The Very Thought of You

by Lynn Kurland

  "You're mad," she blurted out. "No, I'm not. Look, it's what, almost the end of February? Richard will be in Nottingham near the end of March. That gives me a month to get in shape and for us to come up with a good plan to get his help."

  Margaret felt quite sure her eyes were fair to falling from her head. "Richard is in Austria," she repeated. "Captive. Waiting, no doubt eternally, for his ransom to be paid."

  Alex waved his hand dismissively. ''That's being taken care of by his continental enemies. The entire ransom will never be paid and Leopold will just be glad to be out of the whole mess, but Richard won't care because he's free. He's coming back to England to kick John's butt, whip his barons into shape and be recrowned in London. I think that happens in April. Then he's going to head back to France, and he'll never set foot on English soil again. We have to get to Nottingham in March or you'll miss your chance to get Ralf put out of the picture entirely."

  Margaret could only stare at him, her mouth open. She could feel it hanging almost to her chest. Here he spoke of events that were to come as easily as if he were the master of them.

  Alex smiled. "I always did like English history. There's some wild stuff coming up in the next few years. It's a great time to be alive."

  Amery pushed her hands away. Margaret was half tempted to use them to cover her own ears.

  "How," she said, and her voice sounded to her ears as if someone had their hands around her throat, "how, by all the blessed saints, do you know this?"

  Alex frowned at her. "We discussed it this morning, remember? The faery ring?"

  "You learned all this in a faery ring? she demanded.

  "No, I learned all this in the twentieth century, which is eight centuries further into the future than the twelfth. Where I come from, your future has already happened."

  Margaret shook her head. "Impossible."

  He sighed, as regretfully as if he'd been trying to teach her something very simple that she hadn't been able to master even after repeated attempts.

  "Just trust me on this, okay? We have a month to get ready to meet Richard. Let's keep our ears open for his arrival and then you'll see I'm telling the truth."

  Well, there was some logic to that. She would go along with him, then try not to gloat when she proved him wrong.

  "Ralf is our only problem," he continued. "We'll have to stall him until we can get him to meet us in Nottingham."

  "And how do you propose to get him there?"

  "We'll tell him we're going to the king to rat on him."

  "Rat?"

  "Tattle. Fink. We'll make sure Ralf knows we're off to find the king and tell him in the most glorious of detail just what Ralf has been up to. And we'll tell him that we're making a substantial contribution to Richard's coffers all in the name of aiding the king in his French wars."

  "Well, bribery is something Ralf understands."

  "I thought so, too. We'll go just the two of us. George can pop over to Brackwald and get Edward out of the pit, then meet us wherever the king happens to be holding court."

  "Indeed," she said, suddenly finding that she almost hoped Alex spoke truly. It. would be a fine thing indeed to have Ralf lose all hope of having her land. ' 'Perhaps Ralf will demand that the matter be settled on the field. I can see to that."

  "Wait a minute. What do you mean, 'settled on the field'?"

  "Ralf may wish to have the matter settled over lances. 'Tis often done."

  Alex frowned. "I hadn't thought of that."

  "Not to worry. I can take him."

  "You?" Alex jerked upright, then put his hand to his head and winced. "You're not facing anyone over lances," he said through gritted teeth.

  "Of course I am."

  "No," Alex said, leaning his head gingerly against the back of the chair. "I'll do it."

  "You will not."

  He glared at her weakly. "I said I'll do it and do it I will."

  Margaret pursed her lips, but said nothing. The man was obviously still suffering under fevered delusions if he thought he would be holding a lance any time soon.

  "And you'll promise me you'll stay off the field, or I'll leave you here."

  "Ha," she said, then snorted at his efforts to sit up and look intimidating. ' 'How can you hold a lance when you can't hold yourself upright?" .

  "I have a month. I'll be in shape by then."

  "If that means you will have your fighting form back, I have my doubts."

  "I will do it."

  Margaret had her doubts, but she decided arguing with him was useless. He could believe what he wanted. It wouldn't hurt him to train a bit, but it would be strictly for his own pleasure. Ralf would be vanquished, but not by Alex. She would see to it herself.

  She escorted Frances and Amery to the door, then returned and helped an unprotesting Alex back to bed. He groaned when his head flopped against the pillow, then his entire body went completely limp. Margaret quickly put her fingers against his throat. His pulse was steady and strong. Perhaps sleep was all he needed.

  She left his chamber and made her way down to the great hall. First she would assure herself that Sir Walter had indeed taken his leave of them, then she would spend the afternoon in the lists. If Alex spoke truly, and she hoped he did, she had precious little time to hone her skills before going to the king. It would be her best chance to humiliate Ralf a final time and hopefully win her freedom.

  I won't go until you tell me to leave.

  Alex's words from the morning came back to her, and she pondered them as she made her way to the kitchens. Those certainly sounded like the words a man would use if he intended to remain by her side.

  But as what?

  She shook aside her idle thought before it could distract her more. He'd apologized for not being truthful with her, and she realized that she'd forgiven him. Mostly. It was very hard to stay angry with a man who wasn't in possession of all his wits and fully believed he'd used a faery ring to step from one world to another. Maybe his sanity would return in time.

  Hopefully she wouldn't lose hers in the meantime.

  Faery rings. It was Baldric the Bard fodder!

  Sixteen

  Alex sat down heavily on the stone bench and leaned back against the wall. He didn't want to admit that his chest was heaving, but he had no choice. Even after a week he could hardly keep going for more than a half an hour or so without a rest. Good grief, he felt as winded as if he'd just run a marathon. He groaned. Maybe if he'd actually run one he might be in better shape now. Too bad no one had had the decency to warn him that he would find himself in medieval England contemplating the possibility of facing a medieval lord over lances. He might have been prepared otherwise.

  "My lord?" a young voice warbled. "If I can serve you?"

  Alex opened his eyes and saw his newly made squire standing there at attention. "A new body would be nice."

  "My lord?"

  ''Never mind, Joel. What I could use is a cup of ale. Is that a squire's task?"

  "Gladly, my lord!" Joel exclaimed and scampered off enthusiastically.

  Alex smiled to himself at the sight. All right, so Joel was an orphaned kitchen lad who couldn't tell one end of a sword from the next. He was handy with a paring knife and very chipper. A guy couldn't ask for more than that from his squire. Joel couldn't have been a day over twelve, but he seemed more than ready to take on a man's task.

  Margaret had offered Joel to him a week ago and done it as stiffly as if she had expected him to laugh at her for it. Alex was more than aware of the reluctance of her peers to send her any kin of theirs. Considering the knightly training Joel wouldn't receive as Alex's squire, Alex felt like he was getting the better end of the deal. "Your ale, my lord!"

  Alex accepted the cup gratefully and gulped it down. It was cold and rainy out, but that hadn't done much to quench his thirst. It had to be the unfamiliar weight of the chain mail. The only stroke of fortune was realizing Margaret's eldest brother had been every bit as tall as he was. The downsid
e was now that the mail fit, he had to wear it. He spared one last fleeting thought to the happy possibilities of Barbados' native dress, then handed the cup back to Joel.

  "Will you have your sword again, my lord? I have it here."

  Joel struggled to hand Alex the long sword. Alex took it with a sigh. He wasn't quite ready to dive back into the lists yet, but Joel was looking at him with serious hero worship. He couldn't disappoint the kid.

  He took the sword and hoped the late lord of Falconberg didn't mind the loan. Margaret's father had seen his share of battles, if the scratches and dings on the blade were any indication. Alex wondered how many men William had killed, if he'd found it difficult to do so, and if he wished he'd died in battle instead of at home of grief.

  "Ah, my lord, here is Sir George to train with you!" Joel sounded overjoyed at the prospect.

  Alex looked at Margaret's captain and knew his days of avoiding the man were up. He'd been putting George off for a week now, saying he'd be much better prepared to tell his story when he was in better shape.

  Sir George came to a halt before him and placed his sword point-down into the ground. He leaned on the hilt and looked at Alex sternly.

  "I believe you've a tale to tell me," George said.

  "Okay," Alex agreed, hauling himself slowly to his feet. "You can have it, if you're sure you want it."

  "Aye, I want it."

  "We might want some privacy."

  "The lists are conveniently empty, as you can see."

  Alex saw the last of the men heading off to the great hall. Damn, no chance of an extension on account of crowds. "Yes, well, I can see that. Thank you."

  Alex followed Sir George out into the lists and steeled himself for an hour or so of intense torment. And that didn't even begin to describe how uncomfortable he would be answering the man's questions. George was pretty old by medieval standards, but he was definitely in shape. There would be no mercy from this direction.

  "Where were you born?"

  The question, and the flashing blade, were unexpectedly quick to come at him. Alex parried off the stroke and offered the best answer he could.

  "Seattle."

  "That is unfamiliar to me."

  "I'm sure it is. It's on a different continent."

  The blade continued its relentless assault. "Not, I take it, the same continent on which rests Rouen and the Acquitaine?"

  "Right," Alex said, blocking a wicked thrust. "A different one."

  George withdrew his sword so quickly, Alex almost went sprawling face-first into the March mud. "Then why don't we know of it?"

  "It hasn't been discovered yet." Alex winced as he said it, remembering how the same conversation with Margaret had gone.

  "Then how is it you know of it?"

  "Because," Alex said, taking a deep breath, "I'm from a different century."

  George blinked slowly.

  "The twentieth," Alex added.

  He watched George digest that, then count surreptitiously on his fingers. He looked up at Alex and blinked some more.

  "Well," he said finally. "This is news."

  Alex could only nod.

  "A new continent as well?"

  Alex nodded again. "And it's a big one."

  "Show me."

  "Show you?"

  "Draw me a map."

  Alex could hardly believe George was still with him. Then again, maybe it wasn't so hard to believe. George had been around awhile and had probably seen quite a few unbelievable things.

  "Okay, a map," Alex agreed. He looked around to make sure the coast was clear, then chose the firmest bit of mud he could find.

  "This is England," he said, drawing the outline with his sword. "Here's the continent with France and Normandy. It extends east and becomes Russia. Well, it used to be Russia. Where I come from it's now an entirely new map of -ia states, but we won't worry about that right now."

  George grunted, but continued to listen closely to the unfolding geography lesson.

  "Here's Africa and the Middle East. You know all about Jerusalem and Egypt, right?"

  George nodded.

  "Okay, here's what's new. That other continent is called the Americas, North and South." Alex drew it with sweeping stokes, hoping he was getting the Atlantic Ocean as big as it needed to be. He passed on trying to outline Greenland. "This is New York on this side," he gouged a little hole, "and on the opposite side is Seattle." He left his sword spearing the Space Needle, then looked up at Margaret's captain. "That's where I'm from, originally."

  "Hmmm," George said, staring thoughtfully at the map. "And then you moved to this New York?"

  Alex smudged the map lines with his boot, obliterating all traces of what he'd shown Margaret's captain. "Yes. Then I gave up my work in New York and came to live with my sister and her husband in Scotland."

  "And then you found yourself in England ..."

  "After I'd been out riding one morning," Alex finished. ' 'I wandered through some sort of gate on my brother-in-law's land. One minute I was in Scotland and the next I was in England."

  George stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Passing strange."

  "That's not the half of it."

  "I'll have the rest now."

  Alex took a deep breath. Maybe this would work better with George than it had with Margaret.

  "I was in Scotland in the year 1998. When I found myself in England, the year was 1194."

  "1998," George repeated.

  "I swear it's the truth."

  George considered. Alex could see him turning the thought over in his mind and weighing the possibilities of it. He looked at Alex closely, then considered some more. Alex hoped he looked honest and briefly toyed with the idea of trying to find a facial expression that would convey that, but he had the feeling it wouldn't help his case any. George would either believe him or he wouldn't.

  George frowned. "Then this is why you were so anxious to be gone."

  Alex nodded carefully. "I needed to get home."

  "To the year 1998."

  "Yes."

  "But you weren't able to open this gate."

  "No."

  "Why did you not just break it open? Was it locked?"

  Alex sighed. "It wasn't a gate like the gate in the bailey wall. It was"—he took a deep breath—"a faery ring."

  A corner of George's mouth twitched. "A faery ring?"

  "If you can believe it."

  George chuckled, though he looked to have tried to muffle it well enough. "Forgive me, Alex, but you're beginning to sound a bit like our good bard with his elves and trolls hiding under flowers and such."

  "You think I don't know this? A faery ring, for pity's sake! Why couldn't I have vanished in something dignified, like a stone circle?"

  George did laugh then. "I've no idea, lad. I daresay Fate has her own manner of jesting, far beyond our pitiful minds to understand."

  "And I hadn't even been heading for England," Alex added with a scowl. "I'd been planning on Barbados."

  "Barbados?"

  "It's an island in a very sunny part of the world. Everyone lies on the beach and drinks rum. I have a feeling the women don't wear much. I think it probably doesn't rain much, either."

  George squinted up at the gray sky, then looked at Alex. "I'm sorry you missed that gate," he said sympathetically.

  "You and me both."

  "Is it anywhere close where we both might venture through it?"

  "Unfortunately that gate's on my brother-in-law's land."

  "Well, Scotland is reportedly a very odd place."

  "I'm living proof of it."

  George shook his head slowly. "'Tis a most fantastical tale."

  Alex waited.

  George shook his head once again, then smiled faintly. "I always wondered how long the world would last. Already the land holds so many souls."

  The plague would unfortunately take care of that, but Alex refrained from saying as much.

  "I would like to hear how the world has
changed, if you would indulge me."

  Alex blinked. "You believe me?"

  "Shouldn't I?"

  Alex laughed shortly. "Margaret thinks I've lost my mind."

  George shrugged. "She is her father's daughter and believes what she can touch."

  "And you don't?"

  "Alex, lad," George said, putting his hand on Alex's shoulder, "I'm old. I've outlived my wife and four of my children. I've seen three kings come into power, and lived through famine and war. At this point in my life, I am not above believing almost anything is possible."

  "Well," Alex said, surprised at how relieved he was to finally be taken seriously, "thank you."

  "No need, lad." He stepped back and resheathed his sword. "What say you we seek out a meal. We'll work again this afternoon and perhaps you'll indulge more of my curiosity."

  Alex hesitated, but before he could express his concern, George had spoken.

  "I'm old," he said again. " 'Tis merely an old man's curiosity." He smiled. "I have no more use for the tidings than that."

  Alex nodded and resheathed his own sword. What could it hurt to give George a rundown on a few things? It would be a pleasure to actually talk about home for a change.

  "I'll take your blade for you, my lord!"

  Alex caught Joel just before Joel plowed into him in his enthusiasm.

  "Hold on there, kid. It's not going anywhere."

  "But I'm eager to serve, my lord!"

  "And you're doing a great job. Here, take the helmet, too. I'll be going back out later, so keep them in the great hall, okay?"

  "Okay, my lord," Joel said, nodding vigorously. " 'Twill be an honor!"

  Alex entered the hall with George in time to find the last of the household gathered around the hearth for Baldric's daily offering. Alex approached on one side and paused to see what the subject would be.

  From Brackwald there arises such a smell

  that not an ogre or beastie can bear,

  The land 'round about is so full of cesspool water

  and table scraps

  that all creatures must hold small bunches of herbs

  to their noses to ward off the ill affects

  of breathing in the putrid stench which is enough to

  make any creature