smiled more than he had in…he could not remember. Mayhap when he was a child.

  Penelope and her friends had tried many rituals over several fortnights to send him back, but alas, none had borne fruit, and while they were discouraged, he accepted that the fates wished him to be in this new land with a woman he could not imagine how he had ever lived without. Every morning he woke, desperate to hear the sound of her voice, the soft lilt, and to see the smile she always had ready for him, as if he were the most important person in her entire world. It made him stand tall, wish to be the man he saw in her eyes.

  ’Twas an odd feeling to have someone take care of him, when all his life he had taken care of others with no thought to his own welfare. She made a living writing for companies, and he was amazed how she could come up with such descriptions that made him able to see the product she was working on. In truth, he would slay a thousand men on the field of battle to make his way home to her, just to hear her laugh, to see her smile, and to feel the touch of her lips against his.

  “Repay me? Why? If our situations were reversed and I had ended up in medieval England, you would have done the same for me.” Then she laughed. “No, you would have branded me a witch and I’d be nothing more than a crispy piece of bacon.”

  “Aye. Mayhap you are right—my servants would say you bewitched me, and in truth, I believe you have, though I would gladly be bewitched by you for all eternity.”

  “Oh, my.” Penelope fanned herself, and he grinned, pleased she favored him.

  “Shall we go?” she said as she opened the door. “You’re going to love seeing the fireworks from the water.”

  “Penelope?”

  “Yes?” She turned to look at him, her shorts showing off her long, tan legs, her high shoes making him think about her curves as he pulled her close and knelt, first to kiss each toe, the blue of a daytime sky. He trailed kisses up her leg and knee, and then she pulled him to his feet and touched his face. Her soft lips brushed his chin, the scar on his cheek, and then his lips. She sighed into his mouth, and he lifted her, pulling her close, wanting to never let go.

  Her phone sliced through the moment, and she tilted her head back, a dazed look on her face, her lips red and swollen, her hair in disarray.

  “Dratted phone.”

  The annoyance in her voice made him chuckle as she looked at the number and ignored the call.

  “Might you need these?” He held her keys and tiny purse out to her, a grin spreading across his face. He had made her this flustered with his compliments and kisses.

  The pink bloomed across her chest, moving up her neck like the sun coming up over the water in the morning. He had never been so content as he touched each freckle across her nose and cheeks, connecting the dots to match the stars in the night sky.

  “Right. I knew you had them.” She turned a brighter shade of pink as he locked the door behind them.

  Without a word, she let him open the passenger door for her. She’d said he needed a card to drive, but when he’d questioned her on how to get one, she’d thought and laughed, saying she gave money to the police, and so she thought they’d be okay as long as he didn’t do anything crazy. With no birth certificate or other ID, it would be difficult to procure proper documents for him, but her friend Rainbow knew someone who might be able to aid him.

  Thomas settled into the small car and put the top down as she tied a scarf on her head to protect her hair from the wind. He loved her hair flowing down her back and blown about by the breeze, as if the very air wanted to caress the locks as much as he did. With her sunglasses firmly in place, he put his own on—Aviator sunglasses, she’d called them—and started up the engine.

  “Listen how she purrs for me.”

  “You’re involved in quite the love affair with my car.”

  He patted the steering wheel. “Do not listen to her, my love. She would not understand.”

  P
enelope rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what it is with men and cars, but you have a gift. She hasn’t run this well in years.”

  “She likes me.” Thomas had spent time at a garage across the bridge and learned how the metal beasts worked. ’Twas fascinating, and he’d spent hours working on the beautiful red car until she purred and went faster than Penelope said she ever had.

  He shifted the gears and drove them to the marina, where she said they were taking a boat out on the water to watch the fireworks. Explosions of color. He could not wait to see such marvels. Her country was so young, and he liked they celebrated its birth.

  “You know I have the same birthday as your country.”

  “Wait. What?” She looked over her sunglasses at him. “July fourth? Today is your birthday? Oh, Thomas, you should have told me. We would have celebrated this morning.”

  He chuckled. “Your blueberry waffles are celebration enough. We will mark the occasion by watching the colors in the sky tonight.” Her palm was warm as he twined their fingers together, admiring the shape of her fingers. Would he ever stop noticing new things about her? On her littlest finger were three freckles, and he raised her hand to his lips, kissing each one.

  “You’ve tried lots of kinds of cake. Do you have a favorite yet?” She was looking out the window, watching a hawk circle lazily in the afternoon sky.

  “Aye, the chocolate cake with the chocolate and raspberry icing. It is powerful good.” He looked hopefully into the small area behind them at the basket. “Might there be cake tonight?”

  Late that night, Thomas drove them home, marveling at the fireworks that exploded across the night sky in so many colors and shapes. His favorite had been the dragon. It was green and breathed red fire. ’Twas the best day of his birth he could remember. When he turned off the engine, he looked over to see Penelope had fallen asleep, so he lifted her out. He’d come back down and put the top up after he carried her inside.