by Dima Zales
He laughed. “You want to kiss me. Again.”
She backed away and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I think I learned in biology class that you want to kiss me more.”
He took a step toward her, and she bit her lip.
“Biology class? What other secrets did you learn in this biology class?”
She thought about everything science had learned since the 1600s and smiled. At the moment, she didn’t want to talk about micro-matter.
“Tell me your secrets, and I’ll tell you mine,” she said, trying to sound calm, despite the rioting inside. Self preservation told her to run. Her emotions told her to lean into him. Her sensible self said she didn’t know Emory and what she did know didn’t make any sense. But he could hurt her. A lot. I’m not safe with Emory, she told herself and managed to take two steps back.
“I’m sure you’d find my secrets impossible to believe,” he said in a ragged voice, running his hand through his hair.
“I’m pretty sure you won’t believe my secrets, either. I wouldn’t believe me, but you can trust me to spy on Chambers.”
He reached her in one step and placed his hands on either side of her face. Staring into her eyes, he said, “I don’t want you around Chambers --”
“You’re the one who put me there,” she reminded him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “Tell me what to look for.” She leaned toward him and kissed him on the lips. Remembering what Rohan had said, she whispered, “I can help. Tomorrow Anne is coming to the manor with another tapestry. I can watch Chambers and pass information to Anne, but first, I need to know what I’m looking for. And why.”
“I am not as interested in Chambers as I am in you.” Emory let her go and turned. “I shouldn’t be interested in you. This is wrong.”
She touched his arm, gently. “I agree.” She steeled herself and tried to sound more rational than her clamoring emotions. She knew girls who hooked up with a different guy every weekend; they seemed to be able to casual kiss. That she’d never been interested in making out for make-out sake didn’t mean it couldn’t be done. Girls in the locker-room called it NCMO, noncommittal make-out. “A kiss can just be a kiss.”
“It wasn’t just a kiss for me.” He intertwined their fingers and rubbed his thumb on the inside of her wrist.
Her blood thrummed beneath his touch. “It has to be,” she said, squeezing his hand as he pulled her to him. “I don’t belong here.”
“But you’re here now.” He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. “How long will you stay?”
She smiled. “Until I can find my way home. And until then, as long as I’m at the manor, I’ll help you with your Chambers problem.”
“Why?”
“You tell me.”
He sighed. “You mustn’t endanger yourself. Or take unnecessary risks.”
She frowned. Why is he such an adult? she wondered. Why does he act older than my dad?
Then he placed his hand on the back of her neck and kissed her deeply. Suddenly even putting him in the same sentence as her dad seemed creepy. He murmured, “Promise me or the discussion is over.”
She wanted him to kiss her again, but held his lips just a few inches away from hers. Finally, she said, “I promise I’ll be very, very careful.”
“Good.” He stepped away, and she felt cold without him near her. “Chambers is dangerous. Worse, he’s impassioned.”
“About what?”
“He wants to destroy the translations of the King James Bible.”
“The King James Bible?”
“You know of it?”
“Sure, the whole world knows of it.” Petra immediately realized her mistake.
He looked baffled. “How can that be? It has yet to be distributed.”
Petra thought quickly and avoided the question. Remembering the long and boring prayer Chambers had given over every meal at the manor, she thought, What a hypocrite. Why pray if you don’t believe?
Turning from Emory’s gaze, she stared up into the leaves of the alders and watched the shadows filtering through the branches. She didn’t know what she thought about God, but the universe seemed too perfectly balanced to exist without a creator. “Is Chambers an atheist? Is that why he’s trying to stop the translations?”
Emory held up his hand. “No more questions. Why would you say the whole world knows of the King James Bible, when I assure you, the whole world does not. A vast majority of the world knows nothing of any Bible.”
“That was a question.” Petra folded her arms across her chest.
He opened his mouth and then quickly shut it. Obviously, he’d told her more than he thought safe.
She was struggling too. She’d just met Emory and sometime soon, she had to return to Royal Oaks and never see him again.
Emory took a step closer. “What I meant was no more questions from you.”
“That’s a double standard, isn’t it? You’re allowed questions, but I’m not?” Petra backed away, and twigs snapped beneath her feet. He didn’t get to make up rules.
“That was, I believe, two questions.” Emory stood in a shaft of sunlight, looking annoyed.
Petra sighed and wished they’d go back to kissing, but that didn’t seem right or responsible. “How’s this, I’ll answer every question you ask for every question you answer.”
He looked at her through narrowed eyes.
“You don’t have to play my game,” she told him, “but then I don’t have to play yours.”
He rolled his eyes, but nodded.
“Why weren’t you hurt when I saw the sword go through you?”
“Who said you got to go first?” He shook his head. “Where are you really from?”
“You already know that, Royal Oaks.” She stamped her foot. “I answered you, now you have to answer me.”
Looking up at the heavens, Emory said, “I am immortal.”
He had to be lying, yet goose-bumps rose on her arms.
“I believe it is your turn,” he said, his voice hard.
She sniffed and her voice wavered. “You don’t get to just say you’re immortal, because that doesn’t happen without... something.”
“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin. “Would you believe in pixie dust? Dragon’s blood? Or, perchance a magical potion?”
“If you have to think up options, you’re lying.”
“I gave you my answer. Do I get another question?”
“No!”
He took her hand and pulled her to him so that she rested against his chest. She thought about pulling away, but not much. She let his warmth swallow her.
“I refuse to play this fool’s game any longer,” he said.
“That’s because you’re lying and losing,” she said, smiling.
He wrapped his arms around her and lowered his lips to hers. “I definitely think I am winning. I am the victor.”
“Me, too,” she said, and for a few minutes, she felt lost to everything else.
“Come,” he said, pulling her with him. “I must return you to the manor.”
“And to my spy duties,” Petra said, smoothing down her dress.
Emory groaned. “Is there any chance you might remain in your room?”
“You didn’t tell me why Chambers wants to destroy the Bible,” she said, as they walked toward the distant spires.
“I suppose that means no.”
She cut him a glance. “What do you think?”
“I think that you would be safe in your room.”
She laughed. “Sure. Whatever. Don’t tell me, but I could help.”
Emory held her hand as they walked through the grove. After a moment of obvious internal debate he said, “Chambers and unfortunately many others believe that only priests, those who have studied and been ordained by the church, should be allowed access to the Bible. They believe all laymen need a mediator with God.” He must have read her puzzled expression because he added, “In other words, p
riests.”
“It’s a power thing,” Petra guessed.
Emory smiled. “Yes. A power thing.”
“Well, they won’t be successful.”
He studied her. “How can you be sure?”
Thinking about all the hotels all over the world with a Bible on every bedside table, she smiled. “I just am.”
Suddenly, Anne’s being there made perfect sense. “You’d said Anne’s brother had been killed for truth and light.”
Emory nodded. “He was killed protecting the translators.”
17
Servants are not just employees. They are members of the household who live with the family. A good maid is attentive, discreet and a little bit psychic. She was there when you needed her but never in the way. She should be gentle with hairpins and corset laces.
—Petra’s notes
“You must ask him about falconry, miss,” Mary said as she ran the comb through Petra’s hair.
At the dressing table, Petra caught the maid’s glance in the mirror. “Falconry? I know nothing about falconry.”
Mary poised the comb above Petra’s head. “It matters not.” She might as well have added the word “duh.”
“How can I talk of something I know nothing about? I’ll look like an idiot.”
Mary raised her eyebrows as if to say so what?
Mary dragged the comb through Petra’s hair with brutal force. Her face screwed with intensity. “He’s into falconry. If a bird can capture his interest, then I am sure my lady might do the same.”
“Okay, I get you dislike being a chambermaid, but at least you have a job,” Petra said.
Mary blurted, “What if he marries someone who already has a maid? I would be emptying pots for a lifetime.” Mary shuddered.
“Since I don’t have a maid, that you know of, you think Lord Garret should choose me? That seems a weak basis for a marriage.”
Mary placed the comb on the table, giving Petra a moment of relief before she began to vigorously twist Petra’s hair into long coils. “Unless haste is taken, Lord Garret will not choose his wife.”
“No?”
“No.” Mary blew out a sigh and thrust pins into Petra’s hair with such force that her scalp tingled. “The master will decide.”
The master, she knew it was a turn of phrase common to the day, but it gave her a sinking feeling. What if Anne and Garret belonged together?
“And the master has chosen the Bevan estate,” Mary continued. “Mistress Bevan has her own maid.”
“Most would, wouldn’t they, but not me.” Petra studied Mary’s unhappy face, there was more the maid wasn’t saying. “Is Miss Bevan so bad?”
Mary sniffed. “I have friends at the Bevan estate and have heard stories of their mistress.”
Although it was difficult to feel very sympathetic to someone poking her scalp with hairpins, she watched Mary with more compassion. “I’m sorry, Mary, there is no way I’m going to marry Lord Garret.”
Mary closed her eyes and pursed her lips as if in pain and suddenly Petra remembered what Rohan had said, “You are here for the same reason I am here. To help.” Mary’s position could mean her survival. “I can’t make Lord Garret fall in love with me, and I certainly won’t marry him.” She saved this last sentence for when Mary had finished with her hair.
Standing in front of the mirror, liking the way the deep blue gown matched her eyes, Petra thought about how she could help Mary. “You know, I think Lord Garret likes Anne.”
Mary looked baffled.
“The tapestry girl.”
Behind her, Mary shook her head, addressing the mirror. “Impossible.”
“Why not?”
“Because earls sons do not marry artisans.”
“I think he might be in love with her.” Petra pulled at the lace of her cuffed sleeve. “I’m not sure about her, though.”
Mary scoffed. “They’ll not be looking for a love match.”
“We should all be looking for a love match,” Petra argued.
Mary inhaled deeply. “What makes you think he favors her?”
“It’s in his body language,” Petra said.
“His what?”
Petra thought back to her AP psychology class. She folded her arms and leaned away. “See, this means I’m closed.”
“Closed, like a shop?”
“Sort of,” Petra said. “It means I’m not interested in what you have to say. But if I lean forward, connect my eyes with yours, like this,” she demonstrated, “it means I’m engaged.”
“Engaged?” Mary squeaked.
“Not that kind of engaged. It means I’m open to what you have to say.”
“Gor, miss, this is a lot to remember.”
“Most people don’t remember. They just act instinctively, and others pick up on it. For example, if someone wants to kiss someone, they look at their lips.”
“Kiss?” Mary muttered, looking doubtful.
“And another sign that they’re interested is they cock their head, like this,” Petra tilted her head at a forty-five degree angle. Mary imitated her, and they both laughed.
“Anne is coming this afternoon with a tapestry, right? Let’s watch their body language.”
After Mary left, Petra sat down at the dressing table and studied herself in the mirror. She looked different here. It was more than simply the lack of makeup, the dolled up hair and fancy dress. She felt different.
Putting her chin in her hands, Petra realized she’d been thinking so hard it was making her head hurt. Nothing at home had caused this much --- perplexion. Was that a word? If it wasn’t, then it needed to be. She creased her forehead, dragging her thoughts back to her problem.
If she helped with the distribution of the King James Bible, that would be huge. She couldn’t think of anything having more of an impact than the Bible, yet bibles dotted the globe and were found in grocery stores, mansions and huts. It wasn’t as if she were here to right a wrong. But what if she didn’t help? Then maybe they wouldn’t. But of course, they would. Right? After all, it was the Bible.
There had to be another reason for her being here. Had she come to the seventeenth century to play matchmaker for Anne and Garret? That didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Her being in the 1600s seemed like an elaborate and cruel joke. It might make a smidgeon of sense, perhaps, if Garret and Anne were her long forgotten ancestors, but Petra knew her father’s people came from Denmark and her mother’s family was German.
And Emory? Her heart twisted when she thought of Emory. She wouldn’t think about him. He was like a guy at summer camp. A month of fun and then back to reality. Without him. A month? No. A week, tops. It’d already been three days.
Three days. What was her family thinking? That she’d run away? Were there posters with her picture up on telephone poles? Was her profile circling the web? Were police and dogs roaming the canyons searching for her?
What if Rohan was wrong and her being here was random? She couldn’t help anyone, could she? In this place she wasn’t even capable of taking off her own dress. What if the fortuneteller had sent her here just to be mean? Could a fortuneteller have that kind of power?
A rattle of stones on the drive announced visitors. Petra moved from the mirror to the window. Anne and her tapestries had arrived.
Garret studied the tapestry with his head at a forty-five degree angle. Petra sent Mary a glance to see if she’d noted the telling “I’m interested” head tilt. Mary’s shrug said it was a hopeless match.
Garret appeared to be considering the tapestry’s colors and scenery, but to Petra everything in his face said that all he saw was Anne. No footmen, Petra, Mary, or Chamber—for Garret there was only Anne. Chambers cleared his throat, clearly hauling Garret back to the heavily populated first parlor.
Anne stood at his shoulder, oblivious, and waiting.
“The birds.” Garret waved a hand at the tapestry. “And the flowers.”
Garret was tongue-tied. Petra wanted t
o help him, but he had his gaze fixed on Anne’s lips. Petra decided there was little she could do about that.
“Possibly you would like to see it on the wall?” Anne suggested. “In a different light?”
“Have you others?” Garret blurted.
“Is this not to your favor, my lord?” Anne looked hurt.
“Tis not that. Not that at all. I just thought that if you have others, perchance I might consider those as well. Before I make a decision.” Garret cleared his throat. “Before I commit to a purchase.”
“Yes, I suppose.” Anne cocked her head at Garret.
Petra wanted to raise her hands and cheer. She’d known that Garret had a thing for Anne. Now, given the head cock, she guessed that Anne felt the same. Petra had to at least try and fuel the fire. “Perhaps Miss Gilroy has more at her home,” Petra said.
Anne flashed her a startled look. “T’would be highly irregular for Lord Garret—”
“I will come to your home,” Garret said, a happy flush staining his cheeks.
“But my father is away,” Anne stammered.
“Mine too,” Garret said, as if thrilled by this shared commonality.
“My Lord, it would be highly unseemly,” Chambers said, stepping forward.
“We shall go now. Prepare the carriage.” Garret turned to Fitz, his back to Chambers. “Will you do me the honor of escorting me to your studio?” he said, offering Anne his arm.
Studio? Anne had little more than a two room cottage, but she didn’t look embarrassed or unhappy about Garret dropping in. In fact, she glowed.
“My Lord, your father would not approve,” Chambers began. As he moved to block Anne and Garret’s departure, he stepped onto the tapestry.
Garret cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Chambers’ boots. Chambers looked down at the lovers he had stepped upon, but didn’t budge.
“My father would wish me to make an informed acquisition.” Garret turned to Petra. “My Lady Baron, would you please accompany us?”
“Oh, yeah,” Petra said.
Chambers cleared his throat.