The Very Thought of You

by Lynn Kurland

  "By the saints, what is that?" she asked, stretching out her hands and walking to the window.

  Alex looked in the display window and tried to second-guess what she was gaping at. "Urn, which thing?"

  She ran her hands over the window. "This. This huge piece of glass." She looked stunned. "How do they fashion it so smoothly? And how does it remain here in spite of the storms?"

  Alex shrugged helplessly. "They've just gotten better at it over the years."

  "Hmmm," she said, and pulled away. " 'Tis a most amazing thing."

  But she didn't look all that happy about it. Alex decided on distraction. She was probably tired with all the excitement of the last couple of days. He would show her around, feed her lunch, then take her home for another nap. And maybe he would manage to keep his hands to himself long enough to let her sleep this time.

  And so they wandered from shop to shop. Alex stopped the moment she showed any interest at all and made mental notes of the things that pleased her. Beast could carry a few surprises home for them. Alex planned on having a lot of anniversaries to need presents for.

  After ten minutes in a bookstore, she begged to go.

  " 'Tis more than I can bear," she said, stumbling out into the street. "By the saints, Alex, a man could read forever and never read it all."

  "That's probably true."

  "Let us find an inn and beg a meal," she said, putting her arms around him. "I think I need something substantial."

  "I know just the place."

  He drove her to an inn at the far end of the village. It was the first place Jamie and Elizabeth had come after their trip forward in time. If there was anyone who could put Margaret at ease in 1998, it was the innkeeper with nerves of steel, Roddy MacLeod.

  "Why, Alexander," Roddy said, opening the door with a broad smile. " 'Tis a pleasure to see you, my lad."

  "My lord Falconberg," Margaret corrected automatically, but her eyes were already searching out the entry way for new discoveries.

  Alex met Roddy's startled eyes and smiled. "I'm afraid she's right. This is my wife, Margaret of Falconberg."

  "Countess," Margaret added, easing past Roddy.

  Roddy only smiled the smile of a man who'd ceased to be surprised by anything.

  "A trip through the forest then?"

  "Faery ring."

  Roddy chuckled. ''Ah, Laird Jamie is a one for stirring up mischief, is he not?"

  "Well, this at least was good mischief. I never would have met Margaret otherwise."

  ''We were just about to sit down for a wee bite. Care to join us?''

  "If it wouldn't be any trouble."

  "Not at all. Who wouldn't be pleased to have an earl and his countess for a late lunch?"

  They sat at Roddy's table with his wife and a couple of his sons, and Alex relaxed and smiled at the relating of village gossip. He'd spent quite a bit of time in Roddy's inn after Elizabeth's return, and it felt very much like home.

  "Off with ye, lads," Roddy said, waving his sons away after lunch. "See to the table, then finish your other chores."

  "I've a thing or two to see to myself," Roddy's wife said, rising and leaving her sons to the dishes.

  "Let's take our ease in the parlor," Roddy said, rising. "If it pleases Your Lordship?"

  Alex smiled at the teasing and nodded regally for Roddy's benefit.

  They hadn't had but a cup of tea before Margaret looked at Roddy.

  "Who is king in this day?"

  Alex hid his smile behind his cup. He'd heard in glorious detail Jamie's reaction to the political situation. "I think she'll take this news better than Jamie did," he offered.

  Roddy took a deep breath. "There is no king, my lady. At least not yet."

  Margaret frowned. "What nonsense is this?"

  " 'Tis a queen who sits the throne." He looked at Alex. "I'm certain I've said that before."

  "And had Jamie threaten anarchy, no doubt," Alex added.

  "A queen," Margaret said, smiling. "Why, 'tis a fine thing indeed."

  "There have been several queens before her," Roddy added. "Ruling as ably as men, to be sure."

  "Of course," Margaret said, as if anything else was unthinkable.

  Alex smiled at the sight of her smugness. It was the first real pleasure he'd seen her take in the day. He should have brought her to Roddy's sooner.

  "I believe such strong women likely began with Eleanor of Acquitaine," Roddy postulated, "even though she wasn't the sole ruler. 'Tis said she was a most imposing woman."

  "Aye, she seemed that way to me the last time I saw her," Margaret agreed.

  Roddy seemed momentarily startled, then shrugged it aside and plunged into glorious recountings of the English monarchy. Alex only listened with half an ear. He couldn't take his eyes from his wife. He'd once called her intoxicating. Now, he wondered if that did her justice. She stole his breath. Watching her sitting in that well-worn chair in an inn listening to tales that would happen long after she had died, Alex could hardly bear it. It was all he could do not to throw Roddy out of his own solar and take Margaret right there before the fireplace.

  "Alex, you're flushed."

  Alex found Margaret watching him, a frown wrinkling her perfect brow.

  "Are you unwell?"

  "In need of a nap, I think," he offered. "When you're ready to go."

  Maybe he would do better to nap right where he was. He certainly didn't want to waste any time with it later.

  To think he would have this woman for the rest of his life.

  He'd done nothing to deserve her, but unrepentant pirate that he was, he had no intentions of giving her up on that technicality. She was his, damn it.

  And he'd do whatever he had to to keep her.

  Thirty - two

  Margaret stood at the entrance to the kitchen and stared bleakly at the green numbers on the microwave that gave faint illumination to the chamber. Another modern invention. Another miracle she would be depriving Alex of. He hadn't said as much, but she was certain his thinking ran along the same lines. In another few days he would come with her to the faery ring, step through the blades of grass, and leave behind him a life of comfort and wonder.

  She walked into the kitchen, trailing her hand over whatever she encountered: cabinets that held foodstuffs up off the floor, the cooling box that kept perishables fresh long past when they should have given themselves over to mold, the stove that provided instant fire on command. The last still gave her chills when she thought on it. Though Alex claimed that an invisible substance was brought into the stove through metal tubes, and it was a very natural and logical thing, she couldn't help but feel as if someone worked magic in her presence each time a flame leaped to life. How stunned Cook would have been at the sight of such a thing.

  Margaret stopped at the table and rested her hands on its sturdy, worn surface. Though she'd only eaten a handful of meals at this board, they had been fine ones, made even more so by the company. She had grown very fond of Jamie and Elizabeth, and even the other members of Jamie's household had made a favorable impression upon her. It seemed a terrible thing to pull Alex from his family, especially when he had the chance to see his parents. They were set to arrive the following week.

  Her heart grew heavier at the thought of that. She could pull him away from the companionship of his sister and though it would grieve her, it wasn't anything that didn't happen in her day. Sisters were sent as brides to other keeps, or other countries for that matter, and to be sure some of them never saw their homeland again. But to ask him to give up his parents was something else.

  She left the kitchen and made her way across the great hall to the stairs. She shook her head as she mounted them to the upper floor. Even the stairs were better fashioned here, smooth and well laid. And with more room for stepping. Margaret now wondered how she ever made it down hers at home without plunging down to her death. And Alex's feet were to be sure larger than hers.

  Yet another item of interest for him to
leave behind.

  She walked down the passageway to Jamie's solar, her feet dragging. She managed to light one of the little lamps on the desk before she sat down heavily in Jamie's chair and dropped her face into her hands. Saints, but she could hardly bear to do what she knew she had to. With a groan, she leaned back against the chair and closed her eyes against the truth.

  She could not stay.

  And she could not ask Alex to come back with her.

  She'd thought she could, at first. Her first pair of days in the future she'd been certain of it. After all, even though the future had very interesting enticements, so did London. There were still wonders to be seen and sampled in her century.

  And then had come the Range Rover. As Margaret had traveled a fair distance in the rain yet remained perfectly dry and comfortable, she began to see that perhaps the future could indeed offer simple comforts that she could not hope to match. That had unsettled her, but she'd convinced herself soon enough that Alex could stand to be out in the elements more. It would be good for him.

  And then she'd seen the glass on the merchant's shop window. It had been at that moment that she realized just what she was asking him to give up. By the saints, she didn't even own panes of glass for her windows! The one poor bit of the stuff she had was tucked into a place of honor in that pitiful outbuilding her grandsire had dubbed the chapel.

  It occurred to her that if she'd spent more time there, perhaps on her knees, she might not have found herself in her current state of hell.

  Smooth, clear glass. Shops that brought every wonder imaginable practically to a man's gates. Television that brought tidings from near and far straight into a man's keep. Strange and marvelous foodstuffs. Saints, even Go-diva balls whenever a body had a hankering for one!

  How could she possibly ask him to leave all that for the barbaric conditions of 1194?

  He had a life here, a life that had to be lived. And she had a life there, a life that she couldn't escape. She could not turn her back on her responsibilities. Now, knowing what he had here, neither could she ask him to share in those responsibilities.

  "Margaret?"

  She nearly jumped from her skin. She whipped around to face her husband. "Aye?"

  He smiled sleepily from the door. ''I missed you. Come back to bed."

  Ah, by the saints, she should have run while he was still asleep! But how could she have, when this was precisely what she'd waited for? One last chance to lay with the man she loved more than life itself.

  She rose and fair threw herself into his arms. She clung to him and memorized exactly how it felt to be held by those strong arms, to hear the sound of his voice rough against her ear, to know that he loved her as much as she loved him.

  "Love me," she said, blindly seeking his mouth with her own. "Love me now, Alex."

  Bless the man, he never had to hear that twice. Before she could squeak, he had swept her up into his arms and was stalking down the passageway. Margaret threw her arms around his neck and held on. She had to remember everything about him, every detail of his touch, of his smell, of his voice. It would be the only thing to give her comfort as she lived out the rest of her life without him.

  He laid her on the bed, then stretched out next to her. His touch was so gentle and loving she might have wept had she not been so busy touching him in return, reminding herself a last time of the shape and feel of his form.

  She did weep, though, as he made love to her, for she knew it would be the last time. To be sure, it was the most perfect joining of their bodies to date, and she couldn't help but feel as if their souls had been joined as well. Perhaps that was a good thing. After she'd lived her life and he'd lived his, they would meet up again in some better world and love yet again.

  He rolled away and gathered her to him. "Don't go anywhere else tonight," he murmured as he lifted her face for his kiss.

  She could only nod, for she wouldn't lie with words.

  "I love you, Meg," he whispered.

  "And I love you," she said, fighting her tears. "And I'll never stop."

  "Neither will I," he said, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Let's sleep for a little, okay?"

  "As you will, husband."

  She waited until she felt him drift off. Once she was sure he wouldn't stir, she rose. She drew on his sweater, boxers, and woolen socks. That done silently enough, she retrieved her sword, the dagger he'd bought her in London, and then paused. She looked at his jeans lying over the arm of a chair, then shrugged and put them on. He could buy more. These she would treasure as if they'd been fashioned of gold.

  She retrieved the missive she'd written him and left it on the chair next to the fire. Cowardly, aye, but she knew if she told him of her plan he would never agree to it. It was best she make the choice for him.

  She gathered up the rest of her blades, then left the chamber. She put on her boots outside his door, then paused. It was tempting to take one last look at the souls she planned to leave behind, but what good would that serve? It would not change her mind about leaving, and it would not change her plan to leave them behind.

  Amery would be safer here. Alex could adopt him and treat him as his own son. Frances already had taken to 1998 cooking styles and was happily installed in a chamber of her own. Joel could not be persuaded to leave his beloved master and that was as it should be.

  Baldric worried her, for she knew he liked it well when she was there to listen to his verses, but she'd also watched him the night before sitting next to Joshua as Joshua made magic with words on some type of television screen. "A rhyming program that is Windows 95 compatible," Baldric had announced with a beatific smile. Margaret knew not the meaning of that, but she suspected Baldric would be far better off with this large white box than he would be with her.

  Nay, 'twas best she leave them be, those souls she loved best. She clomped down the steps, cursing as she continued to have to hitch up Alex's jeans. She should have filched a belt while she was at it.

  She left the hall before she could think better of it. The remainder of her gear she had stowed in the stables. Alex had asked about it, but she'd done no more than to lie and tell him she'd pressed Joel into seeing to it.

  Once she'd reached the stables, she removed Alex's sweater and carefully placed it in her saddlebag. She donned her own padded undertunic, then slipped into her mail shirt. Once her horse was saddled, she left the stables and mounted in Jamie's courtyard. She gave the keep one last look, then put her heels to her mount and rode out the front gate.

  She didn't look back.

  Alex woke, sated and exhausted. Good grief, if making love with Margaret got any better than it was at present, it would kill him. But what a way to go.

  He rolled toward his wife only to find her place empty. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes. Maybe once they got home he would actually wake up and find her still in bed. The lures of the twentieth century were obviously too much for her. Heaven only knew what she'd found to watch on TV. He listened carefully. He didn't hear any giggling, so it was a safe bet she hadn't found any Jerry Lewis reruns. For as long as he'd known her he'd never heard her giggle until the night before.

  It had been all the more surprising given her mood. He wasn't up to speculating why she'd seemed depressed after their trip to the village. Weariness was certainly one answer. She couldn't have slept more than a few hours each night for the past few nights. He briefly considered hormones, then decided that wasn't a safe place for him to loiter. He certainly didn't want another chauvinist lecture from his sister when he brought it up. Maybe he could convince his wife to have a substantial nap that afternoon. He stumbled to the bathroom, then returned, relieved and a bit more awake. Well, his boxers and sweater were gone, but his Snoopy slippers were still there. Alex reached for his jeans only to realize they weren't there anymore. Wonderful. Now the woman was starting to steal his pants, too.

  Alex pulled on sweats, put on his slippers, and headed for Jamie's study to rescue his wife from whatever
B movie currently held her captive.

  But she wasn't in Jamie's study.

  "Okay," he said slowly, frowning. "No TV, no books. Breakfast?"

  It didn't sound like a bad idea on the whole, so he headed downstairs for the kitchen. Jamie was at the table, plowing through a bowl of porridge he'd no doubt made himself. Elizabeth wasn't a morning person and she certainly wasn't an oatmeal kind of gal, so Jamie had been forced to see to his own breakfasts. Jamie looked up at him and shoved the pot and another bowl across the table.

  "Saved some for you and Margaret," he said around a mouthful of mush.

  "I thought she'd be here already."

  Jamie shook his head. "Haven't seen her."

  Alex frowned. "She's not upstairs."

  "Maybe she went for a walk."

  "Yeah," Alex said, feeling unaccountably relieved. "And with any luck she stayed away from the forest."

  "A body can hope."

  Alex ate half a dozen spoonfuls of porridge straight from the pan, then left the kitchen to grab his coat and shoes fit for a Scottish spring. He was halfway out into the hallway when he realized something.

  Her sword was gone.

  He whipped around and stared into his bedroom. Her sword was gone, along with the small collection of knives she'd been storing on top of an end table. Alex walked across the room slowly, wondering absently in the back of his mind why it was he had the overwhelming urge to throw up.

  There was a note sitting on the table. Alex reached for it with hands that weren't the slightest bit steady.

  My beloved Alex,

  I cannot stay and I cannot ask you to return with me. I know what it is to lose your Family and I cannot have you give yours up when there is a way I can prevent it. And I cannot beg you to come now that I know What you would be Giving Up. I have no Panes of Glass for my windows!

  I leave my Heart in your hands. Return it to me when we both reach that Far Better World to come. I will await your Pleasure there.