by Nichole Van
“You are under the care of our father.”
“Our father?”
And even as Gwen nodded, a deep part of Jasmine knew the words which would follow.
“Yes, our father. Emrys Wledig in our language. But called Aurelius Ambrosius by others.”
Jasmine forgot how to breathe.
“The King of the Britons?” she asked.
Gwen nodded.
King Arthur.
Jasmine was absolutely literally the daughter of the man behind the legend of King Arthur.
Making her a princess. For like . . . reals.
She closed her eyes. Feeling the threads of Fate coalesce, intertwining, weaving. Pulling her across time and drawing her to those who were her own.
Back to the time period and place she had been born . . . 515 A.D.
The numbing rightness of it all stunned her. That all her life had pushed her toward this moment.
“Come, sister.” Gwen pulled Jasmine to her feet. “Come. Father is in residence today. He is not often here, but he comes when his duties allow a brief respite. He will be beside himself with joy to see you. He has aged, but still talks of his little Minna.”
Gwen led her inside the house, through a columned entrance foyer-ish area . . . and there it was. The fountained atrium of her memory.
Smaller than she remembered. Or rather, she had grown since then. But the mosaic still glinted on the floor. And now she noted the paintings. Birds and garlands chased by rabbits and prancing cats. Charming.
Gwen gestured for Jasmine to follow her across the atrium and up the stairs on the opposite side, climbing to the second floor. She ran her hand over the railing of the balcony which surrounded the atrium as they walked, entering a room over the front pediment of the house. Open shutters looked out to the grove protected within the palisade.
And there, seated at a desk covered in scrolls and quills, was a silver-haired man. Dressed in the white tunic and embroidered purple and gold toga of a Roman king. Though probably in his late fifties, he still exuded the power of a younger man.
He looked up as they entered. Eyes widening as he saw Jasmine. Eyes of startling blue. The same eyes Jasmine saw every day in the mirror.
He went utterly still and then slowly rose to his feet. Darting a glance to Gwen, as if to confirm what he saw.
She nodded. “Yes. ‘Tis Minna.”
He exhaled, the noise a gentle pop in the room. His face softened, and he moved around the desk.
“Daughter.” The word reached Jasmine as he wrapped his arms around her. Gently. Tenderly. As if she were a most precious possession. “Though it is dangerous for you to be here, I am so blessed you are come.”
Cue crying fit number two.
She melted into him, everything so crushingly familiar. His scent of wool and metal and wine. The strength in his arms.
Her father! She was holding her father.
Who happened to be the man behind the King Arthur legend . . .
Would she ever recover from the wonder of this moment?
A good while later, after crying herself nearly sick (cause, ya know, she still had that going on) and kissing her father’s face and hugging her sister some more, Jasmine sat on a fainting couch, munching on bread and salty cheese with olive oil and wine. Listening to her father and sister.
Her father was only here for a couple of days. His duties as king kept him tethered to his larger fortifications in the south and east.
This compound was a place of worship and rest. A site so sacred not even pilgrims were allowed to visit. Its purpose hidden from the rest of the world.
“We have worried about you so.” Her father smiled. “You were so young. So much younger than any of us would have wanted you to be. Usurpers were intent on making a bid for my throne and suspected the power we protect. They attacked in the night . . .” His voice trailed off.
“I remember a fire.”
“Yes,” Gwen nodded. “They overran us and partially burned the house. Father was away, fighting in Gaul. Mama—” A break. “—Mama was killed in the raid.”
A firm hand shook her awake.
“Minna . . . Minna.” An indistinct face loomed over her, pulling her from sleep. Gwen. “Wake up, sister. We must get you to safety.”
A woman screamed. Jagged terror filled with pain.
Jasmine lurched awake, the sounds of battle ringing. More screams. Metal clanging. The smell of smoke.
“Quickly,” Gwen hissed. “Not a sound.”
Jasmine clutched her sister’s hand as they crept down a back stairway, fire crackling through the building. Free of the house, they ran into the night. Fog engulfing them, hiding them. Through the gate and into the sacred grove of oak trees.
She sensed the portal ahead, pulsing. Calling.
“Open the door and then run.” Gwen whispered, breathless, sprinting forward. “The portal will save you. Think safe thoughts, and you will be led to the one who will be your teacher.”
The portal was suddenly in front of her.
“I love you, sister mine.” Gwen pushed her.
Jasmine stumbled forward, only to touch nothing. Just darkness and falling, falling, falling.
And then she was on her hands and knees in a cool, dark place. Terror stricken, she stumbled forward, finding stairs and a door. The cool night air hit her as she exited the building, branches scratching her legs, cutting her bare feet.
Away, away . . . she had to get away . . .
“I remember that night,” Jasmine whispered. “Poor Mama.”
“She was the Keeper.” Her father’s eyes were gentle.
“The Keeper?” Jasmine cocked her head.
“The Keeper of the portal, child. Just as you are. Do you not know even that much?”
Jasmine shook her head.
“Your mother was the Keeper before you. But the gift passes to only one in a generation—”
“It skipped me,” Gwen said with a soft laugh.
“It was you, child.” Her father gave Jasmine a gentle smile. “At your birth, your mother saw signs in the heavens. She saw the power settle on you. Knew that you would be the new Keeper. But in that same instant, she was also given additional knowledge. An understanding that you would only be hers for a short while. That there was another, in a distant time who would raise you in the old ways.”
Marmi.
“When we were attacked, I knew I had to save you,” Gwen said. “The portal was the only way. As Keeper, you control it. No one can pass through unless you decree it—their lives somehow important or part of yours. Of course, it allowed you to pass through. After sending you through, I climbed one of the oak trees, hiding in its limbs until the danger passed. Praying that you would be led to the right person in the future.” Gwen’s eyes were hopeful.
Jasmine nodded, throat tight. She could almost feel Marmi’s ghost drifting into the room. That familiar scent of lavender surrounded her. Breathing comfort and home with every heartbeat.
“I am glad.” Gwen patted Jasmine’s hand.
Her father cleared his throat. “The Keepers have a unique place in our world. They protect a powerful force and are more holy than kings or priests. They are always women, the maternal figure of our tribe. The mother of us all, in a sense. Your own mother had a heart big enough to love a thousand children.”
Those words reverberated through her. Like a tuning fork, finally finding the right frequency. Truth.
Her mothering instincts weren’t just a personality defect she inflicted on friends and the occasional boyfriend. They were the result of her mystical calling as a Keeper. The mother of her tribe.
Jasmine tried to absorb all the information. After a lifetime of living on the tiniest snippets of her past, she felt swamped with information.
She had a mother and a father. An older sister.
And she. Her. Jasmine Fleury . . . ehr, Minna . . . was the Keeper of the portal. How true it was in the end.
She had known that Emme and James belonged toget
her. Had wished for Emme to find her way, and she had.
The same went for Georgiana. And then Marc.
Every person who traveled the portal was known to Jasmine. Or integral to her life in some way.
It also explained why the portal had drawn her so strongly. Like visiting an old friend. One that you could trust . . .
Marmi would have loved all of this. Jasmine wiped a tear off her cheek. And then a warmth enveloped her. Lavender. Soft. Comforting.
As if Marmi had heard her.
And then there was another presence beside Marmi.
Gentle. Whispering. Pouring through her.
Her mother.
Both of the women watching over her, guiding her.
You have never been alone, child. The words slipped through her mind, fine as silk.
A sense of a hand brushing against her soul.
An overwhelming feeling of love. Bright and cleansing.
Gwen slid over to her and gathered her close again, soothing.
They talked for hours after that. Not that Jasmine knew, as there were no clocks.
She heard stories of her childhood.
Of the pendant with its twining design. The dara knot a symbol of their sacred oak trees, of knowledge, of power. The quatrefoil surrounding it . . . a prayer for protection. The swirling lines mimicking the tendrils of power Keepers could sense in the earth. A gift from her mother at her birth.
Their fears for her safety. Her father and Gwen’s happiness that she had been led to Marmi.
Jasmine soaked it all up. Feeling whole in a way she had never imagined.
But even in the midst of it, there was an aching sense of lack.
Something missing.
She had found her family. Had found so many answers.
But they were her past. Not her future.
In short—they weren’t Timothy.
The pain of his loss was visceral. Cutting.
How she wanted to share all this with him.
But, maybe, if she could control the portal, they could find some other solution to his problem. Bring something valuable through the ages. Hope bloomed.
“You were never meant to remain in our time, daughter.” Their father cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to him. “But now that you are come, I can give you that which has always rightfully been yours.”
Gwen beamed at her and motioned for two servants to enter the room, carrying what appeared to be a ridiculously heavy wooden chest between them. They set it at her father’s feet. He reached down and opened it with a flourish.
What on earth?!
The chest gleamed with gold coins, gold dishes, goblets and the occasional flash of a gemstone. Everything tumbled together, glinting in the sunlight.
The whole thing looked decidedly pirate-treasure-ish.
Seeing her very wide eyes, her father touched her arm. “This is your dowry, child. The portion that would have been yours had you been raised in this time period. A princess of this realm. I am blessed to be able to give it to you.”
What could she possibly say? A dowry?! She had an honest-to-goodness dowry.
It was, like, so medieval and here’s-some-money-take-my-daughter but, at the same time, so glittery and golden and awesome. And, let’s face it, potentially viscount-saving—
She and Timothy . . . they could be together . . . provided Timothy hadn’t gone and done something stupid, like married Miss Heartstone or worse . . .
But even that profound revelation wasn’t the real treasure of her day.
“Thank you so much.” She wrapped her arms around her father’s neck “But seeing you and Gwen again has been the best gift of all.”
She covered his face in kisses. Just as she had as a tiny girl. He pulled her close.
“My sweet Minna. How I wish I could keep you here forever. But my kingdom is a treacherous place and my priests foretell of dark days ahead. Though we love you dearly, you cannot remain here. It is too dangerous—”
“Sire! Mistress!” A servant ran into the room, beckoning wildly. Eyes wide. “You must come! We are being . . . invaded . . . perhaps.”
Chapter 28
Jasmine followed her father and sister out of the house, across the way and into the palisade. The servant darting ahead of them.
Her father and her sister!!! Gah. She still couldn’t get her head around it.
Entering the grove of oak trees behind her father and Gwen, Jasmine didn’t understand what the problem was at first. But then, everyone parted. As if pushed aside by a pair of enormous unseen arms.
Oh!
Jasmine stared. Blinked.
Rubbed her eyes.
Yep. He was still there.
Stared some more.
A medieval knight stood in front of the portal.
Like . . . a full-on, knight-in-shining armor.
Gleaming armor. Lots of it. Blazing in the sun. Breastplate thing over chain mail tunic and trousers. Metal greaves buckled to his shins and thighs. Visored helmet on his head.
Sword in hand.
Uhmm . . . a really large sword.
Raised aloft. Ready to fight through the hordes.
Who were, wisely, warily keeping their distance.
And then, the knight’s head swung her way. Paused.
Down went the sword, sheathed into the scabbard at his hip.
Gloves pulled off. And then he reached for his helmet.
One tug. Two. And it came free.
Jasmine gasped. And then swiped at her cheeks, bouncing on her toes.
Because he was here.
Just look at him.
Hair tousled and wind swept. Chin stubbled.
Pale eyes the same metallic gray as his clothing.
Basically, utterly magnificent.
A fairytale.
Her fairytale.
Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.
Because let’s face it.
Grown men from the nineteenth century did not dress up in medieval armor, travel fifteen hundred years into the past to chase down a twenty-first century woman to tell her she had forgotten her purse.
At least . . . she hoped not.
Her father turned his head to her, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Please tell me you know this man?”
She nodded her head.
“Is he worthy of you?”
“Yes!” A sob. “Forever worthy!”
Timothy drank in Jasmine. How was it possible it had been less than twenty-four hours since he had seen her last? She stood within the small group of gathered people.
He hadn’t been sure what to expect. Initially, the portal had remained rigidly closed. But he had placed his hands on the cool stone, conjuring up images of Jasmine and his love for her. Visualizing their time together in 2015.
And then it had opened.
Taking him not to 2015.
But here.
They must be in Roman times, judging by the clothing. When the ancient oak was first planted.
Many things made sense to him at once. Jasmine’s resemblance to the woman by her side. Her speaking in a strange language to the older man. It sounded like Latin but not quite.
But he noted it all peripherally. Because there was only one prize for him.
The beautiful woman standing in the midst of them all.
His beloved Jasmine.
That delicate hand over her mouth, bobbing up and down on her tiptoes . . . exactly as he adored her.
She stopped bouncing and walked toward him, eyes pools of blue summer sky, hair curled and framing her jaw. Face incandescent.
Such joy. She breathed it. Optimism and happiness.
Every hope of his future.
How had he thought he could live without her for even five minutes? Much less a lifetime?
He was an idiot.
Could she find it in her heart to forgive him for ever doubting—
“Of course, I forgive you my love!” she cried, breaking into a run.
What? Had he said that—
Oh!
Dropping his helmet with a crash, he swept her into his arms. Laughing as she covered his face in kisses.
“You came,” she whispered over and over. “You came. You came.”
“Ah, my dearest love. How could I not? Without sunshine, my life ceased to have meaning.”
She smiled, that huge smile which beamed straight from her soul.
Like he had said—sunshine.
“And there was the problem with my list of likes.”
“Your list? You came all this way because of your list?”
“Of course. It was fundamentally flawed.”
She pulled back. Nose adorably wrinkled and confused.
“For example, I like the way you crinkle your nose when you are uncertain.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And how you bounce on your tiptoes and giggle when you are excited.” A nuzzling kiss against his throat. “I like how you sway against me when dancing in the rain.”
“Mmmm, I like that too.”
“I like listening to you sing to the radio while I drive. I like the little noises you make when you eat something you love. I adore how you cry over anything and everything. I like the way you kiss me—”
Jasmine obliged with a chuckle, melting her lips against his.
He pulled back after a moment. “Basically, my entire list is comprised solely of Jasmine-based activities. But there was a problem.” His voice caught.
“Yes?” She pressed her lips against his temple.
“I did not have Jasmine. My entire list collapses unless you are with me. I stupidly allowed the only important part of my list to slip through my fingers. And that was just unacceptable.”
“But Kinningsley. Your estates—”
“Worthless without you. My entire life . . . pointless. Daniel and I will find a way. I was a fool to think I could live without you. That I could even breathe without you.” A breath. “I love you more than life. You are my life.”
She answered him with a sob against his cheek, tangling her fingers in his hair.
His throat burned.
“Darling, promise you will never leave me again?” he choked.
She pulled back, face streaked. Impossibly beautiful.
“Oh, Timothy.” She wiped a tear off his cheek. But it was futile, as another one immediately tumbled.