The Very Thought of You

by Lynn Kurland

  The more she thought about it, the more a plan began to take shape in her mind. When she and George had reached her horse, she was ready with her list of demands.

  By the time she'd finished with George, the afternoon sun was low in the sky and they'd ingested most of the future food she'd managed to stash in her saddlebags. George wiped the last of the potato chips from the front of his shirt, then frowned at her.

  "I'll never remember it all."

  "Aye, you will, old man. And see that it's done. I'll read about it in some manuscript and know if you've failed me."

  He shook his head. "I don't know that Edward will agree to it."

  "He will if you tell him that you've seen my ghost and I've sworn to haunt him for the rest of his days if he strays one step from the tasks I've set for him."

  "And you think he'll believe that?"

  "Brackwalds are notoriously superstitious."

  George smiled at that. "That they are, my girl. Very well. I'll see to your items."

  Margaret pushed herself to her feet. ' 'Well, then my task is done. I should be on my way."

  He rose with a great creaking of joints. "Aye. Give that lad of yours a fond greeting for me."

  "I'll do so. Oh," she said, reaching down into her saddlebag, "I have something for you." She pulled forth a clear cube of some strange material—plastic Alex had called it. She handed it to George. "Here. As promised."

  George accepted it with same awe he likely would have used had she handed him the crown of England and the scepter to go with it.

  "Wow," he breathed, holding it up so he could gaze at the ball inside the plastic cube. "The players have signed their names. Look, Margaret. Mariner signatures abound upon it!"

  Margaret wondered if those mariners shouldn't have been spending more time on their ship than playing games. And why had they scrawled their signatures upon that ridiculous white ball where it would do them no good whatsoever?

  Men, she thought with a snort. Who could understand them?

  She took out the little velvet cloth that had accompanied the baseball and draped it over the clear box.

  "Best you don't frighten others with it," she suggested.

  "Oh, aye," George breathed, stroking the box reverently. "I'll keep it quite safe."

  "I've no doubt you will. Now, don't become so enraptured of this ridiculous ball that you forget the tasks you must see to for me."

  He nodded, then gave her a grave smile. "I'll not forget what you've demanded, Meg. But you'll thank Alex for this, won't you?"

  "Aye, I will," she said, though in reality she hoped he didn't strangle her for it when she returned. He'd had several baseballs sitting in a drawer, but none of them with the little scrawls and certainly none of them in clear boxes. The one she'd chosen was likely very dear to him. Oh, well, 'twas but a small price to pay for George's happiness.

  She resettled her saddlebags, then turned to George a final time. Now the time had come to bid him farewell, she hardly knew how to go about it. Here was a man who had been more than just the captain of her guard. He'd stood behind her when there was no one else there. He'd been a father to her when her own had left her all alone. How she would miss his grunts, the occasional tugs on the end of her braid, the glint in his eye when she'd done something exceptionally noteworthy. Nay, telling him goodbye was not something she could do.

  He set aside his treasure, then reached out and pulled her gruffly into his arms.

  "I'll miss you," he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. "Won't have anyone to keep in line." "You'll have Edward," she managed. "And what sport is there in that? No spirit in the lad." He kissed her on both cheeks, then pushed her away. "Go on with you, girl. Think of me now and then."

  Margaret looked at him with tears in her eyes. "You won't come?"

  He shook his head with a small smile. ''And who would be here to keep Edward in his place? Nay, girl, the future's no place for me. I have my baseball. 'Tis enough."

  She knew there was nothing left to say, so she nodded stiffly and turned away. She didn't consider herself a coward, but she knew she had no choice but to leap onto her horse and flee. So she did, before she broke down and sobbed.

  By the time she reached the faery ring, she could no longer see. Her tears had run in rivers down her cheeks, the neck of her cloak was sopping wet, and her nose was raw from where she'd rubbed it once too often.

  She dismounted inside the faery ring and took off her mail. She put Alex's sweater back on and repacked her gear a final time. Then she put her arm over her horse's withers. She looked up to see the sky beginning to darken and wondered what it was she should do now.

  She waited.

  And when she grew uncomfortable, she decided an announcement was in order.

  "I'm ready to go to Scotland now," she said, just in case the proper faeries were listening.

  Still nothing.

  "Back to Alex," she clarified.

  Stars began to appear.

  "Hell," she muttered.

  She considered yet again her situation and wondered just what Jamie had done to pop them forward with such ease.

  Indeed, when she'd reached the faery ring near his keep, she'd done nothing but ride inside it, determine that going back to Falconberg was what she had to do, and poof! she'd been there.

  She tried thinking of Jamie's keep. She even said poof a few times.

  It didn't help.

  She felt herself begin to panic. She couldn't stay in 1194. There was no more place for her. Her life, as far as anyone there was concerned, was over. She would mar no fabric of time if she left. All the proper omens and portents were aligned, and there was nothing left for her but to return to Alex and live out her life in bliss.

  She searched frantically through her memory, wondering if there might be a key phrase she had missed, some action of celestial import she might have overlooked.

  Then she froze.

  Then she smiled.

  "Well," she said, "that should work."

  And she raised herself up onto her toes.

  Thirty - five

  Alex stood on Jamie's roof and stared out over the back of the house toward the pond. Toward the faery ring. Toward the one place that kept him from the woman he loved.

  He was half tempted to ride out and pull up every bloody plant there. It would be a fitting revenge.

  He sighed and watched the mountains take on deep afternoon shadows. It had been almost thirty-six hours since Margaret had left him. He'd been counting. He wondered how he would feel when he hit the million mark. Probably not any better than he felt right now. It was a good thing he'd never live that long. The thought of living the rest of his life alone made him sick to his stomach.

  He'd gone back to the ring yesterday after he'd brought everyone back to the keep. He'd spent the night in the faery ring. He'd woken up, then looked up to see an exhaust trail of the rare jets that flew that far north.

  Things hadn't improved much from there.

  He'd finally come home earlier that afternoon. If he'd been thinking, he would have packed a snack the night before, but he hadn't been thinking. He was thinking now. He'd been standing on the roof for almost an hour, trying to decide just what to take so he could camp out permanently near that bloody grouping of spores. He'd considered building a little shed. That would certainly keep him occupied for quite some time, but it also smacked of a permanence he didn't want to get involved in because he had no intentions of being stuck in the twentieth century that long. He'd finally settled for a great deal of camping gear and a cell phone so he could call home for supplies. Maybe tomorrow he'd set up camp. He couldn't stomach the thought of it tonight.

  He left the roof and made his way down the steps, along the hallway, and down to the great hall. His family was gathered near the fire. Baldric was preparing some sort of entertainment, but Alex couldn't bring himself to stop and listen. It reminded him too much of all the times he'd done just that with Margaret.

&
nbsp; He left the hall and walked through the gates. It was cold outside, but he only noticed it in an academic sort of way. His heart was so frozen he could hardly feel the rest of himself.

  He made his way along the stream that ran near Jamie's house. He picked his way over rocks and found the path that ran along the lake. Nice lake. Tempting to throw himself into it, but maybe later. He continued on toward the little glade of rowan trees that sheltered the faery ring.

  And that was when he began to hear voices.

  "Losing it," he noted. It was to be expected, probably, since he saw his life stretching out before him as a barren wasteland of time without Margaret. But voices? So soon?

  He stopped in midstep. Yes, that was definitely a voice.

  "Pitiful," he said, with a shake of his head, then continued on his way.

  He reached the clearing, came to a dead halt, and gaped. He rubbed his eyes, sure he was seeing things. He knew he was hearing things.

  "There's no place like home. There's no place like home."

  Margaret was standing in the middle of the faery ring up on her toes, clicking her heels together for all she was worth, her face scrunched up in intense concentration.

  "There's no place like home."

  Alex cleared his throat. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled grunt.

  Her eyes flew open. He watched as she almost pitched forward flat onto her face in surprise.

  "Alex?"

  He nodded.

  "Oh, Alex!"

  The next thing he knew, she was in his arms. He clutched her to him and backed away from the ring. He didn't want its nefarious tentacles snatching her away from him now that he had her back.

  "Oh, Margaret," he whispered hoarsely, hardly able to keep on his feet from his relief. "Oh, Margaret!"

  It was all he found himself able to say. He clutched her to him as hard as he dared, praying he wasn't hallucinating. The feeling of hot tears on his cheek was comforting, but it was the feeling of her tears on his neck that convinced him he wasn't dreaming.

  "I thought I'd lost you," he rasped. "I thought I'd never see you again."

  She only shook her head and held on to him more tightly.

  They stood there until the sky was black and the stars had come out in full force.

  Then Alex remembered his very long list and the agony he'd felt while making it. He pulled back from her, took her by the shoulders, and started to shake her.

  "What were you thinking?" he thundered. "Damn you, Margaret of Falconberg, just what in the hell were you using for a brain?"

  "I just thought—"

  "Well, you damn well won't be doing that again any time soon!" he bellowed.

  She only blinked at him. Then she started to smile. He saw nothing whatsoever humorous about the situation. In fact, he wasn't seeing anything much beyond red at the moment.

  "You're glad to see me," she said.

  He wasn't sure if more shaking was called for, or if he should just turn her over his knee right there.

  And then he realized the enormity of it all.

  "You're alive," he said, stunned.

  ''Aye, and a lucky thing it is, too. Had we been at Falconberg, neither of us would be so."

  "Who started the fire?"

  Her jaw went slack. "You know of the fire?"

  ''Jamie found it in a history book. I was frantic because I thought I couldn't get back to you before you were burned to cinders."

  Her expression softened. "You endeavored to go back?"

  "Of course I endeavored to go back!"

  "Didn't succeed, obviously."

  "Well, it wasn't for a lack of trying," he growled. He yanked her close again. "I'm really angry with you."

  "Aye, I suspected you might be."

  "I can't believe you left me. I can't believe the thought even crossed your mind."

  She tightened her arms around him. "I couldn't ask you to leave all this—"

  "Why does everyone think I'm such a pansy?" he exploded, pushing her back to arm's length. "I could have handled twelfth-century England! I would have made a damn good earl!"

  "But the Range Rover—"

  "I'm selling it tomorrow," he snapped. "Get used to the idea of walking, because that's the only way you're going to get anywhere from now on."

  "Oh, Alex, you can't sell it. I like it well." She drew close again and patted his back. "One certainly arrives at his destination in a drier condition than on horseback."

  Well, it obviously wasn't going to take her long to get used to the idea of travel by car. Alex scowled into her hair. She'd caused him an enormous amount of stress, ripped his heart out by its roots, and now she was calmly discussing his car as if she didn't have anything better to talk about.

  "Let's go home," he grumbled. "I have business with your backside."

  She blinked. "You do?"

  "Spankings," he clarified. "Lots of them."

  "I'd rather work this out in the lists, if it's all the same to you."

  "It isn't and I don't want to."

  "I won't be spanked."

  He frowned at her. "I'm the earl."

  She lifted one eyebrow. "And I am the countess and I will not be spanked." She snapped her fingers and her horse trotted over obediently. "Let's go home, Alex. I've eaten nothing all day but the faux food of yours I took with me, and I'm in sore need of something good."

  Before Alex could protest, she had him by one hand and her horse by the other and was towing both of them back to the stables. She placed him on a handy bench while she tended her to her mount. Alex watched her put away her saddle gear, then watched some more as she brushed and fed her horse. The longer he watched, the more it sunk in just what had been given back to him. This stunning, courageous, stubborn woman was his. Forever. If he could just keep her away from gates in the grass.

  "You're not leaving again, are you?" he asked quietly. She put away the currycomb, then came out of the stall. She closed the door and leaned back against it.

  "Nay," she said, just as quietly.

  "You almost killed me, Meg. I couldn't take it again."

  She looked at him gravely. "You do love me, don't you, Alex?"

  He pursed his lips. "You can't mean to tell me it took you this long to finally figure that out."

  She shook her head with a small smile. "I knew it all along."

  "I would have gone back with you happily."

  She came across to him and put her hand out to touch his cheek softly. "Aye, I know."

  "I'll miss your hall."

  "Aye. As will I."

  He rose and pulled her gently against him. "I love you, Margaret. I just can't tell you how much."

  "And I love you," she said, lifting her face and kissing him. "And it will take me many years to tell you how much."

  He grunted. "Maybe by then I will have forgiven you for all the pain you've caused me over the past two days."

  "I'll see you appeased."

  "Damn right you will."

  "Might I have a meal first?"

  "Maybe. When I can bear to let you out of my arms."

  "Alex," she said solemnly, "I'll never leave you again. Why would I, when my life is standing right here?"

  "I wish you'd come to that conclusion two days ago."

  She shook her head. ''I had a work to finish in the past, Alex. And if you feed me, I'll tell you of it."

  Alex grunted as he walked with her from the stables. "You're as bad as Jamie with your 'tasks in the past.' All I need in my life is two of you going at it."

  She smiled brightly. "Who's to say you and I haven't more work to do in other times? I've a mind to see that first Queen Elizabeth. What a turbulent time that would be to—"

  Alex cut her off with a kiss. And when he'd let her up long enough to catch her breath, he kissed her again. The very last thing he wanted to hear was more talk of time traveling.

  "—and Mary with all her intrigues and lov—"

  Well, it was either going to
have to be his mouth or food silencing her at all times. And he wouldn't let her near Jamie. Heaven only knew what sorts of things the two of them would concoct together. He and Elizabeth didn't stand a chance. Maybe he would move Margaret somewhere far from all those damn gates—like Siberia. Africa. Australia. Alex turned the possibilities over in his mind until the rumbling of Margaret's stomach became too distracting.

  "Food?" she gasped, when he released her mouth.

  "Only if you stop talking about sixteenth-century political intrigues."

  "Food, then perhaps an evening in Jamie's library," she said, tugging him toward the house. "I have a few things to search out."

  "I'm the man of the house," he tried as she pulled him through the front door.

  She completely ignored him.

  "My word is law," he announced to his family as Margaret hauled him across the great hall.

  They were all gaping at him, either because they couldn't believe whom he was being towed by, or because they couldn't believe he was stupid enough to believe what was coming out of his mouth.

  "I am the earl!" he exclaimed desperately.

  No one paid any attention to him. Amery bolted, screeching, from Elizabeth's lap and threw himself against Margaret. Frances and Joel ran just as quickly and wrapped themselves around her as tightly as humanly possible.

  Baldric made her a low bow, then looked at Alex. "See?" he said, sounding supremely satisfied. "I told you she would return! How could she bear life without my verses?''

  How, indeed, Alex wanted to say, but he was interrupted by Joshua throwing himself to his knees in front of Margaret.

  "Ah, the moon no longer hides her face from us!" he exclaimed. "Now both my days and my nights are filled with heavenly visions of loveliness! I knew the Fates would not deny this humble maker of ballads such glorious inspiration—"

  "Aye, to be sure," Margaret interrupted him. "I vow, Joshua, that such lays would sit better with me had I a plate of your brownies to soothe me."

  "As you wish," Joshua said, leaping to his feet and rushing across the hall to the kitchen.

  Margaret hugged the children clinging to her, shared brief embraces with Jamie and Elizabeth, then looked at Alex. "Supper, perhaps? I daresay I smell stew coming from the kitchens."