The Very Thought of You

by Lynn Kurland

  Ralf had lurched to his feet and was waving him on. "Come, Seattle, and let us finish this," he called hoarsely. "To the death!"

  "Nay!" the knight from the far end of the field shouted. "Nay, not to the death!"

  "You'll have your chance at the victor," the herald called. "Accept you this challenge, Seattle?"

  Alex looked at the king, expecting him to at least say something now. Fighting to the death wasn't in the rules of late twelfth-century jousting, was it? But the king only leaned back in his chair and watched impassively.

  "Great," Alex muttered. He dismounted, drew his sword, and shooed Beast away. "It could have been Barbados," he said with a sigh.

  But then it would have no doubt been Margaret in his place, and who knows what would have happened. And Margaret deserved to remain the prize, not the corpse.

  "All right Brackwald, you pansy, let's see what you've got," Alex said, limbering up his sword arm. "More dirty tricks?"

  Ralf made everyone else there look like squires. Alex realized this immediately, and it was not a happy discovery. He'd known Brackwald was ruthless, but he'd suspected it was just because of his rotten personality. That the man should be so skilled as well just didn't seem fair.

  "Given yourself over to the dark side of the Force?" Alex asked.

  "I know not what that is, but if it means hell, aye I have," Ralf volunteered, delivering a wicked thrust along with those words.

  Alex spun out of the way and countered with a backhand any tennis pro would have been proud of. "I don't think even hell would want you. You smell pretty bad."

  And such bad teeth. A dentist's dream mouth. Too bad there wasn't a way to send Ralf to the twentieth century on the condition that he only stayed long enough to have the appropriate dental work done. Without anesthetic.

  The unfortunate thing was, Ralf probably would have bounced right back from it. Whatever else his faults, the guy sure had stamina. Of course, he also hadn't spent the entire morning facing challengers one right after the other. Alex felt his sword begin to grow heavy in his hand. He gritted his teeth and reached down deep inside himself for enough energy to end this thing—and end it soon. He didn't have reserves enough for a drawn-out battle.

  And then he suddenly realized that Ralf's guard had slipped. Alex watched as his blade slipped under Ralf's and drove straight into Brackwald's substantial shoulder.

  "Arrgh," Ralf said, through gritted teeth. He stumbled back, clutching his sword arm.

  Alex forced him back, never letting up on his strokes until Ralf went down heavily. Alex kicked away Brackwald's sword, then stepped on the man's hand before Ralf could reach for the dagger in his belt. Alex put his sword to Ralf's throat and smiled coldly.

  "Will you die?"

  Ralf's eyes were full of hate. "You haven't the ballocks to slay me."

  "Haven't I? Funny, I seem to remember having them on me earlier."

  "Then do it," Ralf sneered. "Finish me off."

  Alex lifted his sword, then stopped as he realized what he was about to commit.

  Murder in 1194.

  He found, suddenly, that he just couldn't make himself move. He was about to take a life in 1194. Who knew what that might mean to the future? Never mind that he'd decided to stay and work things out with Margaret. The truth was, this wasn't his century, and he had no business murdering someone who belonged in this time period. No matter how much he wanted to bring his sword down and sever Ralf's head from his neck, he just couldn't do it.

  "Coward," Ralf snarled.

  "Shut up," Alex said absently. He looked at the king. "My liege, I claim Ralf of Brackwald to be vanquished. What says Your Grace?"

  "Done," Richard said, his voice carrying clearly over the field.

  Alex hauled Ralf to his feet by the arm connected to his injured shoulder. While Ralf was still howling, Alex caught him firmly under the jaw. Brackwald's head snapped back, and he collapsed in a heap at Alex's feet.

  "Hope you're still alive now," Alex said grimly. He stepped back as a pair of Ralf's men came and collected the inert body of their lord. "His gear is mine," Alex called after them, "as well as coin, but I haven't decided how much yet."

  It was only then that he allowed himself to feel any kind of relief. Ralf was taken care of. Maybe Richard would have kind feelings for him since he'd refrained from killing one of his vassals. And maybe those kind feelings would go so far as to convince Richard that Falconberg really should be put up for sale for whatever price Alex could come up with.

  "Young knight," the herald called to the kid sitting at the far end of the field, ' 'take your pleasure of Alexander of Seattle in lieu of Lord Brackwald."

  "Nay," the knight said, shaking his head, "there is no need—"

  "You lost your sport," the herald insisted. "Three passes with the lance, then five strikes with the sword to discover the victor."

  Alex didn't protest. He'd denied the boy a chance at Brackwald. Offering a piece of himself was the least he could do. First he would disable the brat as quickly as possible and then find some deserted corner of Odo's hall to curl up in and have a very long nap. After he'd groveled at the king's feet for an extended period of time first, of course.

  "Come on, kid," Alex called, "let's get it over with." He mounted and had Joel fetch him another lance from his pile of spoils.

  Alex looked at the tall knight facing him and paused. There was something vaguely familiar about the stature of the boy. Then he shrugged aside his feelings. He'd seen more knights that morning than he would have liked. Maybe the kid had been loitering along the side of the field.

  The herald called the start.

  But that horse ... Alex whipped his head around to look in the stands. Baldric was on his feet holding on to a pole.

  A pole which was topped by a wimple and a cute little white cap.

  Alex jerked his attention back to the knight thundering toward him.

  "Damn you, Margaret—"

  He would have said more, but her lance had caught him square in the sternum. For the first time that day, he found himself flat on his back, fully winded. He laid there for as little time as he could manage, then heaved himself to his feet and stalked across the field. Margaret, and now he could definitely see that it was she, was still atop her mount.

  "Get down here!" he shouted at her.

  "I will not."

  He gritted his teeth. "Get down here and fight like a man."

  "I bested you with the lance," she said—rather bravely, all things considered.

  "Yeah, well, there's still the sword to go and mine has business with yours."

  "I think I'd rather—"

  "Coward," he taunted.

  Good grief, but she was predictable. Alex would have laughed if he hadn't been so, well, so ... he had no idea what he was, but he was certain he was feeling an equal measure of fury and lust.

  Margaret snarled a curse at him as she jumped down from her horse. "You robbed me of my chance to best him before the king," she snapped. "I've been waiting for this for years!" She lashed out at him with her sword.

  "Well, you're so very welcome for defending your honor," Alex retorted, deflecting her stroke. "You promised me you would stay in the stands!"

  "My headcovering was there. It was enough."

  "Don't even try to justify this," he warned. "You agreed to let me do it."

  She seemingly had no answer for that.

  "I'm stunned by the faith you've shown in me," he continued angrily.

  "I do have faith in you," she threw back.

  "You didn't show it."

  "It's my life!"

  And he'd worked his butt off to protect that life for her. Well, the time had obviously come to show her that he was fully capable of wearing the pants in the family. It was one thing to know that she knew he could and to still let her walk all over him. It was another thing entirely when she obviously thought he was completely unequal to the task of standing up and protecting her. And if he had to prove
it to her on the field, then so be it.

  "I am man, hear me roar," he said distinctly.

  "What?"

  "Prepare to be bested, you troublesome wench," he said in his best growl.

  She gasped in outrage. Alex found himself with a fresh batch of energy. His manly pride had been insulted and dismissed one too many times. Never mind that he would rather stand at the head of the garrison as an equal partner with Margaret. The fact that she didn't think he could do it alone was enough to make him determined to prove it to her.

  He fought her for a few minutes with a look of intense concentration on his face. Then he let his lips curve into the faintest of mocking smiles. It had always been the one thing guaranteed to send Jamie into a rage. It seemingly had the same affect on Margaret.

  Alex let her wear herself out, and he continued to smile.

  And when he'd had enough, he went on the offensive, forcing her back, using her own moves against her until he could see she was winded. Then with one movement— and he had to admit to himself that it was artistically done—he sent her sword flying. He watched it flip end over end through the air and was rather impressed with the speed and trajectory. Then he watched it come down.

  It was then that a feeling of horror began to spread through him.

  The blade was headed for the king's pavilion.

  It ripped through the awning and thunked into the wood of the floor with all the force of a missile.

  Right between Richard the Lionheart's knees.

  Luckily for the king, he hadn't been sitting with his legs crossed.

  "Merde," Margaret breathed.

  "You can say that again, toots," Alex said, grabbing her by the arm. He hauled himself and his errant would-be bride across the field and threw them both to their knees in front of the pavilion. He didn't dare say anything. He only hoped Richard's reaction wouldn't be to call for a pair of matching nooses.

  "Alexander of Seattle," the herald called.

  Alex looked up carefully at the herald. He stole a look at the king. He was still staring, open-mouthed, at that quivering blade.

  "Yes?" Alex ventured.

  The herald pointed to the far end of the field. "There is yet another challenger."

  Alex looked to his left and felt his eyes widen before he could stop them. Holy cow, that guy was big. His horse was huge. He was swathed all in black. Even from that distance, Alex could see he looked very fresh and well rested.

  "Well, hell." As if almost severing the royal family jewels hadn't been enough. Now this?

  His day had just taken a decided turn for the worse.

  Twenty

  Margaret knew she was doomed.

  She knelt before the king's pavilion with Alex's fingers biting into her arm and stared at the horrifying sight that greeted her eyes from the far end of the field. The knight was enormous, she could see that from where she was. Alex was exceptionally tall, but she could tell that this man was equally that tall, only he seemed twice as broad.

  As she watched the man come to the end of the jousting rail and take up a lance, she again considered her situation.

  The king was still gaping at her sword thrust into the wood between his knees and seemingly had forgotten her for the moment. Even though she knew it wouldn't last for long, she was grateful for the momentary reprieve from his scrutiny.

  Alex still had ahold of her as if he meant to do her bodily harm. Though he too had his attentions elsewhere, she knew that the lull in his irritation wouldn't last long, either.

  And then there was a huge man swathed in black at the far end of the field pointing toward Alex with his lance, indicating that he had business with him. The unknown knight was freshly rested, and his demeanor suggested that mercy and patience were not among his attributes. Alex was weary after a full morning of war play. That could mean only one thing.

  The man she loved was about to die.

  Margaret looked at Alex's clenched jaw and found she couldn't deny the feelings she had for him. Daft and befuddled he might be when it came to his past and his homeland, he was still the victor of her heart. She loved his pale eyes. She loved the beauty of his face. She even loved his unconventional training habits. And, saints preserve her, she loved him for taking up a sword and defending her honor.

  She knew at that moment that she would do anything to keep from losing him.

  "I'll go in your stead," she blurted out.

  Alex turned a dark look on her. "You will not."

  "Aye, I will. A lance!" she called.

  He struggled to his feet. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me."

  She jumped to her feet. "Why not? You fight mine for me."

  He scowled. "And that's just how it should be."

  She couldn't deny the excellent logic of that, but he looked so tired. Without thinking, she reached up and caressed his cheek.

  "Had I known this was the trial you would face after me, I wouldn't have forced you to fight me."

  He blinked. "Really?"

  "Well," she said, realizing that wasn't exactly the truth, "perhaps not. But," she added, "I likely wouldn't have dragged the affair out as long."

  "You dragged—" he spluttered. "You did not—"

  The black knight was banging impatiently on his shield with his lance. Margaret threw him a scowl, then turned back in time to have Alex grip her the more.

  "Do me a favor and go sit in the stands," he said. "I'd like to think you're safe while I'm out there getting the hell beaten out of me."

  He released her. Without giving her actions any more thought than necessary, Margaret grasped him by the shoulders and kissed him hard on the mouth.

  "Win," she said simply.

  Before she could back away, Alex had her captive by means of his hand behind her head. He hauled her against him and ravaged her mouth. Margaret could do no more than to clutch him and pray her knees didn't buckle. He was very sweaty and he smelled passing unpleasant, but she didn't care. The fierce need she saw in his eyes when he lifted his head mirrored the emotion that ran through her so perfectly, all she could do was stare at him, mute.

  "Go sit. Do not move."

  She nodded. She was more than willing to seek out a seat before she collapsed in a heap on the field.

  Alex made the king a low bow. ' 'With your permission, Majesty?''

  Richard waved him away and Alex turned and walked back to his mount. Margaret watched him go, feeling her knees very unsteady beneath her.

  It was then that she realized the entire gallery was staring at her. The king was looking at her with a most calculating expression on his face. Margaret didn't dare speculate, but she was sure it meant trouble. She made him a deep curtsy, then fled for the stands before he could say anything. She made it as far as the railing before she could go no further. Drawing in a shaky breath, she turned and leaned back against the wood. She prayed, eyes open, that Alex would survive the day.

  It didn't look to be a very promising prospect.

  The two warriors came together with a clash. Alex teetered in his saddle, but did not fall. The second pass was just as close. Margaret clutched her hands together and wished for a melee. At least then they could have ridden in teams and she would have been able to aid Alex.

  The third pass sent her love flying off his horse. Happily enough, though, the other knight had been caught by Alex's lance as well and had landed equally as ignominiously in the dust.

  Alex had barely managed to sit up before the other man had leaped over the jousting rail and advanced. Margaret took a few paces away from the stands. Proprieties be damned. She wouldn't let Alex die.

  The man came at Alex with blade bared.

  "Get to your feet, you fool!" Margaret shouted. "Hurry!"

  Alex managed to get up and have his sword out just in time to avoid losing his head.

  "Yikes," he said, jumping away from the black knight's returning swing.

  The black knight did a little hitch. Margaret watched him adjust the mail
covering his legs. Perhaps some vermin of some kind had invaded his hose. "

  Alex looked tired. Margaret reached for her sword, just in case he would need aid, then realized her blade was still impaled in the king's pavilion. She drew her dagger and took another few paces out onto the field. The black knight was fighting very well, though for some reason he looked less than comfortable in his mail. Margaret watched as he took a pace back and held up his hand to call for a halt to the contest.

  "What a bloody bother these things are," he said, drawing off his helm and tossing it aside. He was wearing a coif, but he had it on rather askew. Margaret watched as he pulled that off as well, then shook out a mane of dark hair. Despite herself, she found the sight of the man to be quite arresting.

  As did Alex, obviously, by the way the point of his sword made abrupt contact with the dirt.

  "Jamie?" Alex gasped.

  The black knight grinned and made Alex a small bow. "In chain mail, no less," he said proudly. "Though you likely wouldn't believe what a time I had finding a suit of it to fit. By Saint Michael's knees, there are no metal workers of substance in the twentieth century! But I told Beth there was no sense in coming to fetch you if I didn't have the proper gear to bring along—"

  Alex ripped off his helm, tossed aside his sword, and jumped forward to embrace the man who had seemingly had his demise on his mind but a few moments before.

  "I can't believe it!" Alex exclaimed, pounding the man enthusiastically on the back. "You finally found me!"

  The black knight returned the pounding with a few stiff blows of his own. "Aye, well, we tried a gate or two before we stumbled upon your little ball of foil near the ring in the grass—"

  Margaret watched as Alex suddenly stopped pounding. He pulled away and frowned at the other man.

  "You had to find me now? Your timing stinks!"

  ''Well, our journey through the Future gate took more time than I'd expec—"